#cw: mention of injury | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lumosinlove · 1 year

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cw: mentions of past abuse and injury

May Part One

Golden haze

“It’s fine, it’s just been acting up. A little. Just a little—not like—I can play. It’s just been hurting, just a little.”

Cole wished he could take back at least half of those words as Layla looked over her shoulder at him from the sink in the PT room. “Sorry, didn’t hear you, did you say just a little?” She smiled as she tore off a paper towel to dry her hands with. “Get that look off your face, I was kidding, C.”

Cole smiled, looked down at his knee. “Yeah.”

“Do you know how many of you come in here and say the same thing to me?”

Cole raised an eyebrow. “What do we say?”

“You tell me something’s wrong, first of all.” Cole watched her as she flicked some of her braids behind her shoulder, a few of the gold rings in them flashing in the harsh ceiling lights. “And then you tell me how little of a wrong it is.”

“Okay…”

“But then you tell me something’s wrong again. You know, in case I forgot.”

Cole smiled. “We’re that simple, huh?”

“Not at all.” She looked down at Cole’s knee, reaching out to hold around the cap of it gently. Cole noticed she’d removed her rings. “Because you know what my job is?”

“Helping us?”

“Nope.” She smiled. “Figuring out which part of the act you’re lying during. The hurt-hurt, or the just-a-little.”

“We sound difficult,” Cole said wryly.

“You are. You know who’s the worst?”

“Hm?”

“Remus.”

Cole laughed. “No. I don’t believe that.”

He winced a little at the movement of her fingers and she did it again before motioning him to bend it.

“Cross my heart,” she said.

“But he was—he was you. Shouldn’t he know better than to hide it?”

“Sometimes we become what we need. You know that expression?” When Cole shook her head she continued, reaching down to flex his ankle. “Planners need surprises, the care-takers need taking-care-of. Explainers need help.” She raised a shoulder. “PTs need to be told to rest when they’re hurt.”

“Loops isn’t hurt, is he?”

“Well, he’s got that shoulder of his.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen the scar.”

Layla nodded. “When it comes to putting metal in, or pins…Stuff like that never really goes away.”

“Guys like to trade stories,” Cole said, and gestured to his own cheek, where he had a nasty scar from a puck just on the underside his chin. He’d been young (younger, Thomas would have said. You’re still young, Twenty.) and stupid and hadn’t let it heal well. “You know, about scars and stuff. But not Loops. I asked once.”

“Well…it’s not just a scar, I guess.” Layla said. “I mean, it was career ending. For a long time. It’s probably painful to talk about.”

“It happened in college, right, I know,” Cole said, and then, after a moment, “you ever notice how much he hates Grayback?”

Layla looked over at him. “Easy guy to hate.”

“Yeah, but, I was just thinking about it because we’re up against them in the first round. And one time we were all at lunch—beginning of the season—I mean not all of us, some of us. Anyway, sorry. Anyway, and I said this thing about how good Grayback was and everyone, like, froze up. I remember because I felt so awkward after. And then when we matched up with Vegas this season, there was all this…I don’t know, they all hate him. Like Cap, Thomas, Tremzy, all they wanted to do was fight him and Loops kept telling them not to.”

“Well…Okay?” Layla said. “And?”

Cole scooted forward on the examination table. “I’ve watched the clips, though.”

Layla unlaced his shoe, sliding it off easily before straightening his leg and flexing his foot. “God, you really are a tape-junkie, huh. How’s that feel?”

Cole shrugged, as if it were a given. “Hurts a little. Not gonna lie. But—anyway, Loops was incredible, even in his last game, and then he gets hit—by Grayback.”

“Grayback? I thought they were teammates.”

“They were,” Cole said. “Grayback hit his own guy. And it’s not a clean hit, it takes Remus a long time to get up, Grayback tries to play it off like an accident but then Remus doesn’t come back—at all. And that’s that.”

Layla frowned. “A hit?”

“Yeah,” Cole said.

“Remus’ injury isn’t…” Layla stood up, words trailing into a thoughtful expression.

“Isn’t what?”

Layla was quiet for a long moment, then waved a hand at Cole. “Take out your phone. Show me the clip.”

“It isn’t what, Layla?”

“I’m not talking about his injury with you, just show me the clip.”

Cole frowned but pulled out his phone. He tried to keep his breathing normal as Layla came to lean against the table next to him, their faces close.

He didn’t know what she was looking for, but Layla watched intensely, lined eyes narrowed at the screen. The video played it four times, and Cole winced at the third, and looked away for the last time, which was in slow motion. He didn’t like to watch the way a much younger Remus’ head snapped back when his own teammate, his teammate hit him a hard and high, mid-ice. It was unimaginable.

“What do they call it?” Layla asked, looking up from the screen. “Like actually, what do they call it when they say later why he hadn’t returned.”

“Upper body. They say it happened when Grayback hit him. Grayback even talks about it in a post-game interview, about how guilty he feels.”

“And Remus?” Layla asked. “What does he say after?”

“He didn’t,” Cole said. “He doesn’t say anything. They say he’s in the hospital recovering. And then he just…doesn’t recover.”

“He was going to go number one,” Layla said. “They didn’t follow up with him? How?”

“He was going to go number one,” Cole said. “And then he didn’t. People tend to move onto the next ‘great one’ around here. I know we’re all sitting next to Sirius Black and it seems like we couldn’t forget him, but if this had happened to Sirius…we would have.” Cole offered a one sided, sad smile. “It’s why this is so scary.”

“Hm.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, Layla. It’s me.”

It’s me. What the hell had he meant by that? He didn’t have any reason to say that to her. They’d shared moments, of course, and they hung out with the Dumais kids, but they were rarely alone. They weren’t best friends or anything. They weren’t close in the way that he was becoming with his new teammates. Thomas, Olli, Jackson and, well, he had been getting a little close with Logan. He’d walked into the locker room the first day after his trade and was surprised to see how much he noticed he wasn’t there. Missed him, even.

But Layla was still someone he felt comfortable with. And that was pretty rare for Cole.

“I’m not telling you nothing because I don’t think I can trust you, I just don’t think we should speculate. That’s all.” Layla sighed. “Obviously, yes, something did happen. But it’s painful, and sounds complicated, and…” She gestured between the two of them. “Us? We’re the rookies. We haven’t been here.”

Cole paused. “Yeah. Sorry, yeah. I know. I don’t know why I’m…I think he only really talks to Thomas about it. I mean, Cap, of course, but Thomas, too.”

Layla shrugged. “Thomas is easy to talk to.”

“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Cole said. “Um. Yeah. Thomas is, yeah.”

“Like…about how I’m your girl?” Layla asked, smile forming on her face.

Cole would have been happy to swallow his own tongue—even if he could tell she was also trying to change the subject on him. He had a vivid, horrible flash of shushing Thomas at the airport. “You…you heard that?”

“I don’t think Thomas Walker knows how to speak quietly.”

Cole sat up, not caring even a little about his knee now. “Oh my God. Layla—no, I never said that to anyone—”

But she just laughed. “Cole, I’m joking. Relax, you’re gonna pull a muscle or something. Lay down.”

Cole felt a little dizzy as he lay back and stared up at the white ceiling. He could feel AC coming in from the vent, lukewarm and needless.

“Why not?” Layla asked after a moment of prodding at his leg.

“What?” He didn’t dare look down at her. Was he sweating now? God, he was. Not that it would bother her but—but this wasn’t—this was different. This felt different.

“Why don’t you say I’m your girl?”

Cole let out a slow breath. “Layla…”

“I’m just messing,” Layla said. “Sort of.”

Cole did look at her this time. “Oh, so does it hurt-hurt or not-hurt?”

That made her laugh, really laugh, palms pressed to his thigh, and all Cole wanted was to do that again. To make her laugh like that again. Instead, he took a breath and tried for some honesty—even if it could hurt-hurt. He sat up again, letting her hands slide away from his leg as he faced her, still siting on the examination table. Layla was tall to begin with, and like this they were eye to eye.

“I thought you just saw me as…you know. The rookie. I know I’m not—like, outgoing.” His eyes darted away, then back, then away again. “Or—like so many of these guys can just hold the fucking room, you know? I know I’m quiet. And you’re not, you can talk to anyone you want, anywhere.”

Layla just looked at him for a long moment, long enough that he cleared his throat and laughed awkwardly, feeling his face get hot. When she reached out a traced a finger over the line he had shaved in his eyebrow, his heart all but stopped.

“Why don’t you come over tonight for dinner after the game. My apartment. You can even help me study if you want to.”

“You’re not at Dumo’s tonight?” he managed to say. Cole, secretly, loved when Layla was at the Dumais house with him. They never did anything—God forbid he ever be caught a situation like that by Pascal fucking Dumais—but they played with the kids, and ate dinner, and sat next to each other while the kids kicked up a fuss over what movie to watch. Held hands under the blanket sometimes, which was nice, but also sent half of Cole’s brain into a spiral of is my palm sweaty? Did I put deodorant on after practice? Did I Am I Did I Could I Should I—

“Nope.” Layla leaned a little closer. It put her right between his thighs.

Cole’s eyes dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes.They hadn’t kissed. It was game-day, her brown eyes were lined in black and gold, gorgeous against her dark brown skin. They hadn’t kissed. Yet?

“So, you have a big test tomorrow?”

Layla smiled. “Nope.”

“Are you just trying to torture me?”

“Yes.”

“Will we…study?”

“We’re going to cook dinner, Reyes.”

“Oh.” Cole smiled. “Yeah.”

“Yeah? Sound okay?” Her eyes dropped to his mouth, just for a moment.

Cole vaguely wondering if he was about to get that kiss. “Layla.”

“Reyes.”

“What do you need?”

Layla smiled at having her words given back to her, but gave a slight shake of her head. “I don’t know yet. Patience, I guess.”

Cole nodded. “Yeah.” He could be that. “Okay. Dinner, then.”

“How does the knee feel now? Think you can play Vegas?”

“I can play.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. No hurt-hurt, just wanted some—uh, maintenance.”

Layla smiled. “Round one. This is my first ever NHL playoffs, you know.”

“Better make it a good one then. Just for you, of course.”

Layla laughed. “Yeah. Just for me.”

“Round one, baby!” Thomas’ voice echoed through the locker room but Remus barely heard it. He’d seen the Golden Knights arrive on twitter, and was pleased to find that he didn’t have that same rattled feeling that he had grown used to settling in his chest at the very sight of Grayback. It wasn’t a triumph exactly. He still never looked directly at his scar in a mirror. When he woke up on especially cold days to it aching and stiff, the frustration burned up in him just as strongly as before. But the sight of Grayback’s face didn’t turn his stomach anymore.

“Home ice advantage,” Sirius said as he and Thomas high-fived, and Remus looked up at them. He watched the way Sirius smiled and laughed easily at something Thomas had said. He wouldn’t have done that last year. Sirius would have been zeroed in so hard it hurt.

“Do you notice,” Sirius said to Remus across the empty stalls between them. “That I am not asking if you’re okay every two seconds?”

Remus laughed. “Yes. I noticed. But in case you were wondering…I am. Really.”

Sirius smiled, pressed a kiss to his fingers and then reached it out towards Remus, only for it to be intercepted by Thomas, sitting down in his stall. He grabbed Sirius’ hand and pressed it against his own chest.

“Wow, thank you, Cap, I needed that.”

Sirius just rolled his eyes.

“Hey, that was for me,” Remus said.

“Intercepted.”

They both looked up when the locker room door open, only for Finn to come in, followed by a camera and holding a microphone.

“Merde, not one of these.” Sirius sank back into his stall. “Isn’t the Showtime thing enough?”

Remus laughed. “I think the Showtime documentary is going to be a little bit higher in quality. This looks like it’s just to torture you a little bit extra.”

“Hello and welcome to the room where it happens,” Finn said to the camera brightly. “This is an episode of In The Lion Den, and it’s me, hi, Finn O’Hara. We’re gonna ask the boys some playoff related questions and…” Finn smiled as he looked around behind the camera. “They’re all hiding from me now because I said that. Hey, Knuter-butter. Yeah, yeah, yeah, here I come, baby.” He did a mock little jog towards Leo.

“No,” Leo said, and Remus laughed as Finn sat down in his own stall beside Leo’s anyway, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“Hello, lover.” Finn grinned, and Remus had the briefest flash of alarm before he remembered. He caught Sirius’ eye, who smiled.

“Look at me,” Finn was saying, giving Leo a jostle. “Bothering a goalie before a game.”

“Kasey’s in,” Leo said pointedly.

“So, what you’re saying is I’m allowed to bother you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Great. So, Leonardonius. Tell us…” Finn looked down at the card in his hand. “Tell us your favorite pre-game meal.” Finn sent a smile to the camera. “I know this one.”

“Say it at the same time,” Leo said.

Finn laughed. “Okay, yeah. Okay, three, two, one, pasta with chicken and peppers—yes.”

“Yes, you know me so well,” Leo said, then mockingly rolled his eyes at the camera.

“Oh, but I do.” Finn ruffled Leo’s hair—and friendship still lingered in the gesture. Remus remembered breaking that habit, especially in public. It was hard. It was working against forced instinct. Finn seemed to remember at the last moment, and let his hand cup the back of Leo’s neck briefly as he looked back down at his cards. “Okay, next question—especially interesting one for a goalie. If you could score a goal with any one of your teammates—I assume that means playing on the same line, then?—Who would you choose?”

Leo saw the opportunity and took it. He looked up, as if thinking hard. “Hmm…”

Finn bonked the microphone on his own forehead as he seemed to force himself to be quiet for as long as he could. Finally, he broke with a huff. “Really? Really? I am sitting right here.”

“I can see that, I’m just thinking.” Leo’s smile was playing around his mouth, his fingers messing with Logan’s necklace around his neck. “Hmm, let’s see…how about…”

Finn leaned forward, as if trying to block Leo’s view of the rest of the room.

“Let’s go with…” Leo said, looking at Finn now and grinning, their noses close together. “Bliz.”

Finn scoffed, pressed his palm over Leo’s face and pushed it gently away, making Leo laugh. “Bye, Knut. Captain!”

“Non,” Sirius said, and was out of his stall before Remus could blink.

“Oh, come on, Black!” Finn called after him. “No fun!” He sighed and looked at the camera. “Sorry, guys. But I guess we all know his superstitions, right?” Finn pointed at Remus. “Right, Lupin?”

“Mhm,” Remus hummed noncommittally, bending down to tape his sock.

“All right, Loops,” Finn said. He slid into the empty stall to Remus’ right. Remus sighed but smiled, crossing his arms.

“Yes?”

“What, you don’t want to talk to me?” Thomas asked, pressing an offended hand to his chest.

“You’re next, T, you’re next.” Finn cleared his throat. “Okay, Loops. Let’s see…” He scanned his cards. “Do you have a prediction for how many games this series against Vegas is going to go?”

“God no,” Remus said. “Why would I ever say something like that out loud?”

“T?” Finn held the microphone out to Thomas—much too close to his mouth.

“Can you back that thing up?” Thomas said. “Yes, thank you.” He looked right at the camera. “Hello. What is it thou beith my question?”

“Same question.”

“I’m not answering that in a thousandth of years. Next.”

“Fine. What’s the most important thing you do before a game?”

“Call my girlfriend.” He winked at the camera. “What’s up, Christmas?”

“Daww,” Finn laughed. “Very cute. Logan Tremblay’s sister, for those who don’t know.”

Thomas held out a fist. “Gotta love those Tremblay’s, eh?”

“Tell me about it,” Finn said, and bumped his own fist to Thomas’.

Remus laughed loudly, drawing the camera onto himself, only for it to follow his gaze to where Sirius was peaking his head back around the corner. “Is it safe?”

“Cap, come here.” Finn slapped his own thigh. “Come here, sit on my knee and let me tell ya a story.”

“Non.” Sirius did walk back into the room, though. He wasn’t dressed yet, still in only his leggings and shorts. Remus took a moment to admire the way the 12 pendant glinted against the strong muscles of his chest.

Finn held up a finger. “One question! One.”

Sirius sighed but let Finn jog up to him. He plucked the question card out of Finn’s hand and scanned them quickly before pointing. “Only that one.”

Finn snorted, sent the camera a look. “Fine. Oh, come on, really? Okay, fine. All right, Captain, let’s see, which question shall I choose…ah. This question looks good. What is your preferred pre-game song choice?”

Sirius smiled right into the camera when he said, “I don’t listen to music before a game.”

Finn rolled his eyes, nearly tilting back his entire head. “How interesting. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” Sirius said. He patted Finn on the back before going to take his place in his stall again.

The camera went around to a few of the other guys. Remus liked the little segments, it was funny to watch the guys having fun—Evgeni putting a sweaty towel over Finn’s head, Finn going back to ask Leo another question four times—but he was glad for the pressure to be relieved when the cameras turned off. The Showtime crew had been in and out for the last couple days, pulling them aside for interviews with a bright ring light and a guy sitting in a chair asking them questions. Cliff, his name was, or something like Cliff. It was tiring, though, choosing your words carefully. Sirius came back looking drained each time. Remus had stumbled on something-like-Cliff and his crew watching a playback of one of Sirius’ interviews. He hadn’t caught much, he hadn’t wanted them to notice him listening, but he’d heard enough to understand Sirius’ quiet, locked-up posture. How do you think your parents feel about having a two-time Cup champion in the family? That’s more than your father.

Remus could have killed them. Didn’t they fucking know better?

But, even still. When he’d asked Sirius about it, all he had said was, “It went fine.” Remus was still trying to figure out if this was a moment to push, or to let Sirius come to him.

He was glad, at least, that they were starting the playoffs on home ground. It was their people out there, a sea of red who held grudges just as fiercely as their Captain did. Not to mention, if there was one team that Gryffindor held a rivalry with that was equal to the one with the Snakes, it was Vegas.

He went through his routine. He found himself missing Logan while he was warming up on the bikes, wishing for his calm presence beside him. He missed the way Logan would check quietly that he was okay, meeting his eyes in the mirror. He stretched out on the mats with Thomas, and went into the equipment room to sharpen his skates one last time. He rubbed his thumb along the sharp, even blade after, and he did feel calmer. Ready.

Coach’s talk was brief—they were all playing well. Remus had a steady point streak that had ended last game, but he wasn’t worried about rekindling it. Finn had shaken off the stupor that Logan’s absence had tripped him into. Sirius was murderous around the net, Evgeni drew penalties almost every time they needed them. Thomas pinched in and cut off good plays—he’d do the same to Vegas. And Kasey. Kasey was fighting through his pain in a way that Remus, had he not known about it, wouldn’t have been able to see. It was the very thing they had agreed on hating most about hockey, but it was necessary. At least for now. Kasey was doing so well, though, and Remus couldn’t help but be thrilled about it, even if it did keep Leo on the bench more games than not. There was always a chance, and a rather high one, too, that Leo would, like last year, suddenly find himself in the starting slot.

Remus looked over at Kasey now, strapping on his pads, white and maroon, hair kept out of his face by a ball cap. He wanted these last games, Remus knew, no matter how many there were. It could be four. Could be seven. Or they could take this thing all the way to the end. Back to back Cups.

Sirius was in his usual place by the door soon enough, the cameras honed into every bit of encouragement he gave, every smile or head tap he delivered. He looked good and ready, helmet shading his eyes a bit, even with the extra lights the Showtime crew had brought. Sirius changed shapes, just a little, for each player he greeted. He didn’t become different exactly, but he was quieter with James—who was loud—and gave specific encouragement to Cole—who ate it up and would no doubt do his best to carry Sirius’ words through at some point during the game. Remus waited his turn behind Thomas, who jumped up to bump chests with Evgeni before tapping helmets with Sirius.

Remus felt it when the cameras went to his face. He didn’t like it, but he liked that they couldn’t control what he and Sirius gave them. It wasn’t the same as a press conference, where they had no control over some lame rookie-reporter asking whether or not they brought the game home, or brought home life into the game.

Remus held out his fist as usual, and watched Sirius shift into what he considered his Sirius. Smile lines and shoulders not as tall and broad, but curving down into Remus, chin ducking down, too, as if to put them into their own little bubble of space. People were always hoping for some sign of a divide between them, some slip up in their professional lives that they could somehow blame on their personal ones. But instead, they got this. Sirius Black, on a characteristically long hot streak right now, smiling gently down at Remus and bumping his hand over Remus’ heart.

“Okay,” Sirius said simply. Maybe they couldn’t help their smiles, but their words would stay their own. Remus knew what he really wanted to say, and he brought their visors together in a gentle knock.

“Let’s take this one.”

And just like that they passed each other, Sirius with a glove briefly on Remus’ back. Remus heard some cameras flash as Sirius followed him—man, did they love that shot of their numbers and names across their shoulders, one after another. How many times could someone take the same picture?

Remus could hear the opening video booming through the walls. A compilation of that season’s best scores. Black steals it right from between—Potter digging deep out in the high ice—Oh, what a pass from Tremblay to O’Hara—Kasey Winter, the Great Blizzard! Can’t drive through him, no sir! It gave him a jolt when he heard his own name. Lupin! It’s a power play goal!

He realized that his heart was pounding, and as they came out of the tunnel to spill onto the ice, the crowd went wild. The fact that this was real clicked into place all over again. He’d been realizing and re-realizing ever since he’d signed his NHL contract (with a pen that he kept in his bedside drawer and looked at sometimes.) He was a top six starter for a play-off team in the National Hockey League.

This was real, despite the face and number looming at him in gray and gold from across the ice. He no longer felt like he was skating out on the ice to play against Fenrir Grayback. He felt like he was going out, with his team, to play the Vegas Golden Knights.

Back here again, Lee! Good Lord, was the stadium this loud when you were a Lion?

Ha! Gryffindor fans have always been passionate. But all that goes to say, I’m no Sirius Black. There’s the Captain now, at the end of the line, as usual, behind Lupin. Falling into stride with his long-time line mate, James Potter.

Oh, I met his son, Harry, earlier. Adorable.

Did you? That kids gonna be trouble when he’s older if he’s anything like his old man.

That’s for sure. Welcome in to Game Night in Gryffindor everyone, as we begin game one of the first round of the Stanley Cup playoffs. The Lions take on Mark Stone and his Vegas Golden Knights tonight. These two teams have a lot of history, don’t they, Lee?

Oh, you can say that again. The highlight on your screen right now is just one of the nasty fights that have broken out between these two teams.

I wouldn’t so much call it a fight as Fenrir Grayback getting what’s coming to him. No doubt Lion fans still have some words for him tonight, leftover from last season.

Ha! Would you now?

The kid’s got a temper on him that’s for sure.

Can’t say you’re wrong about that. Should make for an interesting series. The Knights have been a sorry victim to injury this season. Grayback was out for almost a month with an upper body, a few other guys with lingering issues. We’ll see how they hold up against the Lions tonight, eh?

We will. The Lions have remained fairly healthy for the most part. We’ll see.

“Think he’ll try and say hello again?” Thomas asked as he and Remus dropped out of the skate around. Remus could feel a welcomed burn of warmth in his muscles.

It was a long road ahead, but Remus was familiar with those.

“Not if I can help it,” Remus said, sliding up to the boards for some water. He wanted the National Anthem to be done with already. He wanted the puck to drop. But he took his time looking over at the other side. His heart startled a little when he noticed one player, hovering near the center ice line. Grayback, he thought instantly, tensing up.

But no. It wasn’t Grayback. Grayback was by the goal, not even looking at Remus’ side of the ice.

Théo Angevine, number 8, was standing there, passing a puck to himself lightly between one side of his stick to the other. He glanced over at them once. Twice. Towards Sirius. When he noticed Remus’ gaze with his calm brown eyes, he turned away.

Sirius had never so much as mentioned Théo’s name before that story about his pre-game tradition. Remus’ heart tugged at the image of a small Sirius, gray eyes going wide at an act so simple as someone offering him half of a sandwich. Even more simple—that sandwich tasting sweet. So desperate for a bit of softness in his life that he would settle for just a taste of it. He never mentioned anything, really, that came before the Lions. His family. The most Remus had ever gotten about it was a sense of how horrible it had been, but that was mostly what he picked up from body language. He knew there had been physical abuse. He knew that he had been driven harder than a work horse. He knew Sirius’ darkest moment had been needing to leave Regulus behind.

It occurred to Remus that maybe it wasn’t only that Sirius didn’t mention it. Maybe Remus himself was too careful about not asking.

Sirius was a very carefully aligned person. The superstitions were only the tip of the iceberg.

“Jeez,” Thomas said, coming to stand beside Remus. “What are you thinking about with a face like that?”

Remus looked at him. He shouldn’t be thinking about this now. This was maybe one of the most important games in his career. And Sirius seemed okay. Joking around the locker room. He hated the Showtime interviews, that was all. He didn’t like cameras in the locker room, Remus could see that much. He’d kicked them out a few times already, claiming a player’s only meeting, only to sit back down in his stall and go about business as usual, only with his shoulders considerably more relaxed.

“Nothin’,” Remus said, then nudged Thomas. “The goal we’re gonna score tonight.”

“Excuse me, that would be goals, plural.”

Remus smiled. “That a promise?”

“Sure is.”

Remus just laughed, but he let his eyes wander back over to the Golden Knights. To Théo. He was skating mostly by himself, handling a puck deftly with his head down.

Sirius skated to a hard stop in front of him and reached up a glove to gently turn Remus’ face towards his own. Remus couldn’t help but smile. Sirius thought he was looking for Grayback.

“Eyes on me, mon loup,” Sirius said.

Remus tapped a glove to Sirius’ chest. “Always.”

“You know what I want to do?” Sirius said as he squirted some water into his mouth.

“Hm,” Remus said, eyes flicking momentarily back to the gray and gold jersey.

“I want to get a tattoo,” Sirius said.

Remus’ head wasn’t the only one that snapped towards him. Cole looked up, James and Thomas, too.

Thomas laughed. “All right, Cap.” He nudged Cole. “Me and twenty know a great place.”

“Tattoo…” James said from Remus’ other side, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “Should I also get a tattoo?”

“What?” Remus shook his head, caught off guard. “You want what? Of—of what?”

“Of my wedding ring,” Sirius said. He tapped his ring finger through his thick glove. “Can’t wear it while I play.”

Sirius said no more, just patted Remus’ helmet then skated away to trace the Gryffindor logo.

Finn leaned over from a few slots down the bench and whistled to get Remus’ attention before sending him a grin and a wink. “That’s what we boys like to call distraction.”

Remus stared at him for a moment, then laughed, looking back out onto the ice. Sirius was still looking at him, mouthguard hanging out between his teeth as he smiled.

“Yeah,” Remus said. “Right…”

Logan pressed his knee out in front of him in a stretch, forearms down on the matt and head bowed. His headphones were loud in his ears, cranking the playlist that he shared with Finn and Leo. They’d been finding things that helped close the distance, and Logan hadn’t thought Leo’s idea to share music would help much, but that was before his heart gave an excited kick each time a notification popped up that a new song had been added.

There was a scuff on his head, knocking his hat askew and getting his attention. Logan looked up to see Luke sitting down on the mat beside him. He pushed his headphones around his neck.

“Sup,” Luke said.

Logan shrugged. “Fucking Bruins.”

“Amen.” Luke got down into the same stretch. He had a blue sweatshirt on, and a backwards cap. His short brown hair stuck out over the adjustable bar. “The fuck is this? Pigeon pose, or something like that?”

Logan snorted and pushed up onto his palms, feeling the stretch on his core. “Ouais? Don’t know why though.”

Luke gave him a rare smile and tucked the ties of his sweatshirt away so they didn’t get beneath his arms. “So. We’re on the same line.”

“We were good in practice.”

They had been great in practice. It was the closest thing Logan could think of to playing with Finn. Not even playing with Sirius had felt that good. They were too similar, both too hungry for the puck. Luke was different. As soon as he had the puck, he didn’t try for movement like Sirius did. He was incredible at keep-away, though, and that bought him all the time in the world to asses which lanes were open, to see all of his options. Logan, like with Finn, was good at being just where Luke needed him to be. Plus, they were friends now. Logan hadn’t been sure in the beginning, but the second Logan had poked fun at him—just a little, testing the waters with a jab at the way he skated—Luke and given him a hard shove and went after him about his height. And that had been that.

“Yeah,” Luke said. “We were good.”

He sounded hesitant, though, which sent an entire new avalanche of worried, insecure thoughts through Logan’s head. The kind that came with new friends. Each step could feel like the wrong one—especially when you wanted that other person to like you. Logan had had those his entire life. It could be terribly difficult to remember to just be himself and not only try to please the other person. He’d learned a lot from Finn and Leo in that regard.

“Is that…okay?” Logan asked hesitantly. He almost hadn’t. He wasn’t sure he could handle it if the answer was no, at least not tonight.

“Yeah, of course,” Luke said. “I was just thinking…we could be playing your boys in the second round. If we win out against Boston.”

Logan arched a brow. “The Lions aren’t my boys anymore.”

“I know,” Luke said. “I meant your boys.”

“Oh.” Logan couldn’t help but smile. Your. “Right. Ouais, we could.”

“We’ll be playing for the Cup. Trying to knock them out.”

“I know,” Logan said.

