#Defend your answer to the death

[app1es0uce]

Okay- the community has spoken that Trans Telemachus is very much being supported here and a fun possible head cannon for a lot of people

But the question is, is Telemachus Trans fem or Trans masc??

(I’ve seen a lot of votes for Trans masc and Odysseus fucking up the sirens for misgendering his son. But I’ve also seen arguments for Trans fem Telemachus as when Odysseus comes home, she comes out to her dad)

[haveihitanerve]

Bruce: what does adopting children do for me? Bruce:... Bruce: *deep inhale* Bruce: what does AIR DO FOR MY LUNGS??!?!?!?!?

[acotars]

emily henry is overrated. she’s so millennial and her books are more boring than romantic.

send me your unpopular opinions and i’ll either let you in or not

[ladsonlads]

Impartial Hearts | Sylus - Part One

Pairing -> Boss Sylus x Non MC Reader

Parts -> Part One | Part Two

Synopsis -> You’ve been working as Onychinus’s accountant for two years, and you’ve been carrying two heavy secrets for a third of it. You were in love with your boss, and your mother was dying.

A/N -> Guys this shit is just sad icl I need to lay off the sad songs... anyways, reader is not MC but MC is mentioned I called her 'Miss Hunter' or 'MC' bc I couldn't come up with a name, sorry.

EDIT: Thanks for all the love <33333 I honestly didn’t expect so many people to want a part two, I promise it’s in the works and I’ll try to get it out ASAP.

Trigger Warnings -> Death mentioned, heart issues mentioned.

Word Count -> 7.3K

“I’m sorry, what?” The question slipped out of your lips without much of an attempt from your brain to restrain it. You regretted that instantly.

“Watch your tone, Y/N.” The scarily low timbre in Sylus’s voice threatened retribution if you didn’t.

“Sorry… It’s just that— are you sure? I feel like this is a decision that requires a little bit more contemplation. Like getting a dog!” You tried to backpedal, but from the look of Sylus’s narrowing eyes, he wasn’t happy with your response. 

“Are you comparing her to a dog?” There was a threat thinly encased in Sylus’s question and under the thick layers of fear, you felt the slightest pang of jealousy that the he felt so strongly about defending her honour. 

What a dramatic and far-fetched conclusion. You wanted to say, but instead you bit your tongue. 

“N-No! Of course not. Not at all. I’m just wondering if wiring her such a significant sum from your equity account is a good idea when you met her—” You make a show of glancing at your shabby watch “— 13 hours ago is a sound decision.”

“So you’re questioning my judgement? Is that it?” 

You couldn’t blame him for being difficult, you walked right into that one. 

“No! Well… yes?” One would think that after two years of working for Sylus, you’d have the ability to stand your ground against him. But there was only so far someone could push a man like Sylus before he deemed you irredeemable. The consequence of which involved a hollow point in your skull. 

“Wrong answer. Wire it. Now. I’ll deal with your insubordination later.” He quickly left the room that doubled as your ‘office’; you shared it with the twins who liked to use it as their reprieve from crime. You wouldn’t have minded had they chosen less rambunctious ways of cooling-down, like reading or watching a show. Instead they’d play-fight, actually fight, play video games on the loudest volume or — the worst option of all — karaoke. 

The sarcastic yes sir died on your tongue as quickly as it crossed your mind. You pissed him off far more than usual today, and he was already way more tense since her arrival. 

Miss Hunter. Sylus kept her first name under lock-and-key, said it was safer that way. You barely caught a glimpse of her as Sylus dragged her out of his office, which was across from yours. From the glimpse you did catch, she was beautiful. Fair skin, jet black hair, a fit body. Her outfit, which was the Hunter’s Association standard issue uniform, had never looked so good. 

From what you knew from shameless eavesdropping, she was extremely important to Sylus. She was part of some critical master plan you weren’t privy to. 

You hated her.

Albeit, completely unfounded, your hatred for her stemmed from an ugly feeling you could not shake. In the two years you worked as an accountant for Onychinus, Sylus touched you once. Correction, you touched him once accidentally when you had too much to drink with the twins after work. You were taking careful steps to the bar to pour yourself another glass of a gross vodka raspberry mixture when you tripped on the edge of one of Sylus’s extremely expensive rugs. Your feet pedalled forward in an attempt to keep you upright, and you clashed right into Sylus who was innocently scrolling through his phone on the wall next to the bar. 

You could recall the fear you felt vividly. You almost felt the same wedge lodged in your throat. Sylus quickly removed you from him, steadying you with his cold palms on your shoulders (an action that made you blush like a schoolgirl) before verbally deeming you cut-off from all liquor from the night.

That was the full extent of all physical contact you’d had with Sylus in two whole years, meanwhile it took Miss Hunter less than 24-hours before he was holding her hand. God, you hated her.

“Oi, Y/N, we’re using the company card for lunch today.” Luke quickly yelled out to you from the hallway, too engrossed in your self-loathing and plain old regular loathing, you forgot to remind Luke that they only had $40 left on their weekly lunch budget. 

Knowing the twins, they wouldn’t have cared anyway, creating yet another problem you had to fix.

Looking at the excel sheet that contained this month’s trial balance, you shivered at the thought of having to deal with Sylus’s wrath at yet another monthly increase in expenses. So, you shifted the remaining balance on your lunch budget, a generous $255, into the twin’s joint account. It was only Thursday morning, and they’d managed to max-out their $1000 budget. 

You hated them too.

You looked through your drawer in hopes you had a leftover snack that could sadly double as your lunch and felt a wave of relief at the sight of a protein bar. 

It wasn’t like Sylus didn’t pay you enough to afford your own lunch, in fact he was the most generous employer you’d ever had. But the only thing bigger than his bank account was corporate greed, and the blood-sucking heathens at Akso hospital were milking you dry.

Life in the N109 Zone wasn’t easy for most people, especially your mother who raised you all on her own after your father left. She worked 3 jobs to put you through university in Linkon, so the least you could do was use every last cent you made on ensuring she had the best medical treatment money could buy. 

Your mother had a bad heart ever since she was born, it was a hereditary condition that would sometimes skip a generation only to show up in the next. She had an atrial septal defect, or in another words, a hole in her heart. You were born with one too, although yours was much smaller. She’d undergone several surgeries to repair the hole, but it reopened, and now the scar tissue surrounding the surgical site was obstructing her arteries. She was now on bypass patiently awaiting a heart transplant you couldn’t quite afford, but you’d make it happen. You were sure of it. 

With half the protein bar in your mouth, you began to call Dr Zayne, the cardiovascular surgeon who was overseeing your mother’s care. You called him for updates on your mother and the transplant list every day, since a train ticket to Linkon was too big an expense to justify, you’d settle for Dr Zayne’s cold recollections of your mother’s heart function. 

“Ah, Miss L/N, I was beginning to think you weren’t going to call today.” The dead-pan sarcasm dripped from his tone. 

“Your bedside manner needs serious work.” You bit back. You weren’t sure when or how your relationship with your mother’s doctor turned so hostile, but you figured the busy chief of surgery was annoyed by your constant calls. 

“Need I remind you, Y/N, you’re not the patient.” 

“There isn’t a waking second I’m not thinking about the patient, Dr Zayne.” 

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air at your confession. You didn’t mean to make him feel guilty, in all honesty, you looked forward to the banter before the updates on your mom, it helped ease the nerves. 

“Do you want to see her?”

“Of course, but I’m working a lot.”

“No, I mean right now.”

“Are you finally letting me borrow the hospital helicopter?”

“No, but I will let you borrow my phone so you can FaceTime her.”

His kind offer caught you off guard. “Really?!”

“Sure, you caught me in a rare moment where I don’t have someplace to be.”

“It must be Christmas.”

“Rarer than Christmas. Think solar eclipse.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Now give me my mother.”

Zayne kept his promise, and you spoke to your mother for your entire lunch break, and then some. You would’ve continued talking to her until the sunset if not for Sylus’s interruption. 

“I don’t pay you to FaceTime your friends, Y/N.”

“Sorry, I have to go. Talk to you later. I love you!” Your mother rasped out that she loved you too before you quickly hung up the phone. 

“Sorry.” Your apology fell on deaf ears as Sylus took slow, deliberate steps toward your desk. 

“Do you hate this job?” Sylus’s asked this deceivingly innocuous question while sliding a finger across the mahogany tabletop. 

“Um… no?” You placed your hands in your lap as you answered to hide the slight tremor. 

“You sound unsure.” 

“I like this job very much.” You made the declaration with as much confidence as you could muster. Your mood was already depleted from seeing your mother’s sick face for the first time in months. She wasn’t looking any healthier, and Zayne told you she’d barely moved up the list. 

107. There were 107 people who’s lives were more important than the woman who raised you. You were well aware that wasn’t the way they calculated the metric, but it didn’t make the number hurt any less. 

Sylus let out an sigh that suggested whatever he’d say next was a much tamer version of what he truly wanted to say. “Then I’d suggest you start acting like it. Remember, sweetheart, everyone’s replaceable. Especially you.” 

His comment stung like antiseptic on an open wound, though you were sure that was his intention. 

“Right. Of course. I won’t let you down.” 

“For your sake, I hope not. The twins told me they went to that seafood buffet for lunch, you haven’t let them go over the budget again, have you?” 

You quickly pulled up the online banking account connected to the company card. You saw the $189.95 charge for the seafood buffet and swallowed the lump in your throat. 

“Nope, it’s all dandy.” You gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. He noticed. 

“Good. You wire that money like I asked?” The venom in his tone alleviated, and you were glad at least one thing seemed to have worked out for you that day. 

But alas, your joy was short-lived.

“Yes, an hour ago, but it’s still processing until you put in your access code.” You moved away from the computer to give him room to step around and put in the code like he usually did. However, his feet never moved from their position in front of your desk.

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” Just like that, his voice was all venom again. 

You were beginning to grow agitated with his misplaced anger constantly being taken out on you. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, he’d tear into you like a bear would a boxing bag and then act like everything was fine the next day. You never got an apology, you knew not to expect one. 

But lately these fits of unbridled rage came about more often than not, and Sylus took a shovel to your mole hill of resolve every time. 

“I always need your access code on transfers over $500,000. I’ve never told you before, I just assumed—” 

“Are you stupid?” You didn’t bother answering the mean rhetorical question. “What about this transaction seemed usual to you? Did I not convey my urgency effectively earlier? Or are there rocks where your brain should be?” His voice never went up in volume, but you could tell he was angry. Livid even. Seething with fury at your supposed incompetence. 

Your eyes welled up with tears at his outburst. Normally you could take whatever insults he’d throw at you with little outward reaction, but you were particularly sensitive from the sandwich-shaped hole in your stomach, and the maternal hole in your heart which ached every second, reminding you of the much bigger one your mother bore.

Before you could stop it, a tear rolled down your cheek, and the second you registered the sensation you quickly went to wipe it. 

“Stop crying.” Sylus ordered.

“I’m not—crying.” Your voice betrayed you, a hitch in your throat interrupting the sentence. The tears began to stream down faster, so fast your hands couldn’t keep up. 

You prepared yourself for a speech about how weak you were, how he wouldn’t tolerate such inane shows of infirmity. But all Sylus did was watch as you embarrassingly tried to pull yourself together. 

You weren’t sure how much time passed before Sylus moved next to you, hunching down to input his code into the transaction. His eyes glanced at the second monitor, displaying the company card’s account, and he zeroed in at the twin’s charge, and your lack thereof.

“Did you have lunch?” Sylus’s voice was softer, you attributed that to the fact that he was inches away from you. The question was so out of left-field it actually caused your tears to cease. 

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t use the card.” Your eyes followed his to the bank statement and you let out a sigh of relief. 

“Oh, I had some extra cash on me I wanted to get rid of.”

“You’re supposed to use the card, Y/N. That’s what it’s for.”

“It’s fine, I’ll have an extra big lunch tomorrow. Granted you’re not firing me?” You were only half-joking, but you could’ve sworn you saw the corners of his lips perk up in an almost-smile before he shut it straight down. 

“I won’t fire you if you tell me what’s got you this upset? I’m not so proud as to assume it was me.” It was that moment you realised Sylus was capable of feeling empathy. He was aware of how hurtful he was being all those times he’d berate you over the smallest inconveniences for virtually no reason, and he simply didn’t care. 

It was far worse to know that he did possess empathy, but chose not to extend it to you. 

“It’s just that time of the month.” You lied, convincingly. You’d mull over your blatant betrayal to feminism later, but for now you needed a means of shutting this inquiry down and quickly. You didn’t want anyone knowing about your mom, you were sure the pity would destroy you. She wasn’t going to die, and you didn’t want people to treat you like she might. 

Sylus waited for the transfer to clear before he left. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when the door closed behind him.

“Are you sure we only have $105 on our lunch budget.” Luke’s question grated on your frayed nerves.

“$105 and five cents.” Your distinction didn’t do much help. 

“Come on, can’t you do your weird accounty magic and make more appear? We want steak.” Kiernan’s plea wasn’t helping either. You’d exhausted every last option, anything else would definitely cause alarms when Sylus eventually reviewed the accounts. 

“I already did all I could, I gave you an extra $255!” And a fat good that did you, now you were hungry and annoyed.

“Well, we both know there’s plenty more where that came from.”

There really wasn’t, but you didn’t tell them that. 

“I’m sorry, $105 is all you’ve got.” 

“Fine. But we’re very unhappy with you, Y/N. Very unhappy.” Luke chastised you, but you couldn’t even pretend to care. 

“Better you than Sylus, now please leave.” The twins opened their mouths with a retort, but a domineering voice interrupted them. 

“You heard her. Beat it and stop bothering my accountant.” 

The twins scurried at the sound of Sylus’s voice, and you wondered how much of that conversation he overheard.

“So, where did that extra $255 come from, Y/N?”

Too much of the conversation. Way too much. 

“My budget.” You cut your losses and told him the truth. Any other answer would have surely pissed him off. 

“I give you $300 for the whole week. Your sandwich costs $15. Either you haven’t been eating, or you've been paying out of your own pocket against my orders. Which is it?” 

Well, that was a lose-lose situation if there ever was one. You didn’t want to deal with the questions about why you were skipping meals, so you lied again. You always were an exceptional liar, your mother taught you that the less people knew about you, the less they had to hurt you with.

“I made too much food for dinner so I had leftovers. It’s no biggie.” You didn’t even look up from your screen as the lie left your lips. 

“What leftovers?” He asked. 

“Pasta.” You answered. 

“What kind?”

“Alfredo.”

“With mushrooms?”

“Yeah.”

“You hate mushrooms.” 

Shit. Why did he know that?

“I had a change of heart.”

“You’re lying.”

You bit your lip in worry, wondering how you were going to get yourself out of this one.

You stalled as much as you could, pretending to be engrossed in something on your screen, until the sound of Sylus’s phone ringing broke the tension. 

You internally thanked every deity that could possibly be watching over you as he took the call, and prayed to all of them that it would be something urgent. 

You heard the faint sounds of a feminine voice through his phone.

“Kitten, where are you?”

Wait, who’s kitten? 

“Just calm down, tell me where you are.” Sylus didn’t even give you a second glance as he quickly stormed out of your office. Leaving you to mull over the intimate pet name, knowing exactly who it was intended for.

As Sylus left the room you reflected on the cacophony your feelings created in your mind. You weren’t sure when you developed such strong feelings for Sylus — or why. His personality was the antithesis of yours. Where he would free fall off of the proverbial cliff of his life without a second thought, every risk you took was meticulously calculated. Where he was rough and respected, you were sort of a pushover. Where his deadpan sense of humour tended to elicit more fear than laughter, you had an awkward habit of cracking jokes in situations they were not appropriate.

You were polar opposites, two parallel lines that were destined never to intertwine. You figured that was why everything hurt so much around him. He wasn’t right for you, but he would be right for someone else. 

The envy you’d carried for so long began to subside for the first time in years. Sylus had an array of estranged lovers that he’d bring around his mansion every once in a while, and now Miss Hunter. But for the first time the reminder of that fact didn’t hurt as much as it usually did. 

It was Mid-September and you warned yourself that if you couldn’t eliminate all the romantic feelings you had for Sylus by the end of Autumn, you’d cut your losses and quit. 

Of course, you’d have to find another job that paid just as well, but you were willing to cross that bridge when it came to it. There was only so much turmoil your fragile heart could take, and if you were dead, your mother would be as good as dead too. 

Happy with your iron-clad plan, you opened up your notes app and began to draft ‘Operation Sylus: No More’. You could change the name later.

Operation Sylus: No More

The foolproof guide of getting rid of all feelings Sylus related by the end of November. 

Step 1: avoid Sylus and all thoughts of him at all costs.

Step 2: no more funny jokes, his laugh is seriously deadly. 

Step 3: force yourself to remember Miss Hunter in moments of weakness. She’s the one he really wants. 

Step 4: try to find love elsewhere, like the corner shop owner, he may be in his 50s and happily married but he’s kind of a silver-fox!

Step 5: do not, under any circumstances, allow yourself to be alone with Sylus for too long.

You looked back at your list, proud of the relatively easy steps to follow. This should be a cakewalk. Whoever said you couldn’t be the master of your own feelings clearly never met you. 

“Boss needs you in his office. He says bring your laptop.” Kiernan’s voice broke your focus. You were almost finished with the end of year report for this financial year, a task Sylus forced you to complete annually. It was meaningless, considering Onychinus wasn’t necessarily a legitimate business listed on the stock exchange, but you took it seriously nonetheless. 

“Okay, I’ll be right there.” You felt Kiernan’s eyes bore into you as you continued to make minor edits to the report. You’d sleep so much better once this 180 page document was out of your life. 

“He needs you now, Y/N. We’re both toast if you make him wait.” You sighed and couldn’t help but roll your eyes at Sylus’s lack of empathy for your large workload. 

You berated your past self for being so eager for this role, completing far too many tasks far too quickly, and setting the precedent that you were some sort of accounting machine. You really should learn to stick to the bare minimum. 

You walked over to the door leading to his office, and gave it a soft rap with your knuckles. The door opened by itself, or rather with the help of Sylus’s evol, to the sight of him leaning back in his chair, with Miss Hunter sitting directly in front of him on his desk.

Step 3 of your guide felt less like a friendly reminder and more like a stab in the gut. Think of corner-shop man. Think of corner-shop man. Think of corner-shop man.

“We don’t have all day, sit down, Y/N.” Sylus’s command woke you from your trance, and you hoped your envy wasn’t as obvious as you thought it was. 

This was the first time you’d seen Miss Hunter up close, and when your eyes travelled to meet hers, she gave you a warm smile. You felt like the shittiest person to exist for ever hating her.

Your eyes scanned the room for somewhere to sit. The chairs opposite his seemed like they would intrude on the intimate moment he was clearly having with Miss Hunter, so you settled on an armchair in the corner that had a coffee table in front of it. 

Sylus sighed and didn’t even bother to ask you to move before he used his evol to whisk you up and deposit your body onto the chair at his table like a rag doll. You hated when he used his evol on you, it felt like the arms of a prickly cactus. 

“In a few minutes, I’ll be getting a phone call from a possible investor. He’s extremely exclusive and known for running tests on his potential partners before agreeing to invest with them. My intel suggests he’s going to propose a joint project, but the numbers he’ll give me will be far off. I need to counter-propose numbers that would generate a high return and quickly, or he’ll hang up and I’ll never hear from him again. So, open up your laptop and prepare, because if you tank this for me, there will no longer be a place for you here. Understood?”

When Sylus did things like that, it made it easier to love him a little less. He could be a complete and utter dick sometimes, and while you’d learned to accept it as a human flaw, recently it seemed more like a permanent predisposition. 

Perhaps Sylus was nice to you because you were entertaining, now that he had someone better to occupy his time, you were nothing more than a forgotten bygone. 

“Yeah, I got it.” You opened up an excel sheet with a project analysis template. These were the types of questions you’d get in your first year accounting courses but you let Sylus think it was much harder than it actually was — just to make him sweat. 

When the phone rang, Sylus’s muscles grew tense and Miss Hunter gave him a comforting squeeze on his shoulder. You bit your lip to hide the sudden scowl on your face. Think of corner-shop man. Think of corner-shop man. Think of corner-shop man.

Your eyes bore into your excel sheet with an intensity that would’ve produced laser beams in an alternate reality. You focused entirely on the calculations, listening intently to the brassy voice of the investor on the phone. 

It didn’t take you long to generate the minimum initial investment they’d need to generate some form of return, as well as the payback period. You wrote the numbers down on a notepad, and you let him do the rest. 

When you heard the investor let out a humorous ‘I’m impressed’ you packed up your laptop and left the room without so much as a wave. You felt Sylus and Miss Hunter’s eyes follow you out of the room, but you didn’t bother looking back.

You felt the thin line between love and hate begin to grow blurry. Where Sylus was concerned, your feelings were as clear as the muddy water in a swamp. Maybe two and a half months was too much time. You needed these feelings gone expeditiously. 

You decided to take your lunch early, and you left the extravagant mansion that doubled as HQ to find your bike. You couldn’t really afford a car, or a license, but your bright yellow bike could do everything a car could for a fraction of the price. You were in the process of strapping up your helmet when Luke walked up. 

“What’s up with you lately?” His question was inevitable. You wondered how long it would take for someone to notice that you were fighting internal battles on every front. Your mother’s health, Sylus’s sudden chronic asshole syndrome flareup, your dwindling bank account. 

“Nothing, I’ve just been tired.”

“Well, we’re having a few friends over tonight. Just a small group, if you’re not too tired, you should come.” Luke was the more sociable twin, and he was most likely extending this invitation to you out of pity, but you’d take anything over being trapped in your own mind. 

“Will there be alcohol?” You quipped.

“Duh.” Luke’s response brought the first genuine smile to your face in weeks. 

“I’ll be there.” After your agreement, you cycled away toward the corner shop for lunch.

It was a quaint bakery/deli run by a Turkish man who you knew on a first name basis. He was aged-like-fine-wine handsome. Features weathered tastefully by age, with a full head of hair that quelled your fears of your future children inheriting the early onset male pattern baldness gene. 

But when you entered the store and saw Mr Demir, there were no butterflies. Your heart didn’t skip a beat. Your hands didn’t even quiver as you paid for the sandwich. In fact, they were so steady you figured you could give Dr Zayne a run for his money. 

Speaking of Dr Zayne, his daily updates were growing scarcer in detail, and you were worried that something was wrong. He insisted he was just busy and since your mother had moved up to 93 on the transplant list, you let it slide. 

“You know you’re allowed to try the other sandwiches, right?” Mr Demir’s handsome face contorted into a teasing smile, and if he didn’t own this shop with his beautiful wife, you might’ve asked him to marry you then and there. 

“I like this one. Your family is very talented.” You smiled at him, but it seemed even he could tell that it wasn’t genuine.

“You’re getting skinnier you know, and you haven’t been coming as often. Is something wrong or are you cheating on me with a salad store?” His joke brought a giggle out of you. 

You never thought that people noticed you in a way that was significant. You felt as if you were akin to a missing bird poster on a telephone pole in the middle of a busy street. People would glance at it, remember how common and undistinguishable birds are, and forget it ever existed.

Mr Demir’s concern warmed your heart, and you promised that if you ever won the lottery, you would give him half. 

“I’ve just been cooking more, that’s all. Thank you Mr Demir, say hello to your wife for me!” You gave him a small wave as you exited the shop and the weight suffocating your chest was a little lighter.

Mr Demir’s family had boundless love to share, and while their shop was small, they were happy. Maybe things would work out for you and your mother after all. 

The rest of the workday passed by like a fever dream. You finally managed to complete the annual report, a copy of it sitting in Sylus’s email, surely unopened. He left soon after that phone call with Miss Hunter, you didn’t bother to ask where.

The mansion was empty when you turned off the last monitor, and you thought you’d start pre-gaming early. Sylus always warned all of you that his bar was off-limits unless he stated otherwise, but the man had so much alcohol, you doubted he’d ever notice. 

He only drank red wine and whiskey, and you hated wine, so you settled for an almost full bottle of whiskey. You took one sip and realised you couldn’t stand the taste either, but it was still better than the wine, so you chugged glass after glass like they were shots. 

The heavy alcohol burned your throat on the way down and continued to burn in your stomach, but the feeling kept you warm so you didn’t really mind. You’d consumed half the bottle by the time the twins returned with two other men and one girl following in suit.  

“Y/N! Good, you’re here. Help me set up the drinks on the table.” You nodded your head at Luke’s request, knowing your speech would likely be slurred. 

You helped him line up the bottles of cheap tequila, vodka, fireball and a fear-inducing amount of absinthe. These cheap spirits were much more your speed.

“Alright, we’re starting with truth or dare. Pick your poison and sit around the coffee table.” Kiernan’s announcement had everyone scattering around the coffee table with cups in hand. You opted for the fireball, too scared to mix alcohol this early in the night. 

You recognised everyone from another one of the twin’s impromptu parties. They only ever threw them when they were sure Sylus would be gone overnight. You didn’t let yourself dwell on where he was or who he was with. 

The game was more entertaining than you expected, everyone had interesting questions, and when it came to dares, the twins always had something sadistic in mind. 

It was your turn when they decided to up the stakes. You were already wasted, so you committed to answering whatever question they pummelled at you. 

“Truth.”

“You’re so boring, you always pick truth.” Luke whined, his arm shaking yours in protest.

“That’s because I’m scared of your dares.”

Luke rolled his eyes but conceded.

“Fine. How many people have you slept with?”

All conversations came to a stifling halt as everyone’s eyes landed on you. Far too embarrassed to tell 5 people you barely knew that you were still a virgin, you changed your answer. There was nothing to be ashamed of, but you knew the twins would mercilessly make fun of you, and you didn't have the energy to explain that between the constant pressure to succeed for your mother, and her eventual illness, your love life had been placed on the back-burner.

“Dare.”

“You know the rules, if you switch options and refuse to do it, you have to finish everyone’s drinks.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hit me.” You glared at Luke with determination. You should’ve known that when everyone was this drunk, the dares could only get progressively more outrageous.

“I dare you to call Sylus and tell him you crashed his McLaren.” Luke looked proud of his dare, and the smile dropped from your face instantly. 

Even Kiernan’s eyes flashed with concern before he broke out into an obnoxious laugh.

“Oh- Holy shit! That’s gold.” The words left Kieran’s mouth in-between his laughter. Everyone around the table looked at you eagerly.

You knew if you finished off everyone’s cups you’d definitely die, or worse, throw up. 

“Fine.” Too drunk to realise the implications of what you were doing, you dialled Sylus. There was also the chance he just didn’t pick up, but four and a half rings later his annoyed voice resounded through the speaker of your phone. 

“What is it?” From the sound of Sylus’s tone, you’d interrupted something important. You bit down the bitter feelings that threatened to spill out, and stuck to the objective.

“I have something to tell you, but you have to promise you won’t get mad.” There was no universe in which Sylus couldn’t tell you were drunk.

In all honesty, your phone call was a welcome reprieve from his mind-numbingly boring conversation with Linkon’s politicians. He’d offered to attend this event with MC with little thought as to what it would pertain. His eyes raked over her baby pink dress, and since he couldn’t get her out of it just yet, he entertained your drunk rambling.

“I don’t have to do anything.” Sylus expected you to apologise, but all he heard was a sound foreign to him. Were you laughing? Sylus heard indecipherable voices in the background, and he found himself wondering who was making you laugh. 

“True. Okay well, you know that dark grey sports car you love soooooooooooo much?” Nice going, Y/N, remind him just how much he loves this car. You thought. The phone was on speaker, per the requests of the fellow attendees. 

Everyone bit back laughs at the situation which was extremely unfunny to anyone with a blood alcohol level under 0.05. 

“What did you do?” Sylus’s question had a deadly underpinning, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“I crashed it!” At your exclamation, the room exploded in laughter, and you muted the microphone quickly before Sylus could hear it.

“You crashed it?”

You quickly unmuted to add. “Yup! Absolutely totalled.”

“Are you okay? Where are you? I’m coming.” 

The laughter immediately died down. That was not how he was supposed to react, not at all. 

Luke and Kiernan gestured for you to shut it down and you quickly began to backtrack.

“No! No you don’t have to come home. I’m fine. It was just a prank.”

“Oh, so you’re at my place?” ShitShitShitShitShit.

“Yes… The twins and I had too much to drink and we thought it would be funny to prank you. I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have interrupted your night.”

You braced yourself for the angry lecture on how Sylus’s time was more valuable the rarest ruby, but it never came.

“Just you and the twins, right?”

Luke and Kiernan gestured for you to agree.

“Yes.”

“You should probably call an exorcist.” Were you drunk or did he actually just tell you to call an exorcist?

“Huh?” Everyone in the room looked just as perplexed.

“You know, since those three other people in my living room must be apparitions.” 

“You didn’t rig the camera?” Kiernan’s shrill scream was definitely registered by the phone’s mic. 

“Fuck! I forgot.” Luke exclaimed in response as they scrambled to pack everything up. 

“Um…” With everyone frantically running around the room, you were left to deal with Sylus’s wrath alone.

“How come you never laugh when you’re with me?” And with that question you were convinced the alcohol had induced auditory hallucinations.

“You’re not very funny.” You decided to play along, after all, imaginary Sylus was much more fun than the real one.

“Hmm, I thought I was.”

“Nope. All your jokes end in someone dying, and usually that someone is me.”

“Oh, sweetheart, those aren’t jokes.” That was something real Sylus would say. Damn, these auditory hallucinations were realistic.

“I know, I really thought you were going to kill me last week.” You let out an involuntary snort at the hilarious image of your head on a pike. 

“Why’s that?”

“Because I screwed up that wire transfer to Miss Hunter. You were soooo mad. You must reaaaalllyyyy like her.”

“I guess I do.” The line went quiet on both ends after that. 

This auditory hallucination was no fun following his confession, so you hung up. Sylus called a few times after, but you never noticed. The room began spinning and your eyes began watering, so you curled up on the floor until your head stopped pounding, but by then you were fast asleep.

Sylus returned to his mansion the next morning to find your office empty. It was still an hour before you were due to start, but you were always early. 

With an internal promise to check again in an hour, he walked toward the living room. It didn’t take long before he noticed a mop of light brown hair on his rug.

He walked toward your sleeping form with indignation, only to find every ounce of anger sucked out of him when he knelt down to find your sleeping face. 

He hadn’t been that close to you in what felt like forever. Was your face always that pale? His eyes caressed your under eye bags, and your hollow cheeks. He could’ve sworn they were fuller when he hired you. What happened to you? 

Before Sylus could give in to the urge to wake you up and ask, your phone made a sound from the coffee table. He picked it up and saw you were getting a call from Zayne.

Who the fuck was Zayne?

He answered the phone before he could think it through.

“Oh, Y/N, good. I’ve been trying to reach you since last night.”

“You should’ve taken the hint.” Sylus couldn’t help the bite in his tone. He wasn’t sure why he was so angry at this Zayne, but his emotions were beginning to confuse him more often than he cared to admit.

“Who’s this?”

Sylus could’ve said that he was your boss. He should’ve said that he was your boss. But what he said instead…

“Y/N’s mine.” His employee, but that distinction didn’t seem necessary in the moment.

“Well, could you tell her to call me back as soon as possible. I have urgent news about her mother.”

The comment about her mother perplexed Sylus even more. 

“Who are you?”

“I’m her mother’s heart surgeon. I have to go, have her call me soon.” Sylus felt stupid for the unnecessary show of hostility, but he only had more questions following Zayne’s answer.

It seemed the conversation was enough to wake you up from your slumber, and the moment you registered your surroundings, the headache you had was amplified tenfold. Your muscles hurt from sleeping on the hard floor, and you were sure your legs had morphed into jelly. 

You were never drinking again.

“Well hello, sleeping beauty.” Sylus watched as you groggily rubbed your eyes. The right side of your face had an indent matching the pattern of his rug, and your hair was dishevelled. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“Sylus. I’m so sorry.” You spoke through a yawn before cradling your head in your hands. The world needed to stop spinning.

Sylus shoved an open bottle of water in your face, and you greedily snatched the peace offering before he had time to change his mind.

“Zayne called, said he had some news about your mother.”

You shot straight up, spilling some water in the process.

“What did he say? Where’s my phone?” You glanced at large Sylus’s hand which was wrapped around said phone. If you weren’t so worried about your mother, you might’ve found the sight of Sylus holding something covered in a floral case amusing. Powering through the piercing pain in your temple, you held your hand out.

“Please give it back.” 

“What’s wrong with your mother?”

“Please Sylus, I can’t do this right now.” You tried to lunge for the phone, but he was faster. Raising his hand above his head and well out of your reach. 

“You’ll have this back once you answer my question.”

“She has the flu. Now give it back.” You jumped up in a feeble attempt to retrieve the phone, but he was just so goddamn tall. 

“I didn’t know flu treatment protocol involved heart surgery now. Guess I need to brush up on the latest medical news.” His sardonic tone made you scoff. Only Sylus could be such a dick while your mother's life was in limbo.

Curse Dr Zayne and his blabbermouth. 

If it wasn’t for the severe hangover, you might’ve been able to think of an explanation. But you were so nervous you felt sick and you needed to know the news Dr Zayne had.

“Fine. She needs a heart transplant, she’s on coronary bypass and if she doesn’t get a heart soon she’ll die. Is that good enough for you?” You continued to try to reach the phone, not bothering to check Sylus’s reaction to your confession. 

He dropped the phone in your hand and you all but sprinted out of the living room to make the phone call.

The line rang once, twice, three times before Zayne picked up.

“Y/N?”

“Yes! What’s wrong? Is my mom okay? Tell me she’s okay.”

“Slow down, she’s alive, but she had a cardiac event. Not a heart attack, but it still did some damage. Her condition is worse, much worse, Y/N. I’m sorry.” 

Your back slumped against the wall of the hallway and you felt your knees give in as you slid to the floor. 

“How long does she have?” The tears streaming down your face fell onto your shirt, leaving uncomfortable wet spots in their wake.

“A few weeks, a month’s top. But this did move her to the top of the list. She might get a transplant in time.” Zayne must have heard the sadness in your voice if he’d offered words of encouragement. He never did that. 

“Thank you. I’m going to come see her.”

“I’ll get the nurses to bring in an extra bed. I’ll see you soon, Y/N.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond so you hung up instead. The pain in your head was now but a mere memory as your heart began to splinter into a million little pieces. 

There was so much you still had to do. You needed to buy your mom her first ever house, and help her plant the prettiest flowers in the garden. You had to get her the dog she always dreamed about and the outdoor swing she missed from her childhood home. She still had to walk you down the aisle and sing your future children the lullabies she sang to you. She couldn’t go. Not yet. 

You didn’t even notice Sylus enter the hallway until you felt him sitting down next to you. He wove an arm behind your head, bringing your face into his chest. The intimacy of the act only made you cry harder. The last person to hold you that close was your mom, a few days before she’d collapsed. 

“It hurts.” You choked on your words and they came out muffled against Sylus’s chest.

“What hurts?” He asked. 

“My heart. It really hurts, Sylus.” You sobbed harder. It felt good to finally admit that you weren’t okay. To have someone hold you as your life fell apart around you. 

“Tell me what to do, Y/N. Anything.”

“Can I have some time off?” You took deep breaths as you tried to slow your crying down. You could break down once you reached the other side of this tumultuous predicament. 

The humble request drove Sylus insane. He’d offer you his own heart to save your mother if he wasn’t sure it was severely damaged, and all you could think to ask for was time off. 

“Of course.”

“Can you give me a ride to Linkon?” 

That request was a little better, but still not enough. 

“I’ll take you now, come on.”

“No wait, I need to go home and pack some things. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“You know you can still get a DUI on a pedal bike, right?”

“I’m not drunk.”

“But there’s still alcohol in your system, and you’re very upset. It won’t be safe, I’ll take you home on the way. Let’s go.” He stood up, his hand outstretched toward you. 

And with a heavy heart, you took Sylus’s hand.

[windyremedy]

stressful shenanigans

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

scenario: your husband’s reaction when your child tells you to “shut up” wasn’t what you expected.

Keitaro Bakugou had always been a troublesome child but not in the way that others might assume. Yes appearance wise he’s practically a carbon copy of his father and yes he’s loud and confident as well but he’s also very much like his mother, mischievous. So when you brought up the idea of pranking his father he was all in.

While you two were plotting, your dear husband was with your youngest and oldest boys. All sat around the living room enjoying each others presence with him reading a book (yes with glasses) and your children playing a co-op video game.

The plan you two came up with was that he would tell you shut up when you nagged him about his chores or something. It was actually your idea to do this one in particular since you saw it circling around TikTok awhile ago. So he shouldn’t know about the trend but then again he wouldn’t have known anyways since he doesn’t really use the app. Kei was a lot more hesitant in executing this plan not necessarily worried about his dad’s reaction but more so on how you’d feel. But after you explained to him that you know it’s not malicious in any way he agreed.

So to set the scene he stormed out the door, putting more pressure in his steps basically stomping downstairs.

“I SAID I’LL DO IT LATER!!!” he yelled out loud immediately capturing the attention of his brothers and father.

The oldest, Ryuu, looked at him with pure judgement as Kei glared or tried to at your crossed arms figure. Takeshi the youngest had a confused expression, and Katsuki although was astonished at the audacity of Kei’s attitude (as if he wouldn’t have gotten it from him if it’s the case) was mostly wondering why he was shouting at you when out of the three brats he was the most mama’s boy there was.

“Kei I’m telling you to clean your room now.” you said with finality in your tone.

“So what? It’s my room I’ll clean it when I want to.” he groaned turning around.

At that Katsuki had already closed his book and stood up ready to intervene.

“You need to listen to me Kei—“

“Can you just shut up already!” he shouts raising his voice in a manner he doesn’t ever typically reach if at all.

Then a deafening silence echoes throughout the usually loud household with Ryuu gripping onto his controller looking like he wanted to knock some sense into his brother and Takeshi’s eyes widening as his mouth hung slightly open at the disrespect being displayed. On the other hand Katsuki seemed to shift to his pro hero mode, serious and unwavering purpose to set things right.

“Keitaro Bakugou I know you did not just shout at your mother like that.” he spoke firmly, devoided of its usual warmth.

He stalked closer to the unmoving boy. “—that’s your room right? well this is our house and if you want to keep living here I suggest you apologize to your mother right now—“

Before he could scold Kei any further you stepped in placing a hand around his abdomen.

“Wait! wait— Kats he’s just joking, we’re just joking.” you intervened now fully hugging his side as your accomplice gives him a nervous grin.

Ever so clever Katsuki immediately connected the dots, just exasperated at both your antics.

“You two are gonna be the death of me.” returning your hug and affectionally grabbing Kei around the neck to join.

“I should’ve known, Kei’s bad at acting.” Ryuu mentions from behind as Takeshi nods in agreement.

“Yeah, he’s also bad at Minecraft.”

Having heard that Kei threw his head up from his parents arms, trying to defend himself while recoinciling with his father.

“The creeper crept up on me!”

“Oh really? I wouldn’t have guessed.” Ryuu sarcastically answered.

As the three kids continued to argue or well— two oldest as the youngest one encourages the feud. Bakugou broke off from the hug and put Kei with the other two on the couch. Noticing their father’s disapproval at their little quarrel they quieted down.

“You three should know better than to argue with us infront of you. As punishment you’re gonna go to your grandparents tonight.”

The trio blinked up at him in confusion. They’d always argue at times even when you two were around and never got this so called penalty.

“How is that a punishment?” Kei asked in genuine perplexity.

“Well it ain’t really so much for you, m’ just gonna have a long talk with your mother tonight. Can’t have her encouraging this kinda behavior.” he fauxed a grave appearance as he glanced at you with a different intention unknown to the boys.

Oh you were in for it now.

You are so fucked.

©windyremedy

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

I'm still here. Thank you for giving me that chance.

Part seven of The Rain series

Synopsis: Ortho and Idia come to visit the Prefect in the infirmary after the collapse of Ramshackle.

TW: The aftermath of Ramshackle collapsing on The Prefect, Idia cries, Mentions of Ace and Deuce finding out The Prefect was injured after their visits, The Prefect is injured after Ortho's too but he doesn't find out, Mentions of Ortho's death and how Idia reacted, Idia doesn't take the news of your injury well (dw, he gets comfort)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7 (here), Part 8, Part 9, Part 10 (coming soon), . . .

Ortho visited next. Somehow, despite him being made of metal and him having no mouth, it looked as though he was frowning.

He approached you slowly as if you were a wounded animal or a fragile piece of cracked glass that could shatter at the slightest gust of air.

"Your vital signs are steady." were the first words that left his speaker.

"Good to know." you reply, giving him a small smile. The bandages on your lower jaw had been reduced to less bulky versions and your mouth was now more visible. It certainly made talking easier and less of a strain on your jaw muscles.

"Big brother called STYX the moment he confirmed what happened." Ortho spoke up again.

"I was curious" you mumble, pausing for a moment to grab your drink. Ortho stopped you. You could tell he heard about your backtracking in the healing process after your visits with Ace and Deuce and how it left you with a ban (courtesy of Crewel) on bending your arms that far as not to reopen your wounds. He lifted the cup himself and helped you drink it.

"Thank you." you softly clear your throat before continuing: "How did you know to call STYX?" You refrain from asking about the fact it was Idia, the guy who would rather bite his own tongue off than answer a call, who made the call and not Ortho.

"Suspiciously frantic movements were detected on the school's security cameras. Big brother was originally going to ignore it, but then he noticed that the movement was the teachers, and they were running directly toward Ramshackle. There were no working cameras that could see to Ramshackle, I was charging, and it was too rainy to send out a drone, so. . ."

"Idia did something with 'questionable legality' again, didn't he?"

"It was for a good cause!" Ortho immediately defends. "He. . .he may or may not have tapped into professor Crewel's phone call with Leona Kighscholar to figure out what was going on, but if he didn't-"

You cut Ortho's rambling off by slightly raising a bandaged hand; "It's okay. I'm thankful he did. I won't tell on him."

Ortho sighs (?) in relief before smiling "Brother is coming to see you tomorrow! It would have been today, but he sent me in first for 'reconnaissance.'"

A laugh bubbles out of your throat, but the moment it leaves your mouth, your wincing in pain. You take in a sharp breath, but that only irritates a stitch in your side.

Ortho flinches and immediately starts scanning you again.

"I'm okay, Ortho." you wince. At his skeptical look, you rephrase "I'll be okay."

Ortho stays for a few more hours, chatting away to you about what has been happening on campus, in your classes, and in Ignihyde.

Before he left, you offered him a hug. He was extremely hesitant. He'd been avoiding sitting on the bed with you or getting too close in fear that his metal body would cause you harm. However, he gives in after a bit of convincing and allows you to wrap him is a gentle hug.

You awaken the next morning with a worse ache than usual in your abdomen. You didn't want to say it at the time as you knew it would tear the poor boy apart, but Ortho had hugged you perhaps a bit more than just a little too tight. You reached down to gently tap the sore spot only to wince in pain. When you pulled your hand back it was stained red. You looked down. Your hand wasn't all that was red.

The time comes for Idia to visit, but there's no sign of him. No knock on the door. No footsteps. No words spoken. It isn't until about 20 minutes after his scheduled time of arrival that you realize there's a blue glow radiating from the crack between the door and the doorframe.

You had had to beg Professor Crewel to allow you to continue with the visits after the little surprise you woke up to this morning. Well, beg may not be the best word. You were told you weren't allowed to speak for the next few days as the largest wound on your abdomen had become much more fragile after it broke open and the movement in your body caused from talking could reopen it. If it opened again. . . .

Anyway, the point was that you were unable to call out for Idia and tell him it was okay to come in. However, at the same time, you had put so much effort into your kicked puppy look to get Crewel to allow Idia's visit today that you weren't willing to let it pass because Idia was too nervous. You considered the bell on your nightstand, but reaching that far was also prohibited by Crewel and the doctors.

To your relief, a quiet knock came from the door at the 30-minute mark. It sounded more like an accidental brush against the door if you were being honest, but that was enough for you. Previously, Idia had no clue that you knew he was there, but with the brush against the door that he knew for a fact that you heard in that deafeningly quiet room, he knew he had to reveal himself.

The door creaked open nauseatingly slow.

When the door was cracked about a foot (≅30.5cm) open you could finally see a hint of glowing blue hair emerge. Just as you were sure his head was about to peak in, the blue disappeared in a flash. The door remained slightly ajar and through that crack came an oh-so-familiar floating tablet. It floated up to you and text appeared on the screen: "Hey."

You glanced between the tablet and your hands resting on your lap a few times as a way of telling it to look at them. When the screen finally shifted to face your splayed-out hands, you began curling fingers into a fist one by one. You were counting down.

Now, logically, Idia knew that in the state you were you couldn't do anything to him. He knew that. . .

Moments later you were sat comfortably (as much as you could be) on your new mattress and sheets, in your newly acquired too thin hospital gown, with an awkward boy in the chair next to your bed.

It was silent for a while before Idia finally spoke "I heard what happened this morning. . . ."

Your eyes widened and you forgot how to breathe for a moment. Last time you got worse as a result of a visit it obviously had to be announced that you'd be taking a break. It wasn't said specifically why, but you were sure there were some who had put two and two together. You didn't even want to imagine what went through Ace and Deuce's mind then. . .. You didn't want the same to happen to Ortho! That's one of the main reasons you wanted to badly to keep the visits going as scheduled.

Seemingly noticing the panic in your eyes, Idia quickly continues: "Ortho doesn't know."

You quickly relax

"I-I uhm. . .I brought you this" Idia mumbles, holding up a handheld gaming console. "Thought it might get boring in here. . .. It has a really long battery life and when it does die, the charging cable is mega long so it'll def be able to reach your bed. I even uploaded the games I knew you liked to play on it plus a few of my favorites."

You smile softly and give a small nod of appreciation.

He sets the console down on the nightstand for now before continuing: "I also got the Professor to agree to let me install a state-of-the-art T.V. made by yours truly to the room. It'll be done by tonight!"

You begin to notice just how much Idia is talking. Sure, he had a tendency to ramble at times, but it's odd behavior for him to be exhibiting after he spent 30 minutes outside the door because he was too nervous to come in.

Before you can think too much about it, something on the nightstand catches your eye.

You cut Idia off by raising your hand a few inches off the bed. The small action makes Idia jump as though you just told him his save data got wiped.

He glances at your face, and you nod to the paper on the nightstand. When he stays frozen, you wave your fingers a fraction to get his tablet to come to your lap where you type into it "Look at the paper."

Idia stares dumbly but complies when he sees you tap the caps lock button.

He takes the carefully folded paper from the nightstand and examines it before opening it up. It's a letter.

Dear Idia,

Ortho told me that you were the one who called STYX for me. I want to thank you for that. I'm grateful for you. Seriously. You saved my life, Idia.

There was more, but he got distracted by a certain sentence.

"You saved my life, Idia."

When Idia first heard what happened, he nearly shattered. His throat tightened and tears began to pour down his face and, before he could even finish processing the information, he was on the phone with STYX frantically pleading that they send their best medical teams over that instant.

Idia's mind was flooded with images of that night. Ortho. The blood. Sevens, there was so much blood.

He tried to save him, he did. He tried so hard!

He put his all into something for the first time, like his actual all, and he failed. He failed himself, but more importantly, he failed his baby brother.

When Idia came back to, he was standing at his workstation staring at the technology he used to build Ortho after. . ..

When he realized what he was doing he knocked the table over. WHAT THE H*LL IDIA! DON'T YOU DARE EVEN THINK ABOUT THAT. THEY'LL MAKE IT. . .they. . .they have to make it.

Idia fell to the ground where he stood and curled up into himself. He stayed like that for. . .well, he doesn't know how long. Ortho had placed piles of water around him in hopes he'd drink it since the crying was no doubt making him dehydrated. Just as Ortho was about to bring in an IV, Idia started moving again, but not much.

It wasn't until the announcement that you were still alive came and that you'd be able to have visitors soon that Idia finally got to work. He may not have been able to save you, but he could at least make your recovery more comfortable.

At least, he thought he hadn't been able to save you. Afterall, Ramshackle fell and he could do nothing about it.

So why. . .why did he start crying when he read those few simple words.

Even if STYX technically did save you after the collapse, he did nothing to prevent it (not that he knew it would fall). And he wasn't the one performing life saving surgery.

It wasn't him.

You pat your lap softly, inviting Idia to lay his head there. It takes a moment for him to do so, but he gently lays his head down, careful to avoid brushing any areas he knows are injured (from reading your medical sheet) or getting too close to your abdomen.

He sobs into your blankets for hours as you gently run your fingers through his hair.

When the time finally comes for him to leave, he drapes his coincidentally freshly washed hoodie over your shoulders (he totally didn't wash one of his already clean spares before he came to see you because he heard that your previous clothes were. . .out of commission and that you had had to put on one of those stupidly cold hospital gowns until you could be gotten new ones).

He tried not to pay attention to the way you smiled so softly at him after he gave you his (best) spare hoodie, or the way your ice-cold hands gently cupped his as he reached down to pick his tablet up from your lap (he immediately grabbed the mittens he saw on your nightstand, made in the familiar style one would see in Harveston, and slid them gently onto your hands).

He opened his tablet later that night hoping to check up on you again through the STYX equipment (that he definitely didn't hack into so he could see how your vital signs were looking) when he noticed something typed into the already opened notes app.

"I won't leave, Idia. I'll fight with all my might to keep my heart beating, so don't worry."

When he read that the tears started all over again.

And again, those words rang through his head: "You saved my life, Idia."

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[crookedfandomquill]

This is very situational, and sadly may not be realistic for everyone, but I need y’all to understand that a very important part of political activism is fucking talking to your conservative or moderate friends and family.

My dad voted for Trump in 2016. He’s a middle class white evangelical from Arkansas. He raised me with conservative Christian values, just like his parents raised him. When he voted Trump, he was holding his nose, but he didn’t feel too bad about it, and went on to vote red down the ticket in the 2018 midterms, as well.

But I started college in 2017. Higher education and independence changed everything for me, and I went home over holidays and summers with fire in my belly and a thousand arguments ready at the drop of a hat, to my father’s dismay.

I remember crying in my room after emotional, intense arguments with him. I told him over and over that I felt betrayed by his choice to vote for a man who admitted to sexually assaulting women, who built his platform on dehumanizing immigrants and the disabled, who spread overtly-racist rhetoric, who flouted the values of kindness and self-discipline that I’d been raised on. And my dad always had some justification about the “greater good”: fighting against abortion, bolstering the economy, getting other Christian politicians into office.

But over time, as we grew further apart and I lost my will to discuss anything with him at all, he softened. He started asking me why I thought the way I did about the things we disagreed about. He would listen to my answers without interruption, and mull them over afterward instead of expressing his own opinion. And all the while, he watched the Trump presidency become cruel and absurd and devastating.

The first time he openly expressed regret to me, I had come home for a weekend after Kavanaugh was confirmed to SCOTUS. My dad realized he had helped elect a man who preyed on women… and that man had opened the door to more predators. I can’t tell you what it felt like for him to admit that he’d made a mistake, not just in voting for Trump but in defending him for so long. We kept arguing, but it was more debating than fighting. I knew he was capable of seeing my side of things, even if it took a while, and he knew I wasn’t just a sensitive college student with shallow new ideas about the world.

And then 2020 hit. Specifically, George Floyd was murdered, and the events that followed played out on the national stage. My dad was incredibly shaken by it. He asked me if I had any books from college about racial issues. I loaned him The New Jim Crow, one of the required readings for my Race and the Law class. Then I gave him Just Mercy. Then he watched the documentary 13th. Then he joined a racial harmony group he learned about through one of the few Black families at our church and insisted our whole family come. He held up signs at a protest against Confederate monuments in our conservative southern town. In three years, he went from defending Trump’s comments about “Black-on-Black crime” to publicly advocating for racial justice and opposing the death penalty.

We went together to vote in the 2020 primaries. I couldn’t help asking who he’d voted for; I didn’t even know if he’d asked for the Republican or Democratic ticket. He admitted he’d voted for Bernie. fucking. Sanders, then made me promise not to tell my grandma he’d voted liberal. When the election rolled around in November, he voted Biden. I’m sure he held his nose to do it, just like he held his nose voting in 2016. But I know he doesn’t regret it.

I am, of course, unbelievably lucky to have a parent who loved me enough, and was empathetic enough, to choose his relationship with me over his strongly-held opinions. He kept searching for truth because, as much as he’ll deny it, he’s a very smart and curious person. No degree of intelligence or curiosity makes you immune to propaganda, especially if you were raised not to question the party line. It’s easy to dismiss our conservative, conspiracy-pilled loved ones as stupid, hypocritical, and cruel. Sometimes they are. But sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes they will bend to keep their relationships from breaking. Sometimes, if they can be made to understand that their beliefs and actions are harming someone they love, they will make concessions. And sometimes they just need one person in their life to put a foot down, to be vulnerable and assertive and argumentative, to bring the impact of their politics close to home.

As the most important election of our lifetimes approaches, do not put peace over progress. If you have someone like my dad, someone who is good-willed and smart and loves you more than their own opinions, tell them how you feel. Tell them what their choices will mean for you, for your friends, for your community. Tell them what they could lose: your trust, your affection, your respect. Don’t avoid conflict if it could be productive. Because my conflict with my dad didn’t just win him over–it won over my moderate mom and one of my conservative brothers. And it put us in community with other like-minded people and led my parents to a healthier and kinder faith.

All of this to say, there is hope in conflict. There is hope in our relationships with people who think differently from us. There is hope in exposing your fear and anger and pain to people you love. And hope is a form of activism.

[coralaura]

Primadonna

"You say that I'm kinda difficult”

Your father was never a present figure; sometimes, he would see you, give you a pat on the head, and disappear into the darkness of the mansion.

In reality, he vanished for the entire day, especially when the sun set, and the moon greeted the sky. Like all the other inhabitants of the mansion, nighttime was when you were left alone and could wander without anyone noticing or caring.

Every now and then, you’d see Alfred, but he, too, would soon disappear. It didn’t bother you; in fact, it gave you free time, allowing you to take late modeling jobs without anyone asking the typical questions: “Why are you coming home so late?” or “What were you doing outside so late?”

Sometimes, you went out with friends (if you could call them that people you used and who defended you when someone doubted your innocence). Rarely, you stayed in the enormous mansion, but honestly, you didn’t care where you were.

And it wasn’t like they cared about what you did or where you were, so maybe that’s why you didn’t care when Dick left the mansion. When Jason arrived—his unwanted presence and lack of manners—it was annoying, especially when he dared to compare his mother to yours. How dare he compare the two?! Despite that insult, spoken right to your face, you simply smiled. But inside, you were about to beat him senseless, to put that fool in his place for comparing your beloved mother to his and when he died, you cried at the funeral, pretending to be in pain, mourning the loss of a life.

But deep down, you felt nothing for him. Sure, his death was gruesome and ruthless, but it wasn’t like you felt anything beyond antipathy for the poor devil in the coffin. When Tim arrived at the mansion, you couldn’t have cared less. After all, you would only see him for a few weeks before heading off to university, so your interactions were minimal, barely enough to count on one hand.

Alfred saw you off with a smile, though there was a hint of sadness in it. He didn’t try to stop you or convince you not to move out; in fact, he encouraged you to pursue your career, as long as you sent some sign of life a letter or a text message. But let’s be honest, student life was expensive, and as a model, you made little money for just a few hours of work. So, when you had to choose between your studies and a full-time modeling career, the choice was obvious you went with the long-term option and pursued your modeling career. No one was supposed to know. You’d write to Alfred, telling him you were still studying, just to keep him from worrying.

In reality, you could have been in Metropolis, about to step into a photoshoot. But of course, things couldn’t stay perfect forever. Some idiot spotted you and then compared you to Bruce Wayne. And for the first time in years, people seemed to have more than two brain cells because the question immediately popped up all over the internet:

"Is it just me, or do Bruce Wayne and Y/N look alike?"

And unfortunately, they attached your image right next to that billionaire’s. To say that the media explosion and the interview requests for both you and Bruce were the worst possible thing that could happen was an understatement. As headlines and news reports flooded in, you bit your nails in frustration, enraged by your inability to control the situation.

So, when they asked about your parents or if you were a poor orphan, you responded with a warm smile—though deep inside, you were disgusted that you couldn’t just avoid answering or shut those nosy reporters down.

"I have no parents."

Most people, moved by your kind smile and the false tears welling in your eyes, dropped the subject and moved on with their lives. But the press always loved fresh, juicy gossip, especially when it involved Bruce Wayne.

Since your father didn’t comment or give an interview, part of you assumed he either didn’t care or considered it a minor issue his PR team could handle. For a moment, you thought you had dodged this problem. Until you saw him in the middle of a photoshoot—waiting for you to finish so he could talk to you. And, of course, right behind him was his family… or rather, his walking orphanage.

Alfred believed in you. He loved you like a father loves his child. You were practically the normal kid he had always wished Bruce could be so sweet, so innocent. But when he saw your face in the morning paper, next to your father’s, with the full story laid out, for the first time… he felt disappointed in you.

Why would you hide something like this?

Did you not trust him?...

It hurt him, but deep down, he knew you must have had a reason for keeping your modeling career a secret. Maybe his thoughts consumed him for too long because Damian’s voice pulled him back to reality.

“What are you reading, Pennyworth?"

“It seems the press has discovered the connection between Master Bruce and Master Y/N.”

Damian frowned in confusion. He had never heard of you. Taking the newspaper from Alfred’s hands, he scanned the headline and the full story, noting your features and how similar you looked to his father. The picture they used of you was… bold, striking. He wondered if you were really family, but Alfred had called you "Master Y/N," so you must have been. Damian didn’t waste time.

He stormed to his father, slamming the newspaper onto his desk, demanding answers. Bruce raised an eyebrow at his behavior until he read the headline and saw your picture. The only thing Bruce thought in that moment was how much you had grown.

How tall were you now?

He picked up the paper, reading the article, noticing how you denied any connection to him or his family. He didn’t understand.

Had he done something to make you reject him?