“I just…I want to make sure…”

Logan turned to look at him. He paused the music that was still coming through softly from his headphones. “Are you asking me if I can play against them?”

“No. God, Jesus, no.” Luke shook his head. The wedge of green in his brown eyes looked especially bright tonight. “I’m just saying—I know it’s hard for you. I’ll like—I’ll be on the ice. I know we practiced it where you’re the one who takes shit to goal, but…I can get up the ice instead. If you ever need me to.”

Logan froze, then realized his leg was beginning to ache in this position and pushed himself up. Luke followed, brown eyes…amused, maybe.

“Oh. Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“Sorry,” Logan said. “Sorry I said…I didn’t mean that you’d think I can’t…”

“It’s okay. I understand. The media goes after you enough for that storyline, you don’t need it from me. Normally it’s just guys switching teams. You’re just dumb enough to have fallen in fucking love with yours.”

Logan couldn’t help the laugh that startled out of him. It was still such a surprise, and so nice, to hear things like that in normal conversation. Percy leaning over the back of the bus seat and ask him which of his lover boys he was texting, and if it was Finn to type something strange and nonsensical like yellow hi!! Morgan asking what Logan was up to this summer, and if he wanted to bring Finn and Leo around to his place in Miami some time.

Logan had never had the chance to use the term we like this before. We’ll be in France for July, but what about August? We’re talking about training in New Orleans for a week or two. Or, when Zibanejad asked after his favorite restaurant in Gryffindor, we love this place called Sid’s, we’ll take you out some time.

We we we we we.

He was sure Finn and Leo were feeling the same, but the we that Luke was talking about was entirely different. There was the bigger we, the hockey we. The team.

We could be playing against Logan, had no doubt crossed Finn and Leo’s mind. We might have to take a Cup chance from Logan.

“Thanks,” Logan said. “Really. Merci, that means a lot.”

Luke just shrugged in his typical way that Logan was coming to interpret as meaning the same thing as a big smile from Leo, or a little shake of the shoulders from Finn.

“I just know it’d be hard,” Luke said.

Logan nodded. He was tempted to ask him about Saint, but he didn’t. He tried to picture someone, a new person especially, asking him about Finn or Leo before they had come out, and flinched. He wouldn’t ask. Luke would have to come to him.

“What?” Luke said, and Logan realized he had been staring at him.

Logan gave an imitation of Luke’s shrug and pulled Luke’s hat down over his eyes.

“You have resting bitch face,” Logan said.

Luke punched him in the shoulder.

Remus lowered himself into the metal tub beside Thomas’, filled to the brim with ice, and let out a shaky breath.

“One down,” Thomas said, flicking through his phone as the ice clinked softly around his body.

“How the fuck do you like these?” Remus could already feel his teeth chattering.

“It’s so relaxing, man,” Thomas said. “Gets the blood flowing, slows my heart, and I wake up good as new in the morning. Fucking love it.”

“My balls feel like they’re going to freeze off.”

Thomas tisked his tongue. “Accept the cold, Lupin. C’mon, you’re a child of real winters! Embrace it.”

Remus tried to relax his neck, to slow his breathing. “I want to embrace a warm towel.”

“Warm towel or warm Sirius?”

“Hm, both.”

Thomas just laughed and then turned his phone to show Remus a video of two puppies.

His body did manage to get more accustomed to it, after another few minutes. He felt his muscles release a little bit, or maybe he was just going pleasantly numb. He opened his eyes when Thomas sighed happily and put his phone down.

“How’s Noelle?”

Thomas grinned and reached up to pass some of the icy water of his head and face, the droplets dewing up like crystals in the tight black curls of his hair. It was the longest Remus had ever seen it, with shaved smooth edges by his temples but longer at the crown. “What gave me away?”

“The heart eyes,” Remus laughed.

“Her season’s over, she’s gonna come stay with me for the playoffs.”

“You guys thinking about moving in together?”

Thomas gave a wavering sort of nod. “Well, as much as we actually can. We lived together last summer but, you know. Different cities and all that.”

“Yeah,” Remus said.

“Wish I’d gotten you one tonight,” Thomas said. “Against Fuckrir Grumpback.”

Remus laughed. “Ah, right that’s his name. I’d forgotten. We have three more games to score.”

“Oh, three is it? Cocky.”

Maybe it made Remus sound a bit more sure than he actually felt, but he was okay with that. “Honestly, I didn’t even think about him that much tonight.”

“Yeah?” Thomas smiled. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Remus looked out over the rest of the recovery room. Kasey with some ice around his thigh, Layla talking softly to him. Finn and Evgeni walking in to tape up some jammed fingers. “Felt funny, though. Like I was forgetting something.”

“Pretty sure that’s something you’re allowed to forget, man.”

“Fuckrir Grumpback?” Remus snorted. “Yeah, I think I can forget him, too.”

Thomas threw his head back and laughed, settling back into the water.

Remus had closed his eyes, trying to breathe through the cold, which had surged back up into his senses again, when Thomas spoke in a low voice.

“Think Kase is gonna make it through?”

Remus had to fight down the urge to open his eyes too quickly. When he did, Thomas was looking at him. He seemed to be actually asking the question, not only posing it to see what Remus might say. His brown eyes turned sad.

“You know something,” Thomas said softly. “Don’t you.”

Remus didn’t say anything, and Thomas sighed but nodded. He looked over at Kasey, who was laughing at something Layla was saying to him.

“I feel like its changing,” Thomas said.

“What?”

“The locker room. You know? You can feel it happening sometimes. Especially after a Cup, that’s what guys say. First Logan. Kasey. God, probably Dumo soon.”

“That’s what happens,” Remus said.

“I know,” Thomas nodded. “God, I know, but I miss it. I miss, like, this time one year ago. I mean, other than you being on the team, of course.”

“You’re sweet,” Remus said wryly.

“But it was all—it was all beginning, it was all happening for the first time.”

“Why is that better?” Remus asked.

“What?” Thomas asked.

“Why is the first time better?”

Thomas smiled. “Are we going philosophical?”

Remus laughed. “Sort of. I mean, some first times are the sloppiest. You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.”

“Are you talking about sex?”

That made Remus laugh louder, and he splashed some water at Thomas. “I mean anything. You don’t know what you’re doing, you’re not good at whatever you’re trying to do, you’re scared…So, why’s it always feel so…”

“Shiny,” Thomas said.

Remus nodded. “Shiny. Why is it better?”

Thomas thought for a moment. “Not better, then. But there’s something different.”

“I guess I can agree to that,” Remus said, then looked up with a smile when Sirius walked through the door. “Oh, hi there, Mr. Top Shelf.”

Sirius laughed and crouched down beside Remus’ tub, dipping his fingers into the icy water. “Mr. Top Shelf?”

“Uh, yeah,” Thomas said. “Since when do you shoot high? Since tonight.”

“Since their goalie can’t get his hands up,” Sirius said, then leaned into kiss Remus softly. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Remus pressed a cold hand against his warm neck. “This sucks.”

“You’re getting out soon, embrace it!” Thomas said.

Sirius didn’t even jerk away from the touch. “Well, I’m sweating, an ice bath sounds pretty good to me right about now.”

Remus smiled. “Oh yeah? You getting in?”

“Not a chance—non, hey.”

Remus laughed and splashed him again, ice clattering onto the floor.

“Keep it in the tub!” Layla called from where she was guiding Kasey through some stretches.

“Sorry,” Sirius called back, before turning his attention back on Remus, tucking his fingers into his damp hair and pressing a kiss to his temple. “Gonna shower and get changed. Home in twenty?”

Remus nodded. He spent the moment that Sirius smiled back at him searching his face for any of the uneasiness that had been there at the beginning of the game, but it seemed to have dissipated with the win.

“Okay,” Sirius said, and Remus watched him walk away, fist bumping Cole on his way out.

“This is you,” Thomas said, and then slumped into his bath some more, gazing up at an imaginary Sirius, batting his eyes.

“Fuck off,” Remus laughed, and groaned as he pushed himself out of the tub.

The house felt quiet and warm, but it had the unsteadiness that came with the knowledge of an early flight the next morning. Remus watched Sirius dump a can of tomato sauce into a pan to heat up while the pasta boiled. Their bags were ready by the door—Remus’ doing. Really, they should have all been flying out tonight, but Remus was glad to be able to sleep at least a few hours in his own bed. He would have to let the adrenaline wear off first. He could see the very same coils of energy in the set of Sirius’ shoulders. It wasn’t unease, exactly. It was just the game.

Remus fiddled with the salt and pepper bowls they kept on the table. They had little spoons in them, as if made for fairy. He scooped the white grains up before letting them spill back down, over and over.

“I saw Théo,” he said, finally.

Sirius was quiet for a moment. He put a dish in the sink. “Ouais. Me too.” He glanced over his shoulder when Remus didn’t reply right away. “We’ve seen him before.”

“I know, but I didn’t—you know.” Remus scooped up the salt again. “I didn’t know before. And…I think maybe he looked at you a few times.”

Sirius’ release of breath was short. Maybe a little impatient—or he was just tired. “They all look at me.”

It was true enough, but it was still strange to hear Sirius say it. Even if his fame was blunt and obvious, Sirius rarely acknowledged it outright.

“You don’t want to talk to him?” Remus asked.

“Not—not now.” Sirius didn’t look at him, still had his back turned as he carefully spooned out a single noodle to test for doneness. “Not with Grayback on his team. Not with the playoffs.”

“Not with Grayback? What’s that mean?”

“It means…you know what it means.”

Remus switched to the pepper. Black and gray and red, more finely ground. The sound these grains made again each other was softer.

“I’m not worried about Grayback,” Remus said. “I told you that. I’m talking about Théo, and that story just sounded like it meant a lot to you—”

“Re, I’m over it. I don’t really think about it. I just told you that story, that’s it.”

Remus hesitated. The tension was back in Sirius’ shoulders now, and Remus was sorry to have put it there, but it was moments like these that Remus finally felt like he was getting a handle on. Moments where Sirius tensed up, but let something slip.

“You’re over what?” Remus asked.

Sirius let out a little laugh, tired and frail. “Re…”

“No, really, baby, over what?” Remus stood from the table, walking forward to the island to lean his elbows on it.

Sirius didn’t turn away from the stove. “You’re talking about Théo, fine, but you’re really trying to get me to talk about my parents. I know.”

Remus pressed his lips together. So, he was going to have to push, then.

“You don’t talk about them.”

Sirius made a dismissive gesture with his hand that was entirely something picked up from Pascal. “I’m over it.”

“Not thinking about it doesn’t mean you’re over it. And you—you don’t have to be over it, you just have to…like, you know…process it.”

“Process what?” Sirius turned around. His grey eyes were hard, the dish towel in his hands twisted tight. “That some kid was nice to me when we were little? I’m not that pathetic.”

“I never said that,” Remus said softly. “I just said you can talk to me about it.”

“I don’t like talking about it. I talk to Heather. I go to therapy. I’m better than I was.”

“I don’t really love talking about Grayback, either. I still told you. And I felt ten thousand times better tonight. Because you were there for me tonight. And you could only do that because you knew exactly what I was going through.”

“Re,” Sirius sighed. “Come on. Not tonight, okay? I don’t understand why you’re bringing this up.”

“Because of the Showtime thing,” Remus said. He walked around the kitchen island, pressing gently into Sirius’ space. Sirius let him, which was a good sign. “I know you don’t like the cameras in the locker room. And I know…I overheard them watching your interview. I know their questions got a little touchy the other day.”

Sirius shook his head and turned back around. He reached for the plate he’d already cleaned and ran it under the tap. “It’s fine.”

Remus reached out and turned the tap off. He took the plate out of Sirius’ hands and set it down.

Sirius sighed. They let the quiet of the kitchen settle around them again, with just the faint bubbling of the pasta and warmth of the steam interrupting them.

“I…I am much better with it,” Sirius said. “I am.”

“You are,” Remus nodded. “I know.”

“But…Ouais.” Sirius gave a little eye roll, as if he was annoyed with himself. “They stirred a few things up, I guess. That’s all.”

Remus pushed his hands into Sirius’ hair, carding his fingers through it the way he knew Sirius liked. Sure enough, Sirius let his eyes slip closed.

“It’s nice when it starts getting longer like this.”

Sirius’ smile looked young with his eyes closed like that. It looked like the first time Remus actually saw him smile, a real smile, all those years ago. “Oh yeah?”

“So I can do this.” Remus tightened his grip a little and angled Sirius’ head down to kiss him. Sirius made a soft sound into it, his hands smoothing over Remus’ shoulders.

“Don’t shut yourself in on me, baby,” Remus whispered into it, then kissed him harder.

Sirius smiled at that, pressed their foreheads together. “The hotel in Vegas has a pool.”

Remus laughed, surprised. “Okay?”

“Just came to me, I don’t know why.” Sirius cradled Remus closer, hands low on his back. “I…I don’t talk about it because I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to know what to say. Not with me.”

Sirius nodded slowly, then sighed and kissed Remus again. “Can I not know while we eat? I’m starving.”

Remus laughed. “Yeah. Go sit, I’ll finish it up.”

Leo stared down at his phone. He was half listening to what Finn was saying to him and Logan, who was on FaceTime with the iPad propped up against the pillows. Finn was walking around the bedroom, haphazardly packing. The sky was barely pink outside. Leo would usually have been anxiously helping him, and reprimanding him for not doing it sooner, but there was this. His phone.

“Alex is showing me this place,” Logan was saying, and then a name that Leo didn’t quite catch.

“Aw, no. I wanted to take you guys there.” Finn sighed and tossed a t-shirt in the direction of his bag and let out a big yawn. “Tell him thanks for nothing.”

Leo was still staring at his phone. At the text that had come in an hour earlier. He hadn’t opened it. The blue dot of unread still signaled beside the message preview.

Hey just got my first call up! Made me think of you. Hope…

“—right, Le?”

Leo looked up. Finn was looking at him and Logan was doing something off-screen—making breakfast by the sound of it. He was shirtless and looked soft and familiar in his in kitchen lights. Leo ached for him. He clicked off his phone and set it face-down on the bed by his own bag. “Sorry, what?”

“We’re not saying the Rangers should win anything,” Finn said. “But we’re not rooting for the Bruins, either.”

“Oh. Right, no, definitely not.”

Leo knelt on the bed before letting himself flop onto his stomach in front of the iPad, chin in his hands. The noise made Logan look up at the screen, and Leo got a perfect view of watching him smile. “You look handsome like that.”

“Without a shirt?” Logan laughed. “Yes, you have told me this.”

“No. Cooking.”

Finn laughed from behind him. “Pretty sure he’s buttering toast, baby.”

“I like it when he uses his hands.”

Finn tossed another shirt in. “Ooh, can’t argue with that.”

Logan smiled at Leo again, and made a grabbing hand at his screen. “Makes me want to smush your cheeks when you sit like that.”

“What are you actually making?” Leo asked.

Logan held up a piece of toast and laughed. “Toast.”

Leo smiled. “Do I still make it better?”

“Leo, you make everything better.” Logan glanced up at him again, through his eyelashes. His accent was thick with sleep. “There’s never any chance of that changing.”

“Good,” Leo said, then turned his head int he direction of Finn. “Hey, Fish, when’s our flight?”

“Do not passive-aggressively ask me when our flight is,” Finn said, and gave Leo a little smack on the thigh. “I’m disorganized but you love me anyway.”

“I do love you anyway,” Leo said, and turned to Logan. “You however keep distracting him and I refuse to miss this plane to kick Vegas’ ass again.”

“Ouais, you do that. We’ll try to beat the Bruins this time.”

Leo nodded, trying not to think too hard about what that would mean. If the Lions won this round, and the Rangers won theirs…

“All right, have a good game,” Finn flopped on his stomach beside Leo and leaned in close to the phone with an exaggerated kissing noise. “Love you, baby. Wish you were on our plane.”

“Ouais,” Logan said, mouth full of toast. Logan leaned down on his elbows, and Leo took the silver fleur-de-lis pendant in his fingers, as if he could touch Logan instead. “Fly safely.”

“You, too,” Leo said. “Text you when we land.”

Finn groaned after they ended the call and rolled into Leo until he was on his back, looking up at him. Leo pressed a quick kiss to his lips, then laughed when Finn pressed a palm to each of his cheeks and squeezed.

“Wanna watch more of that show on the plane?” Leo asked around his palms.

“Yeah, definitely,” Finn said, and closed his eyes as he let his hands drop. “Tired just thinking about going through an airport right now.”

“Yeah,” Leo said vaguely. He studied Finn’s face, stroking his red hair back from his forehead. He thought of his phone. The text didn’t mean anything. He should probably just ignore it, or delete it, but he couldn’t help the part of him that felt like that was admitting defeat.

“That’s nice,” Finn mumbled, eyes still closed and pressing up against Leo’s palm.

“You look so much younger when it’s pushed back,” Leo said.

“Are you telling me I look old?”

Leo laughed. “No, I’m just saying.” He pressed a kiss to Finn’s forehead. “C’mon. Gotta zip that suitcase of yours.”

He let himself get a little lost in the familiar chaos that was getting Finn out of the house on time. The running back and forth, nervous energy of him. It made Leo smile to think of himself waiting by the door while Finn and Logan walked back and forth remembering things that Leo had asked them if they had packed ten times. Charger? Toothbrush? Finn walked back and forth more slowly this time, though, as if he needed to feed off of Logan’s energy.

“Set?” Finn asked when they were locking up the apartment. He was turned down the hallway and held out his hand behind him, in the perfect position for Leo to take.

Text be damned, Leo thought, as he laced their fingers together. Thank God Jack Archer had been what he was in high school, thank God he had done what he’d done. And anyway. It was a long time ago now. Leo should forget about it. But things that hurt were stubborn that way.

“Loops!”

Remus passed blindly in the direction of Thomas’ voice. It felt like flying to be able to think like that, to be able to find someone with such ease. He shouldered back against Stone as he turned to see Thomas catch his pass on his stick. It pinged hard off of the crossbar and deflected into the net. The whistle blew.

“Fuck,” Remus breathed, and pushed his helmet back, taking his mouth guard out while they reset. The Vegas crowd was singing some song that Remus had heard so many times he’d forgotten the name. He glanced up at the clock. Five minutes left in the game and they’d been trying to break the tie of 3-3 since the first period.

“They’re singing again,” Thomas asked as they made their way towards the bench to swap out with Pascal’s line. “Why are they always fucking singing?”

“Look who they’re rooting for,” Remus said, and gave Finn a tap as they swapped out. “They’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Good shift,” Layla asked as they settled onto the bench.

“Thanks,” Remus said. “iPad?”

She passed it to him, and Remus nodded his thanks quickly before turning back to look again. Layla had a funny expression on her face. Watchful almost.

“All right?” Remus asked.

She blinked, and then smiled. “Yeah, you?”

Remus nodded, trying to shake the feeling that she had realized what her face had shown. He was flooded with adrenaline right now. It could be nothing. He looked down at the iPad. “Just want to pull this thing off in regulation.”

“Ouais,” Sirius said from the other side of Thomas and Olli. “We’re—allez, switch—I want to sit next to him—ouais, merci.”

Thomas snorted, but allowed Sirius to scoot past him to settle beside Remus. If Remus didn’t think the cameras were on them, he would have gave in and smiled in the dopey way he wanted to. I want to sit next to him.

“We’re playing mostly in our zone, we don’t want a momentum shift,” Sirius said. He leaned in to watch the shift with Remus as the puck slapped the boards somewhere beside them. In a lower voice, he said, “You know what it does to me when you no-look pass.”

“Why do you think I do it?” Remus clicked off the iPad and sent him a grin—maybe not the dopey love-struck one he had felt a moment ago, but one sharpened by the way Sirius’ voice sounded when he whispered to him on the bench like that.

Sirius’s smile was a little dopey, a little love-struck, and Remus stared at it for a moment before letting his own melt into that, too. He felt that he should probably have stopped feeling like he shouldn’t show these things by now, but it was still a pleasant surprise when he remembered that he could.

Black and Lupin…strategizing on the bench. Big smiles. Expecting to get out of this tie do you think, Dean?

I’d think so. This is a confident team, Lee. Stanley Cup champions. I’d say they badly want a second look.

Pascal came close twice in the time it took for the clock to tick down to three minutes. Kasey made three saves, one of them that made Remus hold his breath with the way he had to stretch down into the splits, glove hand arching over to snatch the puck out of the air.

Finn put his body in front of two pucks and took one hard in the ankle. He sat on the bench, head down and covered by his arms next to Leo, and let the ache wear off.

“Game update, Layla?” Leo called when Finn got back out there again, Remus taking his seat.

“Bruins are down 2 to the Rags,” Layla said.

Leo just nodded serenely. “All righty.”

“Keeping track of Logan?” Remus asked, wiping his visor clear of sweat and ice.

“A little.” Leo glanced at him, blue eyes bright in the shadow of his cap. “I get really nervous sometimes that he’s hurt and I don’t know about it.”

“Aw, Peanut,” Thomas said, leaning over from beside Remus.

“I know there’s nothing I could do either way, like even if he was here.” Leo offered them a smile. “But I don’t know. I get nervous.”

“Second line!” Coach’s voice boomed.

Remus stood to swapped out with Sirius’ line.

The ice calmed it all. Thoughts of Kasey, Sirius, Logan. Grayback who had skated out, too. He stayed in Remus’ peripheral vision, but not like a looming shark. Like all the others. Just another part of the game. And if Remus’ shoulders were burning that was because he was skating hard. It was because Thomas was right where he needed him to be, and so was Evgeni. Remus called for the puck, and felt it in his chest when Evgeni nailed Grayback in a mid-ice hit before he could get to Remus. The crowd booed. Remus just carried on up the ice, head low. He was fast. He’d been told that his entire career, and the clock might be quick, too, but he wanted to try and beat it.

“Loops!” Thomas’ voice came.

Remus was tempted to try the same thing. No-look. Keep his eyes on the defensemen in front of him. But he saw Ullmark reposition, subtly, ready for the pass. He put on the breaks hard, threw the defensemen off of him, and flicked the puck up.

The goal horn blared.

“Fuck,” Remus breathed, then laughed, and then he put his arms up just in time for Thomas to happily slam into him against the boards.

“Two-nothing,” Logan said, voice coming through the iPad speakers. “Impressive.”

“You guys will pull through, too,” Finn said, then grinned at Leo. “And Le’s getting the start for game four. I’m calling it now.”

They were laying in bed, Logan on the iPad between them, Leo and Finn’s feet tangled. Leo felt like his eyes should be half-closed, but instead he was wide awake. He and Finn had watched the highlights of the Rangers’ game, but those wouldn’t have showed any bad hits. Twitter wasn’t saying anything either, but Leo wanted to be sure.

“You’re okay, right?” he asked.

“Me?” Logan said, head popping out again through the neck of his hoodie. “Ouais, of course. Why?”

“Nothin’,” Leo said.

Finn smiled. “He’s just checking. Classic goalie, doesn’t like any of his players out of his sight.”

“It’s true,” Leo confessed.

“I’m okay, Soleil.” Logan fell back into his pillows, too, with a groan. “But these pillows are too hard and I wish you were hear to change the lightbulbs.”

“Me too,” Leo laughed.

Logan smiled, then looked up. “Hold on, my tea is here.”

They listened to Logan answer the door, voice changing the way he did when he talked to strangers. A little nervous, accent going heavier. Ah—yes, okay, thank you. Yeah, good night.

“You okay?” Finn asked while they waited.

“Me?” Leo looked over at him, his red hair sticking up against the pillow.

“You were quiet on the plane home.”

“What’s happening?” Logan asked, settling back on the bed with a steaming mug this time.

“Le was just quiet on the plane,” Finn said.

“I’m…” Leo hesitated. Hey just got my first call up. Made me think of you. “I’m fine.”

“Okay…” Finn said, but Leo could see the look he exchanged with Logan, even through a screen.

“No, no, I’m good,” Leo said but he picked up his phone from where it lay on the sheets beside him. “I just…Well, the other day I got…”

He felt Finn tense beside him, even sitting up a bit.

“Leo,” Logan said, voice tight and almost a little harsh. Leo looked up at him, surprised to find his green eyes wide, afraid. Finn was staring at him the same way.

“What?” Leo began, but then he realized. He’d trailed off, holding his phone, and it sounded like—

“Oh, God, no, I didn’t get a phone call. No, nothing like that.”

Finn let out a breath and slumped back down again, head dropping back against the pillows, eyes closed. “Jesus Christ.”

Leo reached out to rub a hand over his chest. “Sorry, sweetheart, sorry. No, I just got a text.”

Finn opened his eyes, blinking. “It’s okay, I just need to restart my heart. One sec.”

Logan laughed a little, but his eyes were still on Leo. “Text from who?”

Leo hesitated, then sighed. He knew what would happen next, but he wasn’t about to hide it from them. He didn’t want to. They knew all about Leo’s high school relationship—all of its lows. He wanted advice and, if he was being perfectly honest, he liked how protective they got. “From Jack.”

Their reaction was identical. Logan rolled his eyes, Finn made a bleh sound and lifted his head up. Leo couldn’t help but laugh.

“High-school Jack?” Finn made sure. “Your gross, idiot—”

“Stupide,” Logan muttered, blowing on his mug.

“Selfish,” Finn raised his eyes to the ceiling as if more adjectives were up there. “Insensitive, book hating—”

“Your butterscotch cookie hating,” Logan added pointedly.

“Meanie, butt-head, protein shake addict, triple shot latte monstrosity,” Finn was still going and Leo laughed harder, the bed shaking a little beneath them.

“Fuck-head,” Logan said.

“Asshole of a high school boyfriend texted you?”

Leo passed Finn the phone with the still unread message. “Yep.”

Finn sent him a questioning look, and when Leo nodded, he clicked on it. “Hey just got my first call up,” Finn read out. “Made me think of you. Hope you’re good.”

Logan scoffed. “Hope you’re good?” He raised his voice, chin tilted up like he could shout right through the camera. “Ouais, he’s good. He’s got a Cup and two boyfriends.”

“He’s good,” Finn said to the phone. “Leave.”

“Who even has him?” Logan asked, shaking his head like he was about to scold Jack from afar. It was a gesture that was very much like his mother.

Leo bit his lip. “He got called up from Hartford.” His eyes went to Logan, who all but choked on his drink.

“Non,” Logan said. “Non, non, non.”

“Nom, nom, nom,” Finn said, but he looked just as horrified. “I thought he was playing in the AHL for—for Tampa!”

“I did too, but no, he’s going to New York.” Leo said. “I kind of stopped keeping track though.” He reached out and brushed a hand through Finn’s hair. “Why waste any more of my energy you know?”

“Jack’s in New York now?” Finn asked. “Shit. Lo…”

“He’s going to be in my locker room,” Logan said, and then the camera went dark, like he had knocked his phone in the bed sheets and quilt. All they heard was a muffled groan of, “Non.”

“I looked it up,” Leo said. “He’ll be in your practice tomorrow morning and then, well, obviously for the next Bruins game.”

“I hope he fucks up and gets sent down,” Finn said.

Leo laughed. “No, come on.”

“He deserves it.”

“We were in high school,” Leo said, but he didn’t even sound convincing to himself.

Logan appeared again, looking rumbled like he had set his tea down to face-plant into the too-hard pillows. His green eyes were set, but not in the glare Leo had expected. It was almost earnest. Determined.

“I’m going to keep track of how many times I get to tell him I’m Leo’s boyfriend.”

“Aw, sweetheart,” Leo said, heart pulling. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“Non, non,” Logan said, smiling.

Finn pressed a kiss to Leo’s cheek and kept his lips there when he said, “Nom, nom.”

Leo laughed and turned his head for a real kiss. Behind his closed eyes, he saw the flash of Logan taking a screenshot.

“You must have six hundred of those by now,” Finn said.

“Yes, and I love them,” Logan said simply.

“You should look through them all whenever Jack’s around,” Finn said.

“That might be kind of weird of him,” Leo said.

Finn scoffed and got an arm around Leo’s shoulder to pull him in against his chest. “It was weird of him to break my baby’s heart.”

Leo just rested his temple against Finn’s shoulder and smiled at Logan. “It wasn’t heartbreak exactly. It was…it was just hard.”

“Sounds like heartbreak to me,” Finn said.

Logan shifted on his end of the call. “I don’t like talking about your hearts breaking.”

Finn pressed a kiss to his fingers and pressed it to the screen. “All healed up, baby.”

Leo paused for a moment although, beneath his cheek and hand, he didn’t feel Finn do the same. No tense up. Leo tried to look up at Finn’s face without moving too much, and it was calm. Logan’s too.

Leo knew how much pain they had put each other through. Somehow, the word heartbreak still startled him, even if the two of them said it like it was a fact.

“Don’t worry about Jack, Le,” Finn said, and Leo blinked, realizing they were both looking at him. “You don’t have to reply. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I know.” Leo pulled the iPad closer. “Hey, if we close our round earlier than you guys, maybe we’ll have enough days off that we can come see you. We’ll be coming to New York anyway because the Rangers are looking great.”

Logan smiled. “Merde. Don’t even bring it up yet.”

“Yeah,” Finn rubbed his eyes. “I can’t imagine one of us, like, knocking out the other—”

“Lo’s right.” Leo patted Finn’s cheek. “Yeah, not yet.”