Thinking about it left a bitter taste in his mouth. The more he read, the more that bitterness spread.

“Who are them, Father?”

Finally, Damian asked. The answer was simple yet so complicated. You were his child, his firstborn, and yet he had no idea how to be a proper father. He had never seen you in the mansion, maybe because he never had time, maybe because he felt guilty, knowing he could never raise a normal child. He could only raise someone to become a vigilante.

"They are your siblings."

And that was the beginning of the end of your modeling career. Because, in the end, it was only natural for your father to crave control, both as Bruce and as Batman. It was something you had inherited from him.

When you saw your father there, standing in the middle of your shoot, clearly annoyed that you had noticed him and yet continued with your session, you knew he would eventually step in. Still, you wanted to push his patience, to see how long he could endure before leaving. But you hadn’t counted on your manager asking you to stop the session to talk to him instead. You sighed. He was just doing his job, though a part of you couldn’t help but glare at him, hating that he was wasting your time.

"What is it, Ethan?"

You didn’t even acknowledge Bruce. Instead, you spoke to your manager, Ethan, who forced a tense smile, silently begging you to be respectful.

"Bruce Wayne is here to see you."

He emphasized the last name, almost as if reminding you of your place beneath the great Wayne name. Not that he knew the truth, that Bruce’s blood ran through your veins and that your striking resemblance was nothing but shared genetics.

"Mr. Wayne, Mr. Grayson, and company, what brings you here?"

You didn’t bother greeting them. You recognized a few faces, but most were either forgotten or simply unknown to you. And honestly, you didn’t care.

"Y/N, we need to talk."

Your father's deep voice and condescending gaze turned to you, hating that he spoke to you that way, as if you were a child, when in reality you were more than him, more than any of them, you were Y/N, the person that everyone would pay for because at some point you would look at them or simply greet them, there were people who would kill for a simple touch from you.You hid your displeasure in the mask that you always wore on your face that was difficult to remove, the one that had buried itself in your face and had taken root until you simply couldn't get it off, at least not until you were alone and no one could see your true and unpleasant personality that eclipsed your cute face and false golden boy personality.

You thought about the possibility of being rude to them, after all it's not like they could prove that you were something of theirs, you still had your mother's last name and they had never seen you with the Waynes until now, besides, who could blame you? Being rude was your privilege for being a model and also being attractive, it would be your first time being rude to someone, besides, everyone knew you, you were so kind that the ones who would end up being reproached for things would be the Waynes, so you decided.

“I don’t want to and if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do”

For the first time, your father stopped looking at you with that condescending look and in its place there was something you couldn’t identify. Anger? Indignation? Frustration? Surprise? You didn’t know and honestly you didn’t care, you were surely the first or at least one of the few people who says no to your father’s face and in front of so many people, that thought made you smile to yourself, it was the satisfaction and pride of making that cold expression of your father go away.

“But it's always someone else's fault”

[alkhleliy-family]

This is the man who set fire to a group of Israel supporters carrying Molotov cocktails in Colorado. This is the reaction of every person who truly defends the innocent children of Gaza and their families, whose fate is either imprisonment or death. They know neither justice nor humanity. They love killing innocent people who have been trapped in Gaza their entire lives.

I am Sami from central Gaza. The internet has been completely cut off due to the bombing of all networks tonight. We are now being subjected to violent bombing and massacres, so they have cut off our communications. Our financial situation is very difficult, and we are without food. My daughter, "Lynn," was seriously injured a few days ago. She is crying. We don't know if she is hungry or not. She needs surgery and medicine.

What will you do for these innocent people? They are at risk of dying at any moment.

Do good and good will come to you. Help the innocent and be a reason to save their lives.

Please, please, please, my children are dying in front of my eyes from hunger and fear. Donate, donate.

[luna-azzurra]

Character Careers That Aren't Clichés

(because fictional economies deserve better too)

Look. I get it. I do. A hot CEO. A dreamy small-town baker. A moody artist who somehow lives in a massive Brooklyn loft despite only selling two paintings a year. Those characters have their place.

But if you want your story to feel fresh, real, alive — sometimes you’ve gotta ditch the Insta-ready jobs and actually think: What does this person do at 9 a.m. on a Wednesday? What would they complain about after a garbage day at work?

Here’s how to get careers that feel like they belong to an actual human, not a catalog model...

❥ The "Unexpected But Perfect" Career Pick something that makes your reader go, wait, what? and then oh my god, that's so them. Like:

A chaotic, disaster character who’s actually a surprisingly competent funeral director. (Yes, it’s messy. Yes, it’s weirdly perfect.)

The quiet, overlooked character who’s a locksmith. Always helping people get inside things. Always a little lonely themselves.

The job should reflect the character’s secret self.

❥ The “Soul-Crushing Job They’re Too Good For” Reality Check Not everybody is their Dream Job Self yet. Some characters are stuck. Flipping burgers, filing invoices, answering phones for screaming Karens named Marge. And you know what? There’s story gold there. Give me the character who’s quietly making art out of coffee foam because it’s the only creative outlet they’ve got. Give me the character who’s wasting in a job they hate, but who hums with what could be underneath.

Failure and frustration? Delicious character fuel.

❥ The "Job That Messes With Their Brain" Career Certain jobs change you. Make you hard in weird places and soft in weirder ones. Lean into that.

A paramedic who's numb to blood but cries at dog food commercials.

A social worker who can’t listen to their friends' minor drama without tuning out completely.

A vet tech who talks to animals better than people.

The job should bruise them in little invisible ways.

❥ The “Work Family or Work Frenemies” Setup Office dynamics are like nuclear reactors: volatile, ridiculous, and perfect for drama.

Give them the boss who’s a passive-aggressive nightmare in group emails but buys everyone surprise cupcakes on Fridays.

Give them the coworker they want to strangle and defend to death when someone outside the office talks crap.

Make their work life messy. (Because it IS messy.)

❥ Actual Career Ideas You Can Steal Because I Love You (yes, you have my blessing, take 'em, twist 'em, make them yours)

Travel nurse who secretly dreams of putting down roots

Archivist in a creepy, half-forgotten library wing

Theme park mascot who has existential crises inside the costume

Home inspector who lowkey loves snooping through strangers' houses

Court stenographer who writes fanfiction on the side during boring trials

Aquarium maintenance tech (yes, it’s a thing, yes, it’s hilarious and tragic)

Disaster clean-up specialist (like post-floods, fires, crime scenes , very spicy potential)

Final Truth Bomb: Your character’s job doesn't have to be their whole identity. (Shocking, I know, Hollywood.)

But it should still touch them somehow. It should rub off on the way they move through the world, the way they talk, the way they size up a stranger in five seconds flat. Because we are all shaped by how we spend our hours, whether we mean to be or not.

[sinner-as-saint]

here forever

Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Run-through: Dating a superhero was no joke. And as noble as Bucky’s job was, it was just as dangerous and unpredictable. Which is why ever since you and Bucky started dating, he’d been training you in his free time. Teaching you how to defend yourself if ever he wasn’t around to protect you, or if ever his enemies came after you. Although you weren’t perfect at combat yet, you were almost certain you could get out of a tricky situation if you ever found yourself in one. But you were soon proven wrong. And your only option was to hope and pray that Bucky finds you in time. 

Themes: smut, fluff, mentions of kidnapping and death, boyfriend!bucky to the rescue, slight angst, hurt/comfort, mean!dom!bucky, aftercare, biker!bucky (except i made him wear a helmet because safety), mild daddy kink (nicknames only)

a/n: short, quick lil fic because I know we’re all hungry

It had been two hours since these strange men had so easily abducted you off the streets. 

It was a regular day, you were leaving yoga class and were on your way to pick up a smoothie. A treat you always got yourself after each workout class. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except Bucky’s incessant messages asking about your location. 

You knew you weren’t supposed to let your guard down, not even on busy streets – one of the first lessons Bucky taught you just weeks after your first date with him. But you couldn’t help looking down and frowning at your phone. Your bag, purse and phone in your hands. Always have your hands free when walking alone, even on busy streets – the second thing he taught you. 

Always be ready. Always be ready. Always be fucking ready. 

But you had messed up that morning. Bucky’s messages were starting to worry you. He had been away since last night, and as usual, never gave you too many details about his job. But all you knew was that before he left, he’d asked you to try and not go out if you could. Your apartment was safe. He had eyes all over that building. Cameras, security guards, it was the safest place you could be. 

‘Where are you? Why aren’t you home?’

Seconds later: 

‘I told you not to go out. It’s not safe right now. Call me.’ 

Then some missed calls which you couldn’t answer because you were in class at the time. Then messages one after the other: 

‘Go straight home.’ 

‘Is your class over?’ 

‘Go home and wait for me. Don’t open the door for anyone else.’ 

‘Baby I’m so serious right now, go home.’ 

And you were midway through typing an answer to reply to him. To tell him not to worry. To tell him that yes your class was over, and everything was okay and you would call him as soon as you got home. 

But you never got the chance to reply to his messages. 

It all happened too fast. One moment you were looking down, all your focus on your phone and boyfriend, and the next, you were being grabbed and shoved into a dark truck. You barely even got a scream out before the doors were shut and a tape sealed your mouth, ropes snaking around your wrists and ankles. 

And just like that, in less than a full minute, you were taken. 

And here you were now. 

In the back of that same truck which had been driving for about two hours, maybe more. Getting further and further away from the city you lived in, and into more and more unknown areas. 

Fuck! You had messed up. 

You should’ve checked your phone while you were still inside the building. You shouldn’t have been texting on the streets. You shouldn’t have let your guard down. Bucky had been saying for weeks that he suspected people had eyes on him, and consequently you because you two spent a lot of time together. 

He was right of course. He always was. You should’ve listened. You should’ve stayed at home, at least until he got back later today. 

A tear slid down your face, like it had been for the past hours. You silently cried, thinking about all the potential circumstances you could end up finding yourself in. You couldn’t even tell who were the men who kidnapped you because they all wore masks and hadn’t said a single word in the past hours. 

They were armed. And the truck seemed bulletproof. And they kept driving. Nothing said about wanting a ransom, nothing about why they had taken you, or whether they were using you as bait to get Bucky’s attention. Surely they were. 

And a few minutes later, when you heard the familiar roar of a familiar bike, you knew they had his full attention. 

Bucky was here. 

But they hadn’t noticed yet. And you didn’t want them to. So you tried to get all their attention on you by wiggling in the backseat, acting like you were trying to get more comfortable. The two armed men right in front of you just glanced at you and your tied limbs and let you be. 

You noticed the guy in the passenger seat didn’t even bother looking at you. The driver looked into the rearview mirror but quickly looked away and ahead. 

They still hadn’t heard the faint, steady roar of Bucky’s bike. 

Perfect. 

By the time Bucky would get close enough to attack, he would catch them by surprise. And it would be too late for them to react and defend themselves. 

So you kept moving, grunting in annoyance extra loudly just to mask the sound of Bucky’s bike as it got closer and closer– 

A loud gunshot exploded near you. For a moment nothing made sense. 

Then you realised the truck was no longer steady, it was tilted on one side. Bucky had shot one or more of the tires. You sighed in relief, while the men in the vehicle panicked. Muffled voices spoke all at once, one of them telling the driver to drive faster. 

Another, one of the men who was armed in front of you, lowered the window and popped his head and gun out, trying to find whoever was around but it was too late. 

You turned your head and managed to catch a glimpse of him through the rear windshield. Amongst the smoke and dirt flying, there he was. Mounted on his mean bike like a fierce general riding his beast into battle. Except this general wasn’t backed by soldiers. He was alone. 

But army or not, he was still Bucky Barnes. All black bike, black helmet, full biker gear, metal arm catching the sunlight. Guns strapped to his body. He looked like Death. 

A sob shook your body as you ducked and hid under the seats as much as you could as Bucky rain down bullets like hellfire upon the vehicle. He knew it was bulletproof, but you were certain he was doing it just to get the men to use their weapons and waste their bullets on him as fast as possible. 

The loud noises made it seem like your brain was vibrating, your heart was racing, and your ears were hurting with how loud the guns and shouts were. But Bucky was here, and all would be well now. 

A few seconds later, the truck began zig-zagging. You assumed it must be because the driver got shot. More shouts and bullets later, the truck came to a sudden stop. Like it collided with something that was strong enough to stop it even at that speed. 

But there was nothing on the empty streets you had been on. Nothing except… Bucky. 

An eerie silence followed. Then footsteps. The men in the truck had all been shot you realised upon smelling the scent of blood and gunpowder. 

You couldn’t get yourself up, not with your limbs still tied but you tried your best. And you were barely up when you heard the sound of metal literally tearing apart. You managed to peek from the back seat and Bucky had torn off one of the doors. The entire door off the side of the truck. 

You couldn’t call for him, but you kicked the back of one of the seats hard enough to get his attention. 

The moment his ocean blue eyes met your teary ones, you couldn’t help but start crying. Hot, burning tears streaming down your face as Bucky almost tore apart the entire truck to get to you. The moment he grabbed you and pulled you out into the open air, it was only his arm around you keeping you up. 

“I’ve got you,” He whispered over and over again, “You’re safe. I’ve got you, baby. It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here.” He repeated continuously as he carefully peeled the tape off your lips and cupped your face in his hands, looking at you intently to look for injuries while he wiped your tears away. “Are you hurt?” He asked, looking more panicked and worried than ever. “Baby, answer me. Did they hurt you? Inject you with anything? Touch you?” 

You shook your head, wanting nothing more than to just be able to take a deep breath, now safe in his arms. Only when you went to wrap your shaky arms around him, he stopped you. Keeping you at arms’ length and away from him. 

That worried, soft look in his eyes turned cold. Even under the afternoon sun, you shivered under his gaze. 

“What the fuck did I tell you before I left, huh?” He snarled. “I told you to stay inside, don’t leave the building. Didn’t I say that?” 

You sniffled, nodding. “I just went to my weekly class, and–,” 

He cut you off, hissing, “And look what happened!” He was almost screaming in your face, “You’re so lucky I got here in time. You’re so fucking lucky I have a tracker in that bag of yours. Otherwise it would’ve taken me days to get to you! Days!” 

You trembled, knowing he was right. Bucky dealt with dangerous people. He knew why he asked you to be cautious. 

Bucky leaned closer to you, looking down at you with no warmth. “These aren’t the villains you read about in your silly, little fucking books.” His voice sounded menacing, freezing. “These are actual, dangerous people. They wouldn’t have waited for you to charm your way out. They would’ve killed you!” He yelled. 

“I’m sorry,” You sobbed. “I was replying to your texts and–,” 

“We had a deal, didn’t we?” He grabbed you by the chin and forced you to look at him. “That when I tell you it’s not safe out there, you stay put. You stay inside and wait for me.” He growled. “You could’ve been killed today! And who would have had to live with that, huh? Who would’ve had to live with the disappointment that he couldn’t keep you safe? That he brought you into this shitty life and couldn’t even keep you alive?” He bellowed. “Who would’ve had to look your family in the eyes and tell them he lost you? Me! That’s who!” 

More tears, and a whimper escaped your lips. “I’m sorry.” You whispered. You had never seen this side of him. He let go of your face like it burned to touch you. 

He looked around, at the torn apart truck. At the bodies. The bullets on the ground. He grimaced but didn’t say anything. He reached into the truck and grabbed your things. Your bag and all that you had on you when you were taken. Your phone wasn’t here though, they must’ve thrown it out onto the streets while they took you. 

Bucky said, “We need to get out of here. Come.” 

He didn’t turn around to see if you were following, he knew you would. Once he got on his bike, he handed you his jacket and helmet. You put both on without questioning where you were going. 

Once sat behind him, your arms hesitantly around his torso, he turned to the side and said, “City’s not safe right now. We’ll spend the night at a motel nearby.” 

And that was all he said for the next few hours. 

– 

By the time you two made it to the motel – which was much, much more decent and clean than you had imagined – the sun was already setting. The place was quiet. A few voices conversing here and there, ACs humming as ACs do, cars coming in and out frequently given there was a gas station nearby, and a burger joint on the other side of the street. 

Bucky got you two a room for the night, and didn’t say a word to you as he grabbed your hand and led you to the room. 

It was a decent room. Bed, bedside tables, TV, sofas. The usual. 

You didn’t notice Bucky had packed a bag as well. You hadn’t been paying much attention anyway. He placed his much bigger bag on the bed and pulled out a few things. Some belonging to you, you noticed. Toothbrush, soaps, clean clothes. 

He handed a bunch of things to you and said, “Go shower.” He didn’t even look at you as he spoke. Guess he was still angry at you. 

You didn’t argue. You just took the things and rushed to the bathroom, locking yourself in there for a good half an hour. 

When you stepped out of the shower, feeling clean finally, you noticed Bucky wasn’t in the room. And the weather outside had changed. You could hear the faint thunder approaching. Surely by tonight there would be a storm. 

But where had Bucky gone? 

You put your clothes away in your bag, and with no phone you had no choice but to turn the TV on. You got in bed, a few minutes into watching some random documentary when Bucky walked in with food. 

You gave him a look, wondering if he would talk to you now. But all he said as he placed the bags filled with food on the bed was, “It’s none of your fancy green smoothies and healthy wraps, but it’ll have to do for now. I’m going to shower.” 

Then he disappeared. 

You were still upset, but then hunger took over and you pawed at the bags like a raccoon. You found milkshakes, fries, and burgers. And you ate while you wondered how long Bucky would keep being angry at you. 

You were halfway through your second burger when Bucky walked out of the shower. With nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. His wet, dark hair pushed back, droplets of water still dripping down his chest and abs. 

You swallowed your food before you choked, then looked away, acting as if the documentary on the TV was much more interesting to look at compared to your half naked boyfriend. 

“Are you hurt anywhere?” He asked, and you noticed he was carrying a first-aid kit in his hands. 

You shook your head. 

“Nothing? No scratches, nothing?” He asked again. 

You shrugged, “Just a small cut. It’ll heal. Nothing serious.” 

He walked over to your side of the bed, and said, “Show me.” 

You didn’t want to argue so you placed your food aside, lifted your shirt and showed him the minuscule cut on your ribs. “It’s not–,” 

But he cut you off by placing the kit down and looking for some cotton and disinfectant. 

It burned as he cleaned in and put a little bandaid over it. It hurt even more when he didn’t kiss it after like he usually does whenever he tends to your cuts and wounds. 

You didn’t say a word though. And soon, you both finished your food in silence with only the TV and the approaching storm as noise in the background. 

The thunder got louder and louder as you both got into bed. That weird silent treatment continued, and by now you were annoyed as well. You’d admit, it was your fault for being so careless when he’d told you to be cautious. But didn’t he see that you needed him now? 

Couldn’t he see you wanted to be held? And kissed? And comforted? 

You frowned in the dark. The lights from outside came through the blinds and lit the room up a little bit. As did the lightning. You were the only one tossing and turning you noticed, Bucky was asleep it seemed. 

But the thunder, the new bed, the fear and stress from earlier, it was all keeping you from falling asleep. Plus, it was a little embarrassing to admit, but you liked being held while you fell asleep. But Bucky wasn’t even talking to you, and wrapping your own arms around yourself wasn’t working. 

Another hour went by. Now the heavy rain finally came, along with a proper thunder storm. And you couldn’t take it anymore. 

You turned to face Bucky and he had his eyes shut, facing you. Not a single item of clothing on his body, except for a thin sheet covering him from the waist down. You sighed, frowning a little in annoyance still but you couldn’t help but scoot closer to him, seeking his warmth and embrace. 

First you pressed into him, to see if he would stir or wake up. He didn’t. So you got bolder and took his metal arm and placed it around you, waiting again. He didn’t move. So you went to wrap your arms around him, and once you did, you heard his sleepy voice saying, “Oh, what’s this? Now you need me?” 

You froze, trying to see if you could pretend you were asleep already. He didn’t buy it. 

“I know you’re awake.” 

You sighed. “It’s the thunder.” You said, nuzzling his warm neck. 

“And you need daddy to protect you now, little bunny?” He mocked. “But when I try to tell you what to do to keep you safe you never listen.” 

You noticed he kept his arm around you, pulling you more into him even as he chided you. “I’m so sorry, Buck. It won’t happen again.” 

He hummed. “It better not.” 

You were quiet for a second or two, then said, “You were so mean to me earlier.” 

“I have to be.” He said sternly. “You never listen. You don’t take your training seriously, you think you’re ready to fight your way out, baby, but you’re not. All I asked you to do was not to leave that apartment until I got there. But you couldn’t help but be a brat, could you?” 

You squirmed in shame. “I don’t want you to be angry with me.” 

“Well,” He said, sounding sassy as he pulled you closer, “I am pissed. Deal with it.” 

You had had enough. You slipped out of his arms, “Stay here and brood then,” You tried to get out of bed, “I’ll sleep on one of the sofas–” 

Bucky didn’t let you. A loud thunder boomed right above as he pulled you back into bed and climbed on top of you. “Stop being fucking difficult.” He hissed. 

Before you could answer, his mouth was on yours. Beard scratching your face, his long hair tickling the sides of your face. 

His kiss was rough and it hurt in the best way. Bucky pulled away for a brief moment, squeezed your cheeks so you couldn’t close your mouth. “Brat.” Glaring down at you, he spat in your mouth before kissing you again. 

Your brain felt like it was floating. His kiss was hot. And messy. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, “Needy little brat. Can’t ever do as you’re told, can you? You almost got fucking killed today, but you don’t care about that. Do you? Huh?” 

You were quiet. Your brain was too foggy with lust to function. 

“Why are you quiet? No bratty words for daddy?” He asked, sliding his rough hands up and down your parted thighs. You spread them even more the moment he touched you and he smirked when he noticed it. “Go on, tell me to stop. Tell me to let you go.” He taunted, knowing full well you would never do that. 

All you did was whimper as he touched you mindlessly, sliding his fingers up and down your slit, spreading your wetness around. 

“You’re gonna listen from now on.” He stated. “I don’t care what it takes. I’ll lock you in that apartment if I have to. But from now on, if I tell you it’s not safe out there, you do not leave that house. You hear me, princess?” 

Silence. Which earned you a slap on the thigh. You yelped in pain before glaring at him. “Fine,” You said, “Yes, I hear you. I’ll be good.” You whined. 

“Of course you will,” He said, his metal hand pinned you down on the bed by wrapping around your neck to keep you in place, while his other hand wrapped around his cock. Pumping it once, twice while holding your stare. “‘Cause I’ll have you over my knee and spank that little butt raw if you don’t.” 

You whimpered and squirmed because of how badly you needed him inside you. “I will. I’ll be so good,” You begged, “Buck, please.” 

Bucky wasted no time sliding inside of you. Giving you no time to even think, he moved in and out of you in a way that had you moaning out loud, not caring that the walls might be thin. 

The storm got louder somehow, thunder rumbling and lightning lighting up the room every now and then. The rain got heavier, silencing the rest of the world as Bucky fucked you. His body weight pressing down onto you in a way that made you never want to be anywhere else. 

It didn’t matter that you were in a small motel room, so far away from home. It didn’t matter that danger could still be lurking around. Nothing mattered, not when he held your stare as he fucked you hard and fast, barely giving you time to breathe right. 

He leaned in again, whispering against the corner of your open mouth, “Look how you behave the moment you have some cock in you. Is that all my baby wanted? Daddy’s cock? Hmm? Is this why you’ve been pouting for the past few hours?” He chuckled, spreading your thighs even more, “I’ve been mean to you, haven’t I?” He cooed, fucking into you deeper somehow. “I’ve been so mean by telling you just where you messed up and how bad things could’ve gotten if I didn’t reach you in time. I’m so mean to you, aren’t I?” He mocked you, scoffing, “Is that why your pussy is strangling my cock, baby? Because daddy’s so mean to you, is he?”

You could feel your face getting hotter as your walls clenched around him over and over again, as he sped up and pounded into you. You felt all of him stretching you out, filling you up, moving rapidly in and out of you until he was all you could focus on. 

“Is this what you wanted, little bunny?” He whispered, pounding into you relentlessly as he bent down to bite your lower lip and tug on it. “Is this enough to make you behave from now on, baby?” 

You moaned at how perfect his warm body felt on top of yours, his weight pressing down on you. His stubble tickled your skin as he kissed your face and bit on your lip. Your legs trembled as his thrusts, relentless and unbearably good. The pressure around your lower body grew, familiar, tight and hot.

The storm, the streetlights, and every little bit of light allowed you to see how Bucky looked down at you as you tightened around his cock. He smirked, looking down to where his cock disappeared into you each time he thrust in. “I killed for you today.” He whispered, “I saved you, and this is what I get? Attitude? A bratty girl? Not even a thank you,” He scoffed, “Not even a ‘thank you for saving me daddy’, nothing.” The cold cruelty in his voice only made you clench around him harder. 

His hand squeezed your throat again, making you moan even louder. “Dirty little slut. Look at you, all cock drunk.” He scoffed, giving you yet another messy kiss. “Are you gonna be good from now on?” 

“Yes,” You whined, not recognising your voice because of how desperate you sounded. Then again, only he could make you sound this way. You whimpered, unable to say anything else because of how good he felt sliding in and out of you. 

Fuck, you needed this. So much. You whined again when his hand let go of your throat, fingers trailing down your squirming body until his metal fingers found your clit, toying with it while he pounded into you mercilessly. 

“Yeah?” He stared deep into your eyes as he spoke. “You’re gonna be my good girl and listen to me?” 

You nodded, tears streaming down your face again. The exhaustion from earlier, the day you had survived. It was all too much. “Please…” You whimpered, squirming and unable to hold back anymore. You needed to come so bad. Your thoughts were a mess. 

“Good girl.” 

And you couldn’t hold back anymore. You came undone all around him. Moaning, your back arching off the bed as you came hard around his cock, tightening around him even harder than earlier. 

Bucky kept pounding into you as your orgasm washed over you, your walls squeezing him violently. Your body trembling under him. “That’s it, babygirl. Come for daddy.” 

You could hear the untamed hunger in his deep, growly voice. He groaned until he came undone as well. You whined and whimpered as you felt him filling you up, his thrusts slowing down, his cum dripping down your inner thighs. 

—

You vaguely remember his cleaning the two of you. He let you rest for a minute, but then it seemed like he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. So he flipped you around, straddled you and began massaging your worn out body. 

He rubbed his rough hands all over your back, down your hips, and thighs. It was quiet for a while. Just the rain, the thunder, and the sound of Bucky breathing. 

Then you heard his gentle voice. “I can’t lose you. Not you.” He whispered, like he was saying it to himself, “Not you, baby.” 

Your heart throbbed and pinched.  

He leaned down and kissed the back of your neck, your shoulders, down your spine, all while massaging your body. “I don’t like being mean to you.” He kissed his way up again, nuzzling your ear and whispering, “Earlier today,” He spoke softly, “When I watched the tracker show me how fast you were getting further and further away, thinking about how they must’ve grabbed you. How easily, how quickly they took you, I–,” His voice cracked. 

You couldn’t help the tears anymore, “I’m sorry.” You tried to turn over and face him but he gently pushed you back down on the bed. 

“Shh,” He shut you up. “Just let me take care of you.” His hands touched you everywhere. Soft touches soothing the spots he’d grabbed harshly earlier. “You scared me, baby.” He kissed around the cut on your side. “For a moment I thought I’d never see you again.” 

“I’ll be good, I promise.” You sniffled, trying to look at him over your shoulder. “I’ll train harder, I’ll be better. I won’t let my guard down, ever.” 

He leaned in and kissed your lips gently. “You’re perfect.” He stated. “We’ll work on training you better. We’ll be okay. Don’t worry baby, I’ve got you. Always.” 

You gave him a teary smile and sheepishly said, “Thank you for saving me.” 

Bucky laughed softly, nuzzling your neck again, kissing your skin like he couldn’t get enough. “I would burn this entire world down if anyone tries to take you from me again.” 

You laid your head back down on the pillow, laughing softly. Thinking he was joking. 

He wasn’t.

[melminli]

BANG BANG BANG

summery - thanos was always just such an easy person to argue with. you really hated the guy and that was something that was never going to change, even if your life was on the line and it fucking was.

pairing: (thanos) choi su-bong x fem. reader

word count: 1.8k

contains: violence, death, dark content - just usual squid game stuff really

prev. l next.

"I ask for your attention. The first game will begin shortly. Each player will have their picture taken, then they will follow the staff onto the pitch."

You eyed the confusing and pastel-colored building you were standing in as you listened to the instructions. It wasn't too loud although, there was a bit of whispering from the crowd, the line to the photo booths was pretty organized as well. That was until you suddenly noticed a commotion from a corner, and look who was at the center of it. You just rolled your eyes when you saw the purple-headed guy standing casually between his fans and looked away annoyed after he winked at you charmingly.

Thanos didn't let your subtle rejection bother him. He called out your name and gestured with his fingers to indicate that there was an empty spot next to him - you know, for the group photo. "Hey, you can join the photo, too. Come on."

You continued to ignore his voice and moved forward as the gap between you and the others in front of you widened. Eventually, the loud voices faded into the background, and it was your turn to take the photo. However, while you stood in front of the camera and looked at the smiley face before you, all sense of happiness vanished. If only you weren't so desperate for money, you wouldn't feel compelled to remain in this strange place surrounded by these people.

The flash went off without you even realizing it and caught the absent look on your face. You continued to follow the moving queue like a grazing animal following its herd, lost somewhere in your thoughts until suddenly a person grabbed you by the shoulder.

You instinctively started to defend yourself with widened eyes. "What the hell dude?!" you screamed silently in a panic until you saw the grinning perpetrator in front of you. "Su-bong? What's your problem, I told you to stay away from me asshole, are you stupid?" you grunted angrily and tried again to catch up with the person in front of you so as not to block the way any further.

Thanos just shrugged his shoulders disinterestedly while he casually climbed the stairs behind you. "You really talk a lot, so don't hold it against me when I tune most of it out," he replied, which made you walk a little faster and made him pick up a little more speed to keep up with you.

"Hey, wait a second, woman!" he called out and followed you. "Besides, you know what? You should just call me Thanos, everyone does - it's the name I go by, you know? Not that I expect someone like you to understand the creative thought behind it, but come on. At least try."

You raised your palm to stop his flow of words and perhaps also to put up an imaginary wall between the two of you. "You can explain it however you want, but that's not your name, it's stupid, and I'm definitely not going to call you that." you laughed at him. "Only someone like you could watch every single Marvel movie there is and then identify with the ugly mega villain, really."

That's why I'm not listening, he thought to himself, running his tongue through his teeth in annoyance. "Can you like not be a bitch for a second? You're killing the mood," he spoke out before leaning over the railing and shouting. "The mood is dying!"

"Shut up!" you whispered aggressively as you dragged him away by the arm and rubbed your face in frustration. "What did I do wrong in life besides being born to deserve this..."

Su-bong shook his sleeve from your grip as he sighed himself. "Don't be so dramatic. Are you really still angry about that thing with -"

"Yes," you answer without hesitation, not needing to know how he finished his sentence. Why? Because ever since you knew him, this guy had only made decisions that made you angry. When you thought of the reason that finally broke the camel's back, you had to stop yourself and take a deep breath. "Whatever, someone like you isn't worth it," you declared and then walked with several others through some gate, into the open. No, you were still surrounded by walls, even if they disguised themselves as the sky and clouds.

"Welcome to the first game. All players, please wait a moment on the field. I repeat -"

You continued to look around and noticed people entering from two more entrances. Thanos stood in front of you to block your view. "Are you seriously ignoring me right now? You women are all the same."

You only confirmed his statement with your silence and by averting your gaze from him. Before he could object any further, the gates suddenly closed behind you and the voice from the loudspeakers started talking again. "The first game is called: Green Light, red Light."

A game for children? You repeated perplex in your head and tuned out the voice explaining the rules of the game. You often played this game as a child anyway, you knew how to play it. Do we really earn money by playing this?

"Listen to me! Listen carefully, everyone!" A man suddenly shouted out, attracting the attention of the crowd by trying to explain that losing in this innocent game would mean death.

Unconsciously, your heart began to beat faster as various thoughts raced through your mind. What is this crazy guy talking about? You get killed if you lose? What nonsense. But on the other hand, there must be a catch, who else would give out money for something like this? Maybe -

"Don't worry, that guy just has a few screws loose." Su-bong's voice suddenly spoke out next to you as he turned his index finger next to his head to visualize it. "I can see that there are a million completely unnecessary thoughts running through your little head right now because you always have this funny look on your face when you do," he explained and you just tried really hard not to pay attention to him. He just had to make life difficult for you.

Your eyes wandered again and you looked at the disbelieving faces of the others, who were also just looking at the front man strangely. I'll just be careful and see what happens. Someone will probably lose and then we'll see if it's true or not, simple as that.

There was an announcement that the game was about to start and you saw the stopwatch at the front set to five minutes. You took a deep breath and finally, the robot girl moved to look away. "Red light, green light."

Your concentration was fixed on watching her movements so that you could stop at the right moment. You didn't want to rush, but the time pressure was real. You found yourself glancing at the time too often and subconsciously started to count the seconds you had left. You usually weren't a person who could work under such circumstances, but you had to manage the whole thing somehow. You really didn't want to lose, especially not be the first to do it.

"Freeze! Don't move!"

Shut the fuck up. This guy was seriously getting on your nerves. Your eyes were looking forward while you just stood still and then, a bee flew in front of you. Stay away you stupid thing, you thought as the distance between the insect and your face grew smaller and smaller.

A female voice next to you finally spoke out. "Is this guy on drugs?" She asked when the strange man started to scream again, you didn't know if it was that which caught the bee's attention or her sweet perfume that was suddenly being carried through the wind in your direction, but it didn't matter. You were just glad that it wasn't your problem anymore. Though, you couldn't breathe a sigh of relief since you didn't dare breathe at all when that creepy doll was turned in your direction. The thing looked like it could shoot lasers out of its eyes at any second or something.

"Nope, that's not how you act when you're high." Thanos replied from beside you, and even if you could hold your breath for as long as you needed to, things looked a lot different when it came to a petty comment. 

Your mouth didn't move when you spoke, like that of a ventriloquist's. "Of course, you would know best, you fucking drug addict." was all that came out of you while you looked at his back. 

Thanos grunted as several ideas popped into his head about how he could twist your words, but he tried really hard not to say any of them. I could really take some pills right now. "I'm about to really hurt your feelings, sweetie."

"No! Really?" you let out as you pretended to be really scared of what was about to happen before your tone changed back to being monotone. "I'm pissing in my pants, please don't."

Ignoring your argument, the little innocent bee finally landed on the neck of number 196. "Hey, what's that?" she uttered as she felt a slight tingling sensation on her neck.

Thano's eyes turned to her figure beside him as he answered her. "Don't freak out, it's just a bee."

"A bee?!" She exclaimed in a panic and started waving her arms around wildly to scare the insect away as quickly as possible. You watched her, as many others probably did right now, but the girl herself realized her own mistake far too late when she finally stopped moving and looked up at Thanos. "Shit." she laughed out. "I just moved."

As soon as she finished her sentence, a bullet flew straight through her skull and dropped her body motionless to the floor. You felt a cold shiver run through your whole body and your heart suddenly stopped before it started beating like crazy in your chest. That didn't just happen. Your head automatically tried to calm you down with some kind of slander, but your eyes couldn't help but move to the dead body on the floor, which was now smeared with fresh blood. No, it really did.

next.

[https-bobreynolds]

soft spot

pairings: robert ‘bob’ reynolds x enchantress! reader, void x enchantress

summary: watching a comfort movie with his girlfriend unexpectedly led bob to a terrifying confrontation with an ancient being who happen to be his own dark entity’s girlfriend.

warnings: established relationships, a curse word, death threat, use of magic on bob, enchantress herself should be warning

author’s note: THANK YOU ALL FOR 5000+ LIKES <3 in this one reader has the entity, enchantress, and yes- the one from DC.

you were just watching a movie with your boyfriend, bob, in the tower’s common room area.

it was spirited away, which gave you a sense of comfort as every ghibli movie does- too much comfort, even, one might say.

he glanced at you, who were trying so hard to focus on the movie. he quickly whispered, “i need to go to the toilet”

you gave him a quick nod, to which he immediately replied by standing up and running off to the toilet.

unbeknownst to him, you fell asleep right after he left, your head lolled to the side, your eyes slowly shutting themselves, too tired to even be bothered about keeping them open, giving her her share of freedom.

when he came back, he was unpleasantly surprised with the sight of the enchantress, sitting right where you were. “o-oh, it’s you… what are you doing here?”

he mentally slapped himself for asking such a question.

she chuckled at him, amused at his question. “what i do every night, boy.”

bob gulped and nodded briefly, sitting next to her, but still leaving a bit of distance. he’s still a bit terrified by her, as she’s not exactly the easiest thing to get used to.

“do you want me… to go? i can- i can sleep right now if you want, or at least i’ll try” he rambled to the goddess next to him.

she knew exactly what he meant.

he was offering to “switch” with the void, for her. it was a bit funny, the moment the enchantress and the void met, you all made some sort of treaty.

whenever you and bob were asleep during nighttime, it was their turn for freedom. it was scary at first, but you both reluctantly agreed, eventually, thought it would bring a sense of trust, which would lead to giving you both more control of the entities.

the enchantress shook her head, “no, you won’t have to do that. finish the movie.”

he nodded, a small wave of relief washed over him, “a-alright then… thanks, i guess…”

a moment of silence took over as the two, as bob finished watching the movie.

bob didn’t know whether to be amused or terrified, did this inter-dimensional mystical being that is considered a goddess in several ancient civilizations, really just watch a ghibli movie… in silence, with him? …for him?

he looked at her with a confused face, “why are you so… nice with me?”

his face immediately panicked when she gave him a look, “not that i- not that i’m complaining or anything… it’s just… you’re nicer to me than with anyone else”

she smirked at his statement, seemingly amused by the fact that he was just realizing this. “am i not allowed to be nice with someone?” she asked, turning her head to look at him.

bob shrugged, “i… guess you are allowed to be nice, it’s just… i’m kinda surprised you’re being nice to me out of all people… you’re always so, well, snarky, and scary-looking, with everyone else.”

“what, me? scary-looking?” she said, almost as if she was offended by this. she placed her hand on her chest, a dramatic look on her face.

that small gesture of hers scared the shit out of bob, but before he could even defend himself, she chuckled at his expression and started.

“i suppose you are right. i am ashamed to be admitting this, but i have grown quite a soft spot for the one who’s body i currently possess.”

he was, again, surprised by her confession, and a small smile formed on his face. “you… you have?” he asked, still in disbelief.

“indeed, and this girl has grown a soft spot for you as well, so quite frankly i am merely trying to protect and be nice to what’s hers.” she answered, ignoring bob’s face getting redder and redder every second she spoke.

he tried to compose himself, but it was failing miserably. “so… so you’re nice to me… because of her?”

the enchantress chuckled, amused by his reaction, “yes. that is exactly why i’m being nice to you,”

her face suddenly turned serious, staring at him right into his soul eyes, voice suddenly an octave lower.

“however… i will not tolerate you hurting the girl in any way whatsoever. the second i hear her hurt, whether it be physically or emotionally, i will come and kill you myself, do you understand?”

his spine tingled at her suddenly serious tone, hearing her like this was a bit unsettling. he nodded, his mouth going dry, “uh… y-yeah, i understand…”

“very well. you and i have an understanding now, don’t we, boy?” she said, her tone changing back to the same nonchalance it had before, giving bob some sort of a whiplash.

he let out a breath that he was holding, nodding slowly. “y-yeah, we do…”

“good boy… now sleep.” she said commanded, raising her arm suddenly with dark energy surrounding it, bob’s eyes immediately shutting down, now unconscious, his body crashing onto the sofa.

within seconds, his body was replaced with nothing but a black silhouette- his black silhouette, smirking, grabbing onto one of her hands, giving it a slow and tender kiss.

“my beautiful queen of the dark… have you missed me?”

“not nearly as much as you missed me, i’m sure.”

on the other side…

“…love, i’m so sorry for falling asleep.”

“there's nothing for you to say sorry for, sweetheart.”

author’s note: i do headcanon that everytime they fall asleep and let the entities take over, they get transported to bob’s shame rooms till’ the morning. it’s more bearable cause they’re together being the sweetest lovebirds and just straight up focus on each other, completely losing focus on all the other shit happening there. TS SO CUTEE should i make more of these kind of fics🥹🥹

[vandme12]

Blood, Guts, and a Lifetime Warranty- Ronin x Reader

WORDS : 11732

TRIGGER WARNING : Graphic Violence, Gore, Murder, Dark Themes

CHARACTER USED : Ronin from Killer Chat!

SUMMARY : On the way to the wedding, Dressed in black, He really did it in his way didn't he? You really had a husband right now. He proposed.

INSPIRED FROM THE ART : @scary-brainrot I love their art! ahh! This was already in my drafts, I finished it!

The art's link (The one I got inspired from)

90 followers special

“That old man keeps asking when I’ll get married again.”

Annoying. Worse than annoying. Like a mosquito buzzing in your ear when you’re already halfway to losing your mind.

The garage smells like oil, rust, and Ronin—something metallic, something alive, something that clings. You could go home, but home is a ringing phone and voices that won’t like the answers you’d give. They love you. You love them. But they wouldn’t love him. Not the way you do.

Some distant uncle, some wrinkled remnant of family dinners and polite disappointment, would take one look at Ronin and say something sharp, something final. And Ronin? He’d roll his tongue along his teeth, slow and deliberate, like a lion deciding if a gazelle is worth the chase. He’d smile too wide, say something that’s both a joke and a promise of violence.

You’d defend him, though. Because you’re his. Because he’s yours.

A year, almost. Two sick minds spiraling around each other like dying stars, feeding off the heat, off the destruction. You learned more than you should. Became something sharper, something better, something that fit in the hollow of his ribs. And Ronin, patron saint of pretty rot, never lied about the world. He just pulled back the curtain and let you see it for what it was.

He loves you, but he doesn’t say it. He shows it in the way he exists—raw, unapologetic, a brush dipped in something obscene, painting your name in places no one else would dare.

And you?

You see it now. The way he sees things. The way they were always meant to be seen.

Face it, darlin’. You lost the second you met him.

The sound of metal on metal, the slow grind of a wrench turning bolts, the scent of oil and rust clinging to the air like an old, familiar ghost.

You’re watching him—your little devil in disguise, though he’s hardly trying to hide it. Ronin leans over the open hood of a half-dead car, sleeves shoved up, grease streaked along his forearm like war paint. He works with a lazy kind of precision, every movement drawn out, every flick of his wrist deliberate, like he knows you’re watching and wants you to keep watching.

And you do.

Because how could you not?

He glances up, catches your stare, and his grin spreads slow and sharp, teeth flashing like a wolf playing at civility. His tongue drags along his teeth before he chuckles, a low, amused thing that slithers into your bones.

"What, darlin’? Ain’t never seen a man work before?"

You roll your eyes, but the heat crawling up your neck betrays you. He doesn’t miss it—he never does. He tilts his head, studying you like he’s about to make a meal of you, like he already has.

"Careful now. Keep lookin’ at me like that, and I might start thinkin’ you got a death wish."

And Ronin? He never breaks a promise.

He lets the wrench fall onto the workbench with a clatter, wiping his hands on a rag that does nothing but spread the mess further. Then he’s leaning on the car, watching you like he’s considering tearing you apart just to see how you’d put yourself back together.

"Y’know, a person like you could do better." His voice is slow, teasing, coiling around something darker. "Could find yourself a nice boy. One who doesn’t kill for fun, who calls his mama on Sundays, who wouldn’t snap your neck if you asked real sweet."

A pause. A smirk. That awful, wonderful, knowing look in his eyes.

"But you won’t. ‘Cause you like this, don’tcha?"

He takes a step closer, the space between you burning down to nothing. The heat of him, the weight of his attention, the sheer gravity of his existence—it's suffocating in the best way.

"You like watchin’ me. Like sittin’ there all sweet while I get my hands dirty." A slow grin. "Like knowin’ they’ll never be clean."

“You’re being too edgy again.”

Ronin gasps, all mock offense, pressing a grease-streaked hand to his chest like you just ran him through with a stake. "Too edgy? Darlin’, you wound me."

“You already established the bit, you don’t have to crank it up every time.” You cross your arms, leveling him with a look that should be stern, but the corners of your lips betray you.

He hums, considering. "Alright, alright. I’ll dial it back a lil’—for you."

But then you laugh. Because, let’s be real, you like this. Maybe not the whole performance, but the way he commits to it. The sheer audacity of him.

Ronin catches that little slip in your composure, and suddenly, he’s grinning again—your grin. That slow, teasing pull of lips that promises nothing good.

"See? You love it."

Before you can argue, he puckers his lips, exaggerated as hell, and throws a flying kiss your way. And then—the bastard throws it straight into the trash.

You shoot him a murder look so sharp it could split bone, but he just laughs, loud and unrepentant, striding forward without a care in the world.

And then, in the cheesiest, most dramatic display of affection possible, he plucks the imaginary kiss right back from the air, presses it to his chest like a treasured keepsake, and sighs.

"Alright, alright. I’ll keep this one." He pats his chest, eyes twinkling. "Right here. Close to my cold, dead heart. XOXO, baby."

You groan. He’s impossible.

“You’re an idiot.”

Ronin grins. "Yeah?"

"An idiot for idiots."

His grin stretches wider, teeth flashing. "Oh?"

"So idiotically idiotic it’s actually impressive."

That does it. He throws his head back and laughs, a sharp, delighted thing, full-bodied and reckless. Hands still smudged with oil, still clutching onto the ghost of that stupid, cheesy kiss, he leans in like he's about to whisper something profound. Instead—

"And you—" he drawls, slow and indulgent, like he’s savoring the words before he spits them out. "You got the energy of such a bad bitch. Or a bastard. Take your pick."

He flicks his fingers, like he’s throwing dice, like fate itself is something he can gamble with.

"Somethin’ real nasty about you, sweetheart. Somethin’ sharp. A bite to that pretty mouth. Ain’t that a treat?"

His eyes are dark with something unreadable, something between admiration and hunger, like he wants to see what you’ll do with his words. If you’ll bite back. If you’ll play along.

Because Ronin? He’s always playing. And he’s hoping—praying, even—that you’re the kind of idiot who won’t let him win too easily.

"It’s... nothing."

Ronin tuts, tilting his head, eyes gleaming like a wolf that’s caught the scent of something bleeding. "Oh, but somethin’ must be trickin’ your head, darlin’. I can hear it rattlin’ around in there." He leans in, voice dropping to something just above a purr. "C’mon now. Whisper your prayer to the Devil. What’s on your mind?"

You shoot him another murderous glare, sharp enough to cut, lethal enough to wound. He loves it.

And worse? He blushes.

It’s fleeting—a flicker of warmth, a betrayal of blood rushing to his cheeks—but it’s there. And then, just as fast, he throws his head back and laughs, wild and unrestrained, like you’ve just handed him the funniest joke in the world.

The audacity. The gall. The sheer joy in his eyes, like he’s never been happier than in the presence of someone who genuinely wants to kill him.

Because let’s be real—isn’t that his favorite thing?

Ronin wipes at his grin like he can smother it, but it lingers, curling at the edges. "Goddamn. If looks could kill, sweetheart—" he whistles low, shaking his head, "—I’d be six feet under already. You tryin’ to make me fall harder?"

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

Ronin’s already grinning like you did.

"What?!"

You don’t even give him a chance to answer before you pinch both of his cheeks, hard.

Ronin yelps, muffled by your hands squishing his stupid, grinning face. "Owww—darlin’, what the hell—?" He grabs your wrists, but not to stop you—no, just to hold on, just to feel you, because he likes it when you get your hands on him. Even when it’s to hurt him.

Especially when it’s to hurt him.

You tug his cheeks just a little harder, watching as his face scrunches up, his nose wrinkling, eyes narrowed in exaggerated pain. "That’s what you get for talking like that."

His words come out distorted, voice wobbling from the force of your grip. "Talkin’ like wha’?"

"Like you wanna die by my hands, idiot."

Ronin wheezes out a laugh, finally prying your hands away—but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he flips your grip, lacing your fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like it’s his right.

"Ain’t my fault you’re so damn beautiful when you’re thinkin’ about killin’ me." His voice is softer now, but the playfulness lingers. His thumbs ghost over your knuckles, a mockery of tenderness, a real display of it all the same.

"Y’know," he muses, leaning in, voice dropping low, "if you ever do get sick of me, darlin’... at least make it interesting, yeah?"

You scoff, rolling your eyes, but you don’t pull away.

Ronin, grinning like he just won something, kisses your knuckles

You blush. Disgusting. You look away, like that’ll save you, like he won’t see it anyway. Like he won’t catch the way your fingers twitch in his grasp, like he won’t feel the heat you’re trying to will away. Like he won’t eat it up.

“You said live, not die.”

Ronin’s grin flickers. Just for a second. Just long enough for the mask to slip, the wires beneath to spark. Then—

“Oh, darlin’.” He lets out something between a laugh and a sigh, tilting his head, studying you like a painting he can’t quite decide how to ruin. “Now, that’s just cruel.”

You roll your eyes, yank your hands away, shove him for good measure. He staggers back with an exaggerated stumble, hand over his chest like you just stabbed him through the ribs. Dramatic. Always. Even when it’s real.

“Gotta admit,” he says, pressing his palms together, as if in prayer, as if he’s ever prayed to anything other than the void, “that’s a new one. You? Wantin’ me to live? Be still, my dead, black heart.”

You cross your arms, glare. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

There it is. That look. The one that’s all teeth, all sharp edges and something deeper, something raw. Something hungry. He wants you to fight him. He wants you to win.

You don’t humor him. You don’t move. You stay exactly where you are, which is somehow worse.

Ronin watches. Waits. Always patient, when it matters. Always willing to let the moment stretch, to let the silence settle, just to see what you’ll do with it.

“Go on, then.” He lifts his chin, dares you. “Say it again.”

Your stomach twists. You hate him. You hate that he knows exactly how to get under your skin, exactly how to pull words out of your throat like he’s got his fingers wrapped around your voice. You hate that you let him.

“You’re such an idiot.”

He smirks, tilts his head. “For idiots.”

“So idiotically idiotic.”

His grin widens. “Say it.”

You swallow. Fine. You meet his gaze, steady. “Live.”

Something shifts.

It’s subtle. A breath held too long, a flicker behind his eyes. Like you just flipped a switch he didn’t know he had. Like you just changed something.

Then, just as fast, he laughs—loud, reckless, full-bodied. He steps forward, gets right in your space, doesn’t touch, but you feel it anyway.

“Darlin’,” he purrs, “you keep talkin’ like that, and I might just have to listen.”

Your heartbeat stutters. Unacceptable. You shove him again, harder this time. He doesn’t even pretend to stumble, just grins like you handed him a gift.

“You’re insufferable,” you say, turning away.

“You love it.”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

Ronin chuckles, something quiet, something softer than it should be. You feel the heat of him at your back, a presence that lingers, that stays even when he isn’t touching you.

Then, finally, he steps away. Leaves you with the echo of his voice, the ghost of his grin.

“Live, huh?” he mutters, almost to himself. Almost.

"Guess I can try."

And damn it—you hear the smile in his voice. That soft, dangerous edge, like he’s filing it down just for you. Like you gave him something new to chew

Your phone buzzes—loud, persistent, annoying—because of course it does. You sigh, already knowing who it is. That special brand of chaos only one person in your family can bring.

Before you can grab it, Ronin’s faster. Always is. He snatches your phone like it’s his right, thumb dragging across the screen as he answers the call with a lazy, cocky swipe.

"Hello, sweetheart’s personal assistant speakin’—" He pauses, lips curling when the sound of someone shouting blasts through the speaker.

"Hey! When will we meet the boy?!" The voice is rough, familiar, and exactly as you feared. "I’m looking at some photos—"

Oh no.

"—of some nice boys. I’ll send them to you. Tell me which one you like, so the family can arrange a date. Get you two to know each other better—"

Silence.

A beat.

Then—Ronin laughs. Real loud, too—like he wants them to hear it, wants it to stick. His head tips back, neck exposed, all sharp teeth and sharper intentions.

"Well, shit," he drawls, licking his teeth, voice sweet as poison. "You’re settin’ up a date for my baby? Kinda rude, ain’t it? I mean—" His free hand slides to your waist, casual and possessive, squeezing like he owns you. "—I’m right here."

Your stomach drops. "Ronin—"

He ignores you, because of course he does.

"I get it," he continues, mock sympathy dripping from every word. "I mean, who wouldn’t wanna line up a few pretty boys? But—" He sighs, dramatic as ever. "—gotta break it to ya, pops. They’re already taken."

The line goes silent—for a second. Maybe two. Then—

"Who the hell are you?!"

Ronin’s grin stretches, and oh, he’s enjoying this. Loves the fire. Loves the fight. He leans closer to the speaker, like he’s sharing a secret. "The Devil, baby. Didn’t they warn you?"

You slap his arm, hard, but it only makes him laugh more—warm and bright, like setting a match to gasoline.

"You—!" The old man sputters, full of righteous indignation. "You think this is funny?!"

"A little," Ronin purrs. "Kinda cute, actually. Y’care about ‘em so much you’re hand-pickin’ their future? Adorable." His fingers curl against your hip, deliberate. "But—" he hums, voice sinking into something darker, rougher, "—no one’s takin’ ‘em away from me, old man."

He means it. You feel it in the weight of his touch, the way his thumb circles your skin.

"Ronin—" you hiss again, trying to take your phone back, but he’s not done. Not even close.

"Look," he says, casual as hell, like this is a friendly chat. "I’m a real thoughtful guy. I’d love to meet the fam. Hell—" he chuckles, "—maybe I’ll even bring a gift. Y’know, to show my appreciation."

You don’t like the way he says "gift." Not one bit.

"You’re out of your damn mind," the old man snaps.

Ronin’s smile turns razor-sharp. "Yeah, well—" he tilts his head, brushing his lips against your ear, voice dropping to a whisper only for you. "—I’m your kinda problem now, aren’t I?"

Your heart pounds—too fast, too much—and you’re torn between wanting to strangle him and... something worse.

The phone crackles—your family’s favorite brand of righteous fury practically vibrating through the speaker.

"You arrogant little—what kind of punk thinks he can talk to me like that?!" the old man barks, voice sharp enough to cut. "You think you’re funny?!"

Ronin, being Ronin, grins wider—which should be illegal, really, because no one man should look that pleased while actively causing problems on purpose. His eyes gleam, wicked and bright, as he leans against the workbench like this is his personal entertainment.

"Funny?" He clicks his tongue. "Nah, old-timer, I’m hilarious."

Your head drops into your hands. Of course. Of course he’s not backing down. Not when there’s someone willing to bite back.

"Ronin—" you try, voice tight, but he holds up a hand—shh, baby—without even looking at you.

"So," he drawls, like he’s savoring every second of this. "How many poor suckers you got lined up for ‘em? Five? Ten? You hopin’ one of ‘em’s got a personality, or just flippin’ through the catalogue ‘til you find a pretty face?"

The line crackles again. Then—"You listen here, you little shit—"

"Nah, you listen." Ronin’s voice drops—still playful, but there’s an edge under it now, jagged and dangerous. His smile never wavers, but the temperature in the room feels ten degrees colder. "They’re not goin’ on any dates. Not with your pretty little lineup, not with anyone." His head tilts, lazy, like he’s considering how much trouble he feels like starting. "Y’see, they’re already busy—with me."

You pinch the bridge of your nose, torn between wanting to melt into the floor and… God help you, wanting to drag him down by his stupid leather jacket and kiss the smirk off his face.

"What the hell kind of guy are you?!" the old man demands, voice still boiling.

And that’s it—that’s the line Ronin’s been waiting for. He lifts his hand, fingers splaying across his chest like he’s been personally offended, but there’s a gleam in his eye. Something feral. Something viciously proud.

"Oh, darlin’ didn’t tell you?" His smile turns razor-sharp, voice syrup-sweet. "I’m their worst decision. And their best one."

"YOU—"

"Careful now," Ronin warns, mock-gentle. "Wouldn’t wanna get your blood pressure up. Though, hey—if you keel over, I’ll send flowers. Maybe."

Your mouth falls open. "Ronin!"

He shrugs, but his arm wraps around your waist, tugging you against him like he’s staking a claim. "What?" he says, all innocence. "M’bein’ polite."

Polite.

The old man, meanwhile, sounds seconds away from an aneurysm. "You punk! What the hell do you even bring to the table?! Huh?!"

Ronin hums, pretending to think—tapping his chin like this is a serious question. "Well," he finally says, drawing out the word like it’s a punchline, "I’m real good with my hands."

You choke.

He winks.

And that’s when you’ve had enough. With a furious swipe, you rip the phone out of his hand and hang up before anyone can make things worse. For a second, there’s silence—just the hum of the garage and your heart pounding in your ears.

Then, of course—Ronin laughs.

Deep and delighted, like you just handed him the best gift he’s ever gotten.

You whirl on him, shoving at his chest. "Are you INSANE?!"

He doesn’t budge. Just catches your wrists, lazy and loose, still chuckling like he’s having the time of his life. "A little," he admits, dragging your hands up to his lips. He presses a feather-light kiss to your knuckles, saccharine and smug. "But you love it, don’t ya?"

Ronin’s eyes narrow the second the old man’s voice blares back through the phone—louder, angrier, like he’s just realizing exactly who he’s dealing with.

“AH, FUCK—IT’S YOU! PUNK, EMO ASS, KID—”

Your head drops back with a groan. Oh, great.

The rant barrels on, unstoppable. “Look, kid. They told us ‘bout you—yeah, yeah, we didn’t even mind your ass. But then we heard you don’t like marriage. Christian-type stuff.”

Ronin snorts under his breath, lips twitching. "Oh, no. Anything but the sanctity of holy matrimony," he mutters, loud enough for you to hear, and you felt shitty—because, of course, he’s not taking this seriously.

The old man is not amused. “Look, respectfully—I get it. Some people don’t like the religion shit, fine.” A breath hisses through the receiver. “But this is an event. My lil’ baby is either gettin’ married—or gonna.”