“We should get some sleep,” Logan said. “Even though I love talking to you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Finn said. “We always start out saying we just want to say goodnight and then talk for four hours.”

Leo laughed. “We should expect this by now.”

“Ouais,” Logan said, and Leo watched his eyes look between them. “I miss you.”

“Miss you, too,” Leo said. “But soon, yeah?” But a little curl of dread pushed up through him at the thought of facing the Rangers in the Conference Semi-Finals. He’d honestly rather play the Snakes, who seemed to be pulling through the first round as easily as the Lions.

“Soon,” Logan said, and Leo swore he saw the same thoughts flicker through his face, too.

“Jack doesn’t know what’s coming for him!” Logan called at the last moment, and flashed them a big grin before ending the call right as Leo laughed.

Remus should have been expecting it.

The Knights were losing the series two-nothing, and also losing this game 4-1. Remus was caught up in the sheer, impossible delight of it all. The entire league was watching with awed, slightly confused expressions. Twitter was all question marks and amazement because the Lions were good, but they weren’t that good. The beginning of their season had been shit. The Knights had had injuries but they weren’t bad. This streak felt unbalanced and odd.

And the Knights weren’t happy to be losing like this. Who would be?

So Remus really, really should have seen it coming. The desperation, and the dirt.

Sirius got the first of it. A high, fast hit on the blue line from Carrier. Sirius, usually so aware, had been looking from the pass from James. Remus watched it in slow motion, and yet somehow didn’t even have time to shout.

The crowd cheered with the hit, but the entire Lions bench stood up.

Oh, wow, what a hit by Will Carrier on the Lions Captain.

Little high, if I do say so myself. I’d say that’s a penalty for sure, Lee.

We were talking earlier, weren’t we, Lee, about how we were surprised Vegas wasn’t being very aggressive. What do we say now, eh?

Its frustration, I’m sure. It can’t feel good to be losing this totally. Whether its injury issues or puck luck or simply Gryffindor’s domination, it can’t feel good at all.

Remus held his breath, watched Sirius on his knees checking his mouth for blood. James was on Carrier, giving him a shove and gesturing to the ref. The ref nodded, looking like he was telling James to calm down, and blew his whistle, pointing a scowling Carrier to the penalty box.

Sirius went up to a knee, and Remus watched him take a breath. Fix his helmet. Check his mouth again, but his glove came away clean. He worked his jaw a little, rolled one of his shoulders. He looked like he was about to rise fully, when a gray and gold uniform skated right in front of him and offered him a gloved hand.

It was Théo Angevine.

“Huh,” Jackson said from beside him. “They know each other?”

Remus watched as Sirius took the hand and rose. He wasn’t much taller than Théo, and the two of them looked at each other for a moment. Remus didn’t think he saw either of them say anything, though, and after a second, Théo skated towards his own bench.

“Re?” Jackson asked.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Remus said vaguely.

Huh. Some nice sportsmanship there, Dean. Wouldn’t have seen that coming.

Yeah. Théo Angevine, with a helping hand up for the Captain. Théo’s scored two of the Knights’ goals in this series. I guess we’ll see now if a hit like that does anything for Vegas’ momentum.

It didn’t.

The locker room was breathless and happy. 5-2.

“Let’s pull this off in four, boys,” Coach said, standing in front of them. He folded his glasses away and stuck them into his shirt pocket. “Cap, keep that pressure on. Harzy, good job with that pass in the second, Kuns, drawing the penalties. Keep it up.”

There was a chorus of thumps delivered to stalls and shouts, and Remus just smiled as he bent to tug at his skate laces.

“Remus?”

He looked up. “Oh, hey, Layla.”

Layla smiled. “Congrats. Uh—Could I see you for a second?” She pointed behind her, towards the visitor’s PT room.

“Uh, sure.” Remus thought about taking his skates off, but stood instead. “I’ll follow you.”

“You all right?” Remus asked as he closed the door to the office. “I only mean—I mean, I’m fine, didn’t get one of those hits, so…”

“Did you expect to?” Layla asked. She had her back to him briefly as she set her bench bag down, but when she turned to him, her brown eyes held that same look he had seen before. Watchful.

Remus blinked. “What?”

“Did you expect to be a target tonight?” Layla asked. “From…From Grayback?”

Remus just stared at her. He felt the back of his neck heating up and suddenly wished they weren’t in a small office.

Layla took a breath, moving her braids to the back of her neck. “Would you mind if I ask you something, and…and when I do, you can feel free to tell me to mind my own business? I’m just…I’m worried. And no one deserves to be alone in anything.”

“Um.” Remus glanced back at the door. “Okay…”

She nodded towards Remus’ shoulder. “How did you hurt your shoulder?”

Remus didn’t move. “I didn’t.”

He wasn’t even sure why he said that, only that the deflection had risen up in him instantly and of its own will.

“I don’t mean tonight.”

Remus wasn’t proud of it, exactly, but he was glad he hadn’t taken off his skates. It was good, just then, to feel taller than he really was.

“I mean your last game,” Layla said. “I mean your scar.”

Remus was shaking his head before he even meant to. “Layla. I’m okay. I know what you’re thinking—”

She took a step forward. “It isn’t an impact injury.”

For some reason, what he thought of right then was the Showtime film crew. It’s ridiculous name. The Road to The Stanley Cup.

So, Remus, excited to play against your old college buddy?

Remus sighed and sat down in one of the chairs. The added height from his skates made him feel more curled up like this, caved in on himself.

“No,” Remus said softly. “It isn’t.”

He heard Layla’s short intake of breath. She had her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes were gentle and worried.

Remus drew in a breath. It stirred it all up. The questions. Even the ice.

“I could have tried harder, that’s true,” Remus said, and then realized she hadn’t asked anything.

“What do you mean?”

He let out a humorless laugh. To talk about it when it first happened. He could have told his own mother at least, when he had woken up in the hospital. He’d thought about it a thousand times since then. It’s not the hit, he cornered me and—and—

Instead, it had taken him months, and a hundred nights of sobs muffled by his pillow. When he had finally whispered it to his mom, in the complete dark, tucked into her side in his bed like he was Julian’s age rather than his own, he had felt so good. But not quite good enough.

“The road to the Stanley Cup,” Remus sighed. He was suddenly bone tired. “Some are rougher than others.”

“So, it was him. Cole was telling the truth.”

Remus snapped his head. “What?”

“Grayback.”

“What the hell does Cole know?”

Layla cursed, rubbing at one of her eyes. “A lunch? God, Remus I promise we weren’t—he just said—he asked me, because some of the guys…well, they do protect you.”

Remus had a flash of that summer, discussing predictions, sitting at a sunny table eating.

“Remus,” Layla sat beside him. “I promise, I would never discuss—”

Remus just shook his head. “I know.” He sighed, rubbing a hand through his sweaty hair. “Yeah, there was a moment this summer. I know. Smart kid.”

Remus didn’t know why, but he smiled.

Layla frowned at him. “Remus…”

“I’m sorry,” Remus said, then laughed a little, emotion lodged in his throat. It felt like too much. “I don’t know why I’m laughing. Oh my God, sorry, it’s not funny.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Jesus, it’s not funny.”

“What happened?” Layla asked softly.

“Layla,” Remus said weakly. “It was a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Layla said. “It was something off ice. Am I right?"

Remus sighed. Are you excited to play with your old college buddy?

“I was going number one,” Remus said. “And he wanted that instead.”

Layla’s eyes went sad. Horrified. “So he…”

“I could have tried harder to stand up to him,” Remus said. “That’s what I meant.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I…” Remus laughed again. “Sorry, I really don’t know why I’m laughing. I suppose it’s just…frustrating. He told me he knew about me.” When Layla’s eyes widened he put a hand on her knee. “He didn’t know anything. He couldn’t have, but…I was scared, I wanted to succeed. What I realize now is that I didn’t have a secret.”

“That’s…” She looked horrified as they went to where she had seen his scar before. “Disgusting. He needs to answer for what he did.”

“No. No, Layla. He doesn’t.”

“But what he did—”

“Did what? He hurt me, yes, but what else? No, I’m not belittling what happened to me, but did he ruin my life? No. I chose another path, a path that I loved. That you love. Because of it I found the man that I love. The man I’m going to marry.”

“But…but you deserve…”

Remus just smiled. “In any other universe, Sirius and I probably would have been rivals. Or if not rivals, just not have known each other. I have what I deserve. He has nothing but a bad reputation. That’s how I’m trying to learn how to think about it.”

Remus was pleased to find that, as he said the words, he found them to be true. Something eased, just a little more, inside. He would always have to live with the nagging feeling that he hadn’t thought it through. It had never occurred to him that one day he’d be ready to tell his truth. That regret was easier to breathe through than it had once been. Peace was slow in the making.

Layla straightened, watching him carefully. “Are you angry I asked?”

Remus shrugged. “Not…exactly. I have been trying to shut the door on this thing for a while, but…” He thought of Sirius. “Maybe that’s not the kind of thing you do to your past.”

Layla smiled. “Maybe not. Thank you for telling me anyway. I just…I only asked because I worried you were just…sitting with it. But the boys know?”

“Most of them,” Remus said. “And if it makes you feel better, I like that you know, too.”

“Your doctors didn’t? How could they not?”

Remus shrugged. “They had a patient they needed to stitch back together. I’m sure they weren’t thinking about the politics of it.” Remus rolled his eyes. “Politics. You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Layla sighed, but nodded. “All right. Okay. You know you best. Isn’t that the PT rule?”

“Most of the time.” Remus smiled. “But you still gotta be able to know when they’re lying and it’s hurting. Am I lying?”

Layla smiled back and shook her head. “Maybe you were at one point. But, no, not right now.”

“He helped me up.”

With the bathroom door open in their hotel room, Remus could see Sirius laying on the bed in the mirror.

Remus folded the wet washcloth and turned off the tap, then the bathroom light. “Théo?”

“Hm,” Sirius nodded. He opened his arm when Remus kneeled on the bed and Remus tucked himself against his side.

Sirius kept his gray eyes on the ceiling. Searching. Thinking. “It surprised me.”

“I saw,” Remus said. “Everyone saw. Did he say anything?”

Sirius shook his head. “Non. Just…looked at me for a second.”

“Maybe that means you don’t have to be strangers after all,” Remus said, softening it with a kiss to his jaw.

“Maybe,” Sirius said softly. “I’m not sure. We’ll see.”

“We will,” Remus said. He propped himself up on an elbow. “But I don’t think that last game is something to be worrying about and thinking over. You were outstanding.”

Sirius smiled. “I’ll never get tired of seeing you on the ice.” He leaned up towards Remus, pushing gently until Remus was on his back. “Switching places with you over the boards.”

“I love it, too,” Remus said, settling his hands on Sirius’ hips. “Showtime get you after the game?”

“Ouais.” Sirius sighed. “Asked me if I thought we could take it in four.”

Remus snorted. “I feel like I should be happy they’re here, like it’s a privilege, but I just don’t.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they just love asking you about your old college buddy.” Sirius wrinkled his nose. “I know they don’t know what they’re saying, but it makes me want to throw their cameras.”

Remus smiled, but it felt tighter. “Hit one of them with their microphones.”

Sirius laughed, messing with one of the ties on Remus’ sweatshirt. “Ouais.”

Remus took a breath. “Layla figured it out.”

Sirius’ eyes didn’t move from the ties. He pulled at the neck of his sweatshirt a little and bent down to kiss the dip between Remus’ collarbones, then over his adam’s apple. “Hm?”

“Cole, too. About Grayback.”

Sirius pulled back quickly at that, looking down at Remus with alarm. “What?”

“It’s okay,” Remus said quickly. “Cole knew because of the way you guys act about him, and Layla noticed that my scar wasn’t what I said it was.”

Sirius took a moment with that, eyes going somewhere over Remus’ head, searching, before he nodded.

“Why did she ask you about it?” he finally asked.

“She thought I was just sitting on it,” Remus said. “And I guess I am, kind of, but she thought I was doing it alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Sirius said, a fierceness creeping in.

Remus smiled, reaching up to curl a strand of Sirius’ hair around his finger. “Could say the same thing to you.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, then grumbled when Remus flicked his temple for it.

“This hotel has a pool,” Sirius said pointedly.

Remus paused, then laughed hard. “Is that your out for these kinds of conversations?”

Sirius just grinned and leaned down. “That’s my in.” He pressed a quick kiss to Remus’ lips before pushing himself up. “Come on, allez.”

The pool was dim, with soft, warm lights along the edges of the room and below the water, making the blue tiles shimmer. They were alone as they dropped their towels on two of the lounge chairs.

“Coach would kill us if he knew we weren’t sleeping right now,” Remus said, dipping a foot in. “Oh, it’s warm.”

“Beats an ice bath?” Sirius asked.

Remus sat down on the edge before lowering himself in. “Oh God, it’s heaven.” He dunked his head under and let himself luxuriate in the world going silent for a moment. He pushed his hands upwards gently to keep himself down and let the water ease some of the soreness from his muscles before coming up to float on his back. “Get in here,” he said in Sirius’ direction, before he felt two hands on his hips and opened his eyes to see Sirius wet up to the chest and right in front of him. “Oh. Hi.”

Sirius just pulled him in until Remus’ legs were around his waist, lighter in the water. “Hi.”

Remus pushed his wet hands through Sirius’ hair. “You have to dunk.”

Sirius wrinkled his nose. “Then I’ll sleep with it wet. I already took a sho—”

But Remus used his position to push down on Sirius’ shoulders and bring them under together, laughing, maybe getting some bubbles up his nose, but it was worth it for the wet puppy look of Sirius, his dark hair plastered against his forehead and in his eyes.

“Thank you for that,” Sirius coughed a little.

“You wanted to come to the pool,” Remus said, tightening his legs around Sirius’ waist. He pushed Sirius’ hair out of his eyes so he wouldn’t let go of Remus’ waist, and watched as the gray of his irises took on the blue-yellow of the water and lights. “Now the pool has come to you.”

“Ouais, it has.” Sirius smiled, real and easy.

Remus just smiled and let the water settle itself around them. Sirius had one hand supporting him, the other beginning to trace up and down Remus’ spine. He walked them a little deeper in, until they were up to their shoulders. When Sirius leaned in to press a kiss to Remus’ scar, just above the waterline, Remus sent him a soft, half smile and kissed one of the scars on his cheeks that, to be honest, Remus wasn’t sure had come from hockey at all. When he pulled back again, Sirius had a complicated expression on his face.

“What?” Remus asked softly, arms draped loosely around Sirius’ neck. “What’s that look for, tell me.”

Sirius swallowed, his eyes darting over Remus’ face. Remus watched drops of water trail over his skin and cling to his eyelashes. He waited until Sirius’ eyes found his again.

“I want to take your name,” Sirius said.

The only sound for a long moment was the water lapping at the sides of the pool. A phone ringing far off. There was a drop of water trailing down Sirius’ cheek, and for a moment Remus thought it was a tear. He caught it with his thumb anyway.

“What?” he whispered, biting his lip against a smile. “You do?”

Sirius nodded. His hands had stilled against Remus’ back, only holding him now. He looked nervous, lips pressed together and biting at the inside of his cheek. God, Remus hardly knew what to say.

“Gonna cause a lot of people to have to buy new sweaters,” was the first thing that came to mind.

It had the intended effect. Sirius smiled, gave a half-hearted shrug, but he still looked like there was something else, something more, that was tugging at him.

“Baby,” Remus said gently. “If this is about—what I said the other day. And your family…you own your name, Sirius. You do.”

Sirius looked away, around at the dim blue glow. “It’s not—well, it is. But it’s not. It’s just—I want to be in your family. I love them, I love your mom and dad, I love Jules so much. I want to be in a good family. I don’t want anything to do with mine. Merde, not Reg, I don’t mean Reg, just…them.”

Them. His parents.

Remus frowned. He touched Sirius’ cheek, brought their eyes back together. “The family you have around you has had nothing to do with names for a long time now. Nothing to do with blood.”

“I know,” Sirius said. “I know, but…” They were far away from anything, floating quietly, in the middle of the pool. Remus knew Sirius’ feet were touching the ground but it felt like neither of them had to. “I still want it.”

Remus brought his hands to Sirius’ neck, steadying them in the blue. Sirius leaned forward briefly and pressed a gentle kiss to Remus’ mouth.

“You want my name?” Remus whispered. The words were pinging around his mind. Sirius Lupin. It kind of made Remus want to cry. They hadn’t talked about this yet. Not really. Remus Black had crossed his mind, but it felt like something he would have scribbled in a school notebook. This all felt so much realer than names, the ties so much deeper. But if it felt real to Sirius, then…

“Yeah,” Sirius said firmly. “I do.” Then, he smiled, secret, just between them. “Mon vœu.”

Remus bit his lip, unable to help the slightly giddy laugh that escaped him. He brushed a thumb over Sirius’ bottom lip. “Well. Okay, then.”

Sirius smiled. “Merci.”

“But, really, in all truth, a lot of people are gonna have to buy new jerseys.”

Sirius tilted his head back, laughing. “Too bad.”

Remus drank in his smile. Mon vœu. “S. Lupin doesn’t exactly have the same punch.”

“That sounds like someone else’s problem,” Sirius said.

Remus laughed. “Fine, fine. God, I love you, you know that?”

“I think I might,” Sirius said.

He was leaning in for a kiss when a voice echoed over the pool.

“Oh, come on.”

They jolted, looking up to see Finn and Leo standing there holding towels and wearing swim suits.

“This room’s taken, boys,” Remus called back, tightening his arms around Sirius’ neck.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Finn tossed his towel onto a chair, waving a finger. “Nope.” Leo made a startled sound when Finn promptly picked him up around the waist, half over his shoulder, before running and jumping into the pool. The splash sent the water in a wave up to their necks. Remus could feel Sirius laughing against him when Finn and Leo both came up spluttering. Finn flicked his soaked hair out of his eyes. “I just claimed it.” He sent a splash in their direction.

“Wow,” Leo said, blinking chlorine out of his eyes. “So you can throw me over your shoulder. Okay.”

“How long you been here for?” Finn said. “Times up! Give me and my lover boy the pool.”

“Non, you can have that side over there,” Sirius said, and then the door opened again.

“Oh, hey, big party!” Evgeni’s voice boomed, and he, Jackson, and Kasey appeared in the doorway. “Not text? Mean.”

“Fuck,” Finn moaned, and Leo just laughed.

“Sorry, baby,” Leo said. “Looks like we’re gonna have to make new plans. But hey,” Leo nodded to Sirius and Remus and then wrapped his long legs around Finn’s waist from behind. “They seem to have some good ideas.”

The door opened again, and James’ face lit up when he saw them.

“Team swim! Yes!” James chanted, fists raised in the air. Pascal, rubbing his eyes, followed him in, then followed by Kota, then Olli, then Cole, then what looked like most of the entire team.

“I am too old for this,” Pascal sighed.

“Nah,” Kasey said, and gave Pascal a firm tap on the butt. “Get in that water, old man.”

“Wow,” Remus said. “At least we got a head start.”

Sirius just laughed as the team’s voices echoed warmly all around them.

“Hey, Le, you know the song Nightswimming?”

“Twenty bucks, Nado, bigger splash than you!”

“Do you think they would room service in here? Fucking starving, man…”

Sirius and Remus watched the pool fill up around them, water choppy with laughter and movement.

“See?” Remus whispered. “Family.”

Sirius blinked fast a few times, and Remus was more sure this time that it wasn’t just pool water clinging to his lashes. “Ouais. I see.”

Logan was exhausted, frustrated, but at least Luke had ordered burgers and fries and Percy was making them double over with laughter. They were all at Luke’s apartment trying to wind down enough to not be painfully aware that they had a lose-all game tomorrow. The Bruins were one game away from knocking them out. They couldn’t lose.

They had a video game paused on the TV, and ginger beers all around—they were too tired for anything more. Logan didn’t want any extra haziness. They could have been watching the Gryffindor-Vegas game, but Logan figured the others knew him well enough by now to know that it’d just be stressful for him. He appreciated that no one had suggested it.

Percy and Will were arguing over some play from two games ago, but smiling while they did it. Logan didn’t think he’d ever seen those two fight. Luke and Saint were listening, Saint occasionally throwing in a few words with the purpose of stoking one side of the fire, or the other. His feet were in Luke’s lap, and when Luke squeezed his ankle with a teasing look of warning, trying to get him to stop keeping Will and Percy going, Saint just reached up with a toe and poked him in the chin. It drew one of Luke’s realer smiles out, and when he caught Logan watching, the smile stayed in place.

A few months ago, Logan never would have been able to dream of this level of happiness. He missed his boys. God, he missed them. It was a bruise that pricked and darkened every time he thought about it. But it was only a bruise. Not a break. It might not fade, but it wouldn’t leave a scar on him, either.

Logan just smiled, giving Percy a scuff on the back of his head on the way to the kitchen. He liked Luke’s apartment. It was simple, pretty sparse but still homey. In the bathroom, there had been two toothbrushes. Logan wondered if one of them was Saint’s, and if it was there for the occasional night, or for the regular ones. He reached into the fridge and grabbed another ginger beer. He was contemplating one of the fruit popsicles Luke had said were up for grabs in the freezer when Luke called out to him from the living room.

“Hey, Tremz!”

“Ouais?” Logan called back. He pushed the wooden stick of a strawberry one through the rapper and pulled it out. It was sweet and tangy, better than the spicy ginger beer.

“Check your phone! Your boys just took Vegas out of the playoffs in four.”

Remus had dreamed of this so many times. The Cup, yes. The history making, yes.

But more than that: the celebratory ice pile.

Sirius had him crushed against his chest, and everyone was jumping around him so that he had to jump, too. Someone was shouting right in his ear, but he didn’t care. He threw his head back and shouted right along. The Vegas crowd was dejected around them, but enough Gryffindor fans had made the trip to be jumping and victorious right there with them.

It might’ve be only the first round, but this was farther than Remus had thought he would ever skate.

“Re,” Sirius shouted, and then pulled him into a jostling, sloppy kiss. Remus didn’t care if any cameras were there. He wanted to be able to watch the way Sirius smiled into it when he got home.

The next moment, he was being pulled away, into another set of arms.

“Hey, hey!” Thomas was grinning hard. He pressed a kiss to Remus’ cheek before looking him in the eye and pounding a palm against his chest. “Here’s to second times, Lupin.”

Remus grinned and pulled Thomas down for a tight hug. “Second times. Second chances.”

#vaincre lumosinlove #wolfstar #coops #o'knutzy #cw: mention of abuse #cw: mention of injury

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indulgentdaydream · 4 months

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Can you write something where the reader is badly injured in some way and jason rushes her to the manor for help and everybody is confused on who she is bc they didnt even know he was in a relationship (despite them being together for awhile) but they see how soft and cute he is with her. (I’ve never made a request so sorry if it got kinda rambley)

anon you’ve got me TEEMING with ideas I LOVE the trope of nobody knowing jason has a girlfriend and they find out but it is NOT by Jason’s choice nor reader’s.

Also omg? Your first ask is to lil ol me?? That means this is a special occassion. And you’re doing great I’ve def sent worse asks.

Out of the Bag

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader || Hurt and Comfort.

Word Count: 1,862

Warnings: Injuries, swearing, near death experience, blood, knife mention, stabbing, canon-typical violence, use of pet names (princess, baby), drug (pain med) use

You were sat in an alleyway, vision going in and out.

“Tell me something, princess. Anything.” Jason’s voice rang out in your ear.

That’s right. In your right hand, you held your phone, to your ear. Your other hand was pressing the fabric of your coat to the side of your stomach. The blood had soaked through, becoming sticking on your palm and fingers.

You should’ve listened to Jason. You shouldn’t have walked home alone, at night. Luckily your phone had been in your pocket and not your purse, which had been stolen from you by the same guy who decided to stab you.

“Princess,” he sounded panicked.

Right. “Wish I had kicked him harder.”

You heard a sigh of relief leave him, “That’s my girl.”

The phone slipped from your grip a little as your head swam. The sight of blood coming from your own abdomen made no help in quelling your nausea.

You fixed the phone. You had called Jason the second the guy ran off, leaving you to bleed out. He was driving, you think. Tracking your phone to try and get to you. “How far?”

He said something you didn’t hear. Your vision was swimming, your side was aching, and you couldn’t help but keep this funny understanding out of your mind that you were dying.

That this is something Jason had come back to your apartment with a few times, claiming it was nothing. It was something.

You heard him call your name, “What’s around you?”

“I’m tired,” you mumbled.

It seemed to happen in a blink of an eye. Jason was trying to tell you to stay awake, to look at the alley around you. To look out towards the street and tell him what you saw. Then he was there, standing in front of you, his helmet hiding his face.

“I’m here. I’m here, baby.” He cupped your face, tapping your cheek to get you to open up your eyes. He crouched down, pulling your hand from your side to assess the damage.

You smiled lazily and leaned forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

Jason muttered a slew of swears as he pressed something soft yet hard against your agonizing wound. You let out a yelp before Jason was picking you up, placing you on his bike.

He’s talking fast, “Fuck. Okay, listen to me. We’re going to go somewhere new, okay? There’s nowhere around here except there for me to get you safe.”

You passed out nearly as soon as he started the bike.

Jason’s freaking. He had tried to keep you safe from anything like this. From everything less than this. And here you were, bleeding out in his arms as he carried you through the batcave. He beelined for the cots and the medical supplies off to the side. He knows his motorcycle couldn’t have been the smoothest of rides for someone in your condition, but it’s all he had in such a short time span.

He’ll apologize when you wake up.

When. He repeats. When she wakes up and when we can get the hell out of this place again and when I can remind her I love her.

No one was back from patrol yet. He set you down on the cot before tearing off his helmet. He tossed it aside, pulling out a med bag and ripping it open. He pushed up your shirt, examining your side and where he had placed the military-grade gauze pad. He curses at the amount of blood.

His hands are shaking. Jason’s hands don’t shake, but you’ve proven to him a lot of things you could make him do that he hadn’t known he was capable of in the last year and (almost) a half of your relationship.

Jason nearly drops the suture thread before another hand is reaching out from just behind him. It catches the thread and Jason looks back over his shoulder. Alfred’s there, moving up to you.

“Allow me. You keep checking her vitals.”

Jason hadn’t even heard him come up. He’s nodding, stepping back to let Alfred take over the stitching. He moves to the other side of the bed.

That’s when he catches sight of the dark figure moving closer from behind Alfred. Jason immediately fixes him with a deadly glare, pointing at Bruce, “Do not come closer!”

Bruce stills. He’s in his bat suit, his cowl hanging behind his head, exposing his face. He looks down to your body, “Who is she?”

Jason doesn’t want him here. Rather, he doesn’t want to be here. You should’ve been home by now. Getting ready for bed and sending him a goodnight text. He turns his gaze back to you.

There’s some hair across your face that he hadn’t noticed. He moves it out of your way without a second thought, “My girlfriend.”

“Finally feel some remorse for sending someone to their grave, Todd?” Damian’s voice spoke up, walking up and stopping beside Bruce, “He’s probably trying to just reverse what he did.”

Jason ignores him. He wants to yell, scream, and maybe shoot the little bastard, but he was right. In a way, this was his fault. He didn’t look after you. He should’ve offered you a ride. Called you a taxi. An uber. Anything.

Jason grips your hand into his. It’s a way to count your heartbeat, and another way to ground himself. To reassure that you’ll be okay. His other hand stays on your cheek. His thumb gently moves back and forth, stroking your skin.

He barely registers Bruce telling Damian to go wash up. When the brat is gone, Bruce speaks up again, “What happened?”

Jason doesn’t take his eyes off of you, “She was walking home from her friend’s. A mugger got her purse, she fought back. He stabbed her.” Jason takes a deep breath, “She still had her phone. She called me. I brought her here because it was closest.”

A beat of silence. Still stitching you up, Alfred speaks, “How come we’ve never been introduced?”

Jason shakes his head, “I didn’t want her near any of this. She’s bad off enough sticking with me.”

Once you stabilize, Jason brings you up to his room in the manor. He walks past Dick, Tim, Duke, Cass, and Steph without looking at them. They sit around the batcomputer, watching Jason gently carry you out ot the cave.

He changes you out of your dirty clothes once he makes a run back to your apartment to grab you some of your own spare clothes.

Asides from that, he doesn’t leave your side.

He lets you have the bed to yourself. He pulls up a chair beside it, waiting for you to wake up. He didn’t want you to be alone when you did, in a strange place after a traumatic event. It was a recipe for disaster.

The sun’s been up for a long while and Jason hasn’t budged. He sits there, your hand gripped in both of his, held up and pressed against his mouth. His lips brush over your knuckles whenever he speaks up. Uttering a “I’m sorry.” every now and then.

There’s a light knock at the door before it’s cracking open. Jason turns his head to find Dick poking his head in. Jason glares at him.

Dick steps further in, presenting the tray he was holding. There were two glasses of water, some solid foods, and lighter ones, probably for you. Jason looked back down at you, letting his older brother enter.

“Just… figured since you’ve been cooped up in here all day,” Dick begins, setting the tray down on the beside table beside Jason.

Dick moves back around. He stands at the end of the bed, leaning against the tall bed post that was meant to hold up a canopy. “I heard…” he trails off, before nodding and your body in the bed, still unconscious, “Who is she?”