You don’t miss the way Ronin’s jaw flexes at the word "baby."

“So, please—stay outta their way.”

Before you can respond—before Ronin can sharpen his tongue into something lethal—your patience snaps. You snatch the phone from his hand and, with zero hesitation, hurl it across the garage. It hits the wall with a satisfying crack, falling in two pitiful pieces.

The silence that follows is deafening.

For once—he doesn’t laugh.

Ronin watches you—sharp, calculating—like he’s peeling back your skin with his eyes, memorizing every new layer you reveal. His head tilts just a little. Something about that look makes your chest feel tight—too much, too fast.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair, like it’ll somehow smooth out the mess in your head. But when you glance back at him—he’s still looking. Still waiting.

And his voice—God, his voice—comes out too soft. “Somethin’ on your mind, darlin’?”

You look away.

His grin creeps back in, a little too sharp. “Y’know I love it when you get shy,” he teases, but the edge in his voice gives him away. He wants the truth.

Your heart stumbles. You press your lips together, fighting the way your thoughts swirl—loud, messy, too much. But the words—the real words—don’t come easy. Not when it’s this.

Still—you reach for him. Slip your fingers into his, warm and solid and steady. It’s too intimate for how casual you’re pretending to be, but he lets you.

You swallow hard. “…You don’t like these things because of—”

But you can’t finish. Your voice trips over itself, and rather than push through, you stop. Let it hang. Force yourself to smile. “It’s fine.”

Ronin doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just stays locked on you.

You squeeze his hands a little tighter. “I’m happy. With you.”

It’s too honest. Too raw. And his grip tightens—like he’s daring you to take it back.

For a beat—he says nothing. But something shifts behind his eyes, and you know—you just know—that those words are going to stick. He’ll hold onto them like a blade tucked under his skin.

You lean up, quick and light, and kiss his cheek—lingering just long enough to feel the heat rising under your lips.

“I’m gonna go home,” you murmur. “Sleep well, Ronin.”

His fingers twitch in yours—tight, like he doesn’t want to let go.

But then—he does. And the smile he gives you as you pull away is dangerous—a promise.

“G’night, Darlin.”

The walk home is quiet. Too quiet. The kind that sticks to your skin and makes your head buzz. You told yourself it was fine—you’re fine—but the weight in your chest doesn’t quite lift, no matter how many deep breaths you take.

When you finally get home, the house is dark. Silent, except for the faint hum of that damned telephone still on the hook. You don’t touch it. Not tonight.

You kick off your shoes, peel off the day, and crawl into bed. The sheets are cold—too cold—without him. But you don’t think about that.

Not yet.

You’re too tired to fight your thoughts, so you let them fade. Let sleep pull you under.

Ronin doesn’t sleep.

Not well, anyway—not when you’re gone.

He stays in the garage long after you leave, leaning against the workbench with a half-finished cigarette burning between his fingers. Smoke curls through the air—thick, acrid—something to keep his hands busy while his mind spins.

That old bastard’s voice still rings in his ears. “Stay outta their way.” Like he’s some stray mutt sniffing around where he doesn’t belong. Like you’d ever let anyone pull that leash.

A dry chuckle slips past his lips. As if.

You told him to live. And you said it like you meant it. Like you wanted him to stick around. For you.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

Because Ronin’s been circling the drain for years—grinning all the way down—and then you came along. Got your hooks in him. Made it hard to fall when you’re the one holding on.

And he likes it. That’s the worst part. He likes the way you look at him—like he’s more than just teeth and blood and bad habits stitched together. Likes the way you call him an idiot and still hold his hands like you’re afraid to let go.

It’s addictive. You’re addictive.

And maybe—just maybe—he’s not ready to lose that yet.

The cigarette burns down to the filter before he flicks it aside, crushing it under his boot. His fingers twitch against his palm, and for a split second—he thinks about calling you. Just to hear your voice. Just to prove you’re still there.

But he won’t. He doesn’t want to spook you. Not when you’ve already given him so much.

Still—he’s not gonna sit here all night stewing like a lovesick idiot.

So, he grabs his keys, swings his jacket over his shoulders, and slips out of the garage with a devil-may-care grin.

If he’s not gonna sleep, he might as well have some fun.

You don’t hear the sound of his bike pulling up outside your house around 3 AM. (Just kidding)

You don’t hear the quiet creak of the gate as he slips through, or the soft thud of his boots against the porch.

The lock clicks. A sound too soft for anyone else to notice—but you do. Always.

You move without thinking, bare feet against cold floors, fingers brushing the knob before you twist it open. And there he is.

Ronin.

He’s leaning against the doorframe like he owns it, like he’s got all the time in the world, but there’s something heavy in his stance. Something coiled too tight. His knuckles twitch at his sides. The silver glint of rings, catching low light.

You don’t ask why he’s here. You don’t need to.

Your hand curls around the front of his jacket—warm leather, worn soft—and you pull. He doesn’t resist. Never does, not when it’s you. He’s already moving before the door even clicks shut behind him.

The house is still. Silent, save for the muffled hum of appliances, the faint tick of a clock somewhere down the hall. But his breathing—his—is loud in your ears.

He smells like smoke and metal and something else—something darker, sharper, like midnight and mistakes. It clings to your skin as he steps closer.

You don’t bother turning on the lights.

His hands find you first. Of course they do—always greedy, always starving—palms dragging against your waist, thumbs pressing against your ribs. Heavy. Like he’s reminding himself you’re real.

Your breath hitches when he curls his fingers into the fabric of your shirt, knuckles brushing bare skin. He feels it. You know he does, because his mouth curls—barely—and he lets out a low, breathy exhale, like this? This is exactly what he came for.

You tug him through the dark, back to your room, back to your bed—his bed, when it suits him—and he follows without a word.

The door shuts behind you both. Quiet. Like a secret.

He shrugs off his jacket as you sink onto the mattress. The leather hits the floor in a careless heap, rings glinting as his hands hover—hesitate—before he touches you again.

Always touching. Always taking.

You make room for him without thinking, shifting under the sheets as he crawls in beside you. He’s warm—too warm—like he’s been carrying heat under his skin for hours.

You should shove him. Call him an idiot for coming here in the middle of the night. But you don’t.

Instead, you curl against him, and he… melts.

His arms slide around your waist, pulling you close—closer—until there’s nothing left between you but breath and heartbeat and something too raw to name. His nose brushes against the curve of your neck, and his fingers twitch where they rest against your back.

He holds you like you’ll disappear if he lets go.

And maybe that’s the point.

His face presses into your shoulder, too much teeth against soft skin, but it’s not rough. Not really. Not when you know how much he wants this—needs this—even when he won’t say it.

Especially when he won’t say it.

He’s touch-starved in the way only someone like him can be. Starved for you, specifically. Like it isn’t enough to watch from the edges. Like he needs to feel you—to sink in and never leave.

You trace your fingers up the back of his neck, nails dragging gently against skin. He shudders. His breath stutters against your throat.

His grip tightens.

He won’t ask you to stay like this. He won’t ask for anything. But you know he’d take it if you let him.

And tonight?

You do.

You let him tuck his face against your collarbone. Let him wrap himself around you like he’s trying to crawl under your skin. His hair tickles your cheek—soft, messy, human—and for all his edges, all his sharpness, he’s warm. Solid. Yours.

His heartbeat slows against your ribs.

You stay like that. Minutes. Hours. Maybe forever.

And when his hand slides under your shirt—fingers curling against your spine, not asking, just holding—you don’t stop him.

He’s quiet, after that. Quieter than usual. Like maybe, just maybe, he’s finally gotten what he wanted.

Morning comes slow. Too slow, and somehow too fast.

The bed’s cold.

His warmth—his weight—is gone, and you feel it before your eyes even open. There’s no leather-jacketed mess tangled in the sheets, no sharp grin waiting to bite at you the second you stir. Just empty space where he was, where he always is, until he isn’t.

You sigh. Of course.

He never stays. Not all the way.

The sun bleeds through the curtains, golden and soft, but it does nothing to fill the ache curling behind your ribs. You push yourself up, stretch the stiffness from your limbs, and try—fail—not to think about the way he clung to you last night. The way his hands wouldn’t stop shaking, even when he had you pinned close.

You don’t know why you keep doing this. Letting him crawl under your skin. Letting him take whatever he wants, however he wants. But you do. Again and again and again.

Your throat feels tight. You swallow it down.

The floor is cold against your feet as you slip out of bed. You move through the motions—shower, brush your teeth, dress yourself like you’re preparing for war. Your usual uniform. The world doesn’t stop turning just because Ronin decided to ghost you.

Not that it’s a surprise. It’s what he does.

Still—you check your phone. Just once.

Nothing. No texts. No missed calls. No smart-ass messages left for you to find.

Figures.

You yank open the closet door, grab your work bag, and sling it over your shoulder. The weight is familiar. Easy. You focus on that—the rhythm of routine, the comfort of habit—because if you don’t, you’ll think about the way he felt in your arms. The way he held you like he wasn’t sure he’d get another chance.

You don’t have time for that.

Keys. Wallet. Phone. You snatch them off the counter and head to the door, locking up behind you with the kind of practiced ease that doesn’t need thought.

Outside, the air is crisp—too bright, too sharp for a morning that feels this heavy—but you square your shoulders, lift your chin, and walk.

A job’s a job. And yours won’t wait.

By the time you make it to the office, your face is carefully neutral—expression smooth, words sharper than you mean them to be. No one notices. No one ever notices. You bury yourself in your work, losing hours to reports and phone calls and emails, because it’s easier than letting your mind wander.

But it does,

Slaughterhouse: Losers Very Good—a bloodstained corner of the internet where psychos, freaks, and murder hobbyists hang out like it’s a dive bar no one sane would step into. Coded from scratch, like everything Ronin does. Meticulous. Untraceable. Home sweet home.

And you?

Offline.

He hates that.

You’re too good to him. You let him touch you—hold you—and somehow, you’re still here. Soft edges in a world full of jagged glass. He doesn’t get it. Doesn’t deserve it. And yet.

Ronin leans back in his shitty leather chair, boots kicked up on the desk. The glow from his monitors bathes the room in electric blue, half-lit shadows stretching across the mess of papers, knives, and half-finished projects. One screen blinks with a list of names. His little collection of degenerates.

If he’s gonna do something for you, it’s gotta be good.

He cracks his knuckles, spins a blade between his fingers, and pulls up the first chat.

���� K9 (V):

Ronin: sup, robo-cop.

K9: Don’t.

Ronin: aw, missed u too, sweetheart. anyway, i got a question. hypothetical. romantic. u know what that is, or does ur metal heart not compute?

K9: I’m blocking you.

Ronin: no u aren’t. u love me. listen, if you were, hypothetically, in love with someone—(gross, i know)—what would you get ‘em?

K9: …You? In love?

Ronin: hypothetical. duh.

K9: A knife. Through the heart.

Ronin: aw. that’s practically a marriage proposal, k9. but srsly. i want ideas. gimme somethin’.

K9: Why do you care?

Ronin: because, steel-toes, for once in my godforsaken life, i want to be nice. write that down.

K9: …Whatever the hell you are, I do respect you for wanting to do something. Get them something meaningful. Personal. Something no one else could give.

Ronin: ur such a sap under all that righteous fury. thanks, babe. xo.

Ronin grins to himself. Meaningful. Personal. Easy words when you’re not the one tangled in it. Still, not useless. And if nothing else, bothering V is a highlight of his day.

Next.

💀 LUCA_IS_SO_COOL:

Ronin: sup, sunshine.

Luca: YO DUDE. YO. YO. THE DEVIL IS IN MY DMS WHAT’S GOOD

Ronin: don’t wet ur boardshorts, prettyboy. i need ur expert advice.

Luca: BRO ASK AWAY. I AM AN OPEN BOOK OF RAD WISDOM.

Ronin: so, imagine someone who’s not me (obvs) wants to do something nice for their, uh, partner. ideas?

Luca: BROOOOOOO BROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO ARE YOU IN LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE DEVILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

Ronin: chill. ur embarrassing urself.

Luca: NAAAAH THIS IS EPIC. OK OK OK OK. GET THEM SOMETHING FUN, MAN. SOMETHING THAT MAKES ‘EM LAUGH. OR LIKE. A DATE NIGHT. EVERYONE LOVES A DATE NIGHT.

Ronin: yea? what do u get feli? a golden shrine?

Luca: BRO. SHE DESERVES IT. LOVE OF MY LIFE. 10/10 WOULD MURDER FOR HER.

Ronin: u r so cringe it makes my teeth hurt.

Luca: NAH, MAN. THIS IS PEAK RELATIONSHIP. EMBRACE IT. TREAT ‘EM RIGHT.

He closes the chat before Luca can start writing you two’s wedding vows.

🎀 Angel (Angelic):

Ronin: hey, sweetheart.

Angel: Shouldn’t you be doing crimes?

Ronin: multitasking. i need a gift idea. something hot. spicy. devilishly irresistible. like me.

Angel: LMAO. You? Being romantic? Is this the apocalypse?

Ronin: c’mon, sugar. help a devil out.

Angel: Fine. Jewelry’s always a classic. But not basic. Custom. Something only you could give. Bonus points if it’s dangerous.

Ronin: deadly and pretty. like you. i’ll keep that in mind.

Angel: You’re welcome, loser.

Alright. Custom. Unique. That he can work with.

One last stop.

📚 Felicite:

Ronin: Hey Feli

Felicite: What do you want, Ronin? I hope you're doing fine!

Ronin: thought you academics liked answering questions. gimme ur best gift idea.

Felicite: For who?

Ronin: nosy. for my business.

Felicite: Books are an easy choice. But if you actually care, do something personal. An experience. Something only you could give.

Ronin: huh.

Felicite: For the record, Luca’s losing his mind. I think you broke him.

Ronin: lol. love that.

He leans back, phone tossed onto the desk. Mind buzzing.

Something personal. Something only he could give.

He taps his fingers against his thigh, a slow rhythm building. Yeah. Yeah, he’s got ideas.

hitmeuppp

goreboy: oi, sunshine. u busy killin’ or can i bother u for a sec?

hitmeupp: ✨ goreboy in my inbox?? is it my birthday?? ✨

goreboy: i’m the gift that keeps on givin’, baby. don’t forget it.

hitmeupp mm, flirty today. what’s on your wicked little mind, devil boy?

Ronin: hypothetically… let’s say i wanna do somethin’ nice for someone. y’know. romantic. cute. sweet. whatever. ideas?

hitmeupp: 👀👀👀 waitwaitwait—you?? doing something sweet?? for a special someone?? ohhh i am LIVING for this.

Ronin: don’t make it weird.

hitmeupp: too late, babe. so, what’s the vibe? like, do you wanna melt their heart? make ‘em blush? get ‘em to kiss you senseless? give me the deets.

Ronin: …all of the above, probs.

hitmeupp: aww, you’re adorable when you’re down bad. okay, listen up:

Custom gift—something only you could give. Unique. Dangerous, if you’re feelin’ spicy.

Surprise date—not boring, tho. They like you, so they probably have a taste for the unusual.

Handwritten note—bonus points if it’s a little unhinged. People LOVE that stuff.

Ronin: a note? what, like “roses are red, violets are blue, i’d kill for u, baby, it’s true”?

hitmeupp: LMAO okay, poet, calm down. but yeah—personal. even psychos like a little sentiment. and you’ve got that whole devilish charm thing, use it.

Ronin: u sayin’ i’m charming?

Misaki: 😏 darling, if i didn’t have standards, Stil no

Ronin: Ouch

hitmeupp mmm, promises, promises. now, get outta my inbox before i start liking you.

Ronin: too late, sunshine.

hitmeupp ugh, you’re impossible. good luck wooing your lover~ 💕

[Slaughterhouse Server – Main Chat]

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: AYO. EVERYONE SHUT UP. BIG NEWS.

Angelic: ??

hitmeuppp: what, did u finally find a brain cell?

Angelic: Doubt it.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: NO. BIGGER. Y’ALL. RONIN DMed ME ABOUT GIFTS.

K9: …The hell?

Angelic: wait. hold on. pause.

hitmeuppp: ✨ omg no way ✨

Goreboy: Liar.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: BRO, I SWEAR. HE ASKED ME FOR GIFT IDEAS. LIKE—SOMETHING ROMANTIC. I’M NOT EVEN KIDDING.

Felicite: …what's wrong about it luca?

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: HE’S SIMPIN’.

Angelic: That's fine?

K9: This is stupid. Who cares.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: LMAOOOO LOOK AT THIS HATER. HE MAD ‘CAUSE NO ONE’S SENDING HIM LOVE LETTERS.

goreboy: you’re gonna lose a limb, surfer boy.

hitmeuppp: awwww the devil’s BLUSHING~

Angelic: no because why is this actually the most interesting thing to happen all week

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: I’M NOT EVEN DONE. Y’ALL. HE DIDN’T JUST DM ME. HE DMed EVERYONE.

K9: ......

Angelic: Hold the fuck on—

hitmeuppp: 💀💀💀 GOREBOY OUT HERE TAKING A SERVER-WIDE SURVEY ON HOW TO WOO HIS BOO??

Felicite: Oh my god.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: NAH BECAUSE THIS IS TOO GOOD. IMMA SAY IT. HE’S SIMPIN’ FOR Y/N.

Ronin stares at the screen.

The nerve. The audacity.

These punks. Absolute ingrates. He gives them a space to thrive, to indulge their weird little murder hobbies, and this is the thanks he gets?

He’s cool. Ice-cold. Too smooth to care. …And yet—

The corner of his mouth twitches. A little.

They’re all still going.

hitmeuppp: if it’s NOT y/n i’m actually gonna riot.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: BRUH WHO ELSE WOULD IT BE??

K9: I hate all of you.

hitmeupp: WAIT. HOLD UP. What if Y/N SEES THIS???

Ronin’s heart skips.

Yeah. What if?

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: OMG OMG OMG I’M GONNA PING ‘EM.

goreboy: don’t you dare.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: @Y/N @Y/N @Y/N HEY, BESTIEEEE~

Ronin grips his phone a little too tight. He should stop this.

He won’t.

Because somewhere—deep down—he kind of likes it.

Angelic: luca omg ur gonna get us all murdered.

hitmeuppp: worth it.

K9: Idiots.

Felicite: …This is sort of cute.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: NAH THIS IS LORE. I HOPE Y/N SEES THIS.

Angelic: fr. like imagine logging in and seeing the whole server clowning on ronin for being a lovesick freak.

goreboy: y’all must have a death wish.

Ronin exhales sharply through his nose.

[PRIVATE GROUP CHAT – “Ronin Babysitting Squad”] (Created by Angelicc)

Members: Angelic, Eviscerator1990, Ai Hua, Goreboy

Angelic: this feels like a weird intervention

goreboy: this feels like a weird mistake

Eviscerator1990: Shut up, kid. We’re here to help.

Ai Hua: 🙂 what’s wrong?

Ronin blinks at his screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. This is humiliating. Why did he think letting Vince of all people into this would be a good idea? The guy still thinks dial-up internet is modern technology.

And Ai Hua? Pure terror in the form of a woman. Always smiling. Always watching. Respect

He should leave.

He doesn’t.

Eviscerator1990: So. What happened.

goreboy: nothing happened, grandpa.

Angelic: that’s not what the ENTIRE SERVER says~

Ai Hua: 🤔

Eviscerator1990: Be honest. You wouldn’t DM all these punks unless it was serious.

Ronin sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. Why the hell is it these three? Of all people.

His thumbs hover—then, finally, he types.

goreboy: hypothetically. if i wanted to do… something. for someone. what’s a good gift?

Silence. Too much silence.

His stomach twists. Mistake. Huge mistake.

Ai Hua: ❤️

Eviscerator1990: …Is it Y/N?

goreboy: who else?

Vince sends three dots. The dreaded “typing…” lingers for a long, long time.

Ronin’s jaw tightens. Here it comes.

Eviscerator1990: Son. You got it bad.

Ronin groans. He should burn the server down. All of it. Reduce it to digital ash.

Ai Hua: 🙂 good.

goreboy: good??

Angelic: she’s right tho.

Eviscerator1990: So. What kind of thing are you thinking? Big? Small?

Ronin exhales, tilting his head back against the couch. Big? Small? Hell if he knows.

You’re good to him. Too good. And all his sharp little edges don’t feel quite so sharp around you. It’s annoying. It’s addictive. It’s yours.

goreboy: …something they’ll remember.

A long pause. Ai Hua is still smiling. Vince sends an emoji that looks suspiciously like a knife. Angelic? Predictably losing her shit.

Angelic: oh my god. oh my GOD.

goreboy: do not.

Angelic: no because this is so cute i’m gonna DIE.

Vince, at least, is playing it straight. Mostly.

Eviscerator1990: Personal. That’s what you want. Something that means something.

Ai Hua: 💌

A love letter. Of course Ai Hua would suggest something that sappy.

Ronin scoffs—but he doesn’t immediately shoot it down. Weird.

Eviscerator1990: Back in the day, I’d leave my girl notes on the bodies. You know—real romantic.

Ai Hua: ❤️ he did. very sweet.

goreboy: romantic is one word for it.

Angelic: okay okay but what does y/n like?

He knows. Of course he knows. Your coffee order. The way you hum under your breath when you’re lost in thought. How you scrunch your nose when you’re about to call him an idiot.

You like him. Which is the real problem.

goreboy: they like me.

Angelic: ugh barf

Eviscerator1990: Okay. Make it about you, then. Something only you could give.

Ronin blinks. Something only he could give.

The thought sticks—hooks deep. A dangerous idea, curling slow and warm in his chest.

Ai Hua: 🙂 you’ll figure it out.

He hates how much that simple, sweet little emoji makes him feel seen.

Eviscerator1990: Don’t mess it up, kid.

Eviscerator1990: Listen, kid—when you’ve been married as long as I have, you learn a thing or two.

Ronin immediately regrets his life choices.

His fingers hover over the keyboard. He considers leaving. Deleting the server. Moving to a cave and never speaking again.

goreboy: oh god here we go

Angelic: oh god here we go

Ai Hua: 🙂

Vince, undeterred, continues typing like he’s delivering the gospel.

Eviscerator1990: Our wedding? Best thing I ever did. No question.

goreboy: what, was it a bloodbath?

For a second, nothing. Then—

Eviscerator1990: Nah. Garden wedding. Real classy.

Ronin nearly drops his phone.

goreboy: you. YOU. Garden wedding??

Eviscerator1990: Yeah. Had flowers and everything. I wore a tux. Looked sharp as hell.

Ai Hua: ❤️ you did.

He can feel Angelic vibrating through the screen.

goreboy: no.

Ronin scrubs a hand over his face. This cannot be real life.

Eviscerator1990: Point is— That was my gift to her.

That hooks him. Annoying, sentimental, and probably too much sugar in his bloodstream—but it sticks.

goreboy: you’re telling me the best thing you ever gave her was a wedding?

Eviscerator1990: Yeah. ’Cause it meant forever. I mean, don’t get me wrong. She still scares the hell outta me.

Ai Hua: 👍

Eviscerator1990: But that’s how you know it’s real.

There’s a long pause. Ronin swears he can hear Angelic trying to choke down her squeals.

Ai Hua: 🙂 do you like them enough to marry?

His heart lurches.

The words hang there—quiet, patient.

Ai Hua doesn’t push. She never does. It’s not her way. She just lays it out, all soft-spoken and warm, like a mother easing her child into something bigger than they understand.

And for once, he doesn’t know.

goreboy: …kinda?

Angelic: KIND OF??

Eviscerator1990: What kinda answer is “kinda?” Either you want it, or you don’t.

Ronin huffs. He leans back on the couch, biting the inside of his cheek. Want. What a word.

goreboy: i want them. i want them to stay.

Ai Hua sends a heart. Just one.

Ai Hua: 🙂 then maybe… Do it your way.

His way.

His mouth curves. Dangerous. Wicked. Oh, he can do that.

Ai Hua: I’m sure Y/N likes you enough.

Something in his chest twists.

Likes him enough to deal with his bullshit. Likes him enough to stay, even when he’s all sharp corners and messy feelings. Likes him enough to keep his name on their tongue, even when it’d be easier not to.

Ai Hua: Whatever you give them that lasts longer— They’ll love it.

He blinks. The words sit heavy.

Ai Hua: Because it’s you. That’s how I feel about my husband.

Quiet. It’s too quiet. Even Angelic—who lives to make everything her business—doesn’t send a single obnoxious emoji.

And Ronin?

He stares at the screen, stomach flipping, heart hammering out some rhythm he refuses to name.

He doesn’t do forever. Doesn’t play nice, doesn’t stick around, doesn’t—

But for you?

Yeah. Maybe he does.

goreboy: Thanks

Eviscerator1990: You’re welcome.

Ai Hua: 🙂 good luck.

Angelic: this is the CUTEST thing that’s ever happened in this cursed server...

Ai Hua: 🙂 one more thing.

His thumb hovers over the exit button. Something about Ai Hua, though—you don’t ignore her when she asks.

goreboy: what.

Ai Hua: It’s fine.

He frowns.

goreboy: what is.

Ai Hua: The way you love them. It doesn’t have to be a wedding. It just has to be you.

He freezes.

Doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Something sharp scrapes under his ribs.

You.

He’s not soft. Not simple. Not the kind of guy who shows up with roses and a ring and a stupid, starry-eyed smile. But you don’t want that. Never have.

You want him. Exactly as he is—rough edges, black heart, wicked mouth.

And maybe—maybe—that’s enough.

Ai Hua: They love your style. Show them it, my son.

His mouth twitches.

goreboy: did you just call me your son?

Eviscerator1990: We kinda adopted you, kid. Sorry. No returns.

Ai Hua: 🙂

A beat of silence. Then—

goreboy: tch. whatever. not like i needed another family.

Ai Hua: ❤️ but you have one.

His chest aches. Stupid. Sentimental. Unbearable.

Eviscerator1990: And hey— Our kids keep asking when they’re gonna see Uncle Ronin again.

His laugh slips out before he can stop it—low, breathy. Of course they do. Little gremlins.

goreboy: tell ‘em i said to stay in school.

Ai Hua: 🙂 they want to be like you.

Oh, hell no.

goreboy: no they don’t.

Eviscerator1990: One of ‘em tried to make a fake server last week. Called it “Slaughterhouse Jr.”

goreboy: i am not responsible for that.

Ai Hua: 🙂 you inspire them.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. This is a nightmare.

goreboy: y’all are gonna give me grey hair.

Eviscerator1990: You’d still be pretty.

Angelic: oh my god.

Ai Hua: 🙂 will you be okay?

For a long time, he doesn’t answer.

Will he be okay? With this? With you—taking up space in his chest, clawing your way under his skin?

He already knows the answer.

goreboy: yeah.

And for once—just once—he means it.

goreboy: thanks. or whatever.

Ai Hua: 🙂 anytime.

Now onto, you and him

goreboy: Hey, darlin’.

A simple text. Too simple. He never starts like that without a plan. Trouble in four letters.

You barely get through your day before your phone buzzes again. And again. And—

goreboy: what, too busy for lil’ old me? tragic.

goreboy: bet you’re sittin’ there missin’ me, huh?

goreboy: wait—don’t tell me. you’re makin’ heart eyes at your desk or somethin’.

goreboy: don’t blame you. i’m a lot to miss.

He’s annoying. Even through a screen. Even when you know he’s probably lounging somewhere, all long legs and lazy smirk—half-bored, half-plotting his next move.

Still. Your heart gives that stupid flutter. You glance at your phone, biting back a smile as you finally reply.

You: you left without saying anything :(

A beat. Then—

goreboy: oh, baby. don’t tell me you’re poutin’.

You roll your eyes.

You: maybe.

He’s quick—too quick.

goreboy: fuck. now i really wanna see it.

Your cheeks warm. He’s unbearable. Always poking, always pushing. And yet—

You: you didn’t have to leave so fast.

His next text comes slower. As if he’s thinking. You imagine him slumped in that busted leather chair in his garage—legs spread, boots kicked up, twirling a screwdriver or some other sharp thing between his fingers.

goreboy: duty called, sugar. had to open up the garage. wouldn’t want my precious toys collectin’ dust.

You: you’re ridiculous.

goreboy: and yet, here you are, talkin’ to me anyway.

You: i’m soft for you, obviously.

A whole minute passes. When he finally replies, it’s slower. Something tugs beneath the teasing. Something heavier.

goreboy: hey.

goreboy: you’d like… whatever i did for you, yeah?

You blink. Where is this coming from?

You: of course.

goreboy: nah, i mean— like. if i did somethin’ stupid. you’d still like it, right?

Your lips curl. So that’s it. The devil himself, circling the point like a shark.

You: depends. how stupid are we talkin’?

He sends a dramatic sigh emoji.

goreboy: unbelievable. here i am, barin’ my heart and soul—

You: pfft. heart and soul, my ass.

Still, you soften. Because under all the bravado, you can hear it—the little twist of hesitation. And that? That gets you every time.

You: whatever you’re scheming, yeah. i’ll like it. because it’s you.

You hit send before you can overthink it. Let him sit with that.

And oh, does he. For a second too long. When his next message comes, it’s something softer—something unguarded.

goreboy: dangerous thing to say, sweetheart. you know i’ll hold you to it.

You bite your lip, warmth curling in your chest.

You: i’m counting on it.

He doesn’t answer immediately. You imagine him leaning back, teeth sinking into his lower lip, mind working a mile a minute. Because that’s the thing with him—he never stops thinking. Never stops wanting.

And you—you’re the worst of it.

His brain tells him he shouldn’t care so much. But his heart? His heart’s already tangled up in you.

goreboy: s’pose i’ll have to cook up somethin’ real special then. can’t have my darlin thinkin’ i don’t care.

It makes your stomach flip.

You: i never think that.

Another pause. You swear you can feel his smile through the screen—soft, a little crooked. The kind he only ever lets you see.

goreboy: I....see...

Uptown has an alley they call Purgatory.

It isn’t pretty. Never was. A place where sunlight doesn’t dare creep, where the air tastes like rust and regret. Blood dries black against the brickwork—his blood, most days. Or someone else’s, when he’s feeling generous. It smells like piss, garbage, and death.

A shithole. Perfect.

This—this—is where Ronin Beaufort decides to propose.

Because where else? Where better? It’s where you kissed him for the first time, after all—the devil himself, knuckles raw from the man he’d left twitching at your feet, teeth red and grin wide. You’d kissed him anyway. Kissed him like you meant it. Like he was something worth keeping.

And Ronin? He’s not one to let things go.

So, he makes a plan. A fucked-up, perfect plan.

The first body is easy.

An uptight corporate asshole. Buttoned-up, boring, all crisp lines and no soul. Ronin cracks his skull open like a candy shell. Blood spatters wide, painting the concrete. Nice start. But not enough. Not for you.

The second one’s better. Messier. He takes his time—drags it out. A real piece of work, some wannabe kingpin, all bark and no bite. Ronin guts him slow, pulls pretty red ribbons from his stomach. He uses the crowbar for the heart—your heart, darling—and carves it deep into the brick. Wide, jagged, dripping. Personal.

When it’s done, he steps back, tilts his head.

Huh. Cute.

He’s still admiring his work when his phone buzzes.

Angelic: yo, goreboy, you rang?

Of course, she picks up. She always does—his favorite little devil with a halo, sharp-tongued and twice as nosy. And yeah, he could’ve asked anyone, but Angel? Angel gets it.

goreboy: need a favor.

Angelic: what’s in it for me?

goreboy: the eternal satisfaction of servin’ the devil?

Angelic: pfft.

He snorts, tongue running over his teeth. Predictable.

goreboy: fine. order me somethin’. rings.

Angelic: wait. back up. goreboy’s proposing?

He glares at his phone like it personally offended him.

goreboy: shut up.

Angelic: aw, you’re getting soft. what kind? black diamonds? skulls? molten lava straight from hell?

“Funny,” he mutters under his breath. But she’s not wrong. Your ring—your ring has to be perfect.

goreboy: black. gothic. whatever screams “marry me"

The typing bubble appears. Pauses. Then—

Angelic: lucky you, i got a guy.

Of course, she does.

goreboy: knew there was a reason i kept you around.

Angelic: anything for the devil. even if i gotta play cupid for my ex.

He rolls his eyes. “Christ.”

goreboy: Thanks Angel, Won't give up my child for a week.

Angelic: I'll just kill it again

Yeah. Yeah, he would. Not that he’d admit it.

goreboy: whatever. send me the bill.

Her last message comes fast—too fast. He can hear the smile.

Angelic: oh, darling. it’s on the house.

goreboy: Send it, you know- I don't do these Angel.

Angelic: You're cute, No. Just take the rings

He huffs a laugh, shoves his phone back in his pocket. One thing down.

By the time the sun starts to dip, Purgatory looks like an art installation straight from hell. Bodies like broken marionettes. Blood like paint, dripping in slow, thick rivulets. And at the center of it all—the heart.

Your heart.

His.

If he had one.

And if he didn’t? Well. You stole it anyway.

Ronin leans against the wall, crowbar still sticky in his grip.

What the hell is he doing?

Proposing.

Fucking proposing.

He should be laughing at himself. Should be smirking, at least. But his jaw ticks, his fingers flex, and there’s something ugly crawling under his skin—a feeling he doesn’t like.

It’s not the blood. Not the mess. That’s easy.

It’s you. It’s always you.

And the worst part? The sick, stupid, beautiful part?

He wants this.

Wants you.

He wants to keep you—ruin you—for as long as you’ll let him.

His phone buzzes again. Another message from Angel—this time with a picture.

The rings.

Sleek. Sharp. One for you, one for him. Bound in black, wrapped in silver. Yours is thinner, more delicate—but not by much. No diamonds. No fluff. Just you and him, the way it’s always been.

Perfect.

He huffs a breath, tongue clicking against his teeth.

Yeah. Yeah, this’ll do.

It’s almost cute, really.

If you ignore the bodies.

And the blood.

And the fact that he’s doing this the only way he knows how—messy and wrong and completely, utterly him.

He swipes the sweat from his brow, steps back, and admires his work.

A heart, jagged and dripping. A graveyard of the unworthy. Rings on the way.

And for you? Anything.

Even this. Especially this.

Because when the time comes—when he kneels, all cocky smirk and bloodstained hands—you’ll say yes.

You have to.

(And if you don’t? Well. He’s never been good at taking no for an answer.)

Ronin lights a cigarette, lets the smoke curl in his throat.

The devil himself, on one knee.

Christ.

What the hell has he become?

Yours.

And God help anyone who tries to take that away.

goreboy: hey darlin’~

Your phone buzzes against the desk, and you barely glance down before his name flashes across the screen. Of course, it’s him.

you: hey yourself. what’s up?

goreboy: what’s up? tsk. rude—can’t a guy check on his favorite little writer?

You smile, shaking your head. Always like this.

you: oh? i’m your favorite now?

goreboy: pfft. babe, you’ve been my favorite. since day one. don’t let it get to your head, though. my heart’s fragile, y’know.

you: lmao, fragile?? you??

goreboy: i’m delicate. like a flower. 🌹

You roll your eyes, biting back a laugh. Ridiculous.

you: what do you want, ronin?

goreboy: what, a man can’t just miss you? ‘sides… i’m bored.

Of course, he is. The devil himself, restless as ever.

you: poor baby. what am i supposed to do about that?

goreboy: come see me.

You blink at the screen, heart skipping. Oh.

you: …right now?

goreboy: yeah.

you: where?

goreboy: purgatory.

Your brows furrow. He’s teasing. He has to be.

you: lmao. you’re joking, right?

goreboy: when do i ever joke, darlin’?

A pause. Then—

goreboy: seriously. come by. just for me.

You bite your lip, warmth blooming in your chest. This—this—is why you’re in too deep.

you: fine. what’s the occasion?

goreboy: pfft. gotta have a reason? but if you must know…

Another buzz—

goreboy: maybe i got somethin’ for you.

Your heart stutters.

you: something? what kind of “something”?

goreboy: you’ll see, babe. gotta keep a little mystery alive, yeah?

You roll your eyes—fondly, though. Always like this.

you: okay, fine. any special requests?

goreboy: oh, now we’re talkin’. dress in black for me, sweetheart. if you wanna, anyway.

You tilt your head, thumb hovering over the keyboard. He’s playing, but there’s something beneath it—something serious.

you: you like gothic, huh?

goreboy: on you? hell yeah.

you: good. ‘cause so do i.

goreboy: ...perfect.

Is it your imagination, or did he just… stammer?

you: did you just freeze up?

goreboy: shut up.

The alleyway known as Purgatory is as familiar as it is haunting—a place you want to hate but can’t. Your heels click softly against the cracked pavement, the air thick with the scent of blood, metal, and something distinctly him. It’s always him. Even when he’s nowhere to be seen, his shadow lingers like an inescapable ghost.

Tonight, though, there’s something different.

Your black dress clings to you like a second skin, just the way he likes it. You don’t want to think about why your heart’s racing, or why you dressed up like you were meeting someone important. But it’s him—you know it’s always him.

And when you turn the corner, your breath catches in your throat.

A heart.

Not just any heart—A jagged, messy thing carved into the wall in dripping red. Blood, fresh and dark, soaks the concrete like an offering. The heart is wide and chaotic, edges splattered like he couldn’t help but make a mess. But in the center, etched with the brutal precision only he could manage, is your name.

It’s wrong. It’s so wrong. And yet—your pulse flutters. Your stomach twists in that awful, dizzying way it only does with him.

A soft metallic scrape echoes behind you—the unmistakable sound of a crowbar dragging across the pavement. Your skin prickles, and you don’t have to turn around to know who it is.

“Damn,” his voice purrs, smooth and sinful. “Look at you, sweetheart.”

When you do turn, he’s leaning against the brick wall like the devil himself, framed in the neon glow. Ronin.

Black beanie pulled low over his burgundy hair, the devil horns stitched into the sides making him look every inch the trouble he is. His leather jacket gleams under the dim light—studded, spiked, with a pair of rusty scissors sticking haphazardly through the shoulder. A red ‘X’ pin glints beside it, careless and dangerous. Beneath, his black t-shirt clings to him—faded skull design stretched across his chest like it belongs there. His maroon pants hang low on his hips, ripped just enough to tease, and the chains hooked along his belt jingle softly with every move.

And—God—the piercings. Silver glints along his ears, across his tongue when he grins, and the delicate sword pendant resting against his throat? Unfair.

He’s looking at you like he’s starving. Like you’re already his, and tonight, he’s reminding you of it.

“You came,” he murmurs, dragging the crowbar behind him as he approaches. “Knew you couldn’t resist me, darlin’.”

Your throat tightens as he stops in front of you—towering, all six-foot-one inches of bloodstained disaster. There’s that wild glint in his blackened eyes, something feverish and yours. The air crackles between you, electric and dizzying.

His gloved hand reaches out, and before you can react, his fingers lace with yours—gentle, almost. His touch is rough, warm, and when he lifts your hand toward his mouth, your heart stutters.

“A devil’s gotta mark his territory, huh?” he hums, lips brushing against your knuckles.

And then—he kisses your ring finger. Soft, deliberate—like it means something. Like it means everything.

Your face burns, and you try to pull your hand away, but he doesn’t let go. His thumb traces slow circles over your skin, almost absentmindedly—like he’s savoring the feel of you. Always touching. Always wanting.

“What—” your voice catches, breathless. “What is this, Ronin?”

He grins, sharp and wicked. “You like it?” he asks, tipping his head toward the bloodied heart. “Told ya I had something for you, babe. Can’t say I’m not romantic.”

Romantic.

The mess—the blood—the sheer violence of it—this is how he shows it. Twisted, wrong, and so perfectly him. And the worst part? You love it. You love how much he’s willing to ruin things for you.

“You’re insane,” you whisper, but your fingers curl against his palm like you don’t mean it.

“And yet,” he drawls, dipping closer—his lips ghosting against the shell of your ear, “here you are.”

You shiver.

He steps back just enough to meet your gaze, head tilted, that cocky tilt to his lips—but something softer lingers underneath. Something unsure.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” his voice drops, smooth and low. “Whatever I do… you still gonna want me?”

The words shouldn’t hit you as hard as they do. Because underneath all the bravado—beneath the teasing and the devil-may-care attitude—he’s asking if you’ll stay. If you’ll keep coming back to him.

If you’re his.

And you should be scared. You should. But instead, you brush your fingers against his jaw—soft, almost too soft.

“Of course I do, idiot,” you murmur, and his breath hitches—just barely. “I always want you.”

For once, he doesn’t have a comeback. Just stares at you like he can’t quite believe it. Like you’re something precious.

And when he kisses you—slow and bruising, like a promise..

His arms curl around your waist—possessive, like he doesn’t plan on letting go anytime soon. Dressed in black and soaked in sin, he pulls you against him, his voice a low murmur against your ear.

“Sorry, lover,” he drawls, smooth as silk but sharp enough to cut, “you can’t look back now.”

The neon red light hums around you both, staining everything it touches—casting the blood-slick walls in a glow that shouldn’t be beautiful, but it is. Because it’s him. Because it’s you. The blood, the guts—it all looks like a twisted love letter only he could write.

And the heart—still dripping on the wall with your name carved into its center—feels like a vow.

A promise he’s daring you to accept.

He leans back just enough to drink you in, eyes black as the void and twice as deep. The silver glint of his piercings catches the light, but it’s the look in his eyes that makes your heart twist. Something dark. Something dangerous. And God, something that’s only for you.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” he muses, like the whole bloodstained mess is just a casual art project. But there’s something else in his tone—something softer when he adds, “Made it special, darlin’… just for you.”

You should say something—maybe call him out for how utterly insane this is—but your tongue feels too heavy, trapped between your teeth as you try to process everything.

It’s a lot. He’s a lot.

And yet, your body betrays you—pressing closer, heart fluttering against his chest like a trapped bird. You hate how easily he pulls you under, how effortlessly he spins you into his gravity—but there’s no escaping it now.

He tilts your chin up with one gloved finger, lips curving into a slow, wicked smile. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he teases, “Cat got your tongue? Or are you just too busy fallin’ for me?”

You try to roll your eyes. Try. But his touch burns, and when he lifts your hand to his mouth—again—you forget how to breathe.

His lips brush against your knuckles—slow, deliberate—before they linger on your ring finger. It’s so soft you barely feel it at first. Just the faintest pressure. Something warm. Something cold.

And when he pulls back, there’s a glint of silver wrapped around your finger.

Your breath stutters. Your heart stops.

A ring.

Not dainty. Not soft. It’s him—jagged edges, blackened silver with the faintest blood-red inlay spiraling like a twisted promise. It’s heavy against your skin, unapologetic in its meaning.

And you didn’t even notice him slipping it on.

Your head snaps up, eyes wide, but he’s already watching you—waiting.

“Ronin—” your voice catches, and you don’t even know what you’re about to ask. What this means.

His grin widens, devilish and sharp. “What’s the matter, babe?” he coos, as if he didn’t just slide a ring on your finger like it was nothing. “Thought you liked surprises.”

You blink—once, twice—your thoughts spiraling, and he takes advantage of the silence. His hand slides along the small of your back, pulling you flush against him while his other hand traces absent circles over the ring.

“Fits perfect,” he hums, pleased with himself. “Guess that means you’re mine, huh?”

Your heart does something awful and traitorous in your chest.

He’s too much. Too close. And you—you’re letting him do this.

Still, your fingers twitch beneath his—testing the weight of the ring, the feel of it like a brand. Permanent.

“You—” Your voice trembles despite yourself. “You didn’t even ask.”

His laughter spills out, low and rough. “Baby, if I asked, would you really’ve said no?”

You hate how easily he’s right.

The gloved hand on your back slides up—tracing the delicate curve of your spine—until it rests against your neck. He tilts your head back, just enough to force you to meet his eyes. Dark. Intense. Yours.

“You’re not mad, are ya?” he murmurs, voice softer now, like there’s actually a part of him that cares. “’Cause I can take it back if you don’t want it. If you don’t want… me.”

His mask slips—just a little—and your stomach twists at the vulnerability he tries so hard to hide.

But you don’t let him pull away. Not this time.

Instead, you curl your fingers into the leather of his jacket, grounding yourself in the heat of him. Your thumb brushes over the ring—cool against your skin—and it should feel too much. Too fast. Too everything.

But all it feels is right.

“Idiot,” you murmur, and his grip tightens like he’s terrified you’ll slip away. “I’d never take it off.”

The relief in his expression is palpable—masked by a cocky smirk, ]

His lips barely part from yours when he whispers it—low, rough, like a vow dragged from somewhere deep inside him.

"Promise you," he murmurs, the words brushing warm against your mouth, "this is forever… or ‘til one of us dies."

And just like that, your brain short-circuits.

Your breath hitches. Your body freezes. You’re too stunned to speak—because, what the hell?

Forever. Forever with him—the blood-streaked, chaos-wrapped mess of a man currently holding you like he never plans on letting go. His hands are still warm against you, firm, and there’s no teasing lilt to his voice. No wicked little joke behind his words.

He means it. Ronin means it.

And for a heartbeat—just one—you can’t process it. Can’t wrap your head around the weight of what he’s just given you.

The silence stretches. Grows heavy between you. And for once, he’s the quiet one.

When you lift your gaze to his, wide and unguarded, his expression is almost… shy.

Ronin Beaufort—The Butcher, the devil himself—looks like a goddamn kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

His lips twitch, like he wants to smirk but can’t quite manage it. His hands fidget slightly on your waist—restless energy bottled under his skin. And his eyes? Pitch-black and wide open, like he’s waiting for you to either run or ruin him.

He shifts his weight from one boot to the other, shoulders hunching the tiniest bit like a kid who just handed over a crayon drawing and is desperately hoping you’ll stick it to the fridge.

"Uh—" His voice cracks just a little—a little—and you swear you catch the faintest flush creeping up his neck. "You’re… gonna say somethin’, right?"

You blink at him. Still speechless.

He fumbles. Actually fumbles—one hand pulling back to rub at the back of his neck as he huffs, "I mean—c’mon, babe, this is kinda the part where you either kiss me back or tell me to go to hell."

The confidence—the usual devil-may-care arrogance—is still there, but it’s softer around the edges. Fragile in a way he never lets anyone see.

And you—oh, you’re doomed.

Your heart does a weird little flip in your chest as you stare at him, still clutching onto your waist like you’ll vanish if he lets go. He’s so much—too much—but under all that swagger and bloodlust, he’s just… Ronin.

Your Ronin.

The idiot who drags you into alleys for romantic blood-and-guts displays. The devil who slid a ring on your finger like it was nothing. The man who—no matter how sharp his tongue is—would burn the world down for you.

“Wait,” you finally manage to choke out, the word soft and breathless. “Did you… are you actually serious?”

His face scrunches up like you just personally insulted his entire aesthetic. “Babe. Did I stutter?” He lifts your hand again, thumb brushing against the cool metal band still snug on your finger. “Or do I gotta get on one knee to spell it out?”

And oh, he’s pouting.

The Butcher—slaughterhouse king, nightmare in leather and spikes—is full-on pouting.

You bite down on your lip, hard, trying to hold back the laugh bubbling up in your chest. He notices—of course, he does—and immediately narrows his eyes.

“Don’t you dare.” His grip on your waist tightens in warning, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “I just poured my goddamn heart out, and you’re laughin’ at me?”

And suddenly—you can’t hold it back.

The laugh escapes—light, breathless, overwhelmed—because what else are you supposed to do when your psychotic, bloodstained boyfriend is acting like a needy kid who just gave you the world’s most chaotic proposal?

His brows knit together in mock offense. “Unbelievable,” he grumbles, though his tone is softer—fond—as he watches you melt into laughter. “I give you my heart on a bloodied silver platter, and this is the thanks I get?”

“I’m not laughing at you—” you try to protest, still breathless. “It’s just… you’re… cute.”

The second the word leaves your mouth, his whole body jerks.

“Cute?!” He repeats it like you’ve committed a personal crime. “I just did the most metal, romantic shit on the planet, and you call me—” He drops his head against your shoulder, groaning. “—cute. Jesus Christ, I’m losin’ my edge.”

You wrap your arms around him without even thinking—pulling him closer, fingers curling into the back of his leather jacket. He smells like smoke, leather, and something distinctly him—something you could drown in if you’re not careful.

And in the middle of the bloodstained alley, wrapped in his arms, you realize there’s no escape. Not from this—not from him.

And, God help you, you don’t want one.

“Hey, Ronin?” you whisper softly against his neck.

“Hmm?” His voice is quieter now—hopeful, like he’s trying not to get ahead of himself.

You tilt your head just enough to press a soft kiss beneath his jaw, feeling the slight hitch in his breath. “I’m not taking it off,” you promise. “Ever.”

For a split second, he’s still. Frozen. Like he doesn’t quite believe it.

And then—he’s kissing you again.

The world could burn, and you wouldn’t care—not when he’s in front of you like this. Eyes blacker than sin, lips swollen from kissing you like he’s starving, and hands gripping your waist like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

But right now, he’s the fragile one.

Your devil—loud, reckless, always too much—is holding his breath. Waiting. Like your next words could either save him or shatter him.

And God, you love him.

Your fingers brush against the ring on your hand—cool metal, heavy with meaning—before you slowly reach for his. His hands—rough, calloused, stained in ways that can’t be washed clean—tremble just a little as you lift his left hand in yours.

"You gave me one," you murmur, soft and steady, as you slide the matching ring onto his finger. "It’s only fair I make you mine, too."

His breath catches. He doesn’t say a word—doesn’t even twitch—just watches you with this raw, unfiltered intensity that makes your pulse race.

When you finish, you lace your fingers together, feeling the cool press of metal against your skin. He’s yours now. Yours in the same way you’ve always been his.

And when you speak again—voice barely above a whisper—it’s not for show. Not a tease. Just the truth, laid bare between you.

“I’ll love you forever, Ronin Beaufort.”

Something cracks in his expression—something wild and vulnerable and so, so real.

And you’re not done.

“I’m happy,” you admit, voice trembling just a little. “Happy I met you. Happy I get this—us.” You pause, and there’s this ache in your chest when you smile, soft and almost shy. “Maybe it’ll be destructive. Maybe it’ll last forever. I don’t care how it ends, Ronin… I just want it with you.”

His grip on your waist tightens—desperate—like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he lets go.

And you don’t. You just lean closer, until your lips barely brush against his, and whisper the words that have been burning on your tongue since the day he dragged you into his twisted little world:

“I love you, Ronin Beaufort.”

For one breathless moment, he doesn’t react.

And then—he moves.

He crashes into you, mouth slanting over yours with bruising intensity, like he’s trying to brand those words into your skin—into your bones. Like he wants to crawl inside your heart and never leave.

It’s messy, overwhelming, and so perfectly him—and you give yourself to it completely.

His hands slide up your back, pulling you flush against his chest as he devours you—sharp teeth grazing your bottom lip, a low growl curling from the back of his throat like he’s trying to consume you from the inside out.

When he finally pulls back—just enough to breathe—his lips hover over yours, and his voice is wrecked.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot.”

The words are rough, but his hands tremble where they hold you. “Why would you love someone like me?”

Your heart squeezes, and you don’t even hesitate.

“Because you’re you.”

And, for once, he’s speechless.

No snark. No teasing. Just the weight of your confession sinking into his bones—binding you together in a way no bloodstained vow ever could.

He drops his forehead against yours, breathing hard, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “You better be sure, sweetheart. ‘Cause you’re stuck with me now.”

Your fingers tangle in the chains hanging from his jacket as you grin. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

His lips barely ghost over yours, teasing, waiting, giving you a chance to breathe—but you don’t take it. You can’t. Because then he kisses you.

And God, he kisses you like he means it.

Like he’s sealing the promise in blood and breath, branding it into your bones with the press of his lips. His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go. Like he needs to hold on just to make sure you’re still real.

It’s slow and deep—no rush, no hesitation—just pure possession.

Your heart pounds. Your fingers tangle in the chains on his jacket, desperate to keep your balance because he’s overwhelming. He always is.

By the time he finally pulls back, you’re breathless—dazed—barely clinging to reality as he huffs out a quiet, wicked laugh.

Then—he grins. Sharp and smug, eyes flashing with something wild.

"Oh, that old man won’t shut up about how we’re not married, huh?" He snickers, tapping a gloved finger against the ring on your hand. "Guess you better show it off, sweetheart. Be loud ‘n proud about it—rub it in his face."

You don’t answer.

Because you’re still dizzy from his kiss...

It's gonna be a long night

[marauder-misprint]

Little Corvid

Remus Lupin x Potter!reader

13.2k words

cw: lil angst, fluff, pining, minor uses of Y/N, reluctantly accepting feelings

There were a few things that came with being James’ little sister at Hogwarts. 

You discovered the first one within the first month of your first year. You weren’t Potter. You were a Potter, but it rarely meant you. 

A professor hollered, “POTTER!” down a corridor full of students. You stopped and looked at the professor with terror in your eyes. You had no clue what you did wrong, not seeing James weaving through the crowd to get away from said professor. “Sorry, not you, Miss Potter. JAMES!” 

You trained yourself not to respond to Potter. ‘Miss Potter’ was still a stretch. “It’s too similar to Mister Potter,” you told several professors when you didn’t respond right away. Eventually, the professors learned to call you by your first name and save Potter for James. 

You also learned that your brother had set quite the precedent in his one year at Hogwarts without you. Despite being in a different house than James, professors took one look at your surname and assumed you’d be trouble. You were sat in the front of every class. You noticed that another boy was also sat in the front in every class but always on the opposite side of the row than you. Regulus Black, brother of your brother’s best friend. 

At least you weren’t alone in being immediately compared to your sibling. 

The third thing that came with being related to James developed the older you got: hearing everyone’s opinions about your brother and his friends. It felt like most people could only feel one of two things about them: love or hate. The first time you heard someone describe James as a ‘dreamboat,’ you gagged. Even worse, it was one of your roommates. You thought she’d have the decency to talk about James when you weren’t in the room, but you were wrong. It only got worse for you as you got to know James’ friends. It became nauseating. 

The hate they received was easier to ignore. It almost felt refreshing to hear compared to the unearned compliments sent their way. You sometimes felt the need to defend the boys, but that was only when something truly heinous was said. If they could handle the adoring fans they somehow accrued, they could handle the haters that came with them. 

You managed to find a handful of students who were more neutral to the boys. They didn’t praise the ground they walked on nor did they wish them immediate, painful deaths. Just disinterest. It was easier to ignore your brother, his friends and everything related to them when you were with your friends. 

That didn’t mean you completely avoided your brother and his friends. They were everywhere after all. You could chuckle at the occasional harmless prank. You cheered for James when he dominated quidditch match after quidditch match. On the rare occurrence that none of your friends could help, you went to James and his friends for help on homework. You’d try to bum a galleon or two off James before Hogsmeade weekend. And you’d sometimes have to seek James out when writing or receiving a letter from home. 

As much as you tried to stay out of the Marauders’ way, you still liked them. Your brother could’ve chosen much worse people for his friends. The other three found their way to Potter Manor during the holidays, sometimes all together and other times separately. You tried to keep out of their way more or less when they were around. But you could hold a conversation with them. You didn’t feel weirded out if one of them struck a conversation with you when James wasn’t around. You knew that you were James’ little sister and they were being polite. 

---

The summer before your fifth year, Sirius came to live with your family. No one would tell you the whole story, but your parents treated the situation with utmost caution. You could remember the way Sirius practically passed out into James’ arms the moment he answered the door. You couldn’t unhear the panic in your brother’s voice as he yelled for your parents and told you to get the healing potions from the bathroom.

You didn’t have time to process the sight in front of you. You ran to grab the collection of vials, not knowing which ones Sirius might need nor how much. You grabbed it all. The rest of the night went by in a blur with your parents fussing over Sirius and asking you and James to grab things or to clean up the guest room for Sirius. 

Sirius never left after that night. He stayed with your family for the rest of the summer and you knew he’d be staying and he and James graduated from Hogwarts and got a place of their own. A week or so after he arrived, Peter and Remus came to visit. Their visit felt strategically planned, just enough time for Sirius to get settled but not too long after. It was the perfect time for Sirius to be surrounded by the people who loved him the most.

“Hey, Little Corvid! Where’s your brother at?” Remus asked as soon as he arrived.

Little Corvid was a nickname reserved solely for Remus. He gave it to you during your first year, having been freshly sorted into Ravenclaw. You had sought James out to see if he wanted to say anything in your letter home. 

Remus had said, “Fun fact, ravens are corvids. Same family as crows and jackdaws.”

You had given him a confused look and said, “The Ravenclaw mascot is an eagle.”

He had laughed, “I see why she’s a Ravenclaw.”

And from then on, you were Little Corvid to him. He was one of the few people who had a nickname for you. 

You looked up from your spot on the couch. Remus was smiling at you from just inside the front door. It wasn’t unusual for the boys to let themselves in when they arrived. 

“Upstairs. Maybe Sirius’ room?” you said before returning your attention to your book.

“Thanks!” 

You heard his bags hit the ground and then the thundering of his footsteps up the stairs. You rolled your eyes. He was going to be sleeping in either James or Sirius’ room, so why didn’t he just bring his bags up now? Peter had shown up earlier that morning and his things were already upstairs. You knew it was going to be hectic with all four of them here; it always was, but now that Sirius was living here, you assumed it would be worse. Like always, you planned on not imposing too much on them. But if you got bored, you might tag along. 

“Corvid!” Remus called up the stairs later in the week. “We’re going to the shore. Need anything?”

“Yeah, give me a sec!” you hollered back. 

You adjusted your hair tie and hurried down the stairs. James groaned and rolled his eyes as you slid on your shoes.

“We were offering to grab it for you, not for you to come along,” James mumbled.

“Oh…” You began to peel your shoes back off, trying to not look disheartened. 

“Shove off, Prongs. She can come,” Sirius said, giving you a smile. “We don’t mind.”

Sirius had been extra polite to you since he arrived. He constantly worried that he was intruding on your life, suddenly being at your house for the rest of summer and he was James’ friend and only sort of yours. Remus nodded along with Sirius’ statement. He didn’t mind that you were coming.