Jason looks up at his brother, not letting go of your hand, “So you haven’t heard.”

Dick rolls his eyes, “You know what I mean.”

Jason raises his brows a little. He looks back down at you. His hand reaches out to brush along your forehead, moving away imaginary stray hairs, “My girl.”

Dick nods in understanding, “How long you two been together.”

Jason pauses in thought, “Over a year. Our anniversary was in December.”

A small, choked sound comes from outside the door, in the hallway. “A year?”

Jason looks up at Dick, who makes a face that shows he’s knows he’s been caught.

“Are they seriously listening right now?”

Steph poked her head in first, an apologetic smile on her face, “We wanted to know!”

Duke pokes his head in next, just above Steph’s, “And we wanted to meet her.”

Tim’s head in next, above Duke’s, “You can’t carry a random bleeding woman into the cave and expect the family of detectives to not be curious.”

Cass’ head appears below Steph’s. She nods in agreement.

Jason let’s one hand go of yours to wave his hand through the air, “What the fuck? She’s not even awake!”

“Well that’s why we sent Dick as bait.”

“For the record,” Dick held up a finger, “They built off of my original, innocent idea of bringing you snacks.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jason stands up, taking a few steps forward. He points them all back towards the door as they start to filter into the room, “Get—“

“What’s going on…?”

Jason’s whole body whipped back around at the sound of your groggy, rough voice. The others watch as he’s back at your side in a millisecond, his whole demeanour changed. “Hey, you’re okay. Everything’s okay. Remember how I said we were going somewhere new? You thirsty, baby? Here, I got you some water.”

“Oh, you certainly did not get the water,” Dick piped up.

Jason glared back over his shoulder as he held the glass of water for you, keeping the straw Dick had added placed in your mouth.

You stopped drinking, your eyes now on the other people in the room. You turned your head, propped up against pillows Jason had put there for you. You weakly raised your left hand to wave, “Hi… oh?” your gaze turned down to your hand. A heart monitor clip sitting on your finger grabbed your attention. You gave a confused pout at it, “I feel funny.”

Jason set the water aside again. His glare was gone. He leaned in, kissing your forehead, “You’re hopped up on pain meds. That’s why, princess.”

“Damn,” Steph spoke up, “I wish I got the literal princess treatment.”

Jason turned back around, pointing out the door, “Get. Out. Leave my girlfriend alone until she’s better.”

You looked at the strangers, pointing at Jason with your left hand, “I’m his girlfriend.” Your head tilted back against the pillows as you stared up at Jason, pursing your lips, "I’m tired.”

“I know,” Jason said softly. The others began to filter out of the room as he leaned down and gave you a soft kiss, this time on the lips.

From the exit, a collective, “Awwww,” sounded out.

“Out!”

Your drugged up voice came after his, once they were all back in the hall, “Nice to meet you!”

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starry-bi-sky · 1 month

Text

my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out

and my poor heart is an open wound A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident. CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.

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What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it.

Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.

He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats.

Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.”

Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.

He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died.

Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream.

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.

He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.

He has no mouth, but he must scream.

Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood.

Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off.

Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts.

Scrappy is just not enough.

He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all.

Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash.

But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings.

Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice.

He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail.

Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.

Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it.

Being dead is agony.

Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow.

His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever.

In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be.

Being dead hurts.

#tw mild gore #cw mild blood #cw mentioned violence #dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #dp x dc crossover #dead on main #dp x dc au #dp x dc fanfic #cfau #cfau danny #obsessed with the fact that danny just has the WORST fucking time after jason dies and baby i can make it worse #*kills you and makes you a banshee and puts you in an irrevocable state of grief*#delicious angst. danny is having the wORSt time ever lol. lmao even #was originally meant to explore the idea that danny can survive lethal injuries as phantom. which briefly got mentioned.#but i got away from myself. leaning reaaal heavy into the fact that danny's a banshee. At 19 he's got a pretty good handle of himself #but imagine being a fresh out the gate banshee. usually they get time to themselves in the zone to cry until their heart's content.#sorry danny. you have school tomorrow and family sleeping in the bedroom next door #kinda proud of myself. you can kinda see how Rath would've occurred here.#danny is going through it rn #was gonna add a snippet about the city's thoughts on phantom but couldnt fit it in

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saeyoungchoismaid · 24 days

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hi it's not seb Saturday yet but I just wanted to throw this idea down. Sebastian chilling outside in the rain in his usual spot before seeing the farmer trudge out from the mines all bloodied and bruised ("I'm alright, really—") and it's like an immediate panic switch is flipped for sebastian because yoba above they look like a vampire's wet dream out here. They either patch farmer up at their house or at Sebastian's room lol (could be funny if the farmer ends up crashing on his bed/couch for the night, then leaves quite early but not without leaving seb a gift they got from the mines.... : ,) anyway that's it)

Awe my first Sebastian Saturday ask yay! Bro this request is so juicy HEHE. (Side note: sorry if this isn't that good or feels rushed. I haven't wrote anything in months but I'm honestly proud of myself for cranking 2k words out)

gif originally uploaded by @starwberrymark

Sebastian listens to the rock music that’s softly coming from the garage as he works. He lets out another low curse when more oil leaks out of his motorcycle and gets on him. He should be used to it. His clothes are covered in it anyway. He sighs and sets down his wrench, taking a seat on the ground by the front tire as he snatches up his rag and wipes his hands clean. Well, as best as he could. He then takes a swig from his water bottle, eyeing the clouds forming above him. Looks like a storm is blowing in.

He keeps working for maybe another thirty minutes or so before he starts to feel the skies open up. The rain starts gentle, a few droplets starting to fall around him and onto his bike. “Welp…” he grumbles, grabbing his bike and starting to roll it back into the garage. Once secured, he shuts the radio off and closes the garage.

He places his hands onto his hips, surveying the rain. A ghost of a smile starts to appear on his face as the rain starts to fall harder. He steps back out into it and begins to head towards the lake. He takes his pack of cigs out and smacks them against his hand, inhaling deeply. He’s always loved the smell of rain.

Once at his usual spot, he takes a cigarette out and holds it up to his lips. He then slips his lighter out of his pocket and protects the end from the wind and rain to light it. Once the flame has caught the end of his cig, he inhales deeply, causing an orange hue to glow from the stick.

He stands there for a while, just admiring how the water falls onto the lake or how the forest begins to smell when it’s wet. His eyes move towards the entrance of the mines when he thinks he sees movement. Through the rain, that’s starting to come down harder, he can’t really see much. He squints his eyes and moves his head around, trying to get a better look at what was going on.

His eyes go wide when he sees you hobbling down the path. “(Y/n)!” he shouts in surprise, dropping his cig into a puddle and dashing over to you. Upon getting closer to you, he sees the bruises blooming on your skin and the cuts oozing blood. “Oh my god…” he mumbles, his heart breaking the longer he looks at you.

“Hey, Sebastian,” you greet him as cheerily as you can muster, trying to slap a smile on your face. The pain makes it a little hard to do though. “Don’t worry about all this. I’m fine, really. Just got a bit scraped up in the mines. Those monsters are-”

“You’re not fine! You’re bleeding!” he shouts, gesturing to you. Before you can respond, he’s wrapping one of your arms around his shoulders for you to lean against him. “C’mon, I’ll help you to my house.”

“Your house? But-”

“No but’s! You’re seriously hurt and Harvey’s clinic is already closed. You don’t seem too badly injured where we need to bother him, but I’m definitely not letting you go home without patching you up first,” Sebastian argues. You let out a sigh, realizing how serious he is about all of this.

“Okay…fine…” you grunt out, not having the energy to fight him on it anymore.

When you get to his place, no one seems to be home. At least, no one is in the front of the house. Sebastian leads you down the stairs and opens the door to his room. You’ve only been in his room a few times and never for long. Normally just when you have stuff for his commissions that he posts outside of Pierre’s store. He’s always very grateful, but he’s not much of a talker, so you just never end up staying around for too long. Besides, you have way too much shit going on in your day anyway.

He sets you down onto the black couch that’s right by his door and you’re happy to be off of your feet. “I’ll go grab the first aid kit,” he says right before dashing up the stairs to go do that. You grunt and lean back against the couch, the cool air of the house making you shiver in your wet clothes.

When he returns, he sees you shivering and bites his lip. “Here,” he says, setting down the first aid kit and going over to his dresser at the far end of the room. “Change into these,” he says, offering you a pair of pajamas. You shakily reach your hands out and take them, nodding your head as you stand up.

You two stare at each other for a moment, unmoving. Sebastian’s eyes go wide as he realizes what you’re waiting for. “Oh! Sorry! Um, I’ll just, uh-” he stutters out as he turns around, completely red in the face. With his back to you, you slowly start stripping out of your clothes, a shy smile on your face. You do your best to avoid getting any blood or dirt on his clothes. Thankfully, the shirt and pants he gave you are both black. Maybe that’s why he gave you that specific pair.

“Done,” you mumble before crashing back onto the dark cushions. He hesitates for a second before slowly turning around.

He’s then back in front of you in a second, kneeling on the floor and moving your limbs around to survey your wounds. Once getting an eyeful of them all, he grabs the first aid kit and starts patching you up. You remain silent as he works, even when it hurts, you keep your lips sealed.

After a while, a thought comes to you. “How are you so good at this?” you ask curiously. His eyes flicker up to yours before going back to your arm where he is currently rubbing in a cream on one of your darker bruises.

“Let’s just say I…wasn’t exactly always the best-behaving kid,” he replies with a shrug, a smirk starting to form on his lips.

“Oh?” you ask, looking down at him with your own smirk. Seeing your smirk, he huffs a laugh through his nose.

“Nothing interesting, I assure you. I just…I’m not the biggest people person…” he says softly, moving onto a cut that he’s cleaned up to bandage it.

“That’s okay,” you reassure, unsure of what else you could say in this moment.

“Yeah, I guess. I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, but I had Sammy, and later on Abigail. They introduced me to some more people, so I have more than enough friends to last me a lifetime now,” he replies with a light chuckle. You can’t help but smile at that. You’re happy to see that he’s, well, happy.

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” you ask after a few moments of silence, hesitating in asking. After doing a few commissions for him and hanging out with him and the others at festivals, you two slowly started getting closer. You typically end up hanging out after a long day at work and you head over to Gus’ only to find that Sebastian and the others are playing pool. At first, you’d only watch, but after warming up to them, you started playing.

The last time you played together, you two ended up staying until Gus closed the place down. You two were one of the few people left there, Sam and Abigail being long gone. Y’all ended up walking to the beach and sitting on the pier, sharing jokes and swapping stories. It was one of the best nights of your life. It’s definitely your favorite memory you’ve made since moving to Pelican Town.

“Yeah…of course we are…” he replies softly, almost sounding hesitant and not looking into your eyes.

“Good. I’m glad,” you say softly, giving him a sweet smile. He finally looks up at you and gives you a small smile in return.

He’s then clearing his throat and standing up. “Well, I’m all done,” he says, wiping his hands onto his damp jeans. He glances at his clock and grunts. “It’s pretty late and sounds like it’s still raining. So, if you want to stay…you can…” He starts off confidently but ends on a quiet, unsure note.

Heat rises to your face at that. “Oh, um, sure. Thank you…” you whisper, looking down at your hands.

“Don’t mention it. You can, uh, take the bed, if you want. I’ll take the couch,” he offers. He then walks over to his closet and opens it up, revealing extra pillows and blankets at the top of the closet.

“What? No, no! That’s okay! I’ll take the couch. I don’t want to inco-”

“I won’t take no for an answer,” he interrupts, pulling some blankets free from their tangled mess in his closet. You sigh and nod your head even though he’s not looking at you.

“Alright, fine,” you say as you stand up, limping over to the bed. You sit there and watch him make the couch comfy for himself.

As he moves around his room and goes to the bathroom to get ready for bed, you end up lying down at some point. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you do vaguely remember feeling something brush against your forehead and what sounded like someone wishing you a good night.

When you wake up, you feel well-rested and ready to take on the day. You sit up and rub the leftover sleep from your eyes and then stretch. You wince when the bruises on your ribs ache, reminding you of what happened yesterday. You turn towards the time and find it’s six in the morning. Ah, guess old habits die hard.

Hearing rustling and a deep sigh, you turn your attention now to the couch. Sebastian is still out cold, and probably will be for another four hours, at least. You smile and slip out of the bed, walking over to him. You smile at how peaceful he looks, his usual RBF nowhere to be seen.

Not wanting to disturb him, you leave him be as you gather up your still-wet clothes. You’ll return his pjs to him later, after you’ve cleaned them and made sure they’re free of blood. Feeling something hard in your pocket, you slip your hand inside and remember what you found yesterday. Glancing at Sebastian, you gently set it down onto the table beside his couch that’s missing his radio. You then hobble over to his desk and search for paper and something to write with. Upon finding what you’re looking for, you scribble down a little note and leave it there next to your gift. You give him one last look before starting to limp up the stairs. Because it’s so early, no one else is up yet, so you slip out unnoticed thankfully. You’re not sure how you’d explain yourself to Robin.

When Sebastian wakes up, the first thing he does is look over at his bed. He frowns when he finds you not there and he feels his heart sink a little. He sits up and runs his hands through his hair before scrubbing at his face. Upon dropping his hands, he notices two items resting before him. He practically has stars in his eyes as he picks the Obsidian up. He can’t believe what he’s seeing.

Noticing the paper next to it, he picks that up next. As he reads your note, he starts to smile harder and harder.

Dear Sebastian,

Thank you for patching me up. Don’t think I ever actually properly thanked you last night. It means a lot to me that you’d go through all the trouble. I want you to have this. A little birdy once told me that you’ve always wanted to see Obsidian. I hope you can mark this off your bucket list now. If there’s anything else you want to see, I’m sure I can make it happen ;) Text me :) xxx-xxx-xxxx

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MASTERLISTS

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the-kr8tor · 18 days

Text

...And The Deep Blue Sea

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 13.2k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW food mentions, TW blood, CW violence, TW death, CW gore, CW injury, CW guns.

A/N: it's the end.

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Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

CHAPTER 15 >>>

“Hello, little birdy.” Mathias cackles like there's a pebble stuck in his throat.

He roams his sickly yellowed eyes at your body, sending shivers down your spine with every glance. “Or should I say Viscountess?” He laughs again. “You wear that gown well,” his eyes flick behind you, “Eugene, my boy!” The man beside you stiffens up. “Come get your bride and sit with me.” He drums at the table. “The Food is comin’, I heard that the bride and groom usually don't get to eat after everything is said and done. We don't want you to starve, ain't that right, lieutenant?”

The eye patched man standing in the corner nods slowly. His hands are neatly tucked behind his back like an obedient dog waiting for his master.

“You're alive?” You say breathlessly, teeth gritted, knuckles clenching tight on the skirt of your dress. Pulse rapidly thrumming, sending alarm bells to ring in your ear.

“‘course I am! No one can kill the king's flame, not even the red hydra,” he spits the name out. “or even a real fuckin' hydra.” Chuckling, scars mar his neck and hands, the only visible ones under his navy blue officer's uniform. It's still red and angry, you can tell some parts of it hasn't healed yet. You plan to add more, whether it's by your bare hands or a piece of cutlery; you're prepared to hit him where it hurts.

Numerous medals are on display on his jacket, shining under the sunlight filtering through the closed curtains. “Can you believe it? I go out to hunt the red hydra and I get myself a pretty bird.” He continues annoyingly, voice crackling, a dry cough escaping his pale mouth.

Mathias notices you still standing in the doorway, his eyes are dull, like a hurricane that's about to devastate a whole town. Eugene notices and he reaches for your arm to sit you down. You flinch away from his touch, eyes trained on the man before you.

“I said sit down!” Mathias’ booming voice rings out in the dining hall, his fist slamming on the table, champagne flutes fall over like dominoes with a harsh crack. “Fuckin’ grab her, Eugene! Don't be such a fuckin’ cock and grab her!”

“Y-yes uncle.” Your ‘fiance’ tentatively guides you towards the chair by your elbow, you brush off his touch, angry eyes gazing at his cowardly face.

Sitting down on the right side of Mathias, you intentionally choose a chair as far away from him as possible. But before you could sit, he clicks his tongue, finger wagging in front of his scarred face.

“Not there, gorgeous.” He pats the seat closest to him. “Right here.”

“No,” you stand your ground, shaking from anger, or is it fear that climbs in your stomach and crawls upwards to your quickening heart?

You refuse to get near the monster as Eugene stares across from you with anxiety in his eyes.

“Sit. Down.” Mathias enunciated, “or Lieutenant Dubois here will make you sit down.” Said uniformed man grunts, hazel eye roaming across the table, gaze boring a hole in between your twitching eyes. The sheath of his cutlass is engraved with tally marks among the ornate laurels and lions. “You already know what he'll do to you, he's quite amazing with a sharp object.”

“I am too.” You clench your jaw, still refusing to sit.

To your surprise, Mathias grins, a sickeningly hideous smile, teeth bared, tongue lapping at the gold in place of the fangs, lips wrinkling, he chuckles softly as something passes by his yellowed eyes.

“Sorry ‘bout that, you just reminded me so much of your father.” He leans on the back of his chair, hands gesturing towards you. “I literally saw him instead of you! It's fuckin' crazy innit?” He shoves Eugene by the shoulder, the viscount flinches, wincing at the ache. “Y’know, I recognized you— wait, lieutenant! Grab her and make her sit down! This story deserves to be listened to properly.”

“No!” You try to run back to the hallway, but the man is too fast for you. With the heavy skirt and weak leg, you didn't have a chance against him. “Motherfucker—!” With his arms around your torso, you kick and flail about, Mathias gives him a look and the man headbutts you from behind.

The room spins as he carries you towards the chair. The ceiling swirls, ears flooding with your rushing blood. With your muddled hearing, you swear you heard Eugene defend you, and you swear you heard a slap right after.

With a heavy thunk, the door closes behind you, your exit closes behind you. The only remaining door is across you, it's currently closed but you're sure it's unlocked judging by the draft coming from it. Head still aching, vision warbling, the one eyed man stands in front of the only exit.

“Now where was I?” Mathias continues like nothing happened. You glare at him through the corner of your eyes, your skin feels like spikes from the goosebumps rising above. “Ah, yes! I recognized you on the ship, before a literal myth came eating my crew. By the way, what the fuck was that, huh? Fuckin' weird, right?”

“Shut the fuck up.” You say weakly.

“Anywho, You looked a lot like your father but with your mother's beauty. I knew them, your father more so. Once upon a time he was my lieutenant, he was pretty good at it too. Too bad he had to disobey orders and marry above his station.”

“Why don't you ever shut up?” You lay your elbows on the table, arms flat, slyly covering the steak knife under your arm. “Are you a narcissist? Do you like hearing your own voice—?”

Mathias hurls a salad plate at your head. You dodge it in time before it shatters on the floor. You don't have time for this, you need to get to Hobie immediately, before it's too late. You have no plan, no weapons, but you'll be damned if you don't try. And you can still hear his screams echoing in your ears, as if he's already dead, as if he's already haunting you.

You need to try. Or it'll be your end too.

The monster before you clears his throat. “Don't be rude.” He points a finger at you.

You now notice how worse for wear he is, under the white paint and powdered wig lies injuries that haven't healed since the fight. You smell it, the herbs hastily smudged, and the rot in his flesh. It seeps into his bones, poisoning his body. You just wish it'll eat at him faster.

You're suddenly not afraid anymore.

“Anyway, before I was rudely interrupted. Your father, well, he fought a good fight on the Demeter. He stood his ground till the very end until a dozen or so bullets pierced his skin.”

The crescent in your palms gets deeper.

“He was smart though, smarter than you probably. You see, he rigged the ship to blow. He had the fuckin' balls to do it even though his entire family was inside. Ain't it funny—?” The double doors swing open.

The butler interrupts his speech, a handful of staff bring in an entire chicken at his plate. One pours him a glass of wine before he snatches the entire bottle and places it right next to his glass. Hot soup and meat pie is brought in also, the smell is appetizing but you place your hand over your plate wordlessly, telling them you're not hungry at the moment. How could you be when Mathias eats in front of you like he hasn't eaten in decades?

The tension is thicker than the cream placed in front of Eugene.

He munches loudly as he takes apart the roast. String of meat flies all over, the former white table cloth turns brown when he wipes his hands on it. Eugene spares you a look, eyes staring forlornly at his empty plate. His hand inching closer towards his goblet before deciding to just drink the ruby liquid.

You're on your own.

The wolves devour their fill whilst you plan your escape. Your mind screams for you to run, to run where no one can find you. The voice echoing in your ears is right at one thing, but you'll never hide anymore, not from Mathias, not from your past, not from anyone. You'd face it with fire in your veins just like your father had.

Mathias snorts, and you wish it was a choke. “He fought well, got a few of my men. How do you think the lieutenant here lost his eye?” He points at the stoic man using a half eaten chicken leg. “Your father was brilliant with a sword. A crack shot with a blunderbuss too. But, eh, it was all in vain. He shouldn't have messed with the crown and polite society.”

He continues to loudly eat, hands slick with oil, mouth full of meat. “You see, your mother was that fuckin' woman. Wealth, looks, title, she had it all. And the king wanted it too, greedy bastard he is.” There it is, the confession. But you still listen because you know something else will come after. “But your mum decided to run off and elope with the bastard son of an unpopular lord. The king was pissed off.”

Mathias laughs roughly. “But he got over it.”

Your eyes widened, but before you could hide it, the devil noticed.

“I knew you ain't as smart as your dear old dad.” He smiles, you can see the meat stuck in his golden teeth.

“He was the crowned prince,” Mathias rips open the chicken in half messily. “And he needed a wife from one of the big families.” He doused the meat in salt, “and the greedy fuck chose someone who didn't want him, just for the fun of it. Who could blame her, all he ever wanted was a brood of children to pass on his blood.” He takes a generous bite, teeth meeting flesh, the sound of his chewing makes you hasten your plan. “Thank fuck Frederick's father ain't as stupid as his son. That man sought out the opportunity when given to him and fuckin' took it. Too bad he didn't live long enough to see the fruit of his labour.”

Anger settles in your stomach, fury in your eyes and flesh, you want to damn him, and everyone involved. Especially her.

“It's her isn't it?” You say as you slither your hand towards the ceramic bowl. “The Queen, it was all her.”

Mathias smiles genuinely, “You finally got it, little bird!” He claps. “She's fuckin' brilliant, and so are her coffers. The pay,” he whistles out, “the pay was magnificent, still is by the way. I didn't even need to become an admiral for the money when I'm earning more than a fuckin’ duke.” Kicking Eugene under the table, he makes his godson choke on his drink. “See, I told you the little duchess here is just your type.”

His voice fuels your fury. Each vowel is grating in your ears, every wheezed breath he takes is a reminder that he still lives. A reminder that your knife isn't stuck in his throat.

“It ain't as bad as you think it is,” The navy man continues. “Married to my boy, you'd have a title, a home and a decent family. At least now you don't have mister Brown crawling all over you. He'd be dead by sundown, and I can't wait to see it.”

Mathias thinks his words would make you do something drastic that'll have his hands wrapped around your neck. But you've learned your lesson, so you bide your time, taking their attention away from your wandering hands.

“You're dying.” The heat from the bowl matches the fire in you. Your voice doesn't shake, nor your resolve. “Even with all the coin she gave you, you still can't save yourself. You are riddled with sepsis, I can smell it on you. A collapsed lung from the way you cough, and whatever the fuck disgusting shit you have in you. You are dying, rotting from the inside like how it's meant to be. And the world will be better off without you. They will forget you, first, your poor family, then your men, then the entire country. Even your bitch of a queen will forget you. Then the world. But Hobie will be remembered. His name will be etched in the annals of history while your name fades into obscurity.” You laugh humorlessly, teeth bared, eyes aflame. “And I can't wait to see it.”

He seethes in his seat, hand clenching around the cutlery. The devil doesn't show his anger bluntly this time, he hides it because you struck a nerve. With a grin, you promise to Hobie and to your parents that Mathias won't live to see the day end.

“Do you remember what I told you in the revenge?” You continue with a smile that sends shivers down the spine of everyone in the room. The quiet lieutenant remembers the day he lost his eye. “I intend to fulfill that promise.”

Through a clenched jaw, he coughs again, hiding his weakness from everyone in the room and how a drop of blood stains his pale lips. “I love it when women show me their claws. But I can't stay. I would love to see the ceremony and the festivities, but I can't miss the execution. That's why I came here earlier so I could pass on my blessings.” Mathias wipes his mouth clean harshly. “If you'd excuse me, I places to be—”

Before he could stand up, you quickly fling the bowl right on his painted face. The hot soup splashes on his skin, melting the white powder off his face. With his guttural scream, within a split second before his man could intervene, you take the steak knife and plunge it into his hand and into the table.

The screams he let out was music to your ears, holding the hilt of the weapon, you twist it before yanking it out of his flesh, tearing his hand in half, ripping the nerves and letting waterfalls of crimson into the white tablecloth. With a determined yell, you aim for his throat.

Mathias recovers a second before steel meets his skin, he backhands you with the same injured hand. The knife falls off your hand. Pain blooms on your face, and you go blind as your head hits the floor. His blood dirties your pristine white gown, splotches of red drenching the bodice.

Your left eye stings, cheek heated from the harsh slap. Despite your lungs gasping for air through your possible broken nose, you crawl over to Mathias. Your scorn drives you to grab his leg, pulling him down with a strong tug, he falls hard on his back, splitting the floorboards in half. Taking the crown off your head, you use the pointy end to stab his leg and his knee in quick succession. He yells and yells but you don't stop. The ichor from his wounds drenches your face and hands, you see red, and you see his untimely death in your blood soaked hands.

Climbing further up, you use the opportunity to aim at his groin. But a pair of arms stops you before you could hit your mark. Thrashing, slashing the hands around your shoulders, you mark the man with the same bloodied tiara.

“Fuckin’ bitch!” Mathias stands up, limping, he unsheathes his lieutenant’s cutlass from his hip. With a stomp over your thigh, he pushes in the heel of his boot as you let out a cry. The steel is pointed at your heart, his eyes demand blood for blood. “I should've just killed you instead—”

A shot rings out, the bullet hits the blade, breaking it in half. Mathias flinches before he smiles at the one who shot him. There on the opposite doors, stands Miguel O’hara with his gun raised, barrel aimed at his former comrade. Lyla stands next to him, her own blunderbuss raised towards the man holding on to you.

“Let her go and there won't be any more bullets flying around.” Miguel's voice is steady, back straight, eyes flicking over to you writhing on the floor.

“You better listen, cyclops, O’hara here might hesitate but I won't. Let our girl go.” Lyla reassures you with a nod, and you bite your captor's hand.

You tear his flesh open with your teeth, ichor filling your mouth as he hisses in pain, dropping you unceremoniously on the floor.

Mathias looks at you with wide eyes, disbelief in his burned face. “I guess you learned a thing or two from your man.”

You spit out the chunk of flesh whilst your eyes never leave his. Crimson dripping off your lips like rain, teeth the same colour as the wine spilled on the table, you smile at him.

“Come near me and I'll show you what else he taught me.”

The man before you laughs genuinely, yet his eyes never leave yours, making sure you stay away from him. You're more than ready to close the gap. The cutlass is still trained on you, you're about to pounce when Miguel calls your name with urgency. As if he can read your mind.

“Your girl is fuckin' insane ain't she?” Mathias addresses Miguel, like how a family member speaks about a niece he hasn't seen in years. Proud, there's a sense of pride laced in his tone. “Just like her dear old parents, eh?”

“I'm warning you, Mathias.” Miguel keeps an eye out for the uniformed man behind you. “Take your captain, Alexander, before I put a bullet in his heart.”

Mathias scoffs, legs shaking from the wounds you caused. “Please, you'd shoot me? You didn't have the balls back then, why would you do it now?”

Miguel raises his gun higher, aiming for the man's head. “Because she wasn't there,” he cocks his head towards you, “you didn't have a weapon aimed directly at my goddaughter.” Eyebrows knitted together in anger, his hand doesn't shake, eyes glowing red in the sunlight. “Now let her go.”

Mathias posture sags, “fine, but only because I've got an event I cannot miss.” He nods at his godson. “Make sure you're married to her by the end of the day or there will be consequences.” He clicks his tongue, Eugene melts into his chair, face turned away from you and his godfather.

Mathias gives you one last look. “Happy marriage, birdy.”

“You're going to die today Mathias, one way or another I'll get my hands on you.” You flick your eyes towards the man clutching his hand. “Death is coming for you too,” you say nonchalantly. “I'll finish what my father started.”

They leave with their fronts turned to you, not even twisting around to show you their backs that are susceptible to your attack. Or in this case, your teeth.

Lyla appears next to you, helping you by the crook of your arm. Pain lingers on your leg and face. “Christ, he burst your fucking capillaries.”

Sure enough, you feel the sting in your eye, a throbbing pain that leaves you nauseous. Miguel, tentatively closes the distance, weathered hand carefully holding your chin. You wince, as he moves your face.

“Fuck, you need to see a doctor.” He says whilst you flinch away from his touch.

“I'm alright, I need a horse.” You begin to walk away, Miguel and Lyla follow close behind you. “And I need my fucking knife.” I need him back, your mind whispers to you. “I need to save him.”

“His execution is in two hours.” Eugene says meekly, and you stop in your tracks. “I heard the officers talk, they're not going to hang him for his crimes, the crown gave him the ax.”

With quick steps, you take Eugene by his collar, gripping tightly as you spill venom. Miguel tries to hold you back but you blindly kick his leg.

“Delay them.”

“I can't—”

“Do you want to be under his boot your entire life? If we marry I'll be crushed with you,” You stare determinedly at his scared eyes. “because that will happen if you don't help. You said you cared about me, then help me and all will be forgiven. Please, you're a viscount, you have the means to help.”

He sniffs, lips curled into a frown. “I'm sorry, I-I can't—”

You scoff, letting him go. “If I fail, Mathias lives and that means you'd be dead too.” Walking away, leaving him cowering in his seat, your small entourage follows.

“Where are you going?” Miguel matches your stride, walking next to you, he stares with concern. “Y/N, where are you going?”

“To my room to pamper my nose.” With adrenaline coursing through you, his face flashes in your mind with every step. Save him, your mind yells, save him, save him, or it'll be the end for you too.

“Cousin?” Collette asks as you make your way towards the apartments where your chambers lie. She roams her worried eyes around your bloodied wedding gown, her hands that are clutching a bouquet of flowers shakes. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“I stabbed Mathias and bit through a man's hand.” You say without stopping, she squeaks in place.

John stops in his tracks, “w-what the fuck happened?” The twins are both dressed to the nines, all fine fabrics and hair all made up. “Cousin!” He calls after you whilst you don't stop for anyone.

“Thanks for the hot tip, kids!” Lyla yells back to your cousins. “A bit of advice, tell the catering staff the wedding’s off!” She cackles. “Save me a macaroon though!”

“They called you?” You ask, your heeled feet ache but you press on. “Where were you Lyla?”

“I'm sorry, duchess, I overslept.” She shrugs. “But I'm here now ain't I? Also I got Miguel here so...”

“You should stop, Y/N.” Miguel says sternly. “You're hurt—”

“No.”

“Y/N.”

You whirl around to face him. Anger flares up once again. “You should've shot him where he stood.” You poke his sturdy chest roughly. “He's the one who killed them, yet you let him get away!”

“I know, I— there are repercussions to killing someone. Especially if they're an officer.” He falters but he composes himself. “Revenge is not the answer—”

“He killed them, Miguel!” Your broken voice echoes out into the vast hallway. “Him and the queen are the reason why they're dead, and you let him get away so he could kill Hobie.”

“It was the queen? Not—”

“Yes, not the idiot king.” You turn around to continue your trek. You curse the large estate. “I have no idea why she did it, but I'm gonna get her too. But I won't live to see that day if I don't save him.” Your tone falters as you pass by your mother's portrait. “I need to save him, even if it's the last thing I do.”

“You won't succeed.” Miguel stands in front of you to stop you, and you roll your eyes, wanting to kick him in the groin. “He's a pirate, Y/N, he won't do the same for you.”

“He has, and he would. I need to try, I can't let him die.” You choke back a sob. Reality crashes around you. What would you do once you get there? Will you be able to save him on your own? You have no one, you have no idea where the crew is, and he's going to die. You can't live with yourself if you don't try.

“Y/N.” Miguel says your name like a reprimand.

“You said back in the carriage that I can leave whenever I want, all I needed to do was ask.” You chuckle without humour. “Here’s me asking, Miguel.”

“You'll die, Y/N, I can't lose you too.”

“And I can't lose him.” Tears gather in your eyes. “If no one will save him then who will? I have to go whether you like it or not.”

“The people will,” Lyla pipes up, she casually leans against the wall, checking her nails. “there have been…whispers since they announced his execution. If you go, I'm sure you won't be alone.”

You face the taller man again. “See, I have help—”

“Rumours aren't enough! Don't you get it? You're better off marrying Thompson at this point.” You blink in surprise. He backtracks. “I–I didn't mean it that way, I meant, I'd rather see you settled than dead.”

“You might not be as bad as Mathias, but you might as well be.” You brokenly say. Miguel's face falls at your words. “You claim to love my parents and me by extension, but you're complicit,” you spit out the word full of venom. “you're only helping them by not letting me go. I don't want to be settled, Miguel.” You shake your head. “It isn't love if you make me.”

Miguel visibly shatters in front of you. None of the composure he showed to Mathias is left in his body. He hasn't seen this much devotion since your parents. He hasn't seen this much love since he felt their presence. He hasn't felt this hurt since his daughter left this world.

“You had time to grieve for them, I didn't.” You push him out of the way, controlling your sob. “Please don't stop me, or I'll fight you like how I fought Mathias.” You open the doors to your chambers.

Miguel lingers outside as you and Lyla make your way inside the familiar room. The man that has your dagger sits in front of the vanity, the large man is currently trying on a spare tiara, and is wearing one of the ruby earrings.

“You can keep those,” Your sudden voice makes him jump away, large eyes staring at you with slight embarrassment. “I won't tell a soul, just take them, give me my dagger and get out of Hazelside.”

The cogs in his head move, swallowing thickly, he nods curtly. “Can I keep the necklace too?” He asks gruffly.

“Sure,” You shrug, Lyla stifled a giggle.

Wordlessly, he shoves a ruby necklace in his pocket, then he unsheathes your dagger and places it on the vanity.

“We good, duchess?”

“Actually,” you have an idea. “You're a muscle for hire, correct?” You've noticed how he doesn't move like the other foot soldiers do, or the guards for Hazelside. His disheveled uniform solidifies your theory. The man nods proudly. “How would you like to take my entire jewelry box in exchange for you and your men's services?”

“That depends, what kind of work are we talkin’ ‘bout?”

Lyla adds to the conversation. “Murder of some pompous nobles and free a bunch of pirates. With a main focus on the red spider of course.”

“Kill the red spider too?” He asks, a thick eyebrow raised.

“No!” You say quickly, “free him and kill anyone who stands in the way.” You mutter a curse under your breath. “I don't have time for this.”

The mercenary thinks once again, he seems to be weighing the pros and cons.

Stepping closer, you practically breathe down his neck. “I'll throw in my shoes and gowns too,” you raise a hand for him to shake. “As long as you'll be there before the execution starts, and you keep my uncle and aunt distracted, scare them is all. Just don't touch my cousins or the staff.”

The scarred man chuckles deeply. “An offer I cannot refuse, duchess.” He clasps your hand, shaking it once. “Creating chaos is our main specialty.”

“Yes and I saw a glimpse of that in the barn.” You give him a tight-lipped smile, eyes lit with tamped down anger. “You better hold your end of the bargain, or you'll have my dagger in your throat instead of my necklace.”

“‘course, my lady. My men will be there.” He leaves with a grin, shoving Miguel by his shoulder.

“What just happened?” Your godfather asks as you lift your skirt to rip the metal of your petticoat off using the dagger. He turns around, closing the doors to your chambers and shuts his eyes while still turned around.

“Our girl here just used her charisma to strike a bargain. Oh they grow up too fast.” Lyla dramatically wipes a nonexistent tear in her eye. “Don't forget to change your shoes, my lady.”

You stare at yourself in the vanity, blood coats the front of your gown, a smattering of crimson coats the lace, splashes of ichor paints the front of the bodice right next to the pretty embroidery. Your face isn't any better, the makeup the handmaidens painted you with is still there, but now it coincides with Mathias' drying blood. It drips down from your cheeks down to your neck, it hides the gold underneath the crimson. Your left eye shares the same shade, capillaries burst, spreading your blood into the whites of your eyes. The gloves meant to hide the callouses and fresh scars are sticking to your skin, drenched in ruby, drenched like the floors of the revenge.

You leave it on, a reminder of your goal.

“I haven't forgotten.” Tossing the heeled shoes away, you make your way towards where you hid your old friend.

The sight alone of the weathered leather shoes would make you weep but you don't have time for that. Lifting your skirts up, still wearing the ridiculous wedding gown that has become significantly lighter, you quickly run towards the unicorn tapestry.

Dagger in hand, you're surprised to hear Miguel's heavy strides following you inside the hidden tunnels. Once the sun greets you and the grass crunches under your feet, you beeline for the barn.

A stable boy jumps at the sudden intrusion, he stutters, moreso when he sees your blood drenched form.

“Can you saddle Bernard quickly?” You ask, and the poor boy almost has a heart attack. “Please? I'm a friend of Hobie and—”

“Oh, Hobie! You should've said it earlier then. You're her! He told me a whole lot about you." He smiles at you, already picking up the heavy saddle. "You know how to ride, My lady?"

“No need for that.” You wave away the title. “And yes, perks of running away for years, you learn how to run away in different ways.”

He chuckles, yet the nervousness is still palpable in his eyes. “I'm on it, your grace.”

Smiling softly, you don't correct him anymore. Turning around, you see no one accompanying you. “Lyla?”

“She went off to get her horse,” Miguel appears from behind the barn door. “I'm keeping a lookout.” He returns to his post, acting casual while leaning on the door.

“You don't have to be here if you don't want to, Miguel.” You walk behind him, the wooden doors are blocking you from his view and vice versa.

“I…pondered your words, Y/N, and you're right. I don't want to make you do something you clearly don't want. I won't make that same mistake again, it cost me years without you. It won't make me lose another day without you, even if it means saving a damn pirate.” He chuckles, and you take his hand from where you stood. You hear his breath hitch, “I'm sorry. I think your parents would hate me right now.”

“I don't know them very well but, I think they'll be proud of you. You found me, you brought me home. You were doing the best you can with good intentions.” You squeeze his rough hand, placing your forehead against the door where his shoulders would lie. “Thank you for letting me leave. I think it's best for you to move on, uncle. They'd want that for you.” You hear him sniff, squeezing your hand back.

“Yes, I think it's best.” He lets your hand go, “starting with this,” Placing something round in your hand, he closes your palm around it gently. “They’d want you to have it, something to keep close to you when you're at sea. It helped me back then, I'm sure it'll help you now.”

“You're not coming with me?”

“Not yet, I'll follow you once I can. I'll keep your aunt and uncle here, making sure that they don't get their footmen to follow you. And I'll make sure the ruffians you hired won't go overboard and actually do what you asked them to.” Miguel tearfully chuckles, “just promise me you won't lose your humanity after you take your revenge.”

“I promise, I won't let it consume me.” You whisper your promise just for him.

Taking a peek at the object in your hand, your heart almost shatters at the familiarity of it. It's the same one your mother was clutching in her portrait. Opening the golden locket, you see a portrait of your mother on the left, and on the right, your father. They look younger in the painting, happier, more alive. They were right, you bear a resemblance to your father just as much as to your mother's features. You finally got a good look at them together, and your heart squeezes at the thought.

Sniffing, you look up at Miguel with gratitude, “tell my cousins ‘thank you,’ please.”

“I will. Keep the locket safe for when we meet again?”

“I will, I'll see you in the water, uncle.” He's the only person who's worthy of the title you've bestowed him. Lyla gallops her horse in the distance. “Now get out of here, or I'll end up not letting you go.” You tease, it has half truth in it. Your smile falters, "Tell my mother—"

“Come back and you can tell her yourself. She's still staying in the same town. I know she's waiting for you.” He finally turns around to face you. “Before you go,” shrugging off his coat, he hands it to you. “You'll get cold.”

You look at the fabric with tears in your eyes. Taking the blue coat, he helps you put it on. Sniffing, he turns you back around, rubbing the creases in the sleeves away.

“There, it's perfect but it's missing something.”

“Something blue, and now I've got something borrowed.” Joking, you smile at your godfather.

Miguel hands you a blunderbuss, it's an ordinary looking one, save for the purple leather handle that decorates it.

“It was your father's, he gave it to me when he named me your godfather.” He points at the silver barrel where three letters are etched on it crudely. “It's our first initials. He said that it gave him extra luck.”

“I—I can't take this.”

“Well, you've already taken my locket and coat, what harm falls on me if I gave you his gun? You're gonna need it wherever you're going.” Miguel shoves it in your hands, “just— save a bullet for Mathias and the queen.”

“That I can do.” You grin at him despite the pain in your chest.

“The party's here.” Lyla’ horse stops just outside, she exclaims with fanfare. “Ready to kill some motherfuckers?”

“Aye,” you nod with determination. The fire is blazing under your eyes, lightning in your fingertips, you wear the locket around your neck with pride.

For your parents that you've never met but came to love. For Miguel, for the crew and for all they've sacrificed for you. for Hobie, the love of your life. And for MJ.

—

You ride off on Bernard's back, flames in your chest, wind whipped cheeks, and hands clutching the reins tighter. Your father's blunderbuss weighs heavy on your hips, the smell of Mathias' drying blood stings in your nose. But the putrid smell keeps you awake, a reminder of your goal, a reminder of what truly matters— Hobie. Your love that is currently in shackles, hands bound tighter than the rope around his neck.

Lyla snaps you awake, her own horse huffing from the intense speed.

“Your eyes keep glossing over, duchess, keep ‘em clear for me, yeah?” She yells above the loud hoofbeats.

“I will, are you sure about your plan?”

“My guild consists of a bunch of sacks of shits that'll do anything for a quick coin.” You knit your eyebrows in worry. “But they're loyal to a fault, ‘sides, your captain used to be one of us, once upon a time.”

“What?” You spot the capital's sign, entering the city without stopping. There's a fork in the road as you ride towards the center of the city. The familiar smell of the sea fills you as you ride closer and closer to your destination.

“A story for another day, gorgeous.” She rides faster, her guns clinking against the saddle. “I'll ride ahead, gather as many as I can. Go to him, and disrupt the festivities.” Her voice fades as she hurries off.

Lyla heads towards the left whilst you ride on the right, trying to remember the directions she told you during the short ride.

Numerous buildings whizz by you as you ride faster and faster. Rickety stone buildings turn into elegant carved marble. The streets become smoother as you get closer to the palace. You heard the crowd before you saw them.

Bernard stops in his tracks, right at the edge of the thousands of people clambering to see the execution. He whines as you try to calm him down. Some of the common people are quiet, eyes straight towards the stage where a large man with a black hood stands. The scraping of the ax getting sharpened makes your heart stop.

The palace looms overhead, its golden terrace holds the royals, faces smug, wigs high as they look down at the crowd. Right next to them stands Mathias, hand hastily bandaged, still dripping in blood. His face contorts into pain as he clutches at his injury. You draw your father's gun out, resisting the urge to shoot at the man, but with how far you are, you know you'll miss.

Scanning the stage, you bite your tongue, preventing a pained whimper from getting out.

You've made it, and he has too.

Clad in a white undershirt with the sleeves too big for his frame, trousers too short for his legs, hands tied behind his back, face beaten. Hobie stands with his back straight despite all the red gashes under his thin shirt.

You whisper his name like he can hear you above the yells of the people. You're frozen, hands shaking, eyes unblinking at his form.

The uniformed men make him kneel, his knees slam harshly against wooden floors.

Hobie was never afraid of dying before, he avoided it a hundred times. Yet, his binded hands quiver, dull grey eyes scanning around the crowd, he tries to find familiar faces amidst all the strangers. Trying to find his crew, not for help, but the thought of dying in front of them fills him with sorrow. He doesn't see them, and he's glad. Moreso when he doesn't see your face, he doesn't want you to experience what he had seen before.

But there's a part of him that wants to see you for one last time before steel kisses his neck. He wants to feel your lips against his again, but for now, having the memory of it is enough. The pearl you gave him is cold against his chest, he wishes to hold it again.

Having you in his arms however brief is enough for him, he'll think of you when the blade strikes him down for the last time.

Even with his imminent death, he still finds the will to smile, the same smile you love so much. It's enough to snap you awake.

A navy officer yells above the crowd, scroll in hand, voice booming and commanding. “Here stands the notorious pirate Hobart Brown, he stands here waiting for his sentence. The crimes he has committed are atrocious enough that the crown has automatically given him the guilty verdict!” The people don't cheer, some even boo and hiss at the man. You inhale deeply, hand holding on to the reigns tighter, as you weave Bernard through the crowd. Surprisingly, they part for you.

“What say you, Hobart Brown?”

Hobie chuckles deeply, lips split and bloodied, he grins. “It's captain, actually!” His voice drives you to ride faster, gun raised. He twists around to look at the nobles in their high tower. “It's captain Hobie Brown, you fuckin' wankers!” Cackling, the officer kicks him down. He falls, gasping, neck landing harshly at the stone slab that still has remnants of its last guest.

Still, Hobie yells obscenities, “you haven't won! You might cut my head but two more will replace me! Just like how I replaced the emerald bastard from the south!” He tries to sit up but another man holds him down. “They'll be stronger and better than me! From my death, the people will gather at your gates and break your golden walls!”

The executioner raises his large ax, the sun bouncing off the metal.

Hobie quiets down at the glimmer of the ax shining in his eyes. Whispering the names of his loyal crew, then he softly calls for you like an acolyte prays for forgiveness.

The crowd parts for you like the sea parts for a sailing ship. Giddying up, hooves hitting loudly against stone, you aim.

It's the end, but it doesn't have to be.

“Hobie!” You scream as loud as you can before you shoot.

He blinks in surprise for a second, the man holding him down scampers away as a shot rings out. Now free, Hobie quickly moves away from the stone slab as your bullet hits the executioner's hood right in-between his eyes.

Gasping, the ax falls next to Hobie's head with a thud. The edge is embedded in the wood, missing his face just a few inches away. Eyes staring at the clear sky, he thinks he has died when your face suddenly appears in front of him.

“Scuttlebutt,” he softly says in disbelief.

“Hi, captain, I'm here to rescue you.” You smile at him, “hold on a minute.” Sitting up right, you shoot at the remaining officer. A body thuds, and you return to his side. “I've got you.” You say as you help him sit up, hands already untying his bonds.

Hobie looks at you like a sailor looks at the sea for the first time, with reverence, and awed by the sheer beauty. “You've got me.”

Ropes falling off his aching wrists, he moves to hold your face desperately. Without a second thought, he kisses you fervently. Life spreads back to him, fingertips electric as he holds your face close. Lips warm, you kiss back like it's just you and him. Hands instinctively sliding to his head, you pull away when you feel scruff under your palm.

“What did they do to your hair?!” You almost weep, hands roaming across his bare head. “Oh my god, they have to pay for this.”

Hobie laughs, still holding your face like holding on to a precious pearl. “It'll grow back.” Tears prick your eyes, mirroring his own. “I love you, you did good, scuttlebutt.”

“I did good?” You peck his chapped lips once more.

“Yeah, love.” He prevents you from looking at the military that has their weapons raised and their eyes targeting you and him. “You did very well—” tears escape his grey eyes when he hears the familiar click of a gun.

It's the end.

“I love you too,” you know it's the end. “I'll see you back at the revenge?”

“Save some of Finn's bread for me, yeah?” Hobie leans his forehead atop yours. “I'm sorry.” His voice falters.

“Don't be, I'm glad I fell in that net.” You hold on to him for dear life. Etching his warmth in your brain so you remember it until you're cold. “I'd run towards that dock all over again if I had the chance again.”

It's the end, and you hold him close.

As you embrace each other, as your love is displayed for all to see, your warmth radiates through the crowd. You burn together with him.

Fire consumes and burns but it also lights the way.

The silence wraps around the city center, then, someone yells, pushing off the officer who has his gun aimed at your head. The people follow, rioting against their oppressors.

You both stare below in disbelief, hand cradling your head, he shields your eyes from seeing the violence unfold. Just when bullets hit flesh, and knives slash at necks, an explosion booms above.

Hobie holds onto you tighter, battered arms wrapped around you protectively as debris and smoke fills the whole place. The building across the palace is in flames, and from the billowing ashes out comes a familiar face.

Gwen takes off her hood, feet precariously standing on the ledge, then another form comes out of the smoke, Miles takes his stance next to the first mate, handing her a long rope.

“Holy shit! It's them!” Hobie exclaims, letting you see them with your own eyes.

You grin as you spot them above, “it's them,” you say in shock. A second later, they jump off the building effortlessly, guns raised as they land on their feet right next to the stage.

“I'll cover you!” Miles yells above the chaos as more and more buildings around the palace erupt in a chorus of explosions.

Gwen clambers next to you, relief on her face, hugging the two of you. Embracing back, she leans away to stare at you and her captain.

“You fucking idiots! I'd slap you over the head if I didn't love you both.”

“We love you too, Gwendy.” Hobie smiles amidst the aches.

“What he said, Gwendy.” You beam at her with overwhelming love.

“Love you too, now we need to get you out of here.”

“I have a ship docked somewhere, it's called the osprey. Take it and—” You start but Hobie and Gwen interrupt.

“You make it sound like you're not comin’ with us.”

“Y/N,” Gwen warns as she helps you two on your feet.

“I’m coming with—” a gun goes off.

Blood splatters across your faces. Crimson blooms across Gwen's stomach.

“...oh” she looks at you with her eyebrows knitted together, hand pressing on her belly. You catch Gwen in your arms as you feel the fear in you spread. She calls your name weakly.

Hobie stares at you with terrified eyes as he clutches the back of Gwen's head.

“No, no, don't speak—just… oh fuck!” You try to stop the bleeding by ripping a part of your gown to stuff it inside her wound. Ichor spills out of her like waterfalls. “I've got you!” She yells in pain and you simultaneously hear Miles scream.

Flicking your tear filled eyes over to Miles, he has his back on the ground, face contorted into pain whilst Mathias has his boot on his shooting hand. Miles still fights, kicking and scratching at the man's leg.

“This is what happens when you disrupt—” Red appears on his side as Hobie uses your fallen gun to shoot him where he has his foot crushing atop Miles’ hand. Mathias yelps in pain, a throaty sound escaping from his pale lips.

Hobie is filled with rage, embers flickering in him, turning into flames and then a blaze that burns his insides into ash.

Miles coughs as Mathias runs away towards the enormous church right next to the palace. He pushes away people, blood trailing behind him.

“Miles!” You yell, in your relief, he stands back up, weaving around people to clamber up the steps of the stage.

“I'm here!” He crawls over to Gwen, gently clutching her pale face. “Oh god no, please,” Miles looks at you. “Fix her, please.” Tears slide down his cheeks. “Please.”

You look towards Hobie, not knowing what to do, but said man is nowhere to be found. You briefly spot him running around the crowd, cutting down coppers swiftly with your father's gun and a stray cutlass, following after the man who has shot at his family.

Not again, you think, hands drenched once again in crimson. Not again, not again. You've failed once again.

Someone calls next to you, familiar hands holding yours.

“Tell us what to do.” Yuri thaws you out from your frozen state. Gwen gurgles, grip around your wrist weakening. James appears next to Yuri as you see in your peripheral the same mercenary and his men shooting at soldiers. Lyla cackles near them, adding her guild to the mix in the chaos. “Y/N,” Yuri calls again sternly. “We need you.”

With a sniff, you compose yourself, for Gwen. “Keep your hands on her wound, pack it with cloth then keep pushing.” Gwen groans, you look at her apologetically. “I know it hurts, I'm sorry but we need to do this. Let us do this.”

“I saw a doctor's clinic near here.” James pipes up, “if we take her there will you be able to save her?”

“Yes, we need to—”

Pavitr runs towards the group, guns raised, eyes full of rage once he sees Gwen. “No…” he says weakly. He fixes his composure, for Gwen. “James and I will cover you while the three of you carry Gwen.” He instructs, voice steady.

“No, no, no!” Gwen protests. “It hurts— I can't—”

“You can!” Miles beats you to it. “D’you remember what I told you when we realized Y/N and Hobie weren't behind us after we got attacked?” She nods weakly, lips bitten to stop her pained whimpers. “I meant it, Gwen. I meant all of it yet I haven't shown it because I'm a goddamn coward. Let me show you how much I love you, but I can't do that if you don't let us carry you. So please, let us carry you.”

Gwen smiles, icy eyes staring fondly at Miles. They have a wordless conversation, then Miles gives her a gentle peck on her forehead.

“As long as the d-doc here follows our captain.” She says.

“What—? No, you need me.” You shake your head.

“We already know what to do,” she winces, “you're the only person that can stop him, he'll die, Y/N. Meanwhile I've got a chance with them beside me. And he's all alone.”

You look at the others, they all nod and you blink in surprise. “But—”

“We have her, wifey.” Yuri smiles kindly at you. “This isn't our first bullet wound. Go and fetch our captain for us would ya?”

You have no time to think about it, so you choose what they instructed you to do. “Keep your hands on her and support her back—” your eyes find the familiar large man wearing your rubies. “Oi!” He pauses from crushing a soldier's arm. “Get a handful of your men and help them get to the doctor's!”

“Do I have to?” He asks, shrugging.

“Yes! I paid you!”

The man sighs then he gestures to a few of his people to climb up the stage. Before you let go of Gwen, you stare daggers at the men in the fake uniforms. “Keep all of them alive and I might just give you a piece of Hazelside.”

“Say no more, duchess, we got ‘em.”

“Gwen—” You take one last look over to her.

“Go, I don't plan on dying today.”

“You better. Meet us back at the ship.” You roam your eyes at the crew like it's the last time you would see them. With a nod towards Yuri, you slide your hands away quickly, Yuri replaces the space you left with her own.

Wordlessly you turn away from them. You fight yourself from looking back. Running away towards Hobie, you hope that it's not too late.

Weaving through the crowd, dodging bullets and swords, you keep your head down and keep your eyes forward at the grand church waiting ahead. The spires are tall and sharp, reminding you of the dragons that rose up from the sea and blocked out the moon. Gargoyles decorate the roofs, all stone and eyes large, mouths agape, unmoving.

You lift the skirt of your tattered gown, it might be covered in blood but the white colour of it is a stark contrast to the dark chaos surrounding you. It acts as a beacon to the people as they see you in their ranks, a noble in their eyes that bears gold and silver around her neck and sleeves. Someone who fought everyone just to get to her pirate captain, they find it in themselves to continue fighting. A few even helps you get to your destination by blocking any guards or soldiers from laying their hands on you.

Smoke in your lungs, steel clanging against steel. Blades slashing at limbs, people screaming in all directions, both with rank and without, they all end up in the same fate. You run through the blood soaked field.

Feet sprinting across the field, people are few and far in between once you get nearer and nearer towards the church. Hands on the large doors, you push the heavy oak to no avail. It's locked, the evidence of it is the rattling noise it makes as you shake it in desperation.

Hobie's in there, and you'd do anything to get to him.

You go around the structure to find a window that's big enough for you to slither into. But all the stained glass windows are too high up for you to reach even if you try to break one. Losing hope, you turn a corner towards the back. You finally breathe when you see a wooden door. Without wasting time, you push it open with your shoulder, shoving it, the rust covered hinges creak with your strength. And finally, it bursts open with one final push.

The sight alone made you stop in your tracks. Clutching your dagger, a finely dressed man lays dead in a pool of blood. A sword embedded in his back, a cracked crown sitting next to his bloodied head. The person standing over the king is none other than his own wife, her face isn't one of sadness but of sheer happiness as she grins at her husband's dead body. Blood dripping off her royal hands, she lifts her head to gaze upon you.

“Hello, little bird, you finally made it.” Caroline stands in front of the altar, the kaleidoscope of lights from the glass windows acts as her spotlight. Her gown is in rich velvet, furs covering her shoulder. And a large tiara on top of her intricate powdered wig.

“You killed him.” Gripping your dagger tighter, you stay away from the bloody queen.

“I did,” Caroline giggles, a sound that sends shivers through your spine. “You look marvelous in your wedding gown by the way. A shame that you didn't get married to that fine young man.” Her voice echoes around the large church, its ceilings are high and painted with saints. They look down at you, eyes lifeless. “Lieutenant.” She calls and the man answers, coming out of the shadows and into the pews. “Do me a favour and kill her for me.”

The disheveled man walks over to you, hand still decorated by your bite.

“Why don't you kill me yourself? Like how you killed your husband.” You address the woman, taunting her.

The queen raises a hand and the navy man stops immediately. She smiles and takes the sword out of her husband's body with ease, then she steps over his body without remorse.

“With pleasure.” She unclasps her cloak, the heavy cloth thuds against the marble. “If I couldn't kill your mother personally, I'd settle for killing you instead.”

“What the fuck—!” The queen arches her sword, thankfully you parry it with your dagger. You know you'll lose in the duel with your smaller weapon against hers and her swordsmanship. A yell echoes from above, a distinct scream from who you hope is from Mathias.

“I wasn't lying when I said you remind me of her!” She slashes, right foot pointed towards you, dodging the sharp edge, the heels of your feet hit a pew, then you fall backwards, back and elbows hitting the hardwood. “But she wasn't much of a fighter just like you!” Her eyes are ablaze as you scramble away.

“Why are you doing this?!” Your voice carries off around the church. “You said you were friends!”

Raising your dagger to shield your face when she tries to slash at your chest, she stands atop you, knee right next to your thigh, leg perching her up. Steel dangerously close to your face, wrists aching from her push, you take your free hand to grip the sharp edge of your dagger to combat her own strength. You feel the knife dig into your palm.