“Looks like she’s coming,” Peter said. He was simply indifferent and led the group out of the front door. 

James grabbed the back of your shirt and hissed, “Don’t embarrass me.”

“Not trying to,” you replied.

You didn’t say much as you walked with the boys to the store. You figured that was the least embarrassing thing you could do. Can’t say anything wrong if you don’t say anything at all, but you still laughed at their stupid jokes. At some point, Remus ended up walking next to you with Peter on his other side while James and Sirius tried to do some kind of stunts ahead of the group. You wouldn’t be surprised if they’d need a bone put back together before you got home. 

“What d’you need from the store?” Remus asked you casually. 

“Just some snacks and a book. I’m on the last chapter of my current one.” 

“They sell books in the corner store?” Remus asked.

You shook your head. “No. There’s a muggle bookstore just a block over. Figured I’d nip over there while you lot get whatever you need from the store. If you leave without me, you leave without me.” 

Peter laughed, earning himself confused looks from you and Remus.

“What? You just told Moony there’s a bookstore nearby. He’s going with you. Ain’t no way we’re leaving without you.”

“I mean, if you don’t mind me coming with you,” Remus said with a chuckle.

“I don’t mind.”

James gave Remus a curious look as he followed you down the block to the bookstore. He hadn’t heard the discussion as he and Sirius were attempting to do flips. Peter explained as the remaining three entered the cornershop. 

Inside the bookstore, Remus continued to follow you as you browsed the titles. You didn’t expect him to stay glued to your side the whole time you were in that store, but he did. You ended up getting three books – it was a series, you couldn’t help yourself – and Remus got a book himself. What shocked you even more was when he offered to pay.

“No, Remus. I can afford my books. Thank you though.” 

He shrugged and let you pay for yourself. You had half a mind to pay for Remus’ book; you had quite the book allowance for the summer. Remus asked you about the book you were finishing up as you walked back to the corner store. The rest of the boys were still inside, debating how many bags of crisps they wanted, when you arrived. You grabbed your usual snacks and then lingered in the crisp aisle as Remus tried to get the boys to make a decision. 

When you got back to the house, the boys dropped their snacks in the kitchen before going back outside. You heard them say something about getting the brooms out. You planned on following them out, but you would not be getting on a broom. Instead, you grabbed a glass of lemonade, your almost finished book and the first of your new series. You reclined on a sunchair near the house. The boys had started a game of ‘monkey in the middle’ with a quaffle. James was currently in the middle. You smirked to yourself, knowing that he wouldn’t be for long. 

You were right. It only took two more throws before James caught it and Sirius was sent into the middle. The boys were rotating fairly often, not that you were keeping track. They were just loud. 

“Oi! Heads up!” Sirius yelled as the quaffle he’d just thrown soared through Peter’s outstretched hands. 

You shrieked as the ball hit you. You bolted up out of the chair. You lost your spot in your book, but frankly, you were more concerned about keeping it dry as the ricocheted ball knocked over your cup and drenched your shirt with lemonade. You swore under your breath. The boys slowly descended from their positions in the sky. You kicked the quaffle toward them, still holding your arms up. You left the book on the small table your cup had been on as you went inside to clean up. 

You completely missed how Peter elbowed Remus, who had gone slack jawed at the sight of your shirt clinging to your body. It took Remus a minute to regain his composure, staring at the door you disappeared behind. It was impressive that James didn’t notice. The boys, minus James, would be lying if they said they didn’t notice how you’d grown up. Sirius and Peter were just more discreet when they checked you out. 

The rest of the week goes by without incident. You give the boys their space, opting to spend your time by yourself or with your mother. You helped bake desserts and cook dinner. You read your books and worked on your summer crochet project. And when it was nice, you’d lay out in the sun, without a book and with your drink at a small distance to avoid another mishap. 

One of the evenings you’re sitting on the couch with Remus. You’ve got your back propped up with a pillow on the armrest with your legs bent so that your feet rested just before Remus’ thigh. You were both reading. It was the night before the full moon so Remus was taking it easy while the rest of the boys were messing around elsewhere in the house. 

You laughed softly at your book and Remus looked up from his. A smile tugged at his lips when he saw the happy look on your face and the soft smile that adorned your lips. He watched you read for a few minutes before turning back to his own book. You somehow didn’t notice him staring. You were too deep into your book. 

You were a little sad to see Remus leave a few days later. He was your favorite out of James’ friends. Without him and Peter, the house did become a little quieter. James and Sirius were still rowdy, but it was on a lesser level. The end of summer was approaching and the three of you remember that you did have some summer homework to finish before you went back to Hogwarts. That took up a decent amount of your time. 

---

You separated from your parents and the boys the moment you were through the barrier at King’s Cross Station. Yes, you’d miss your parents, but you felt that you would explode if you spent one more second with James and Sirius. They had been talking nonstop since breakfast. It was driving you mad. 

“Love you, see you in a few months!” you called as you bolted away. 

You scanned the crowd as you moved toward the train, trying to spot your friends. 

“There she is!” Marissa, one of your friends, said with a grin when you spotted her. 

Marissa was standing with some of your roommates and friends from other houses. The rest of the group greeted you as well. It didn’t take long for you to move onto the train and find a compartment. Turns out the group was just waiting for you.

“Right, so anything happen over the summer?” Elias, another friend, asked you once everyone was settled.

“The usual Marauders gathering,” you answered with disinterest. “Sirius moved in so we’re stuck with him more than usual.”

Lindsey, one of your roommates, perked up. “Sirius Black moved into your house?”

You nodded.

“Oh. My. Merlin. What’s it like?” she asked eagerly, leaning forward. “Did you get any? You know, since you have easy access?” 

You made a disgusted face, drawing laughter from your better friends. They knew how you felt about Sirius – platonic if you could even call it that. 

“I most certainly did not get any. Bloody hell. I will never get any from him.” You shuttered. “But overall, a bit chaotic. I thought living with one James was a lot and now there’s two.”

“Wait, why has Sirius moved into your house?” Marissa asked.

“I’m… not exactly sure? He just showed up and never left.”

“Odd,” she muttered, giving you a confused look. 

You shrugged. You had nothing else to say. It seemed insensitive to tell them how horrible he looked when you arrived. It wasn’t their business especially if your parents wouldn’t tell even you why he was staying. 

“Elias, did you have a good summer?” you asked, trying to get the conversation off of your summer.

You got comfortable in your seat as Elias started recounting his summer. His family traveled a lot so he had stories. You listened to the conversation as it shifted from Elias’ summer to Martin’s new quidditch broom to the latest gossip that Lucy heard. It was relaxing to be in the company of your friends again. And as long as the conversation didn’t drift to the Marauders, Lindsey and Alison were tolerable. 

Soon enough, you were back at Hogwarts. You fell back into the rhythm of school fairly quickly. With O.W.L.s looming at the end of the year, the professors took no mercy on you. Homework was ramped up with ungodly expectations. You knew it was coming, everyone did. Fifth year was notoriously hell and now you were living it. This meant spending plenty of time in the library because as great as the Ravenclaw Common Room was, it wasn’t the library.

Your increased time in the library brought something to your attention: Remus was often there. Sometimes he was alone, others with the Marauders or other Gryffindors. You make eye contact a few times as you look for an open table. He’d give you a warm smile that you’d return. You’d tell yourself that the flip your stomach did when Remus smiled at you meant nothing. He was just your favorite of James’ friends, that’s all, and he was just being polite. 

A few weeks passed and you were in the library just after sunrise on a Saturday. There was no quidditch and no scheduled visits to Hogsmeade, so you decided you would crank out as much work as you could. You piled up a collection of books on your table and got to work. Students slowly drifted into the library as the morning progressed. Among those students was Remus. You didn’t notice him until he was standing right next to your table.

“Mind if I sit here, Little Corvid?” he asked, gesturing to the seat across from you.

“Feel free.” 

He gave you that warm smile and sat down, getting straight to work. Before returning to your work, you look around the library. There are still plenty of tables open and Remus asked if he could sit at your table. You bite your lip, sending him a quick glance before bringing your attention back to your essay. Maybe Remus saw you as more than James’ little sister. You can’t imagine Sirius or Peter, or James even, choosing to sit next to you when there were open tables. 

Your thinking is only reinforced. It felt like every time you were in the library before him and he was alone, he’d sit with you. You took that as an invitation to sit with him when he got there first. If he was with someone else or one of your friends came with you, the two of you would still exchange smiles, but that would be it. 

You didn’t mind this increased friendship with Remus. It grew to waving to each other in the corridors and talking a bit more. Alison saw you talking with Remus outside of the History of Magic classroom in between classes and she whined about you getting close with “the wrong Marauder.” You rolled your eyes at her. You didn’t see why you couldn’t have a friendship of your own with Remus without it being tied to James. Well, you did know why but you liked to think that even if you weren’t a Potter or if Remus hadn’t been friends with James, you still would’ve become friends at some point.

“Hey Potter!” a male voice called down the corridor a few days later. 

You were standing with Lucy, but neither of you looked up, carrying on with your conversation. Everything about it screamed that Potter was referring to James.

“Potterrrrr,” the voice said again, drawing out your surname. 

You still gave no acknowledgement.

“Potter, hi.”

The speaker was now standing in front of you. Connor Darby, a Hufflepuff and roommate of Elias. 

“Oh, hi Connor,” you said.

“Did you get a surname change or something?”

“No,” you sighed, giving Lucy a sideways glance. “But Potter being yelled down the corridor usually means James.” 

“Right, right. Erm, could we talk in private?”

“Yeah, I suppose. Lucy, I’ll see you later.” Lucy walked away and then Connor reached out for your elbow to guide you into an ever-so-slightly more secluded area of the corridor. “What’s up?”

“I was… Ahem, I was wondering if you’d like to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?” 

“Oh,” you said, a bit startled. You hadn’t been expecting that; you didn’t really know Connor all that well. “Okay, sure. I’ll go to Hogsmeade with you.”

Connor’s face lit up. “That’s brilliant! I’ll meet you around 11 outside the Great Hall!”

Connor gave your arm a gentle squeeze before leaving you to go to his friends. You smiled to yourself as you watched his friends clap him on the back. You headed to your next class, where you sat next to Elias.

“Did Connor talk to you?” you asked after sitting down. 

Elias grinned at you. “Possibly. Did he finally grow a pair and talk to you?”

“Finally? What do you all know about this?”

“He’s my roommate, of course I know about this. He’s had an eye on you since the start of term. I’ve been telling him you’d give him a chance.”

“Yeah? What gives you that impression?” 

“I mean, I was right, wasn’t I?” 

You rolled your eyes. He was.

“Come on, Darby’s not bad looking. He’s an alright bloke. You’re single and fit and are too nice to turn someone down.” 

“You think I’m fit?” you laughed.

Elias put his hands up in front of him in defense. “Just stating a fact.”

For the rest of the week, your roommates and female friends talked about your upcoming date. They teased you about it. It was your first real date. It was like they were more excited about it than you were, but in your defense, you were nervous. You weren’t close with Connor; you had no clue what to expect. 

By the end of Saturday, you learned that your nervousness wasn’t warranted. The date was fine. You met Connor outside the Great Hall, walked to Hogsmeade and spent some time in the enchanted garden there. You talked, basic stuff. You were going to get butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks, but you caught a glimpse of your brother inside and steered Connor away. He seemed a little disappointed that you were ending the date early, but you were not going to parade your first date in front of your brother, especially when you weren’t sure if you wanted a second.

“What do you mean you don’t want a second date? Connor’s a cutie!” Lindsey said when you got back to your dorm. “What kind of guy are you looking for? You don’t like Sirius Black. You don’t like Connor Darby. Do you need younger? Older?”

“I’ll know him when I see him,” you said, sounding a bit more testy than you meant to. 

“You’re a Potter. You could have any bloke in this bloody school. You do know that, right?” Alison asked. 

“I said I’ll know when I see him.” 

The girls exchanged disbelieving looks. You never talked boys with them, unless you were telling them how you weren’t interested in a particular one. You always had the same excuse of knowing him when you see him. The girls joked that you must be blind. A whole school of boys and you were simply disinterested. 

You had talked about it more with Marissa. Sure, boys were pretty and sometimes funny, but you needed to feel something. You had yet to feel something substantial. You certainly didn’t feel enough for Connor to justify another date. The date itself hadn’t been exceptionally riveting. Elias ended up talking to you about Connor later. Connor told him that he had a good time but wasn’t sure if you felt the same. You told Elias that it was fine, but there wouldn’t be a second date. 

There was a plus side to not knowing Connor all that well: avoiding him was easy. A downside to being you: your brother heard all gossip about you.

“You had a date?” James asked, sitting down next to you at lunch. 

You hummed, stabbing your fork at some food on your plate.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Why would I do that?” 

“Because I’m your brother. I need to know these things.”

“Do you?”

“What about you, James?” Lindsey asked from across the table with a saccharine smile. “You go on any dates recently?”

“Erm, no…” James answered, barely sparing her a glance. “I need to know when you go on dates.”

“Well, you can relax. I’m not going on a second one with him.”

“Why not?”

You shrugged. “Not my type.” 

“Next time, tell me before you go off with some sketchy bloke, yeah?”

“Whatever,” you said dryly with absolutely no intention of telling James about your next date, whenever that would be.

James looked from you to Lindsey. He gave her a polite nod before getting up from the table and leaving you alone. You rolled your eyes. From across the hall you could feel the eyes of the Marauders, and various others since James didn’t visit you at the Ravenclaw table all that often – it was usually you visiting the Gryffindor table. You didn’t expect James to be the “protective” older brother type, given how little he seemed to want to associate with you. 

As the rest of the week passed, you swore that eyes seemed to follow you more than usual. You didn’t understand why. The only thing that changed is you had now gone on a date. Was that really enough to bring attention to you? Or was it because the date was enough to bring James to your table? 

You tried your best to ignore it. But it wasn’t long until James’ next visit to the Ravenclaw table. Saturday morning, already dressed in his quidditch uniform, James strolled over to you and placed a generic Gryffindor jersey in front of you.

“What’s this?” you asked.

“What’s that? That’s what you’re wearing to the match.”

“Did you hit your head or something during practice? I’ve never worn Gryffindor stuff.” You moved the jersey away from your plate. 

“If you’re going on dates now, you’re wearing Gryffindor to my matches. Remind people that you’re my sister.” 

“Right, because that’s so important?”

“You know that if someone breaks your heart, I’m breaking their face.” He put the jersey back in front of you again. “Wear it.”

As he walked away, you mocked, “Wear it.”

You did change into the jersey, which caught eyes as you walked to the pitch with your friends. Elias gave you a scandalized look. (“They’re playing Hufflepuff!”) You called it ‘all good fun.’ Elias knew you cheered for your brother, rather than Gryffindor as a whole, and the only time you didn’t cheer for him was when he was facing Ravenclaw. Still, your new jersey stuck out among your friends’ more generic outfits. 

The match was intense as always. James dominated the sky. The Hufflepuff team didn’t bother him as he flew circles around them. Elias was exceptionally vocal with every foul and point scored. Marissa, also in Hufflepuff, wasn’t quite as loud, but then again, no one in your group was as loud as Elias. He was passionate about the sport. Before long, Elias was slamming his hands down on the railing with anguished shouts as the Gryffindor team took a victory lap before descending. 

You left your friends to find James to congratulate him, as you always do when he wins. It takes a little bit of effort to actually get to him. Both friends and fans have flocked to his side to tell him how well he played. You managed to get up to James and offer him a quick ‘good job’ before someone puts their body between you and your brother. You take a few steps back. You flinched as an arm was slung over your shoulder.

“Jus’ me,” Remus said, leaning a little more weight on you as you relaxed at the sound of his voice. “They sure do like attention…”

Peter, Sirius and James had started a Gryffindor chant as the Hufflepuff players were still leaving the pitch. All of Gryffindor’s fans were getting louder and rowdier. Remus pulled you another step back. 

“You should come to the party later, Little Corvid,” Remus said with a casual tone.

You snorted. “A Gryffindor party? Because that’s so my scene.”

“They’re not all that bad. You can hang out with me.”

You met his eyes and saw the kind and hopeful smile he was giving you; your stomach did that flip you’ve started to ignore. Hanging out with Remus didn’t sound too bad, even if you were going to be surrounded by obnoxious Gryffindors. 

“I’ll think about it. What’s the password?” 

You didn’t bother to tell your roommates where you were going. They might’ve begged you to come along. A party with the Marauders? Lindsey and Alison would’ve loved to be there. Instead, only your footsteps echoed in the corridor as you made your way to the portrait of the Fat Lady. 

From the moment you stepped into the common room, you were met with the heat of bodies, the pounding music and the stench of sweat and alcohol. Within seconds, someone handed you a cup filled with something. You held it close to your chest as you scanned the room. Where was Remus? You spotted him leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room. 

You started heading his way when someone stepped in front of you and placed their hands on both your shoulders. You look up with a shocked expression. Sirius. 

“Baby Potter showed up!” he said louder than necessary. “Oi! Prongs, you see this?”

You cringed internally at his immediate bringing your presence up to James. First you wore a Gryffindor jersey to the match and now you were at their party. Yes, James had insisted that you wear the jersey, but he might see your coming to the party as an intrusion. It wasn’t like you had spent excessive time with them ever. 

James, looking over at you and Sirius, now with his arm over your shoulder, just waved at you and turned back to the girl he was talking to. 

“How much has he had to drink?” you asked Sirius.

“What convinced you to join the fun crowd?” Sirius asked, completely ignoring your question.

“That’d be me,” Remus said, walking up to you and Sirius and moving to remove Sirius’ arm. “Figured it’s about time Little Corvid experiences a real party.” 

Sirius let out a low whistle. “Make good choices, you two.”

Remus gave Sirius an annoyed look, which he responded with wiggling his eyebrows. Still, you let Remus guide you back to where he had been standing before.

“What makes you think I haven’t been to a real party?” you asked Remus.

“Ah, Little Corvid, you’re a fifth year Ravenclaw. You haven’t been to something like this.” 

“Certainly never smelled anything like this.” 

You and Remus chuckled. From the side of the room, you’re able to see the room better. Drinks were being passed around, students were dancing together, a few students gathered near an open window passing around a cigarette. Sirius was with that last group. James was still talking to that girl and Peter was dancing with someone else. Students from your year were mainly dancing or lounging on the sofas scattered across the room. You weren’t sure where the music was coming from. 

“It’s not too far off from Ravenclaw parties,” you told Remus, tilting your head up to look at him. 

You were a bit shocked to see that he was already looking at you with a slight smirk on his face. 

“What?” you asked.

“You said this wouldn’t be your scene.” 

You turned your gaze back to the room, but Remus kept looking at you.

“Because it’s here,” you said, waving your hand in front of you. “And James is over there looking like he’s about to start snogging that girl.”

“Oh, he won’t. She’s not Lily.”

“He’s still trying to win her over? How many times does the poor girl have to say no?” 

“Three million four hundred twenty seven and counting.” 

You laughed softly before taking a sip from your cup. You gagged. 

“Merlin, this is awful!” 

“What? Don’t they serve jungle juice at your corvid parties?” 

You shook your head with a grimace. “‘M usually handed a bottle.”

“Ah, because you’re a Potter.”

You rolled your eyes. 

“What does that mean?”

“You’re a smart bird, Little Corvid. You get a little something-something for being James’ sister.”

“Great. He’ll think I owe him,” you said dryly. You braced yourself before taking another sip. You gagged again and handed Remus the cup. “Nope. I can’t. That isn’t drinkable.” 

Remus immediately downed the rest of your cup and stacked it inside of his. 

“And you can drink that?” 

“I’ve drank worse,” he said casually. “This one makes me feel good though.” 

“Merlin… How many have you had?”

‘Not enough to give me the courage I need,’ Remus thought before saying out loud, “A few.”

“So, I’ll be the sober one in the room. Didn’t think I was being invited to be a chaperone.”

“Eh, I’m usually alright. It’s the other three you may have to worry about.”

“I’d rather not think about what James does when he drinks.”

“You did come to a Gryffindor party after a quidditch game. Did you expect him to be sober?” 

“I’m not sure what I expected…” 

“If it gets to be too much, we can go upstairs. I have plenty of books or cards or whatever.” 

You laughed and nudged Remus with your shoulder. “Inviting me up to your dorm? How scandalous,” you teased. 

Remus blushed and looked away from you. He hadn’t meant to imply that, but it wasn’t like he had never imagined it. It was one of the things the boys never discussed; James was always involved in those types of conversations and to mention his sister would’ve been suicide. 

“Figured it smells nicer and is quieter than down here,” he mumbled. 

You chuckled and leaned back against the wall. You stood there in silence for maybe a minute as you watched the party. Then you slid down the wall until you were sitting on the ground with crossed legs. Remus looked down at you. 

“Alright, love?” he asked, blushing again when he realized he called you ‘love’ rather than his usual ‘Little Corvid.’

“Yeah, yeah. Jus’ don’t want to stand the whole night.”

Remus nodded and sat down as well. He stretched his legs out in front of him, creating a tripping hazard for his peers. He took a sip of his drink. If he could, he would’ve willed his heart to stop pounding in his chest and for his hands to feel less clammy. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so nervous as he sat next to you; he’d been next to you before, held conversations with you, studied with you for hours in the library. 

You thought Remus looked a little stiff next to you. Stiff but pretty as ever. You couldn’t explain the urge you had to touch Remus. Just be in physical contact with him, not grope. You could lean your shoulder up against his or rest your head on his shoulder. If you were feeling exceptionally bold, you could drop your hand from your knee to the ground next to you and then slowly move it over until you reached his hand. You, however, were not bold. Being in Gryffindor Tower was a bold enough act for you right now. 

You wouldn’t admit it outloud but Remus’ invitation to read in his dorm was slowly beginning to sound more tempting as the night went on. The smell, the sound, the constant movement of people around you – it was a lot. Every once in a while someone stopped by and refilled Remus’ cup. Once he grabbed one of their forearms and said something to them in a low voice. You couldn’t hear what he said, but within a minute, you had a bottle of butterbeer in your hand.

“Your doing?” you asked, clinking your bottle against his cup.

“You looked a bit parched.”

You snorted as you took a sip and immediately started coughing. Remus hit your back in an attempt to help. 

“I… I looked parched?” you managed to gasp out in between coughs. 

“It’s a party and you had no drink. Can’t be having that now, can we?” 

You took another sip and swallowed before saying, “Thank you.”

“Anything for my Little Corvid.”

‘My.’

“You ever dance?” you asked Remus, tilting your bottle to where students were dancing and pressing their bodies against each other. You spotted a few students from your year. 

“James ‘n’ Sirius dragged me out during third year. I fear I’m more suited for the couch… or floor.” 

“Maybe you just need a better dance partner,” you said with a soft laugh. “If that, what’d you call it? Juicy juice wasn’t so bloody awful, I’d be game.” 

“Jungle juice…” Remus said, trying not to look at you. 

You just said you’d dance with him if you had a better drink in your hand. Remus knew that it was more for getting you to dance rather than for dancing with him. The more time that Remus spent with you, the more he thought he might have a chance with you. He was beginning to think that getting James to not murder him for asking you out would be a bigger challenge than you saying yes. 

The rest of the night passed like that. Small bits of conversation littered with thickly-veiled flirting. Neither of you were confident enough to make a move. The most that happened was Remus used your shoulder as a pillow after a few more drinks. 

“Comfortable?” you asked him.

He hummed in response, letting his eyelids flutter shut. You chuckled softly. It was a sweet moment that made your heart beat faster. He was close enough now that you could barely smell his cologne over the room’s stench. And there was the flipping in your stomach. That didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything. This was one of James’ best friends. 

As it got later, Remus eventually started to nod off. He sat up, stretched and said it was probably time for him to turn in. You watched him get up and head to the dorms. You stayed seated until you finished your current bottle of butterbeer before leaving the party yourself. You took the longer route back to Ravenclaw Tower. You needed the coolness of the stone corridor to settle yourself and think. 

There was a little gossip about you going to the Gryffindor party, but apparently James’ nonchalance about it at the party extended to after as he didn’t confront you about it. Because you only sat with Remus for the entire night and you left alone, the gossip cycle spit you out pretty quickly. Suddenly your entrance into the more social scene was old news. You faded back into being the younger Potter. Just the way you liked it. 

You still studied with Remus in the library. Things more or less felt the same; the main difference was now you stole more glances at him. He still gave you those warm, kind smiles that did things to your stomach. You still had small conversations, although they usually pertained to your assignments. Your favorite conversations were the ones that drifted. Talking with Remus about life was easy and titillating. 

---

You were sitting in study hall, working on an assignment for Defense Against the Dark Art. There was a low murmur around you as you worked. The professor supervising wasn’t too strict as they graded assignments at the front of the room. 

“Potter.”

You flipped a page in your textbook. 

“Oi – pretty Potter?” 

You retraced over the last word you wrote, making the ink darker and continuous. You sighed and scanned the open page of your book with your quill hovering over your parchment. You had no idea what to write next. Then a wad of parchment hit you in the face and fell in front of you. You slowly reached for it and uncrumpled it. There was nothing written on it. You frowned. What’s the point of throwing parchment at someone without a nate? You looked up and immediately locked eyes with Sirius. 

“What?” you hissed at him.

“About time. You going to the dance?” he whispered.

You made a face and shook your head, turning back to your assignment. The upcoming winter ball was for sixth and seventh years and their dates. You’re a fifth year. You were able form half a sentence in your brain before Sirius scooted down on the bench until he was right across from you. He reached his arms across the table and blocked your paper with his hands. 

“What?” you repeated yourself.

“Do you want to go?”

“What?” This time you asked it in shock rather than irritation. 

“Is there an echo in here or something? Do you want to go to the dance, Potter?”

“Uh, are you asking me to go with you? As your date?” you replied in disbelief.

He rolled his eyes. “Duh. You wanna go or not?”

“Don’t you have a list of girls who’d die to go with you?”

“Probably,” he said with a shrug. “But I’m not asking them. I’m asking you.”

“Why?”

“You know Prongs managed to get Lily to go with him.”

You nodded. You had heard that from the whispers around Hogwarts. And James’ ecstatic declarations throughout multiple corridors various times a day for the past week since she said yes.

“And he’s been so… so… so ugh?” he said with a disgruntled flourish of his hands.

“I believe the phrase you’re looking for is ‘over the moon’ or even, happy?” you laughed before sending a glance toward the professor at the front of the room. They were still engrossed in their grading. 

“Whatever. He’ll be with her. So I figured I’d ask my second favorite Potter to help me survive the night.”

Your amused smile twisted into something more wicked. “I’m your second favorite? I rank above Mum? I’m so telling!”

Sirius gasped. He took his hands off your assignment to grab your wrists. 

“You wouldn’t.”

“Calling me your second favorite above the woman who oh-so-graciously let you into her home, into her family,” you teased with a subtle shake of your head. “It’s a disgrace, Sirius.”

“Let me backtrack and correct myself.”

“Okay.”

“Would my second favorite Potter who is currently attending Hogwarts like to go to the dance with me?”

You chuckled and pulled your hands from his grip. “Nice save.”

He sat there, staring at you. You gave him a curious look. 

“Well?”

“What?” 

“Godric, Potter, the dance. Will you go with me?”

“Oh, you’re being serious.”

“I’m always Sirius.”

You slapped his arm, which was still ersting halfway across the table. There was a beat of silence where he stared at you again. It’s clear that he’s not leaving you alone until he got an answer. 

“Sure. I’ll go with your sorry arse.” Sirius smiled at your answer. “Who are the others with?”

“Wormtail’s asked Mary. Marlene got asked by Dorcas. Pandora Rosier’s going with Lovegood. Oh, um, Junior in your year is going with her brother. Stebbins is going with Vance… Uh, that’s all I know.”

You tilted your head curiously. “Remus?”

Sirius matched your head tilt. “Hasn’t asked anyone yet.”

“Yet?”

“Prongs is insistenting that we all ask someone. If he has a date, apparently we all need one.”

You hummed, looking down at your assignment. You don’t want Sirius to see the slight disappointment on your face as you considered what he said. Was it actually nice to get asked to the dance when you weren’t expecting to go? Yes. Was Sirius an attractive bloke? Also yes, but he wasn’t your type and was bordering on being a brother to you. The latter was heightened with his moving in over the summer. You would’ve much rather said yes to going with Remus. Then Sirius could’ve gone with one of the girls who drooled over him.

“So, you’re a definite yes?” Sirius asked, bringing your attention back to you.

“Yes, Black. Now, leave me alone. I gotta finish this for Professor Ceriffine.”

Sirius nodded and slid back down to where he had been sitting with Peter, Mary and Dorcas.

“Padfoot! Got a date yet?” James called across the common room after study hall.

“Asked her in study,” Sirius answered, walking toward him with Peter in tow.

“Who’d you ask?” Remus asked, briefly looking up from his book. 

“Little Corvid,” he said with a lazy grin. 

“What?” James and Remus gasped at the same time. 

“You asked my sister without asking me first?” James continued as Remus fell silent, gripping his book more intensely. 