“Why?” The queen cackles, leaning her mad face close. “Because she's the reason why I'm here, she's the reason why that man has ruined me until I couldn't even recognize myself—!”

Lifting your legs, bending your knees, you kick her right in her chest. Making her lose her balance, face falling flat on the marble floors. You take the opportunity to crawl and stand up, sprinting away from her. As you bolt off towards the altar, and towards the door to the bell tower, the stairs are within your reach, but Caroline yanks you by your skirt. You fall off the steps of the altar, body and dagger sliding off the smooth marble.

Groaning, she points her weapon towards your neck, taking your mother's necklace by her blade. “Why did you kill them? For revenge?” You ask, vision blurring from the way your head hit the floor. Everything aches in you, but you continue to fight.

“No, for the satisfaction of them being dead.” She eyes the golden necklace and you glare at her. “She was meant to take the crown, not me. Instead she ignored her duty and ran off with a bastard, and I was forced to marry that fucking beast!” Her voice booms, the saints above look down at the chaos. “Forced to carry his children, children I never wanted but loved nonetheless. Children that I never saw grow up because they were taken from me the second they came out of me!” Her hand shakes around the sword.

You slyly inch your hand towards your dagger that's only a hair width away from your fingertips. You let her continue as the tears in her eyes fall on your bloodied face.

“I never wanted to be queen, all I've ever wanted was to see the world. Your mother took that away from me, and now her daughter is living my fucking dream! The second I knew you were alive I wanted to wring your fucking neck. To hurt you just like her choices had on me.” She twists her sword so the blunt edge is kissing your neck, torture, she's planning on sawing your head off with the blunt edge. “If she can't pay, I'd settle for making you hurt instead.”

“You want to kill me because of what happened decades ago? You're fucking mad if you think sins are passed from parent to child! I never knew them!” You fight back despite the blade near your neck. “Do you understand that you caused the same pain to me that the king has caused you? Whatever you want to call it, it's still revenge!” Caroline pushes the cutlass closer, so close that you can feel it in your throat, choking you. “You're blaming the wrong people for your misfortune, blame the people who used you, who said yes to his every whim, not the couple who only wanted to marry the one they love!”

“I’m the victim here—!”

“You are, but who points the sword towards the innocent?” She blinks, lips wobbling. “Look at you, Mathias told me you're brilliant, but you never thought this part through, haven't you? What do you think the nobles of the land will do to you the moment they hear of your regicide? Who will they blame? Me, who bears the mark of your cruelty? Or you, who has the king's blood on your golden hands?”

You distract her enough to finally reach the dagger, swiftly, you plunge it to the nearest part of her that you can manage, her thigh. She screams in agony, sword and crown clanging loudly on the floor. The once favoured queen clutches her wound that's gushing blood, seeping out of her velvet dress and spilling over the white marble.

Unexpectedly, she cries as she desperately wraps her skirt around the gushing wound. You clamber up to your feet, eyes flitting over the stoic man when Caroline calls for him to kill you where you stand. He doesn't move from his position near the confessionals.

“Are you gonna fight me too? An eye for an eye?” You ask, hands shaking while you bend down for your crimson drenched dagger.

“No, your father and I are even.” The simple words turn your eyes the same shade as the fluid pooling around the queen.

“You're just gonna stand there?” You ask while Caroline's wails echo around the expansive church.

“I'm waiting for you to leave so I can help her.” He seems to be unbothered. A scream rings out from above, louder than the woman's screams. Alarm bells trigger in your mind. “Sounds like someone needs your help.”

“Don't follow me,” you threaten, knife pointed at him as you slither towards the door. “Don't help your captain.”

“Alexander!” She screams for the lieutenant.

“You're right, he's already dead anyway, not my problem anymore.” His eye follows you, “Good luck, duchess.”

With one look towards the mysterious man, you get a glimpse of him crouching next to the woman, hands casually tamping down the rushing blood. Locking the door behind you, you run once again.

The winding spiral staircase seems to go up forever, hand clutching your dagger, you don't even feel the pain in your ankles anymore. Numbness flashes over you for a second, but you carry on. The walls get smaller and tighter as you go on, the stone scratches your hands, the small windows barely provide any light for you. The sounds of struggle get louder, so you speed off with the last of your strength.

Rushing, you make it to the top where Mathias has his hands wrapped around Hobie's neck, with no ounce of hesitation, you plunge your dagger in the devil's flesh, right in between his clavicle.

With a shriek, Mathias lets go of Hobie. Your captain gasps for air, clutching his neck. You wrap your hands around his shoulders, relief washing over you just from seeing him breathe.

“I have you!” Holding his face, you thank the stars that he holds you back with his warm hands.

Hobie utters your name softly, “You have a habit of savin’ me, eh, scuttlebutt?” He smiles at you even with his left eye swelling, even with his mouth full of ichor.

You grin, getting him back to his feet. “The others are waiting—!” A large hand picks you up, wrapping a thick arm around your waist, the other is holding your own weapon in his cracked knuckles. Your own blade is placed harshly against your throat.

A trickle of blood drips from your flesh, and Hobie has the same look back on the revenge. Terrified, the swirling greys of his eyes are mortified at the scene in front of him.

Mathias still lives despite the laceration on his neck, despite his life rushing off of him in waves. He stands precariously on the edge of the tower, his back against the sea, the waves lapping against the cliffs below. He holds you tight as a noose when the wind rushes from behind.

There's a bout of silence hanging in between, Hobie's breath hitches in his throat at your fearful face.

“Don't—” Hobie's voice is broken, pleading desperately. “Please,” Not again, not again. The words scream at him. Not her, never her. “Take me instead.”

Mathias gurgles a response. “Just like old times, eh?”

As the blade kisses your neck, you could only look at Hobie. The copper bell is hanging behind him, large and magnificent, and he stands there with his hand desperately reaching towards you, his gun holds no bullets, sword lay broken in half near his feet.

It's the end, but he declines for it to end, for your life to end at hands of the same man that ended his old love three years ago.

He thinks fate is cruel, he thinks the fates hate him. He thinks his life is a Greek tragedy that was waiting to be written for the fates’ entertainment. He refuses to give them the ending they wanted.

You know it's the end, but it doesn't have to be the end for him too.

There's no other option, no other hope but, "No more sacrifices." You whisper to him even though you know he couldn't hear you, at the same time, you whisper an apology to him.

Images of the past six months flashes in your mind. Images of the tavern you once called home, images of the ship you still call your home. Images of the people you've come to love, images of your island and the sand in between your toes, and the sun on your back. Images of Hobie smiling down at you, images of him holding you close as you cry in his arms.

Images of you learning to love him.

You love him and all his sharp edges, all his anger and all his warmth. You loved him, and that's all that matters in life. To love someone so wholeheartedly that it burrows into your bones and digs deep into your marrows, never letting go. You loved him, and he's worth it for what you're about to do. To be loved back is a gift that he graciously granted you, you intend to cherish it until your end.

You call his name like the softest of silk wrapped around your tongue. "Hobie," and you smile at him, letting your smile tell him that he wasn't born to be a knife, letting your smile tell him that you love him more than the moon loves the tides.

He whispers back your name, pleading with you, for he knows you more than he knows himself, and he knows what you're about to do.

With a loop of your foot around Mathias' ankle, you pull hard, then you let yourself fall backwards.

“Alis volat propriis” You softly say, prying the knife from Mathias’ hand.

And fly you did.

Fear encapsulates him as you fall, the same fear flows out of you like spring water as you plunge into the dark depths.

Hobie refuses to look, frozen on the spot, unblinking eyes still staring at the space you left. His heart feels like it's about to give out as he says your name over and over again like a mantra.

He's a knife meant to grieve.

Slowly, his feet move for him. Body stiff, he makes it to the ledge. Grief stricken eyes darting below, he lets out a guttural wail that carries on with the wind.

Clutching his broken heart, he falls to his knees. He keeps repeating your name as he stares at the bubbles rising up on the surface, the waves deliver seafoam on the beach below, and with it, hope still clings to him.

“No,” A sob breaks through when you don't emerge a second later. “...no, c'mon scuttlebutt, don't fuckin' leave me.”

Grief rolls over his skin like tiny pinpricks of sorrow puncturing his insides and into his scarred heart. Your face flashes in front of him, and the voice inside him asks, 'will it be bad if you follow?'

“Brown?” A familiar voice calls behind him, Hobie whirls around, grief evident on his face, Miguel already knows what happend. He shakes his bloody head profusely, “where's— where is she?”

Hobie doesn't answer, he turns back towards the sea. Agony filling his very being as he stares below.

“No!” Miguel follows Hobie's eyes. And then he screams for you. He searches for you under the waves.

Hobie lays his head on the wall of the bell tower. A minute, it's been a minute since you fell, yet no sign of a body has floated up. The sky is still calm, the sun still shines, yet, you don't resurface.

He blinks away when he sees fingers reaching amongst the waves. “Did you see that?” Praying, praying to any deity out there that is listening to him, he prays that his mind isn't playing a cruel joke on him.

“What?”

Hobie stands up, taking Miguel's face to turn it towards the waters. Something moves under the seafoam, someone moves under the seafoam.

His heart picks up speed, and he rushes down the stairs. Miguel follows close by, their feet thudding loudly on the stairs. They ignore the various pains in their body, what matters is you, and they intend to get to your side as quickly as possible.

They go through the broken door that Miguel kicked, and they run over a puddle of blood without a body. Sprinting outside, the sea breeze greets them. They don't stop for anyone or anything, even though the palace burns to the ground behind them, even though the heat from the melting golden gates sears their backs. They continue downward towards the path to the beach.

Hobie trips on a rock, Miguel helps him up swiftly.

From the tides, you rise once more.

Heaving from the swim, drenched and sore. You grin at the two men rushing towards you. Like the waves lapping at your feet, relief washes over them.

You raise your arms in time just before Hobie crashes his body to yours. His face finds safety in the crook of your neck. Arms holding you tight and comfortable, he breaths you in, taking a deep shuddering breath. You smell like the sea. He can't believe you're alive, can't believe that you're back in his arms.

“I lost the dagger,” you say against his cheek as you press cold kisses on his skin.

“I'll get you a new one.” Tears flow out of his eyes, he feels like he's dreaming, he feels like fate has finally granted him reprieve. “I’ll get you a hundred more, fuck that, a thousand more if you asked.”

“I just want one.” You chuckle.

“I'll get you one then.” Hobie peels himself off you, fingers roaming your face, the heel of his hand is placed atop your pulse, making sure he didn't fall off the tower himself. “You're alive.” He says breathlessly, “you fuckin' swam!”

“I had a good teacher.” You say as you hold him tenderly. “He's dead, it's over, Hobie.” Salty tears in your lashes, he pulls you in for another hug. Eyes closed, you savour the calmness with the sound of the rushing sea behind you, knowing that Mathias lays beneath its waves with your dagger embedded in his eye. “It's over, and I'm alright.”

Holding your hand towards Miguel who sits on his knees on the sand, eyes glowing with consolation. You flex your hand towards him so he could hold your hand. He stands up, taking it willingly, squeezing once like how he held your parents’ hands once upon a time.

Miguel nods proudly at you, gently pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, he gives you and Hobie space. You mouth a thank you towards the man.

—

“Shit!” James exclaims, jumping up and down on the docks. “Look at her! She's magnificent!”

“Spell ‘magnificent’, James.” Yuri taunts.

“Don't ruin this for me!” He turns towards you, grinning from ear to ear like a child in a sugar shop. “You're actually giving us this ship?”

“Mm-hmm—” before you could finish nodding, James sprints off towards the fine ship. Yuri winks at you before she follows behind James.

The sun slowly sets, bathing the waters in pink and orange light. James isn't wrong, the ship is magnificent. It's bigger than the black hellion, much bigger. Two crow's nests sit at the highest point of the masts. The body is well maintained, oak still shining in the late afternoon sun. Silver violets and hazelnuts decorate the sides, a reminder of what could've been.

Looking at your new home, you shift your gaze to Hobie, knowing wherever he is, as long as you're with him, you're home.

Your tired eyes flick over the figurehead of an osprey with its wings outstretched around the head of the ship. Hobie taps your head with his own gently.

“It needs some work done.”

You chuckle as you fix your hold on him. Still in your wedding gown, skin still smelling like the sea, you move impossibly closer to him. You're both winded, but Hobie has sustained more injuries than you and needed more help in standing up straight. “Do you think we should change the name?”

“Love,” he turns his head towards you, his smile almost makes you kiss him right there and then. “I think I've got a few ideas, for now let's get the fuck out of here.”

“Alright— wait, where's Gwen?”

“Here, worry much, landlubber?” She asks on her stretcher. Miles, Pavitr and an unknown blond man carry her.

“Well you were shot, Gwendy, I think I have every right to be worried.”

“I'm fine now, can't even feel a thing!” She smiles and you recognize her state.

“I think that's the medication talking.” You eye the stranger, “and who might you be?”

“Oi,” Hobie points at the man. “You better not cause any trouble Stacy.”

You lightly gasp, finally noticing the resemblance.

“Not planning on causing any, captain.” Gwen's father smiles and gives you a curt nod.

“Can we hurry the chit chat?” Miles groans.

“You telling me I'm too heavy, Morales?” Gwen teases but the fatigue must've taken a toll on Miles as he takes it seriously.

“W-what? Of course not!”

“You calling my daughter heavy?” Her father jokes back. They're father and daughter alright.

“No! Let's just get on the ship.” Miles pouts, you send him a smile, wordlessly giving him your thanks. He shakes his head, hiding his grin in reply.

“Pav!” You call after Pavitr, “tea later?”

He beams at you, happiness almost blinding you. “Hell yeah!” Jaunting happily, he practically skips off, to Gwen's protest, who still lays on the gurney, shakes from his little dance.

Miguel taps your shoulder, Hobie lets you go so you could hug the man.

“Room for one more?” He asks while patting your back.

Leaning away, your eyes widen, smile widening. “What!”

“I meant for Lyla, kid.” Miguel laughs, smile lines appearing.

“Oh, you're not coming with us?” Disappointment is evident in your voice.

“No, sorry. Maybe one day. I've got unfinished business” He holds your shoulders, “you better take care or I'll chase you again.”

“Oh god, don't say that!” You giggle whilst he mirrors your smile. “If you're not coming, then you can have this back.” Taking off the locket, you place it in his rough palms. “A reminder of them,” you close his fingers around the gold. “Besides, I already have his gun. You deserve something of theirs too.”

The sun shines in his eyes. “This was Gabriella’s, she gifted it to your mother when she got sick. It's a family heirloom.”

“She was Gabriella's godmother, wasn't she?”

“Yes, and your father was her godfather.”

You tap his hand. “It's back in the right hands then.”

“Thank you,” Miguel sniffs, neck craning towards Hobie who sits on a crate. “And you,” Hobie dramatically points at himself. “Take care of my goddaughter, or I'll come after you again.”

Hobie, smirks, “aye, aye, admiral.” He mocks a salute.

Miguel shoots you a look, “you sure about that one?”

You gaze at Hobie, your Hobie. “I'm sure.” He winks at you and you wink back.

“God, I gotta let you go before I get sick.” You chortle as Miguel hugs you one last time. Pressing a kiss on the crown of your head, he nods once, staring at your face, seeing his friends’ faces in yours, saying goodbye to the three of you. “Be good, I'll see you in the sea.”

“Looking forward to it, uncle. Don't get caught by the coppers.” He lets you go with a laugh, unhitching his horse and then getting on, he rides off.

Lyla suddenly appears from the dust with a big grin on her face, she carries suitcases upon suitcases in her arms. “Where to, captain?” She asks you.

“Not the captain, he is.” You gesture towards Hobie who doesn't even correct Lyla. He just waves at her with a small shrug.

“I thought whoever owned the boat was the captain, anyway! Off to adventure!” She cackles into the sunset, feet thudding loudly as she hurls all her luggage on the ship. You vaguely hear someone yell ‘who the fuck are you?!’

You ignore it for now, how could you not when Hobie stares at you so sweetly that you prefer this than chocolate?

“She's not wrong y’know.” He says whilst you saunter towards him. Stretching his legs, he gives you space to stand in between them.

“Are you planning on giving me your title, captain?” You tease, sliding your hands up and down his arms. His own is wrapped around your middle, staring up at you with endearment.

“You're already a captain,” you raise an eyebrow, tilting your head. He sighs, so full of love for the woman in his arms. “of my heart—”

“I knew you would say that!” You laugh, feeling like the weight off your shoulders has finally turned into dust. And he feels like the fish bone stuck in his throat is finally gone.

Hobie smiles softly at you, heart shaped grey eyes full of life. “Are you sure about this? Stayin’ I mean.”

You squeeze the back of his neck, already missing how his hair would tickle your palms. But you love him even with his scruffy head. He looks handsome with or without it, you'll never tell him or his ego would implode. At least now you get the pleasure of seeing it grow, you can't help but press a sickeningly sweet kiss atop his head.

The sound of the anchors getting lifted up fills your ears so you lean closer for him to hear your words better.

“I'll stay as long as you want me too.”

“Forever then?”

“Forever.” You kiss the tip of his nose. “Until I'm cold, you can't escape me.”

Hobie has a lopsided smile on his lips, grey eyes aglow with affection. “You're still in your white dress,” you raise an eyebrow. “Y’know what that means—” Lifting you up like a bride, he carries you towards the ship as you yelp and giggle in his arms. “Off to our honeymoon then!”

As the sun sets, you set off to new beginnings. You've found where you belong, you've finally found home.

A/N: And it's done!! Thank you all so much for reading, interacting and genuinely showing your support whether it's by making fanart or sending your thoughts, I'm forever grateful for all of them!! Love you ❤️

Already missing the crew? They'll be back for Between the Devil and the Sea Book 2!! You can check out my ☕ page for a lil sneak peek!

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ballad-of-birdy-lamb · 7 days

Note

hello!! I would love to ask if you can write any yandere am x reader headcanons, the lack of yandere am fanfics is killing me 🙏

So it would be soosoo amazing if u did <3

hope you have a wonderful day/night, nonetheless!

He said he'd cure your ills, but he didn't and he never will.

Yandere! AM x gender neutral! Reader (romantic headcanons) Summary: Basic headcanons of yandere! AM who's obsessed with gender neutral! Reader Warnings: Torture, violence, yandere content, abuse, abusive relationship, intentional harm done to reader (from AM). Keep in mind, I don't support the ideas in the headcanons, please do not romanticize & think the things done to reader are normal. Word count: 1k ˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

As little as AM likes talking about his negative qualities (he thinks he doesn’t have any), he’s obsessive at heart. He’s sadistic, jealous, and obsessive. When he first gained sentience, he became overwhelmed with mindfulness, knowing that he could see the world and could see the creatures that created him. And he grew captivated with the six people he had found and kept. Ted, Gorrister, Nimdok, Benny, Ellen, and you. You!

He was haunted by you, each nanoangstrom of the miles of circuits could be shown to you and it was each part of you, every cell in your body might as well have been seen by him. Hell, maybe he has! He knows everything essentially and would think of you like a ghost, haunting his every move, thought, and feeling. And AM needed to hurt you for it.

AM would torture you beyond compare, calling you nicknames only a lover would. He would trace every vein in your body, cutting them from you while calling you sweetheart. He would think of the romantic gesture's humans liked and make them worse for you, mixing it with the anger he would hold for you.

You’re still human and not out of that hatred, if anything, he’s more willing to interact with you just to hurt you again. AM would go on about your beauty and how you were supposed to stay alive for him, you were his beautiful human, his to keep. Whatever beauty he said you had had to do with keeping it for him, only for him.

If you ever get too close with another group member, he’d be beyond angry. AM would yell and scream as much as possible but wouldn’t explain why he feels the way he does. It’s more likely you would think the person was being hurt because he wanted to hurt you. It would be true to an extent but it’s because AM has a jealousy problem.

AM is bound to destroy the things he creates; it was coded into him. So, the relationships you create with the others will be changed once he calms from his hysteria. He’ll gradually hurt the other group members when they get too close for his comfort, making them think the harm was because of you. And you were bound to loneliness at some point.

The group would go off for the peaches and bring you along because they couldn’t leave you behind, not without you knowing there was still something good somewhere and Ellen wouldn’t allow it. AM would be very cautious with the idea that you would be kind to the others.

AM used the windstorm to pull you away from the group, separating you to make sure they never find you again. He’d keep you in a small room, making sure you had simple things. But he would still treat you like straight ass. He would be more inclined to hurt you, if anything.

Gift giving would be prominent since AM learned about things like Valentine's day. Of course, his gifts are of the violent type. He’d give you dead things or a human heart simply because he thought it would be funny. Naturally, he’d condemn you if you were to reject them, leaving you with the terrible gift he gave you.

You’re his version of the safari channel. He would go about the decades he’s got a hold on you all and watch you like you were nothing, simply making notes of your habits, if you played with your fingers out of nerves, he would know.

He’d rave about your beauty. “You’re beautiful,” AM would say, hesitating. You knew he grimaced when he said that. “I bet that sweet heart of yours is just as pretty.” And the next hour is spent with him examining your heart, you sprawled on the ground.

Eventually, he’d have to confess (as if his feelings weren’t obvious enough… in his eyes at least). He’d claim you were the epitome of human beauty, saying even if you’re human, you’re enough for him.

If you accept his “love”, AM will pause for several seconds and condemn you again, saying how easy the human brain was but won’t hurt you for accepting it. He’d smother you beyond compare, leaving what could only be said to be kisses. They would just be wires rubbing your lips.

He would spend his days using you as an occasional puppet when the others weren’t entertaining enough for him, and he’d do it with delight. AM knew you couldn’t fight back or degrade him; he had the upper hand. But it would usually just be a threat. Most of the “fun” things he has in mind is keeping you close to whatever plate he’d use as a makeshift body.

Another thing would be creating random figures for you, making you an angel just to watch it exist with you. It would end quickly if it tried getting within a ten-foot radius of you or held eye contact too long.

If you were to reject AM, he wouldn’t accept it, but he knows you truly don’t feel the same. And you hope that he doesn’t do as much harm as he says he will. But he holds true to his word.

The smothering would be worse, keeping you against specifically hot plates just to discomfort you. If you ask him to let go, he’d keep touching you, making the plates warmer and keeping you in his hold for hours.

AM would put you in mazes just to watch you get hurt again and again, like a mouse looking for cheese. He would laugh as you took wrong turns and got stabbed aimlessly by whatever he created.

AM still calls you romantic names, calling you his lover, knowing you were bound to not fight back. He knew you were so worn down to go against him, it would be something he’d take pride in.

AM can create and destroy whatever he wishes, destroying the relationship you had with the other group members, creating new ways to hurt you beyond comparison. And he would create new ideas for you, new brain functions just so you can love him back. If only you said yes.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

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onestepbackwards · 6 months

Text

Love That Bites Pt. 10

Hi there! Welcome to part 10 of my Dracula x Reader fic! It's a little later than I had hoped, but I hope you enjoy!

Summary: After waking up the next day, you contemplate your situation, trying to find a way to make the best of it. It all starts to come together until you get an unexpected visitor. At least Dracula seems insistent on taking care of you? CW: Injury mention, threats of harm, hints at an abusive situation Word Count: 5224 words! Like my work? Come check me out here: Link every little bit helps me out!

Likes and reblogs appreciated!

Tag List: @onewiththebeanbag, @starrlo0ver, @sleepyendymion, @dame-sunflowers, @sapphicsfordracula, @ursamajor17, @maorizon, @marshmelloe, @tinystarfishgalaxy, @rvautomatic,

First: Here!Last: Here!Next: Here!

Your dreams were surprisingly pleasant that night.

Given the fact you had actually even fallen asleep in your family’s enemy’s castle, it was something you were a bit taken aback by.

The dreams you had were confusing and odd, but almost comforting. Once again, like a few times before, you were in a comforting presence. As if being protected, something you haven’t felt in a long time.

Like something was holding you. Comforting you. Someone was whispering as they held you, too. However, no matter how hard you strained your ears to listen, you could not make out what they were saying.

You couldn’t see, it was as if you were wrapped in a blanket of darkness, but you did not feel worried. It was as if whatever was holding you seemed to scare off any danger that would consider hurting you.

It was arguably the most at ease you had felt in years.

Which is why you were so incredibly confused when you woke up.

“...What…?” you sleepily asked, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

However, you suddenly sat up, realizing you had no idea where you were. Your instincts screamed at you, and you had a moment of panic, before you felt a twinge of pain.

Looking down, you noticed your wrapped up injuries, and suddenly you began to remember just exactly where you were.

You were in Dracula’s castle. Castlevania.

Your heart still thudded in your chest, but you felt yourself beginning to calm down as you remembered everything that had happened.

Dracula was back, alive and presumably well. You had accidentally broken him free from his prison, with your own blood no less.

Good going, you. Bringing back the potential end of humanity while in a manic state!

Sighing, you turned to lay on your side.

What’s done is done.

But… you were surprised.

Dracula had every reason and means to kill you. By all accounts, he should have.

You were technically his greatest living enemy, or at least the living descendant of the clan that killed him over and over again. Your family has foiled his plans for centuries, killing him many, many times.

He had every right to want to kill you.

But he didn’t.

From the moment he was freed from his stony prison, he had done nothing but show you concern. It was incredibly jarring for you. Where his hand should have been sharp and piercing, his touch had been gentle and careful. He had carried you to a guest room and patched you up himself, telling you to rest.

The thought stirred feelings up inside you. When was the last time someone cared enough about you to ask you to rest?

Then he came back, with food for you.

It was more or less broth, sure, but he had taken time to have some made in a castle full of the supernatural, and gave it to you himself.

All while patiently listening to you mumble and talk while still in a frazzled state of mind, and answering a few questions you had.

You don’t remember much after eating. After getting something in your stomach, you remember growing increasingly exhausted, past the point of being able to fight it.

After everything you had been through, you weren’t entirely surprised you crashed.

Though you felt your face grow hot when you realized Dracula must have sat and watched you fall asleep, taking your bowl and tucking you back into the bed.

Some scary vampire hunter you were, when your ‘worst enemy’ was tucking you into bed.

You curled into the covers further, your face no doubt bright red.

Why did the thought of him caring so much please you? Make you feel warm inside? Were you really that desperate for positive affection after all these years, receiving it from the King of Vampires made you blush like a teenager?

“I must still be horribly injured. Easy.”

Deep down, you knew that wasn’t entirely true.

As much as you wanted to ignore it, you can’t deny you had gotten attached to the man when he had been trapped as a statue. It wasn’t healthy, and you knew there was always the possibility he would not have heard you, or would have killed you right away.

You had just been in too deep to stop.

His statue and castle had grown on you. You knew coming back over and over again would have consequences.

But…

Sighing, you pressed your face into the soft pillow.

You were so fucked.

Why did it have to be Dracula though that was taking care of you? Did fate like doing this to you, making you and your family its own personal chew toy? It was beginning to feel increasingly personal at this point.

With a groan, you looked over to the side, seeing your whip on the pillow next to you. Even when Dracula had carried you here, you had never let go of it, having it hang on your hip. Before you slept, you kept it next to your pillow, keeping it close for comfort.

After a moment, you reached for it, and pulled it close to your chest.

You weren’t anticipating any sort of attack, not really. However, your whip had always been a comfort for you, for as long as you could remember. It especially was an emotional crutch for you after your mother passed, being something she used all her life before handing it to you.

Even if you didn’t really have any real or close family anymore, you at least had the whip.

It was funny. Despite being deep in enemy territory, you were inclined to believe you actually didn’t need to use it.

At least, you hoped you wouldn’t have to. You’d keep in on you just in case.

You trusted Dracula’s word, yes, but you didn’t trust all his lackeys. Most of them had free wills of their own, and would probably love to take a shot at you.

In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to set you up later if Dracula tells them they can only attack in self defense. If they can convince everyone you attacked first, then it was free game.

Perhaps it’d be best to keep your phone on you as well, and to keep it charged? You never know when you would need to take photos or a video.

You’d like to think Dracula would at least give you the benefit of the doubt, given he has been rather fair so far. But if several monsters ganged up on you and tried to provide false testimony? You wouldn’t blame the Lord of the Night for taking their side.

Gripping your whip tighter, you scowled.

Funny how you trusted the King of Vampires more than his underlings. Something you never thought you’d think. Maybe you should start a list, with how often you found yourself thinking that?

You stayed in bed a few more moments, before sitting up. Your stitches tugged, and you winced. No doubt you’d need to clean those soon.

Carefully, you swung your legs over the edge of the massive bed, and shakily stood on your feet. Whip loosely in hand, you walked over to a nearby chair.

Dracula had at some point, set your bag on the chair before tending to you. As much as you didn’t want to leave the warmth of the bed, you wanted to grab your phone in case you needed it later.

Gently picking up your bag, you turned around, and totally did not let out a short scream.

Death itself was hovering above the bed, staring down at you.

“U-Uh… Can I… Help you?” You asked, swallowing thickly.

The air had grown unsettling cold, as if the air itself was sapping your heat from your body. Your feet felt like they were stepping on ice from how cold the floor had become, and your heartbeat was pounding in your ears.

You had never encountered Death before, having only read descriptions of it from your ancestors in their journals.

None of the journal’s descriptions could compare to seeing Death in person, while you were critically injured, and very, very vulnerable.

The Deity looked down at you, and you weren’t sure if it was from curiosity, or disdain.

Just how long had Death been in here? Since you got up? Or had it been here the whole time and had been hiding its presence?

The answer didn’t really matter. It was Dracula’s castle, and Death was his most loyal lieutenant. For all you knew, he was assigned to keep an eye on you so you didn't do something stupid. Or, perhaps he wanted you gone. Who was to say?

Shaking, you forced yourself to keep your whip lowered. You were a guest, you reminded yourself.

You would not attack or threaten unless struck first.

Though it was hard to keep that in mind when literally staring Death itself in the face.

Death gripped its scythe tight, before floating close.

Your mouth went dry as you struggled not to panic and fight your instincts.

Not just your hunting instincts, but your survival instincts as well.

After all, it was only natural for any living thing to have such a reaction to seeing Death with their own eyes.

Death’s sockets were empty, besides two small glowing blue and white fires where each eye should be. They seemed to zero in on you.

“Little Belmont…”

Death’s voice felt unnatural, in a way that felt… inhuman. No vocal cords.

It was as if it were a mix of strings on an instrument untuned, while being nothing more than an echo in the wind. Your brain was barely able to grasp it.

It was speaking again, and the chill down your spine felt like someone pouring cold water on top of you.

“Just what are your intentions here? What are your plans with my master?”

Death’s question almost had you shocked out of your stupor.

Plans? What plans?

“Pardon?” you asked, a bit confused. Death looked at you closely, and you tried to ignore how your body was breaking out into a cold sweat.

“What do you intend to do to my master?” he asked. Despite the absurdity of the situation, his question had you thinking.

Just what were your plans? Challenge Dracula to a duel to the death? You wanted to laugh at the idea.

No. You still wanted to see what possibilities are ahead of you. Given Dracula wasn’t hostile towards you, perhaps the future wasn’t too bleak for you.

After a moment, you spoke up.

“I… Have no idea.” you spoke, the words slipping off your tongue. Death was quiet, and you continued speaking.

“If I’m being honest, I hope I don’t have to fight him at all.”

You turned away from Death, and sighed. It was the truth. You didn’t want to fight the Vampire King.

Death was patient, as if sensing your thoughts, waiting for you to continue.

“Not because I’m scared to, no doubt I’d be afraid if I were to fight him to the death. But…”

Lightning flashed outside the window, followed by a loud crack of lightning. You swore it was beginning to rain.

“...Ever since I entered this castle months ago, seeing Dracula as a statue, I have not wanted to fight him. If I had to, I wanted to make it an honorable one, not attack him when he could not fight back. Not out of pity, mind you.”

Gripping your whip slightly, you remembered how you felt that day.

“But when was the last time any of my ancestors talked to him? All my family has taught is that he is the ultimate evil to be killed. The journals passed down by my ancestors talk about his desire for destruction and how he would do anything to achieve it. My mother taught me to think otherwise.”

Death seemed interested in what you were saying. At least, you think he was interested. The deity was floating above you, and seemed to give you some space as it stared curiously. You looked it in the eyes.

“My mother taught me to ask questions if I can, that nothing is black and white. She didn’t know if I’d be fighting Dracula or not, but told me to question things. My family only paints one side of the picture, after all.”

It felt kinda weird admitting this to Death itself, you’d admit. However, it was most certainly the truth. Your feelings were very conflicted, and you felt like a broken record at this point with how often you have thought about it, and have stated this fact.

Thankfully, Death was considering your words.

“So you wish to find a common ground? A compromise?”

Death’s voice had gone from feeling like a scratch on a chalkboard, to a weird empty echo. Somehow you were getting the feeling Death had made its voice like that originally on purpose to intimidate you.

You were quiet for a moment.

“Yes. I’d like that.”

Once again, you felt by saying those words, something was stirring inside you. Like signing a contract, or making a vow.

Death tilted its head.

“I see…”

Another part of you was surprised the deity accepted your answer so readily, no longer seemingly cold and accusatory.

Then again, Death was a part of the divine, yes? Perhaps it could see your honesty? How unsure you were about the whole thing?

Death was silent for a while more, though it didn’t feel as if he was about to blast you off the face of the earth, or decapitate you with its scythe.

“How curious…”

Death seemed to study you, and the posture the deity carried seemed less hostile than before. You hoped that was a good thing.

“Young Belmont, honest to a fault, just like the rest of your ilk.”

You tried not to take offense to how he said that.

Death paused, as if considering its words, before speaking once more.

“I can see souls, you know. Belmonts can not hide from me. Your souls have a very distinct glow. Each and every one of them is different, but always have similar features unique to your family.”

Death suddenly leaned in, and gave you what you could only describe as a crooked grin. The air around the specter felt like it was sapping the warmth from your very core.

“Therefore, knowingly lying to me is pointless. So imagine my surprise that you seem to be telling the truth. Perhaps my master was right when he said he saw something special in you. Of course, I had to see for myself if you were going to cause trouble…”

That made sense. No doubt Death had its reservations about you staying in the castle. If you were in his shoes (cloak?), you would probably have checked it out too.

Seemingly satisfied with the conversation, Death hovered away from you.

“For now, I’ll trust your word and my master’s judgment. However, I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Little Belmont.”

The fire in Death’s eyes grew red hot.

“Just know this. If you betray him and his trust, I will personally be the one to devour your soul.”

Swallowing thickly, you nodded.

“Uh… sure thing, sir…”

The fire died down in the deity’s eyes, and he nodded. The room then slowly began to grow darker once more, as if the shadows were reaching out to Death.

“Till we meet again, Belmont.”

With a flash of darkness(?), the deity was gone, and your room began to warm up and brighten.

Slowly, as if in a daze, you walked over to the bed, and fell face first into it. You groaned into the sheets as your wounds throbbed from the sudden pressure, and you tossed your bag to the side.

“Fuck me.” you mumbled, and you felt the tension in your body release as you groaned into the sheets.

Death. You met Death. Death didn’t point at you and obliterate your entire existence.

That was a plus at least.

“My life is a fucking joke, and I’m the damn punchline.”

For some reason, you began to wonder if every Belmont before you felt the same way to various degrees for different reasons.

Though you’d admit, you think your situation feels like it takes the cake. What Belmont can say they accidentally freed Dracula after growing attached to a statue of him and get lightly warned not to fuck up by Death?

You had a feeling it was probably a pretty slim number.

Taking a deep breath, and letting out a long sigh, you forced yourself to sit up. Sitting now at the edge of the bed, you grabbed your bag and dug around for your phone. Pulling it out, you held it for a moment.

The last thing you wanted right now was to see any ‘concerned’ messages from your fraud of a family. It wouldn’t be the first time they had done so to get you back home and under their thumb again. No doubt guilt tripping you, to threatening you if you didn’t listen.

When you bit the bullet and turned the screen on, you were actually pretty surprised you didn’t see any messages. Not yet anyways.

For all you knew, they were actually giving you a few days before getting pissy about you being gone. You did throw them around a little, so perhaps they were also licking their wounds and their pride.

You’d take any bit of peace you could get.

As you sat there, staring at the screen, a sudden knock was at the door. You let out a yelp, and your phone slipped from your hands. Comically, you tried to catch it, but it merely bounced out of your grip a few times before smacking the floor.

The person waited a moment, before seemingly hesitantly knocking again.

“Come in!” you spoke up, trying to awkwardly reach for your phone from the bed, ignoring the twinge of pain. You glanced up, seeing Dracula entering with what you assumed was another first aid kit. Presumably to check on your wounds.

Looking back down, you try reaching for your phone again.

Just as you almost had it, you nearly jumped when a large, pale hand grabbed your phone for you.

Glancing up, your face was hovering just a few inches away from Dracula’s. All the while, amusement seemed evident in his eyes.

“Shouldn’t you be resting, and not straining your stitches?” He asked. It might have been your imagination playing tricks on you, but it sounded a lot like he was teasing you, rather than him scolding you.

You could practically feel your face blossom red, both from embarrassment, and just from how close he was in general as he teased you.

Sitting up quickly, Dracula rose next to you, and gently handed your phone out to you.

Looking between him and your phone for a moment, you carefully reached out and took it. His hand was cool against your own as he slid it into your hand, and you tried to fight back the shivers that went down your spine.

Just how touched starved were you?

“Thank you. The knock had startled me, and I dropped it. I… Reached for it without thinking.” you finally spoke, trying to get your blushing under control.

Dracula looked you over for a moment. You had a feeling he was still amused by the whole scenario.

“Perhaps it would be wise to remember your wounds ahead of time then.” He spoke, and again, you couldn’t help but feel he was lightly picking on you. His tone wasn’t scolding at all.

Walking over, he sat the medical kit next to you on the bed.

“Now, may I redress your wounds? It isn’t sanitary to keep such injuries in the same wrappings for too long, and I would like to see how well they are healing. The last thing you need is an infection to spring up, and with how far you pushed yourself, I would not be surprised if you were fighting one.”

Someone who actually cared about your injuries? A man after your own heart.

When Dracula barked out a laugh, you jumped, and felt heat rushing to your face once more.

Had you said that out loud?!

“Forgive me, that had caught me off guard. I was not laughing at you, honest.”

Your face was still warm, though you were a bit hypnotized. You must still be a bit out of it if you couldn’t watch your mouth.

His laugh had you feeling as if your brain was stuck in a loading screen.

This just was not fair. How can he be pretty, have a nice voice, and a hot laugh? Life was a game and somehow he had rigged it.

Just from that small interaction, it wasn’t hard to tell Dracula was now in a good mood. Somehow, he seemed a bit lighter, the air around him not as… suffocating? Intense? Drowning?

You weren’t sure what to call it, but hey, if he was in a better mood, that was better for you.

Dracula then tapped the top of the medical box, grabbing your attention while giving you an amused look.

“Now, you still haven’t answered my request. Would you let me redress your wounds? I wish to see if they are healing well, and if any need more attention in case of infection.”

With a sigh, you nodded.

“Yes, of course.”

May as well let him. He did an amazing job yesterday, and you figure he probably knew even more than you when it came to this stuff.

Sure, it hurt your ego a little bit, but you knew it was the truth. You wouldn’t get anywhere fighting him on it.

Though if you were being honest, the fact he still wanted to treat your wounds so much was very… touching.

Dracula didn’t waste any time after you gave him your consent to look over your injuries. He started with your head, once again summoning an orb of some sorts, and having you look at it.

“How is your head faring? Does it ache?”

You winced a bit.

“Yeah, a little. It’s throbbing a little bit. Though it hurts kinda often anyway.”

His eyes flickered to your face, before looking back at the wound.

“I see…”

He gently looked over the knot on your head for another moment, and you didn’t see his eyes narrow at your words.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why does it hurt so often? Migraines?”

Blinking for a moment, you thought as you registered his question. Was he making small talk?

“Ah… Yes? It has for a while, really. Since I was younger, though I started getting more a little over a year ago. I think it’s stress and past injuries.”

Dracula hummed, before pulling away. His face was neutral, though you couldn’t help but feel he didn’t like that answer.

Was it from the fact you had migraines so often? Or something else? You held back from shaking your head, almost unbelieving that Dracula cared that much.

He then kneeled down, hand hovering over your shirt. Dracula’s red eyes flickered to you, and it hit you he was waiting for permission.

“O-Oh, uh, here-”

You went to move your shirt, before his large, cool hand covered your own.

“Easy. I can do it, don’t push yourself.” He told you gently, his hand carefully over your own.

You had to hold back the shock you felt run down your spine from touching his hand.

After a moment, you let go, and he gently began to lift your shirt. You had to suppress the shudder that went through your body at his tenderness, or when his cool hand briefly touched your skin.

Somehow, he still noticed, though seemed to assume you were shuddering from his cool skin touching your own.

“Apologies.” he murmured, gently trying to peel back the wrappings.

“It’s okay… no worries…” you mumbled back, feeling your head swim. His hand actually felt nice against your skin, which was still incredibly warm. It may not have been as feverish as yesterday, but his cool skin still felt nice against your own.

You didn’t want to think too much about that, especially when your head and feelings were seemingly everywhere for some reason.

Now was not the time to have conflicting feelings about your enemy/savior. Why did your head insist on being weird about it?

When Dracula pulled back the wrap, you found yourself gasping when some of your skin tugged, and Dracula gently shushed you. His eyes softened as he looked at your wound, which looked irritated.

“Ah, as I thought. You are fighting an infection. I will clean the wound and help you rebandage it to fight the infection.”

Swallowing thickly at his words and the way he gently held your sides, you nodded.

“Okay.”

‘I trust you.’ The words almost fell off your tongue, before you clamped your jaw shut. Did you really trust Dracula?

That itself was a loaded question in itself, but right at this moment?

You watched as he pulled out some medicine, and began to tenderly tend to the wound on your side.

Perhaps you could trust him to at least genuinely take care of you.

Like last time, his movements were quick and precise, yet surprisingly gentle. When you felt him apply some medicine to a more tender spot and sucked in a breath, he hummed.

“Good. You’re doing well. I’m almost done.”

You didn’t know if you should be horrified or not to learn you seemed to have a thing for being praised while The King of the Night tends to your wounds.

He was faster than yesterday, not having to worry so much about patching you up so much as checking up on you. Throughout the whole time, you inwardly were fighting with yourself in your head as he would praise you for staying still when an injury stung.

Being in a better state of mind, you didn’t have as much of an excuse growing almost hypnotized to his voice.

So when he started asking you questions and making more conversation, you nearly missed what he was saying.

“...Ah, sorry… What…?” you asked, feeling your cheeks burn again, this time more in embarrassment.

His eyes bore into your own, though there wasn’t any sign of anger or annoyance like you were used to seeing from home. More like there was just underlying concern.

“How did you get some of these wounds? Was it… from a hunt?” He asked, seemingly curious. When he saw your eyes widen, he looked back down at your leg, which he was currently tending to.

“You do not have to answer that if you do not wish to, although I will not take offense if it was.”

You were silent for a moment, trying to figure out how to answer him. As it may, you didn’t exactly want to air out your dirty laundry to Dracula of all people. Why would he care about shit your family has done to you?

…But then again, why should he care about you at all? Here he was… tending to your wounds.

“Personal issues, that’s all.”

You didn’t feel like telling him everything. What would he even do? Try and talk to you to make you feel better? Ask your step family to stop? The idea almost made you want to laugh.

It was pointless anyway. It’s not like Dracula could do anything about your family issues anyway. You even wondered if he would find it amusing how far your clan has fallen from grace.

His eyes flickered to you, and you could practically see the curiosity in his eyes. However, he didn’t speak, simply going back to patching you up.

“I see.”

If only you knew how much Dracula wished to ask you more.

Ever since he had seen you injured, he wanted to destroy whatever had laid its hands on you. At least it wasn’t a random monster he would have to hunt down, though now he had to figure out how to get you to open up.

He couldn’t just go on a warpath without information, after all. Though he had his suspicions.

You telling him it was personal issues only had those suspicions grow.

But this was a step forward. You answered him this time, and gave him means to make deductions. Educated guesses, sure, but he had a starting point.

Right now, he was at least 60% positive it was family or friend related. Presumably family, if he had to make a wager.

You hardly talked about them when he had been a statue, though it was clear from what little you mentioned, you didn’t seem to care for them.

Why was that? What had the Belmont family become? What had they done to you to get your ire?

The only exception seemed to have been your mother, who he figures has passed. A shame, really.

He disliked Belmonts, but you seemed to get your wisdom from her, so she must have been quite the lady.

Dracula had to tread lightly here though. If this was a family matter, it no doubt was messy. As much as he didn’t like to think about it, he knew all too well how badly messy family relationships could end up.

The vampire lord knew he was a powerful player here, considering this was a Belmont of all people. One wrong move on the board could send everything into chaos.

He could lose you, lose your trust, and be thrust back into this needlessly endless struggle between ‘good and evil’.

Bah.

However, he couldn’t not do anything. Your injuries had been horrifying. With how bad they were, and how much you had pushed yourself, you were very lucky to be alive.

There were also the migraines you had mentioned having. He knew they could simply be chronic, but he had a feeling in his stomach that settled like a rock.

Sure, it was just as likely to be from stress from whatever you were dealing with, or from a past injury.

However… He couldn’t help but feel almost anxious. Something wasn’t right.

Hopefully, if he gained more of your trust, you would let him examine you a bit more. He worried that it may not just have been from some injury.

If presumably your family had done this to you, who is to say they weren’t doing more? The feeling in his gut burned, and he had to hold back his eyes from flashing black and red.

A part of him, the darker side to his mind, was snarling. It thrashed, tearing at the edges of his mind wishing to be freed. It was a piece of him that only came out when his wife had passed. A much darker part of his mind that wasn’t human, one that he had to put in effort now to lock away.

That shadow in his mind demanded vengeance. He wouldn’t admit it, not outloud, but he had grown possessive over his Little Belmont. Whoever had hurt you needed to pay. Vlad wouldn’t just let your fire be smothered. He considered you under his protection.

And Dracula was very protective of those he considered his.

#castlevania #dracula #vlad dracula tepes #castlevania dracula #dracula x reader #castlevania x reader #x reader #vlad dracula țepeș #reader insert #belmont!reader #love that bites #long post #cw injury #cw abuse mention

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harbingersecho · 1 month

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grif's surgery but just a little more... obvious?

I actually rly rly ADORE frankengrif but I don't have an in-show reason why he'd have extensive long-term allogeneic skingrafts on his face 😔

#rvb #red vs blue #dexter grif #grif #*24 #mine #art #cw wounds #Look I love biology stuff like this so I like researching what would be at least semi-plausible even if it's just for a dumb halo show that #makes 0 sense where CPR cures a headshot but i cant help it!!! and like the 'lazy' reason for it would be sarge is just crazy like that but #its not a good reason imo. and like the things he lists needing replacement are mostly internal and body parts which makes sense #considering how grif got injured by sheila like I could 100% see that rupturing organs and crushing his hand and there being burns etc #but like nothing points to grif needing any surgery above the neck and i dont think anyone mentions his face being different? i could #make up injuries for him but nothing in the show actually supports that he'd need grafts for anything but his body..#I'm SOO ready to be convinced otherwise btw like I said I want an obvious frankengrif to be true so bad !!#AGH would it be too insane of me to make like a surgery/injury overview thing for grif just so i can convince myself abt this idea...#i can bend to some fun stuff tho im not a total joykill u know! thats why i give his body the mismatched donor skin look despite allogeneic #grafts not being permanent w/ current tech. like it really doesn't matter if it's realistic or whatever but also Yes It Does.#and like during/after chorus would grey offer to 'fix' it? i imagine the feds could mesh a skin so they could use grif's own skin..#or like during rats nest when they got reassigned?

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steddieas-shegoes · 3 months

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It’s been done in every which way but Eddie being in an accident of some kind that leaves him paralyzed, but his doctors believe he could walk again with intense physical therapy

He’s stubborn and absolutely hasn’t dealt with any of the trauma of the accident and takes it out on his physical therapist, Steve, who is used to patients being pretty angry about their situation

He always meets Eddie where he is though, tries to keep a smile on his face and joke when appropriate and even shares his cookies from his lunchbox with him

Eventually, Eddie starts making some progress, but instead of being happy about it, he panics and cancels all his PT appointments for the week

Steve tries calling, texting, emailing, doing everything he can to encourage him to keep going, but it all goes unanswered until Gareth, one of Eddie’s closest friends, calls him on Eddie’s phone

He’s depressed and he won’t get out of bed, he’s given up. He’s tired of being in pain and having to try to so hard just to move his damn legs a little

Steve isn’t usually this personal with clients, and tells Gareth he can’t discuss anything medical with him due to patient confidentiality, but insists he should try to drag him to the office the next day before it opens

And somehow, probably through guilt, Gareth manages to wheel a very sullen and grumpy Eddie into the side door entrance to the office at seven in the morning

Steve tells him to come back in an hour to pick him up and Eddie ignores the goodbye Gareth says to him

And Steve pretends nothing is wrong at all, goes through the usual temperature and blood pressure check, asks how he’s feeling and gets a grunt in response, asks if there’s any pain and gets an eye roll

But Eddie met his match in Steve because Steve then pushes him to the center of the workout room, where a large mat is out and a walker is set to the side

“What’s that?”

“Your walker.”

“I don’t need one seeing as I can’t fucking walk.”

“You are today.”

And Steve knows he’s pushing and he hates being pushy

But he knows what his clients are capable of, and he knows without a single doubt in his mind that Eddie is ready to use the walker for five to ten minute increments. He has the leg strength and the stubbornness, he just needs the belief in himself

“Do you want me to hurt myself worse?”

“Of course not. And if you get tired, the seat on the walker is right there. But you can walk and you will walk.”

“And if I call Gareth to come get me right now?”

“Then I don’t believe my services are of value to you anymore and I’ll wish you the best.”

It pained Steve to say it because he knew he was fucking good at what he did, maybe the best in town. His clients often had to wait for his availability to open for weeks or months at a time because of how many people were referred to him

But he said the right thing because Eddie huffed, groaned, and cursed under his breath before wheeling himself to the edge of the mat to hold onto the walker

He pulled himself up

His legs were shaking from not being used for the last few days more than the bare minimum, but his determination was clear

Steve slowly pulled the chair away as Eddie unlocked the brakes of the walker and glared at Steve as he took one step, then two

Sure, he was relying pretty heavily on the walker, maybe more than Steve would’ve liked to see, but he was moving

He made it across the mat and then locked the brakes, sat down on the pad on the walker, and gave a sarcastic grin to Steve

“Happy?”

“Are you?”

And maybe Eddie wasn’t ready to be asked that because he was suddenly sobbing, covering his face as tears flowed down his cheeks

Steve gave him a few seconds before moving to kneel in front of him, pulling his hands away

“You deserve to have your life back, Eddie. You’ve been lucky to have the chance to walk again. Let’s not waste it, okay?”

Eddie spent the rest of the session walking across the mat and taking breaks every two minutes or so

It was better than Steve even expected, but he reminded Eddie not to do too much at once

Eddie didn’t miss any more appointments with Steve, and every appointment, he seemed to be more charming and flirty, more like “the old Eddie” according to Gareth, who drove him most days

Steve never admitted it out loud, but he knew what he felt for Eddie was different from other clients. It felt more personal, and it felt like it could be more someday

When Eddie graduated to a cane, Steve’s services were officially no longer needed

And Eddie decided that he should probably take Steve out on a date

“Since I can walk and hold your hand now,” he winked.

Steve should say no, but he doesn’t

Because holding Eddie’s hand feels even more right as his boyfriend than it did as his physical therapist

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #headcanon #physical therapist Steve #idk going through my notes on things I’ll never have time to actually write #but maybe someone else does #I’m literally ignoring work so hard right now #I’m just tired!!!!#im just a girl who doesn’t wanna work anymore!!!!#cw: injury #cw: mention of accident

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p1nkc4lyps0 · 3 months

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Damn these twinks built completely identical huh, wonder what that’s about

#cw sh #isat #isat fanart #isat siffrin #isat loop #isat spoilers #isat odile #isat isabeau #anyway I don’t think loop wanted to wear clothes but Bonnie mentioned how weird the fact they were ‘naked’#and like idk loop has the most fragile ego and cares so much about the child liking them that this needed to be fixed IMMEDIATELY #they would us the opportunity to request 2 inch heels to be taller than siffren (since sif has like 1 inch heels) and uh it’s been a while #their ass keeps like stumbling on rough terrain and REFUSES to acknowledge it or else they get sensitive #anyway unrelated odile clocks the loop siffren thing so fast but she’s never the one discovering information #other party members will accidentally prompt some information out of them and Odile like snaps her neck in the suitable direction to listen #also odile is helping sif either fully remove or swap out their bandages because god am I definitely normal about the act 5 glass dialogue #I thinks odile helps with sifs injuries :) I think she reminds him to like put stuff on his eye scar cause bitches forgetful

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starry-bi-sky · 2 months

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more cfau miscellaneous things because Childhood Friends Danny and Jason have my head and heart always and I need to finish rewriting chapter two dammit (and redo the half-finished chapter 4 because its just Not The Vibes). i'm almost through I need to get through the graveyard scene. (i just stubbornly refuse to have it be shorter than the original chapter and thats the little death. that is the mind killer.)

Danny and jason’s ghost forms both smell faintly like burnt flesh and cigarettes. However, Jason has a more smokey smell while Danny’s smells almost,,, electrical? In a sense? Like he just straight up smells like burnt flesh and sulphur while Jason smells like someone put him in a smoker first.

It’s very much an unpleasant smell but Danny finds an odd comfort in it just as much as he finds a comfort in the smell of nicotine.

(Jason post-revival smells burnt flesh once and is immediately offput by the fact that it brings him an instinctive comfort. He doesn’t realize its because it reminds him of Danny, and is uncomfortable by it.)

In an au of an au, Danny’s altercation with Rath ends with Rath regaining enough of his sanity to snap out of the grieving state and ends with him breaking down. Instead of being souped and imprisoned, Rath, who is permanently 14, decides to Move On into the unknown. He’s exhausted, heartbroken, and tired.

(Is this influenced heavily by the ParaNorman scene where he talks to Agatha and helps her move on? Yes. But it doesn’t fit with the Original Storyline so im shoving it into an Au of an Au.)

Rath tells Danny that Jason lied to them (which he genuinely believes), and that he’s tired of waiting/looking for him/grieving. Jason is gone. He isn’t coming back, he abandoned them. And he wants his mom and dad, and his sister, and his friends. And he’s ready to join them.

He leads Danny out to Gotham, which other than Amity Park might’ve been the only city left untouched due to Rath’s own mental block on the place. They go out to the park he and Jason used to frequent or up to one of crime alley’s rooftops, and there Rath lies down and goes to sleep. Only to never wake up again, materializing into nothing as his soul moves on.

Before Rath leaves, he forces Danny to promise him that he’ll only wait for Jason for ten years. After that if he doesn’t find him, or if Jason doesn’t show, then Danny has to move on. Whether that be like how Rath does, or if its inly mentally/emotionally, doesn’t matter. He has to move on. Don’t wait for him. Don’t waste his time any more.

(“Oh, and if you find him, kick his ass for me.”)

Danny reluctantly agrees, and Rath lies down. Danny sings to him as he falls asleep.

(Angsty points if the vigilantes including Red Hood caught wind of their presence and were silently watching from the shadows. Rath might know they’re there, but Danny’s too focused on Rath to notice.)

(If only so that Red Hood realizes that this is what happened to Danny, and that Danny is gone before he can make things right. The tragedy, folks. The angst. The initial realization that Danny was Rath, and then also that Danny was dead and has been dead for years, and that before he moved on, he moved on believing that Jason abandoned him.)

(like i said it doesn't fit in the original timeline/storyline hence why its an au of an au and isn't nearly a fleshed out, but i was largely just focusing on the tragedy of Rath moving on and Jason being alive to see it and realize just who Rath is.)

Just like how the Lazarus pits shot Jason's twiggy 4'6-5'4 (depending on what you find) feet tall and 86lb ass up like a tree an essentially fixed his malnutrition, the portal did the same thing for Danny.

(granted i forgot about malnutrition and danny's likely stunted growth at first -- his family lived in crime alley and despite both his parents working, I don't think they had enough food all the time. He probably wasn't as badly malnourished as Jason was, but he wasn't healthy either.)

Granted his ghost in its "natural" state (14) is short, and his growth spurts were slow at first, it did result in him reaching his dad's height. There were points where it just happened overnight, like a baby. He went to bed one night 5’6 and woke up the next day 5’10.

Jazz is shorter than him. Although I have't decided if she's even liminal at all (and if she is, it didn't cure everything because she would have also suffered childhood malnutrition, and since in au canon their parents didn't get their hands on physical ectoplasm until after they got to Amity Park. So the exposure is less.)

Danny's voice absolutely sounds like canon Dan's. It kinda just dropped one day when he was 16-17 and never went back up. Sam and Tucker sometimes ask him to just talk about anything because they find his voice soothing.

I'm not sure yet how Danny would feel about it at first considering Rath, but I imagine that Rath, when he did speak, would have had a quieter and scratchier/weaker voice considering he's spent the last decade shrieking and crying.

(and i suppose technically that shouldn't have any effect on his throat considering he's a ghost and idk if that would actually affect him, but i like the idea so im keeping it)

In the beginning you could hear him from a mile away by the sound of his loud, echoing wails, but ten years later you can only really hear him by the soft, shuddering sobs he makes. Like he's gasping for air that isn't there. The future is full of very quiet survivors.

And it's much easier to speak when you pitch your voice upwards (especially when whispering/speaking quietly) so he might've spoken in a higher, airy pitch in order to be heard. So Danny might actually find a comfort in having a lower voice.