Remus didn’t listen to Sirius’ defense or James’ continued berating. Remus hadn’t told anyone but he had planned on asking you himself once he plucked up the courage. For the briefest of moments, he’s glad he didn’t because of the look on James’ face, but the feeling passed as quickly as it arrived. Remus tried to swallow the sudden resentment he was feeling for Sirius. Sirius had tens of girls who’d be more than happy to go with him. Hell, more than half of them would ask Sirius themselves if they heard Sirius was actively searching for a date. Remus on the other hand, well, he wasn’t sure who else to ask. Peter had already asked Mary and Emmeline got asked too. Remus made a mental note to compare the moon cycle to the dance; maybe it would be too close to a full moon and he could get out of it.

“So that just leaves our Moony!” James said, clamping a hand on Remus’ shoulder, causing him to jump in his seat. “Got your sights set on anyone?”

“No,” he grumbled as he trained his eyes on the pages.

“Well, you got to ask someone. You’re the only one with a date now,” James said, although his tone said he wasn’t okay with Sirius’ date being you, but he would tolerate it.

At dinner, you told Marissa, Lucy, Elias and Martin what happened during study hall. They all seemed surprised. 

“I would’ve bet on Remus asking you,” Lucy said. “Given how much time you’ve been spending together.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked. 

“Oh, please. You spend more time in the library studying with him than you spend doing anything with us,” Marissa said with a smile. “Like you say, you’ll know it when you see him.”

“What does she know?” Martin asked.

“Nothing. I know absolutely nothing,” you said with a warning tone and look toward Lucy and Marissa. 

Yes, you had talked to Elias about Connor, but that was only because they were close. Martin and Elias didn’t need to know much about your potential relationships. The two boys watched as you had a silent conversation with the girls. Lucy and Marissa were fairly certain that you finally had a substantial crush, but you were still coming to terms with it.

“Anyways, I’ll need help deciding on a dress. Boys, you’re welcome to come with if you want,” you said.

Martin snorted a laugh. “Right, because that’s how I want to spend an evening.”

“You don’t want them there. They’d be no help whatsoever,” Marissa said pointedly, reaching for her cup. “You’ve seen what they wear on the weekends.”

You and the girls laughed while the boys attempted to defend their fashion choices. 

Remus now had the problem of finding a new girl to ask and working up the courage to ask her. He had checked the moon cycle and the dance was too far away from a full moon to use his furry little problem as an excuse not to go. As Remus went through his day, he’d decide a girl might be alright, ask one of the boys if said girl had a date already and then sigh when they said yes. He debated telling James that he would just go stag – all the girls he’d tolerate an evening with already had dates. 

Then he went to Herbology with Peter, their last lesson of the day. Remus scanned the room, almost certain they had already had a class with everyone in the room. Then Remus nudged Peter.

“Tara McMahon. She have a date?” he muttered, trying not to get his hopes up over the Hufflepuff. 

Peter pursed his lips and tilted his head as he thought about it. Then he shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

“Right. Cool. Yeah.” Remus told himself that he needed to use class to prepare himself and just ask Tara after the lesson ended. 

The worst she could do is say no, right? No. The worst she could do is laugh in Remus’ face, but he didn’t think she would do that. If she already had a date, she’d let Remus down easy. She was a nice girl. He would’ve rather gone on James or Sirius’ word that Tara didn’t have a date yet, but alas, they dropped Herbology the first chance they got. 

As soon as the class ended, Remus hurriedly packed up his things and made his way to Tara. If he hesitated, he’d lose all his nerve. 

“Hey, Tara! Got a second?” 

She looked up from putting her things away. “Remus, hi.”

“Would you like to go to the dance with me?” 

Blunt. Straight to the point. Very romantic. Just how every girl dreams of being asked.

“Yeah, I’d love to,” she said with a sweet smile. She appeared to mean it.

“Great. Thanks.”

There, he’d done it. He got himself a date, even if it wasn’t his first choice. He hated that you were going with Sirius instead of him. He was the one you sat with in the library. He was the one who invited you to the Gryffindor party and then sat with you all night. He was the one who called you Little Corvid. But it was one night. Remus could survive one night with you on Sirius’ arm, even if it killed him inside. 

---

As you walked down the corridor toward the Great Hall, you pulled uncomfortably at your dress. You don’t remember picking it out or even trying it on. If you liked it in the store, you certainly hated it now. It’s uncomfortable. It’s itchy. It’s too tight. Something poking you in the side. You saw Sirius waiting for you outside the hall. He smiled when he saw you, taking your hand to lead you inside. You don’t even recognize the Great Hall or half the people around you. As if the dress wasn’t enough, the music is too, the bass vibrating your brain and bones. Suddenly, you’re chest to chest with Sirius in the middle of the dance floor. The music shifted into something intense with strings. Your arms were around his neck with his hands on your waist. You were swaying in time to the slow song. Then Sirius started to lean in. He pressed his lips to yours. You wanted to move, to back up, to get away from it, but you’re frozen. You can’t even scream. All you could do was wait for it to end, but his lips picked up speed and ferocity. You wished you could bring your hands down from around his neck to push his chest away from you. Just as he began to pull back-

You sat up in your bed in a cold sweat. It was the middle of the night. You couldn’t catch your breath. It wasn’t real. You tried to slow your breathing, or at least make it quieter so you don’t wake your roommates. When you’ve calmed yourself, you relaxed a bit more; it had only been a dream. A weird and uncomfortable dream.

As much as you tried, you couldn’t fall back asleep. You tossed and turned and eventually settled for staring at the canopy above your bed until morning. You knew you were going to be a zombie all day. From barely eating anything at breakfast to nearly falling asleep in Transfiguration, you’re so out of it. The few times a professor called on you during class, you answered their questions wrong, even if you knew the correct answer in your bones. Focusing and being present weren’t things you could do. Getting through the day was tough enough without professors expecting you to learn.

You went to the library after classes like usual. Maybe some quiet was what you needed. Then you spotted Remus. You’ve never been quite so glad that he was alone. His presence could be what you needed to focus. You approached his table and took the spot across from him, like you’ve done many times before. Except you realize, before you even take out your things, that you need to talk. That dream really struck a nerve. You didn’t bother bringing it up to any of your friends. Even if they didn’t care too much about the Marauders, Marissa and Lucy would tell you that they were wrong about Remus and that you actually liked Sirius. Lucy was already coming around to that idea – because why else would you have said yes to him?

Remus looked up from his book and gave you a warm smile. Your stomach most definitely did not flip. Nope, that would be silly. Why would a smile make you feel weak in the knees? That wasn’t rational. 

“Remus, do you know how to interpret dreams?” you asked, voice sounding more weak than you had expected. 

He chuckled softly. “Don’t take Divination, but I can try if something’s bugging you, Little Corvid. How hard can it be?”

You rubbed your temples gently. It was really, really bugging you.

“It was about the winter ball. There was a slow dance and Sirius kissed me-”

“Maybe you should ask one of your friends ‘bout it?” Remus interrupted you. “One of them must take Divination, right?”

“Oh, um, I mean they do but…”

Great, you thought, Remus can’t help. Remus felt miserable as he watched you. He didn’t understand your expression. You had said yes to Sirius and were now dreaming about kissing him. Were you expecting Remus to be a wingman for you? You already had the date. 

“I’ll, uh, see you later, Lupin,” you muttered, standing up and hurrying away from him.

That hadn’t gone how you wanted it to. You really thought Remus would’ve listened to you longer and given some advice. Your breathing was uneven as you returned to Ravenclaw Tower. Your roommates watched you move through the common room and head straight to your dorm; they swore you had just left for the library and didn’t expect you back until late, like usual. Did they say or do anything? No. Their trivial gossip was more important to them. 

Remus didn’t stay much longer in the library after you left. Your expression was burned into his brain. It baffled him. He couldn’t stop thinking about you and your dream. He knew he probably didn’t handle it the best, but what was he supposed to say? He was sitting in his dorm alone, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, when Sirius entered. Remus regretted asking Sirius about it before he even did.

“You know much ‘bout dream?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“Probably as much as you. Why?” Sirius responded, loosening his tie and tossing it in his trunk. 

“What does it mean if you have a dream about kissing someone?”

Sirius snorted a laugh as he undid his shirt buttons. “Usually means you want to kiss that person.”

Remus’ stomach twisted but he tried not to show his reaction on his face. Sirius had gotten to you first and now you wanted to kiss him. Remus lost his chance. 

“So,” Sirius started to say with a grin on his face, “who do you want to kiss?”

“Wasn’t my dream.”

Sirius’ eyes went wide. Now Remus really had his attention. Sirius moved to lean against Remus’ bedpost. 

“Whose was it?”

Remus didn’t answer right away. He knew he shouldn’t tell Sirius since it was about him. 

“Y/N,” he said quietly, staring at the floor. 

That got Sirius invested. He watched Remus with a curious expression.

“Who does she want to kiss?”

Remus knew he’d ask that.

“You,” he said with an eye roll. All girls want to kiss Sirius. “I guess she had a dream about the dance. Real romantic, eh?”

“Yeah… Romantic…” Sirius muttered, more to himself than Remus. 

Sirius was silent as he moved to his bed, collapsing on top of it. He ran a hand through his hair. His mind was spinning. He had asked you platonically to the dance. He meant it when he said that he wanted a Potter to hang out with at the dance. If James was going to be distracted by Lily all night, he wanted a girl he could joke around with. But you wanted to kiss him. He hadn’t been expecting that. 

---

Marissa and Lucy went with you to find a dress. The dresses you picked out looked better on the mannequins than they did on you. It was a bit disheartening. But that’s why you brought the girls with. You knew they’d be able to help you. You gave them your minimum requirements and set them loose. Within minutes, they had more dresses for you to try on. And you tried them on until you were happy. 

It fit right. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t itchy. There was nothing to poke you in the side. 

Were you trying to avoid the situation from your dream? Maybe. But the girls said you looked gorgeous in the dress and that Sirius’ jaw was going to drop when he saw you. You reminded them that that wasn’t the intention, but you still wanted to look good. They assured you even more that you did. 

Then the evening of the winter ball, the girls helped you get ready. Once again, you offered Martin and Elias to come hang out while the girls did your hair and you did your makeup, but they said they’d take a shower in gobstone goo. You thought they were being a tad dramatic. A simple ‘no thanks’ would have sufficed. 

The night started to feel like deja vu. Walking down the corridor toward the Great Hall, except the corridor wasn’t eerily empty. Sirius waiting for you outside the hall and smiling when he sees you. At least you felt confident and comfortable in your dress. Sirius took your hand in his and lifted it to place a kiss on your knuckles.

“You look lovely,” he said with a smile.

“And you don’t look half bad yourself.”

“There’s the energy I need for tonight,” he replied with a cheeky smile. 

It was already better than the dream. He led you inside the hall, which was more recognizable than in your dream. It was decorated with extravagant ice sculptures, gigantic icicles hanging from the buttresses and false snow falling from the ceiling without actually reaching the ground. The entire room seemed to shimmer. It was beautiful. 

Also unlike your dream, you recognized the people around you. Seventh years you never talked to, sixth years who barely spared you a second glance most of the time, a handful of fifth years who got invited like you, and the Marauders, their friends and dates. Lily, Marlene, Mary and Dorcas were having a lively conversation while James and Peter stood near them. You didn’t see Remus. 

“Oh my Merlin!” Marlene exclaimed when you and Sirius approached the group. “Y/N, you look beautiful!”

You blushed. “Thank you. You look fantastic!”

Sirius let you talk with the girls, going to stand with James and Peter. You wanted to ask the girls if they’d seen Remus, but you didn’t know if it was your place to ask. Surely he had gotten a date for himself and was off with her somewhere. You just wanted to see him. For him to see you all dressed. You wouldn’t let yourself linger too long on why you wanted him to see you all dressed up. 

The girls take your hands and drag you out onto the dance floor. The boys followed, not wanting to stray too far from their dates. Especially James who placed himself right next to Lily. You were grateful the other girls were there; they made it feel less like imposing on the Marauders. After a few songs, Remus appeared with a girl you didn’t know. You thought she maybe was a Hufflepuff? Maybe you’d seen Lucy or Elias talking to her, or you’ve sat near her when you’ve been at their table? 

When you made eye contact with Remus, you exchanged your usual smiles, but Remus’ didn’t feel as warm as they did in the library. It pained your heart slightly, but you knew better than to dwell on that right now. You were at a dance. You were supposed to have fun at dances. 

The song shifted to something slower, romantic with strings. The feeling of deja vu returned. The group split into couples, and Sirius pulled you close. Chest to chest. It hit you that you’ve never actually been this close to Sirius. His hands rested on your waist and your arms were around his neck – just like your dream, except you felt more relaxed. You knew this was real. Plus, you knew that Sirius wouldn’t actually kiss you. You were James’ little sister. Certainly James would’ve had a talk with Sirius and told him that he was dead if tried anything. Right?

Then it happened all too quickly. Sirius was gazing down at you with a soft expression. Your chest tightened with panic as you realized he’s leaning in. Unlike your dream, you aren’t frozen. Your arms came down from his neck and gently pushed his chest as you took a step back. Then another step back. You weren’t focused on what your face was saying, but you’re sure it’s something akin to surprise and astonishment and freaking out. Sirius looked utterly confused. You didn’t know what to do so you did the only thing that felt right: you ran.

You turned and ran out of the Great Hall. You knew that you must’ve attracted a ton of eyes in doing so, but you needed to get out of there. You ran until you made it outside, breathing in the cold winter air. Each breath you took felt like a lifeline, but you were still freaking out.

As soon as you left the hall, Sirius, with his mouth gaping, gave Remus an accusatory look. Sirius thought that Remus told him about a fake dream so that he would make a fool of himself. Remus wasn't looking at Sirius though; he was turned toward the door before deciding to leave his date and follow you out. 

That left Peter, and the girls, to wrangle James, keeping him off of Sirius.

As Remus left the hall, he could hear echoes of “That’s my goddamn sister, you git!” and “What the bloody hell were you thinking?” and “Stay away from her!” There were also “I thought she wanted it!” and “Prongs/James, calm down!” SIrius tried to not feel bad about using Peter as a human shield, but he knew that James wouldn’t murder Peter. He couldn’t say the same about himself right now. 

Remus looked in various closets and empty classrooms as he passed them in his search for you. Luckily for him, the door you slipped out of didn’t close fully behind you. 

“Corvid?” he called as he stepped outside. 

He scanned the area immediately beyond the door. He didn’t see you right away. You had stepped off to the side, sitting on the wall ledge with your head in your hands. You weren’t crying, but you still felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your mind was reeling from your dream essentially coming true. 

“Corvid!” Remus repeated when he spotted you.

He ran up to you. He didn’t touch you when he realized the state you were in. Instead, he crouched down and tentatively rested his hands on your knees to help balance himself. You gave a shuttered breath and looked at him. He couldn’t help but think about how beautiful you looked with your cheeks rosied up from the cold.

“It happened, Remus. Like my dream…” you said with a weak voice. “Except this time, I could move… Thank Merlin…”

He furrowed his brows and tilted his head.

“You ran away before he could kiss you, darling,” he reminded you, obviously confused at your state. Wasn’t that what you wanted? “That’s the, um, ‘thank Merlin’ part?” you said slowly, appearing just as confused as the boy in front of you. “I… I don’t want to kiss him.”

The color drained from Remus’ face despite the hope now building inside of him. So, Sirius might murder him, but you didn’t like Sirius like that.

“You don’t? But… your dream?” He tried to put as much emphasis on the last word as he could. Dreams were good things, right?

You shook your head. “No, Remus… Perhaps it’s better phrased as a nightmare? I mean, it wasn’t scary, but certainly not something I wanted to happen. The whole dream was uncomfortable… As was that, but at least I could move. I could stop it from actually happening.”

Yes, Sirius was going to kill Remus.

You took another shaky breath and immediately followed it with a groan.

“The whole school’s going to be talking about this, aren’t they?” you whined. “Baby Potter gets asked by the Sirius Black to the dance and then she runs away when he tries to kiss her? Godric, it’s so much drama…”

Remus chuckled as he stood up and offered you his hand. You took it. As soon as you were up, he pulled you into a hug. You don’t think you’ve ever been hugged by Remus before. His body warmed you instantly and his smell flooded your nostrils. Your breath got caught in your throat. The feeling of his arms around you sent butterflies to your stomach, taking you by surprise. The butterflies were more intense than the simple flipping of your stomach. 

“If it’s any comfort, you didn’t get a choice in the drama…” Remus muttered.

You pulled back ever so slightly from the hug.

“If I had said no to coming-” you started to say.

“Then the whole castle would be talking about how James’ sister turned his best friend down.”

‘And then I would’ve asked you,’ Remus finished in his head.

You sighed, understanding what Remus meant. “I didn’t choose the drama… James did.”

“I mean, I wasn’t going to point fingers, but… yeah. James, Sirius, Peter and me. Big ol’ dramatic bunch that you’re related to.”

“Damned by association and blood,” you said louder than Remus expected but there’s a smile on your face again.

“Let’s get you inside. It’s damn cold. … And we can see if there’s a bit of your date remaining since you left with James with only Peter as protection.”

You laughed. “Black can handle himself against James. Certainly more than Pete can.”

By the time you got back to the Great Hall, James was over by the drink table with Lily, still looking heated. Sirius, Peter and the rest of the girls were on the other side of the hall. You and Remus approached the latter group first. 

“Erm, I’m sorry,” Sirius said as soon as he saw you. “I thought-”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said. You glanced toward James. “We good to have it not happen again?”

“Yes. Heard. Won’t be trying to kiss you as long as I value my life.”

You nodded and headed over to James. Remus watched you walk away until Sirius hit his shoulder aggressively.

“What the fuck, Moony?” he hissed.

“Apparently, Little Corvid didn’t tell me everything.”

“Really?” Sirius asked in mock disbelief. 

“She called it a dream the first time and now she’s telling me it was a nightmare.”

Sirius hit his shoulder again. “A fucking nightmare? I’m going to end you.”

Marlene moved in between the two boys.

“Nope. We already stopped one homicide tonight. We don’t need to stop a second.”

“James,” you said, bringing his attention from Lily to you. 

“Y/N,” he breathed. “Are you okay?”

He put his hands on both of your shoulders, looking you in the eyes.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Sirius and I, we’re good.” You paused. “Are you good?”

“The wanker tried to kiss you!” 

“James.”

“First he asks you out without talking to me first and then he tries to make a move on you? I-”

“James,” you said more forcefully. “He’s already promised to never try to kiss me again. We’re good. And if it’s worth anything, he’s not my type.”

“Who is your type then?” Lily asked, moving to stand right next to James.

You flushed. “Unimportant. Just tell me you’ll forgive Sirius.”

James stared at you with a hardened expression. “Fine,” he grumbled out after a few seconds. 

“Good. I think we can still enjoy the rest of tonight, yeah?” 

“Yes!” Lily exclaimed, grabbing your hand and pulling you from James’ hands. 

She brought you to the dance floor with the rest of the group following close behind. James was still giving Sirius warning glances while Sirius sent glares toward Remus. Peter was the only boy in the circle able to relax and have a good time. He had done nothing wrong. 

You were right that running away from Sirius’ kiss attempt would spread like wildfire in the world of gossip, but you were more or less saved from it by the incoming Christmas holiday. Before you knew it, you were on the train heading home. And you were more than ready to leave your dorm. Lindsey and Alison were unbearable in the aftermath of the dance. They didn’t understand why you ran and they reminded you of their bafflement every second they could. 

You had your own bafflement when you found your parents at the station. James, Sirius and Remus flanked them. And then all three of them went through the barrier with you and your parents following. No one mentioned to you that Remus would be joining you for Christmas. He would later tell you that his parents decided to go to the States for Christmas and his mother insisted on traveling muggle-style, which for some reason meant he couldn’t go with. And, of course, the Potters were always happy to host their children’s friends. You asked about Peter and apparently he begged his parents to visit one of his sisters for Christmas so he could join the party, but no success. 

There seemed to be a silent agreement among the four of you that no one would bring up the incident to your parents. Some things they didn’t need to know. Just like over the summer, you tried your best to give the boys space. You didn’t want to mess up their dynamic anymore than you already had. You spent as much time with your mother as you could, which meant spending endless hours in the kitchen baking Christmas desserts. 

“We expect to come back to an intact house,” your father said, looking at the boys. “I do not want to find the fire department outside. Do you hear me?”

The boys nodded.

“Great. Then we’re off. Be good.”

Your parents stepped into the fireplace and used floo powder to go to a Christmas party. It was going to be just you and the boys in the house until like 2 a.m. Your plans involved “borrowing” a bottle of elvish wine and settling on the couch with your latest book. You didn’t really care what the boys got up to as long as they left you alone. 

You relit the fire and sat down on the couch. The atmosphere in the room was perfect, relaxing, calm. Christmas-y. The tree in the corner of the room seemed to glitter with the dancing light from the fire. You weren’t sure where the boys had gone while you prepared for your evening, but then James and Sirius bounded down the stairs with an ungodly amount of noise. 

“Fancy a snowball fight?” James offered as he pulled on his boots.

You made a face and gestured to the fire. “No.”

“Ah, you and Moony… bunch of flobberworms,” Sirius said before pushing James out the front door.

So Remus wasn’t going to join their snowball fight. You wondered if he was going to sit upstairs all night. You wouldn’t mind if he decided he wanted to hang out with you on the couch, maybe reading his own book and enjoying the warm atmosphere you had created. You had barely uncorked the wine bottle and opened your book when Remus appeared at the stop of the stairs. 

“Do, erm, do you mind if I sit with you?” he asked. You could see that he did have a book with him. 

“Only if you drink with me,” you said with a cheeky smile as you raised the bottle for him to see. 

He chuckled and came down the stairs. He sat down next to you and got comfortable, draping a blanket over his legs. He reached over to grab the bottle and took a swig. 

“Your mum let you have this?” he asked.

“Guess we’ll find out if she throws a fit tomorrow or not.”

Remus smirked at you and took another swig before handing you the bottle back. You read in a comfortable silence for a while, handing the bottle back and forth. The only noise was the crackle of the fire and muffled yells from James and Sirius. You peered at Remus over the top of your book, appreciating how the fire accentuated his features in the best ways. He wasn’t even doing anything and yet your heart started to race. 

“Can I tell you something?” Remus asked after taking a swig of the bottle and handing it to you.

“Yeah.” You placed a bookmark to save your spot and closed your book, giving Remus your full attention.

“I was going to ask you to the dance.”

You stared at Remus with wide eyes and now your heart was most definitely pounding. You had wished it was Remus who asked you. That was only increased by the incident. 

“Why didn’t you?” you asked in a soft voice, your throat feeling tight.

“Sirius got to you first,” Remus said, throwing his head against the back of the couch. “I was working up the courage to ask you and he comes back to the common room announcing that he’s already asked you.”

You pressed your lips together, taking in Remus. “I wish you had asked me.”

Remus sat up straighter and turned his body to face you. 

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

You stared at each other in a thick silence for a few moments. You were both trying to figure out what the other meant.

“Wouldn’t’ve had that awkward almost-kissing incident,” you said with an awkward chuckle. You immediately regretted saying it, because why on earth would you say that?

“What if… what if I had tried to kiss you?” Remus asked in a low voice, looking toward the fire so he didn’t have to see your reaction, as if rejection would sting less if he only had to hear it.

“It wouldn’t have been an almost.”

His gaze snapped back to you. “It wouldn’t have been an almost?” 

You put the bottle of wine on the side table along with your book and scooted closer to Remus so you could move his book from his lap. You could barely think with your heart beating as loud as it was; Remus could barely breathe with what you said and what you just did. 

“I wouldn’t have ran away,” you said, not breaking eye contact with Remus. 

“You wouldn’t have…” Remus’ voice died in this throat. 

He frantically patted his pants and pulled his wand out of his pocket. He gave it a quick wave. A sprig of mistletoe suddenly appeared above you, floating precariously. You looked up at it in awe and let out a small giggle. 

“Oh, would you look at that,” you said in a soft voice that was laced with mirth.

“It’s tradition, you know,” he said, matching your volume and leaning just slightly forward. 

“It’d be a shame to ignore tradition.” 

“Right.”

A beat passed. Neither of you moved, yet you continued to stare at each other.

“Just kiss me already, Remus,” you said. You honestly felt that you might combust if he waited any longer.

Remus swallowed, wet his lips and leaned forward, meeting you halfway. It was soft and tentative, barely a brush of lips, but it was enough to send fireworks through you. You both pulled back, feeling shaky and blushing like crazy. Remus looked at you nervously until you broke into a wide smile. You shifted so you were sitting even closer to him. You looked up again at the mistletoe. 

“Huh, it’s still there,” you mused. “Must mean we need to try again.”

Remus let out a shaky chuckle. “Yeah, yeah. Try again.”

This time you leaned into him. The second kiss was more confident. It was lips slotted together and movement. You were each applying pressure to the kiss, like you were fueled by a hunger for the other. Remus brought a hand up to cup your face as the other rested comfortably on your waist. You had one hand supporting yourself on the couch and the other on his chest. It was only a hair short of being considered a snog. 

For your first and second kisses, you were quite pleased. When you inevitably told Marissa and Lucy about it when you got back to school, you would describe it as magical. Cheesy, but, Merlin, it was. Remus made you feel something. All those times you said you’d know him when you saw him, you didn’t realize that you just needed to see him in a new light. 

And then the front door opened. 

“Moony, what the actual fuck?” James’ voice boomed through the room. 

You and Remus broke apart. You were both bright red, panting and wearing matching grins. James looked furious. Behind him, Sirius had an unreadable expression on his face. This would explain why you didn’t want to kiss him at the ball; he was the wrong Marauder. 

You pointed to the green plant still floating above you and Remus.

“Mistletoe,” you said casually, as if your brother hadn’t just walked in on one of his best friends making out with his little sister. 

tags: @navs-bhat

[gothicfied]

more for 124 :(((((((

Hand in Hand - Nam-gyu / Player 124

Pairing: Nam-gyu / Player 124 x Reader

Summary: The fight in the men's bathroom and the rising tension between players gave you much to worry about, but Nam-gyu gave you to comfort you needed

Warnings: Mentions of death/dying, blood, killing (typical squid game stuff), other than that it's just fluff, not proof read (english isn't my first language)

Word count: 721 words

A/N: Tihihihi, I love this man fr. I hope this isn't too cringe🧍‍♀️

You couldn't sleep, actually, no one was able to sleep. Sitting on the bed under you was Nam-gyu, who didn't want to talk to you - talk to anybody - after the fight was broken up. You immediately understood what was up when he yelled out that the men who voted 'X' had attacked them, killing some of the players. Thanos didn't return. Yeah, it was pretty obvious why he seemed so pissed off, so shell-shocked. Quietly, you sat up, carefully leaning down to see what he was doing. Nam-gyu was biting his fingernails, eyeing Thanos' cross necklace that he was holding in his slightly shaky hands. Seeing you leaning down from the corner of his eye, he frowned.

"What?"

"I can't sleep."

"Why?"

"I'm scared.."

Nam-gyu's face immediately softened upon hearing your words. He swallowed hard and hastily tucked the necklace into his pocket, gesturing for you to come down and sit next to him. As gently as possible to not catch anyone elses attention, you dropped down from your bed and leaned against the headboard of Nam-gyu's bed, your shoulder pressed against his. "Are you sad?" you asked quietly, just looking down at your lap as you spoke. You heard his breath hitching for a moment, but he still asked you what you meant by that. "Sad about- well you know." Silence.

Nam-gyu wasn't quite sure how to answer that question. He has witnessed so many deaths in this place by now and none of them have affected him in the slightest. He didn't know them well, so why should he care about a random player? "Because, I'm not sure if I should be." your voice interrupted his thoughts. Slowly, he turned his head your way, taking in your side profile in the dim light. "Nah," Nam-gyu chuckled, "he was an asshole. Had it coming, in my opinion." Despite his words, he sounded bitter. It's not like he didn't mean them, because that's exactly how Thanos was, but they still had some kind of.. friendship.

You met his gaze, your eyes wandering over his face covered in splatters of blood. That was worrying by itself, but you didn't have any interest in asking about what role he played in that fight. "And why are you scared?" You looked at him like he asked you the most stupid question in the world.

"Come on, you know everyone will try to kill each other now."

"And you know that I won't let anything happen to you."

Ever since he defended you from a group of men, who were making more than weird comments about you, immediately on the first day you woke up in this hellhole, you've just stuck with him. On multiple occasions now, Nam-gyu has proven that he actually won't let anything or anyone harm you. Why? He doesn't know it, either. He just likes you and you didn't take that for granted. Nam-gyu made you feel safe, you trusted him, even if that's hard to believe. Usually, he'd be compliant with what Thanos would say or tell him to do, just not when he was giving you a hard time — That's partially why he just couldn't feel sorry for that man.

Slowly, Nam-gyu wrapped his arm around your neck, making you lean your head against his. The silence between you two was never awkward and more comforting than anything. You were able to hear faint whispers of other players, feet tapping the ground and the occasional cough from that old guy, Player 100. Nam-gyu's hair tickled the side of your face as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Whatever happens tonight, I promise I'll keep you safe."