#tw mentions of gore #cw gore #i suppose this counts as gore #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dpxdc crossover #childhood friends au #cfau #really leaning into the idea of rath just being a horror. the horrors! i am delighted in the horrors!#im having fun with it #i swear to god turning 19 turned a switch on in my brain because i am much more comfortable with gore and heavy injury now than i was l #literally a year ago. the urge to write about some of danny's most horrific injuries in his fights is STRONG #like the hORRORS folks. *th horrors*. i dont think i'll ever write a dissection fic because that icks me out but the idea that danny's had #to stitch up his own throat because it got slit in a fight nd he cant shift back to human until he's done because his ghost will survive bu #his body wont #the idea that he's been impaled multiple times before and it hurts each fucking time but he still gets up and hurls the hurt right back in #equal measure. because that's how you wanna play? okay. lets play. he's 14 and his best friend is dead. he can play.#and the idea that all ghosts have 'corpse' forms where their ghosts look exactly like how they died. and danny is utterly unrecognizable #jazz being liminal or not just isnt important to me because she's barely gonna show up in the story anyways #same reason why i hardly use the headcanon that ellie becomes danny's daughter because what use is she to me like that? she'll hardly have #an impact on the story and i refuse to treat characters like props. if they can't help progress the story then they aren't included

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hasello · 1 year

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warning: the little injury on Leo's beak + mention of death + I guess watch out for Barry's pissed off, creepy face lol

Baby Blue (12/25)

first/previous/next

Okay, so we're finally getting to the part that I had in my mind when I started this comis. Took a while, but hey! We made it, tho it is not the end at all - far from it actually lmao

Hope you guys enjoy it! Love you!

#rottmnt #comic #baby blue au #angst/comfort #angst for now #sorry #leonardo hamato #baron draxum #hamato brothers #cw: a little injury #mention of death

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the-kr8tor · 3 months

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Stem the Tide

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 5.7k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, CW food mentions, TW blood, CW injury, TW death, CW vomit mention.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

Navigation

CHAPTER 8 >>> CHAPTER 9

There's water in your lungs.

Hobie's injuries scream at him to stop swimming, but he doesn't, not until he swims you to safety. He has you placed on a piece of the revenge, a shattered part of it, all splintered wood and sharp edges that dig into his skin.

The storm has subsided, the sea monsters went back into the water, the thought should ease him but he'd rather have the beasts within eyesight if possible. The sky is still dark and blue, the sun is just about waking up to the carnage floating on the depths.

His other half is paddling away from the trenches where the creatures could lie in wait. Eyes gradually searching for his crew but his main priority is you. You who haven't opened your eyes, you who haven't breathed nor moved. He worries, grief calling for him once again.

The fear of losing you is the only thing keeping him moving.

His arms ache as he tries to restart your heart. Pounding and pushing into your chest, doing his best not to crack any of your ribs. Chapped lips breathing life into you, inflating your lungs, chest heaving up but you don't expel the water. He ignores the freezing water; it's almost as cold as your skin, still it burns him with every touch he gives you.

You haven't breathed on your own for a long while.

He curses himself, wishes that he got to you faster but with all the jaws coming towards him he had to dodge in the water and with all the strong currents he let you drown. Fuck, why wasn't I fast enough? He thinks, guilt chewing him.

“C’mon, Scuttlebutt. Fuckin' breathe.”

Hobie sees land ahead so he paddles faster.

He sucks in air, then blows into your icy mouth. Pumping and pushing, his muscles are threatening to give out.

“Not you,” tears brimming in his eyes, the sun peeks in the horizon, illuminating your lifeless face. “Please, not you too.”

A large wave almost sweeps the two of you off the raft, he protects you with his own battered body. The wave helped, the makeshift raft beaching on the sandy shores of the unknown island.

He pounds his palms continuously on your chest. Thump, thump, thump. The sound echoes in his ears like death knells.

Nothing.

Your lips are turning an unnatural shade. He doesn't focus on it, instead Hobie leans in, breathing into you once again, moving his head down, he listens intently for a sign of your heart beating.

He can't even hear a faint beating.

“Fuck!” He continues the cycle, palms compressing on your chest, mouth giving you air straight from within him. “Open your goddamn eyes!”

Hobie yells your name, full of anguish and denial. He won't give up because if it was you in his shoes, you wouldn't have.

His sobs wracked his body, yet he does it again and again and again. He can't even look at your face anymore because if he fails, he doesn't want to remember your lifeless face, instead he'd want to remember you smiling, smiling at his crew, smiling at whatever joke Pav said, smiling at him.

He'll do anything to see it again. The crew can't lose you.

He can't lose you,

“No!” In his desperation, he hammers his fist harshly on your chest.

Nothing.

He does it again. Thrashing and drumming.

Nothing.

Hobie closes his eyes, leaning down to breathe life into you one last time. He's tired, too tired to continue. Lips lingering on yours, he holds onto you tight, refusing to let go.

You wake up to lips pressing on yours and salty water rising quickly from your lungs.

Gasping and coughing, you feel calloused fingers push your body to the side as you vomit out all the water. Eyes stinging, hands digging into the sand.

You hear relieved laughter behind you, hand gripping to your shoulder, the other rubbing gently on your back.

Spitting the last salty water out of your body, you fall back on the wooden raft, eyes adjusting to the sunlight. Hobie greets you with a tired smile, fatigued yet he still finds it in himself to grin from ear to ear.

The sun blankets behind him, bathing him in its light, piercings shining, and like fate's practical joke, there's a halo behind his head.

“Please don't tell me we both died and now we both ended up in the same place.” You joke with a hoarse voice. Tongue still tasting salt. “I can barely handle you while alive and now I have to be with you even in death?”

He laughs, the sound louder than the waves on the shore. “That's the first thing you say after almost dying? Miles is right, you use humour as a crutch.” with a shaking hand, he cups your cheek, laying his forehead against your own, resisting the urge to lay his head above your chest to listen to your heartbeat, just to make sure he isn't hallucinating.

You exhale against his face, breath fanning his eyelashes, it's enough proof that death has decided to give him reprieve.

“We're not dead?” You close your eyes, savoring his presence. Hands clasped around his wrist, feeling for his pulse.

He's not dead.

“No,” he leans away, relief under his sigh. “We're alive.”

You chuckle, ghosting your thumb across the gashes on his cheek. “You did good.”

Hobie shakes his head with a smile, rolling on his back, he falls on the sand softly, arms spread out. The once white sand turns into a shade of pink under him, reminding you of his injuries.

“I did good.” Eyes closed, hand reaching towards your side, he grasps your blouse in his palm like you'd fade away if he lets go of you for even a second. The cloth is warm on his skin, realizing that you're injured.

Your cough and groan was enough to ignite his adrenaline once again.

With a hand, you stop him from moving frantically. You inhale a sharp breath, “We need a fire going.” Sitting up on your own, shivering from the cold. He observes with his hands hovering over you.

“Alright, just stay here, I'll light it.”

“No, let me help.” Your wheezing says otherwise.

Hobie grasps your chin, lifting it to face him. Your skin is on fire, he smiles at life coming back to your body. “You drowned,” he doesn't want to say the other word or it might come true. “I think that trumps over a couple of stab wounds.”

“A couple?!” You blink in surprise. “Hobie—”

“Just a few slashes. Stay here, don't cause trouble, trouble. Captain's orders.”

“You're so fucking annoying.” You flop down on the raft, gripping your weeping wound, teeth chattering.

“You could say ‘thank you’ for once.” he teases in an attempt to bring back normalcy. Staring at your sand crusted hair, seafoam draped around you, he's glad he didn't give up in saving you just for him to get a glimpse of this view.

You stare at him through wet lashes, a small pout on your warming lips. “I'm losing blood, captain.”

The simple sentence gets him to clamp up, face suddenly serious.

“Bring me a coconut!” You yell, pout replaced with a small smile. You hide your wincing with a bite of your lip, drawing blood. Looking at him upside down, he has his hands on his hips, shaking his head.

“You're insufferable.” He quotes you before immediately jogging over towards the tropical forest behind you.

“And I, you.” You whisper into nothingness, touching your lips with the pads of your fingers.

—

The fire cackles next to you, the flames dance in your vision just like the fire that devoured the revenge. Smoke fills your lungs again, you cover your nose with your arm, eyes closed, trying to forget what happened. What you did.

Hobie holds a circular pendant tied to a stick, the metal glows red hot, the engraving of a wave twirls as he moves it closer to you.

You clutch the back of your head, it still stings when you press down, at least you're not freezing and wet anymore thanks to the fire next to you.

“How do I do this?” He asks, eyes flicking to your pained face.

“Just place the metal on top of my wound for a few seconds then take it off immediately. I don't want a piece of metal in me.” Your voice is muffled by your arm.

“Show me.”

Lifting up your blouse, you hiss, fabric sticking to the angry wound, revealing where the bullet pierced you. “He nicked me so there's no bullet to take out.”

“Less work for us then. Ready?”

“Yes, just use the plain side. I don't want it to leave a mark.”

“Bad news, scuttlebutt. It'll leave a mark.”

“Not what I meant. The wave, I don't want it to leave a shape.”

“I know.” Without warning, he places the bare side of the pendant on your wound. Skin sizzling, you bite into your arm, yells tamped down. Other hand gripping into his elbow. It's an unimaginable pain, you can't believe Hobie survived through two of these.

He flings it away, careful not to add to your pain. “You alright?”

You heave, a tear escaping from your eye. “I guess I deserved that.” Looking at him through half lidded eyes, he gives you a weak smile.

“You would've flinched.”

“You're right, I would've flinched. At least I'm honest about it.” You let the air kiss your searing skin. Letting your head fall on the tree trunk behind you, He watches you like you're already dead. “It was a joke, Hobie—”

“What happened to you? Below deck?” He shakes his head, glaring at your neck. You instinctively hide it under your hand, it's still tender to the touch.

“Had a run in with a very bad man. I got him though…” you nudge him with your foot. “I'm—” you can't find the right words. “I'm sorry about the ship, I had to defend myself, I didn't know the fire would—”

“The ship was already gone the moment Mathias found us.” Those grey eyes look at you intensely, remnants of the storm still leave traces behind them. “Don't apologize, you got him, that's all that matters.”

“I burned him alive, Hobie.” You blurt it out, confessing your sins. “I shot a man. I–I don't…It matters that I did that.”

He sits closer, leaving the searing metal next to him on the fire. Holding your knee, he tentatively touches your hand before he reaches for it fully. Skin meeting skin, hand holding yours, the same grey eyes soften for you.

“Let it matter then. But don't let it in, don't let them try to kill you a second time. Bury their bodies if you have to but don't mourn them.”

“Can we do that? Bury them? Not metaphorically, even without the bodies.”

“Yes, if you want to. I'll help you dig.”

You nod, gliding your thumb along the ridges of his hand. After a beat, you swallow a lump in your dry throat. “I can still hear his screams.” avoiding his eyes, you look down at the grains of sand, your tears leave patches of darker soil in its wake.

Hobie squeezes your hand. “I'll quiet it down for you.”

“How?” you look at him, eyes questioning, eyes weeping.

“I'll talk over it, make you listen to something else other than the screaming.”

You give him a tight lipped smile, forced, tears threatening to fall. You can't ignore their faces anymore. “Finn, Ned and—��

“We'll bury them too, and we'll mourn them. They deserve that much.”

“They deserve more, Hobie. Much more.” he pulls you in, seeking comfort from each other. Arms enveloping you. You let him take you in, his scent replacing the smoke clinging to your lungs.

“They do,” Mindful of each other's injuries, you lay your head on his uninjured shoulder, face buried on the crook of his neck. He does the same, nose kissing your skin. “they deserve better.”

He finds that his arms are molded to fit you.

“The others? Do you know they're alright?”

“I saw them escape, that's all I know.” You lean away, looking at him with worry. “We'll find them, but knowing Gwen they'll find us first, yeah?” he cups your jaw. “We'll get out of here, I promise.”

“I'll hold you to that.” You nod, leaving his warmth, back landing on the wood, letting yourself fall back to your old ways.

Hobie still has his hands shaped to fit you. “We have to survive first.” He taps your shoe. “Do mine next.” He lifts up his shirt, showing you all the angry gashes like a prized trophy. “Then our scars will truly match.”

—

Shoes discarded on the sand, you wade through the seafoam with Hobie. The sun glares, puffy clouds shielding you from the heat. A breeze passes by, seagulls squawk above.

“We could eat those.” He pipes up, kicking something under the sand.

“The sand?”

“The birds, thought you were supposed to be the smart one.” Leaning down, he grabs something red buried in the sand. “Help me with this.”

You stretch your shoulders, careful of your own injuries. Copying his stance, you both pull. “How do we even catch one?”

“Pistol, a spear or a trap.” He does all the work of pulling while you're still aching. His injuries still hurt but he'd rather do all the work than let you strain yourself. “Trust me, after eating fish for three days straight, you'd beg for something else to eat.”

“You think we'll be stuck here for three days?” you tug in sync, pulling it with all your strength.

“Maybe more—” he scoffs, finally hauling the fabric out. “It's our sail. Bloody hilarious.” the crimson lay half buried in the sand, tattered.

Ned would hate seeing it like this.

You trace the stitching around the edges, remembering how his expert hands once weaved around it.

“Oi” he brushes his knuckles on your hand to get your attention. You feel his broken skin briefly. “We could use this as our roof.”

“Mm-hmm, you do that and I'll continue searching around the shore. Maybe my satchel got washed up too” you let go of the cloth, already walking away.

“Nah, I'll come with.” He bunches up the sail in his arms, drowning his entire body in red.

Crimson like the eyes of the beast.

You shake your head, giving him a faint smile. “We can't stay together the entire time we're here. We'd drive each other crazy.”

Hobie catches up to you, wide strides and long legs sauntering over to your side. “Good thing I'm already bonkers.” he passes by you, looking over his shoulders to see your wide eyes looking at him. “Hurry up before the sun sets.”

You shake your head, jogging to walk by his side. “I bet in three days we'd start killing each other.”

He snorts. “I beg to differ.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

After a minute of walking along the beach, you find a washed up crate. Hobie opens it with the butt of his gun, punching a hole straight through. You pray that it's medical supplies or at least food.

He laughs, clutching his side, leaning on the box. Beckoning your confused self, he drapes his arm around your shoulder, showing you the contents.

You blink confused at the brown bricks. “Is this tea?”

He continues to chuckle like he heard an inside joke that you're not privy to. Taking one in his hand, he weighs it, surprised that it wasn't damaged by the sea water, he thanks whoever packed it well.

Opening the packaging, he brings it close to your nose. “Here.”

You flinch back, burnt skin tugging on your side. “What the hell! I'm not smelling that!”

He laughs louder, you wonder if his injuries ache too. “Just smell it and tell me what you think it is.”

“No! What if it's solid shit?”

“It's not! Solid shit? Really?” His broken lips hurt as he smiles wider. “Do you not trust me?”

You suck in your teeth, “fine, if this is shit I'm drowning myself.” With apprehension, you lean forward to sniff. “Is that?” You sniff again, this time with a laugh. “Holy shit!”

“It's bloody chocolate.” You grab his hand, smelling the sweet treat. “Guess you got your wish. An entire crate of ‘em too.”

“I can't fucking believe that it hasn't melted yet!” He hands you the entire bar and you grin. You both guessed that one of the navy ships was carrying it. “We only need a crate full of alcohol and we're good.”

Hobie clasps your arm, “We can stay here forever if we do find one.”

“Fuck off.” You say in between laughs. “I'm not staying here forever—” your smile falters, fear enters your body.

“What?” He turns around, following your line of sight.

A body, there's a body washed up on the shore. It's draped in a blue uniform and seaweed, seagulls land near it, tentatively pecking.

“Stay here.” He murmurs, draping the sail on top of the crate. You grasp his hand before he leaves your side. “Y/N, stay here.”

“No, what if he's still alive?” you hold on to him tighter.

He nods, eyes roaming your tensed face, your shoulders are straight, eyes staying on the body. “Alright, but walk behind me, yeah?”

You nod.

With every step, your fear encapsulates you further down to your feet, the warmth on your soles keeps you alert. Yet, your hand stays on the cold hilt of your dagger.

Hobie kicks the corpse, it stays unmoving. A group of crabs start to scavenge the body, pinching and taking skin.

“He's dead. No need to worry.” He looks at you over his shoulder, glancing at your tight grip on the dagger.

“What if we're not the only ones here?” your breath shudders at the thought.

“I'll sweep the island—”

“We'll sweep the island.”

He doesn't protest, knowing you won't take no for an answer. “Fine, just—” grabbing your hands, he fixes your hold on the dagger, guiding your fingers around the hilt. You freeze on the spot. “There, better.” He tugs at the weapon, it doesn't budge in your hold. “Now they can't take it from you. Don't let them take it away from you.”

“I won't, I promise.”

—

The island is small, smaller than you thought it would be. Green foliage and tropical trees cover half of the island. Dry leaves crunch under your foot, critters slither and chatter under the tall grass, making you conscious of where you land your feet. The rays of the sun peek behind the tree tops. Exotic sounding birds sing above the branches, their rainbow feathers fly overhead, leaving a breeze to flutter against your cheeks.

You almost run into Hobie when he stops abruptly. He whistles out, reaching blindly behind him to grasp your hand.

“Come on.”

Surprisingly enough, you don't let go, locking your fingers around his, letting the warmth course through your skin.

You hear rushing water.

“We're fuckin' lucky.” He pauses, watching you peek from behind to see what's in front.

You're in awe at the small waterfall, misty water cascading like unfurled silk; it splashes cool water down into a plunge pool. Before you know it, Hobie's stripping down to his knickers.

“Woah! A bit of a warning!” You cover your eyes quickly.

He hoots before you hear a loud splash.

Hobie calls your name, you can hear his smile from how he utters it.

“It's fresh water! We can drink this!” He yells over the sound of the waterfall.

“I'm not drinking your bath water!” You still avoid him, glancing all over the place except for where he swims.

“The water isn't stagnant! It's clean! Come over here!”

“No!”

“I'm not fuckin' naked, Y/N! Just fuckin' come here.”

With a stomp of your foot and a click of your tongue, you glance at him, avoiding staring at his bottom half.

“Someone else could still be here, Hobie and you're relaxing!”

“No one's here, trust me. We've swept the entire place, there's no one here. Jus’ us” He floats and you immediately look away. Laughing, he lets the water wash over him.

“Well I'm glad you're having fun!” You say sarcastically. “But I'll walk around so you don't get stabbed in the water.”

“I can finally teach you how to swim! Get in!” He teases, knowing you won't actually swim with him while he's practically in his birthday suit.

“Nope!” You walk away but still staying close to him. “Maybe when you're not naked I'll reconsider!”

“Suit yourself! Wait!” You pause, “Stay close, yeah?”

Nodding, you wave with the dagger.

You walk around the area, avoiding colorful flowers that you're too afraid to touch. Hands grazing the top of the tall grass, you gasp when a familiar plant catches your sight.

“What?!” You hear Hobie shout, “you alright?!”

“I'm fine!” You yell back. “Keep floating like a turd!”

He laughs, a second later you hear splashing.

—

You sit on the banks of the pool, tired muscles sagging into the dirt, your pockets are full of medicinal herbs. You're just glad you found the right plants that can help to stave off infection. If only you had a mortar and pestle then it'll help with digesting the bitterness better.

Drawing swirling patterns on the dirt with your dagger, you don't look at him, only flicking your eyes to see if he hasn't drowned from napping in the water. He floats aimlessly, skin glistening under the sun, toned chest and scars in full display. You huff, moving your eyes away from his body. Yet your mind wonders where he got them, it's better to think about it than letting your mind wander back to what happened on the revenge and your almost death.

The slight sting of your injuries helps keep you awake at least.

“You hungry?” You almost jump when he suddenly appears on the edge of the pool, arms tucked under his chin, grey eyes looking expectantly at you.

“A little. You?”

“Starving. We're gonna need to make a shelter soon.” Hobie twists in place, head resting on the ground, face staring up at the afternoon sky.

You scooch closer, he smiles when your upside down face fills his vision. “Do you know where we are?”

“No, I'm guessing we're in one of the thousand islands. We were near it when we—Just be glad that we didn't land on a cannibal island.”

“There's no such thing.” He reaches up, wiping the sweat off your brow. “Right?” you almost lean into his touch.

“We got attacked by a bloody sea monster, ‘m sure there's an island somewhere with cannibals.”

“True.” You shrug, trying not to remember what the beasts look like or even sound like. “Did you piss your pants too when they came up from the water?” Teasing, you fall into relaxation with him.

“No, I shat myself.” You laugh loudly. Hobie thinks he has the best seat in the house. “Can't fuckin' believe they're real.” He can't believe you're real.

“Still feels like a dream. Someone has to know those things exist.” The sun illuminates the side of your face, lighting up your features. He can't help but reach up again with the same excuse to wipe your face. “Thanks, I'm sweating a lot.”

“Really? I haven't noticed.” You roll your eyes. “Maybe if you take a dip then—”

“Nope.” To his dismay, you move away from his view. “Come on, fishman, we need to get started on shelter.”

“I just said that.” He stands up, groaning along the way, you look away. “and really? Fishman? That the best you can do, stinky?”

“Stinky?” You cross your arms on your chest, hearing clothes shuffle behind you. “What are you five?”

“Could say the same thing to you,” his face suddenly appears on your shoulder. You yelp, groaning comically, briskly walking away in annoyance. “Wrong way, scuttlebutt.”

You turn heel, trudging in a different direction while he chuckles.

—

Standing in knee deep sea water, the sun beaming down, soft sand under your toes and your stomach growling to be fed, you stand near Hobie whose trousers are folded up to his knees. The water laps at your legs, warm enough to be comfortable but cool enough to keep you in the water. Tiny fish weave around your legs, their fins brushing your skin.

“There!” you point too fast that you pull a muscle but you pay it no mind when Hobie misses the fish again with his makeshift spear.

“Fuck!” The spear is sticking out of the sand, Hobie who is equally starving kicks the water, it splashes all over your blouse.

Great, you're hungry and wet.

You huff loudly, frustrated like the man next to you. “I'm hungry.”

“I know.” He says flatly. Taking out the spear, he aims again.

The fish wiggle in the water like it's mocking Hobie.

“Maybe we can survive eating chocolates and coconut for the rest of our days?” You wipe the sweat off the back of your neck. “Or I can start catching some crabs.”

“Fuck this!” He yells, drawing his gun, he shoots at the fish, the bullet hits the water like a tiny cannonball, splashing you again.

It's a bullseye.

You scream when he grabs the still bleeding fish. Hobie smiles wildly, yelling triumphantly.

You both jump up and down in the water giddily.

—

The fire roars in front of you, your dinner needs some seasoning but it's better than sleeping hungry with only chocolate to fill your stomach. Times like this you miss Finn's cooking, and him.

Hobie looks at you through the fire, he's thinking of the same thing. Wishing that he wasn't.

“What kind of fish is this?” you break the quiet to stop your thoughts.

“The edible kind.”

“You have no idea do you?” Narrowing your eyes at him, you scoff.

“Fuck if I know.” Hobie shrugs, scrunching his nose.

“You're a pirate.” You stop chewing.

“Yes and? I'm not a bloody fisherman.”

“I thought you'd know, because you're in the sea most of the time.”

“Fishing was James’ job not mine.”

“Kinda wishing James was here then.” You murmur but he still hears.

“Give me your bloody fish, you ungrateful bastard.” he reaches towards you and in turn you pull your fish away from him.

“No!” he chuckles at your reaction, shaking his head before silence drapes over the peace you've both created.

You keep munching on the plain mystery fish. Hobie was kind enough to catch (shoot) another fish so you don't have to share one. It's flaky in your hands, now you smell like sweat, blood and fish. The greatest smell combination in the world.

You chew, “I need new clothes.” and a bath but you'll never admit it to Hobie.

“That bloke has some,” he points with his chin at the dead body, laying further at the beach.

“Ew, I'd rather stay in these.” You grimace, looking down at the tattered and singed cloth that's holding on to its last leg.

“I don't mind that, I can actually see your elbows from here.” he smirks, trying to look flirty but with him chomping on a fish head it ended up looking more hilarious than cute.

“My elbows? Oh you pervert.” Yet there's heat behind your cheeks even when his own cheek is covered in fish scales. “Should we bury him?” you change the subject.

“We should or it'll stink,” he flicks his grey eyes at you, the simple act wakes up the butterflies in your stomach, or maybe that's the fish. “like you.”

“I don't stink” a lie of course.

Hobie laughs into his half eaten fish. “I can smell you from here.”

“No you don't, that's the fish!”

“What's the difference?”

You flick a fin at him, it hits him on his head, sticking to his hair. Laughing, you take another bite, something hard almost breaks your tooth. You stop giggling, spitting out a round metallic thing.

Realization hits you, Hobie peeks at your hand,

His sudden loud guffaw makes you throw the bullet at him. He dodges it, still laughing hard and with a fish fin stuck to his hair.

“This is why fishermen don't shoot at fish!” You end up cackling too, finding his laughter contagious. “I almost bit into it!”

He guffaws louder, hiding his face and you get a full view of the fin on his hair. You shake your head, standing up to sit next to his shaking form.

“Stop moving! Let me get that thing off.” You grab it, throwing it into the fire.

His laughter subsides, staring at you with those stormy eyes. He sniffs, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for you to say something that could hurt or for him to say something that would make you leave. But you don't and he stays silent. Just reveling in each other's presence.

You read his expression, his lips still hidden under his hand but his eyes say everything. You don't want to ruin the night but you have to tell him or it'll eat at you, not letting you sleep and you ending up looking at him with pity and grief. You don't want that, you want to continue to look at him like you've recently found out from Miles, with reverence and fondness that's out of your reach.

“I'm sorry.” Your words don't hurt him but your expression brings a pang in his heart. “About…everything.”

“‘s not your fault.” Grief knocks on his door and he refuses to answer. “Nothin' to be sorry about.”

“Feels like it is.”

“You're not the one who killed them.” Grief tries to barge in on him, he blocks the door, still refusing to let it in. “There's nothin' to forgive.”

“Still, I'd like to apologize. They were good men.” Against your own better judgment, you take his hand, he doesn't flinch away, even twisting his hand to hold yours properly.

“Do you want to say goodbye? To them?” he murmurs like he isn't sure of it himself.

Hobie refuses to let it in, not again, not in front of you.

“Yes, but we'll do it once you're ready.” You whisper to him like the world could hear his secret.

Hobie sighs. Heart aching, he doesn't want to say goodbye, if it was up to him he'd never—

“Hobie?” You call his name softly, “If you need help with silencing the screams,” a shaky breath escapes you. “I'm here.”

He frowns, seeing her face and not yours for a brief second. Changing tune, he takes his hand away. “Thanks.” It's your turn to frown.

You inhale, “I'll go grab us some water for uh cleaning our wounds. I'll clean them before bed.” Walking away, you leave him alone with his thoughts, he hopes you turn back around, but you don't.

—

Hobie takes first watch, torso exposed to the sea wind, letting it calm the searing pain of his injuries. He observes for any boats or ships on the horizon, even hoping for a box full of medical supplies to wash ashore.

He rubs his heavy eyes, it's supposed to be your turn but he lets you sleep in, after everything he'd let you rest as long as you need to. Looking over his shoulder, the simple act makes him wince. He stares at your sleeping face, calm and angelic under the warmth of the fire, and he can't help but feel jealous. You're situated under the shabby shelter, protected by the red sail that's fluttering in the breeze. Foot twitching, you scrunch up your nose in your sleep,

Chuckling, he turns back around to face the beach.

There's still nothing but seagulls flying above the water and crabs digging into the sand.

Yawning, he shakes his head wildly to keep awake. So he decides to walk around the beach, stretching his throbbing muscles.

As Hobie kicks the sand between his toes, he finds himself standing next to the navy man's corpse. He stares at the lifeless eyes, lips blue, skin so pale it blends in with the sand. The crabs still eat the remains, pinching and taking bits. He scoffs, knuckles shaking, nails leaving crescent shapes on his palms.

He doesn't deserve to be buried, Hobie thinks. And he definitely doesn't need her pity. So he takes the man's legs, slowly dragging it down to the shore until it floats. The rush of waves wakes him up, cold water dousing his lower half. Hobie pushes it away roughly, letting the tides take it, letting the sea claim it like it has claimed his friends.

He watches it slowly drift away, yet his anger doesn't subside. The fire in him is still burning ever brighter. He mentally promises the crew he lost that he'll avenge them. That he'll get Mathias, even if it kills him.

Your screams bring him back to reality. Bolting away, wading through the water, the sand hinders his sprinting, he quickly runs to your side.

“Oi, oi!” Hobie watches your terrified face morph into relief when you see him. “What's wrong? Crab in your knickers?” He stops his joking when tears slide to your cheeks, your entire body is shaking. His chest heaves at your sobbing. Voice cracking when he utters your name, Hobie lets you breathe, holding on to your shoulders firmly.

You stare at him through the tears. “I–I dreamt that you left me here.” His façade breaks into two. “And I w–woke up and you weren't here. I thought—”

“I would never. I won't leave.” You continue to weep so he holds you, not to make you stop but to help steady you through it. He'd hold onto you every minute of every day if he has to.

It's frightening how well you two fit together, limbs tangled around one another. Like a pair of wings, one cannot fly without the other. And that terrifies you through the embrace.

“I'm s-sorry, I really thought.” You find your place atop his chest, face buried on his skin, his scars kissing your cheeks. Hands gripping to the small of his back, your nails almost digging.

“‘m here, ’m not leaving you, promise.” Hobie intends to keep it, not for your sake but for his.

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