#fic o’ween 2023
Note
You have some awesome friendship fics when Remus and Lily do manis and go shopping. Have you thought of one where Remus is there when Lily gets her wedding dress or she is there to get him fitted for his suit for his own wedding. Or the same with James/Sirius although I’m not sure how that would work with Reg.
Fic O'Ween Day 2: Candle Wax to continue the excellent friendship vibes from yesterday. Big fest thanks to @noots-fic-fests and character credit goes to @lumosinlove.
TW brief mention of alcohol
“Give it a spin.”
“…I don’t want to.”
“Then put it back.”
“What if it’s the one?”
Remus’ entire face scrunched with a frown in the mirror behind her. “Lily,” he began, with as much concern as if she had just told him the sky was actually emerald green. “Why would you buy a wedding dress you don’t want to spin in?”
“He’s right,” Natalie chimed in, swirling her rosé with a critical glance over Lily’s skirt. “You deserve better.”
“What if—”
“Literally your one requirement was to be able to spin, babygirl.”
Lily studied herself in the mirror again. The dress was pretty and creamy and light around her legs. The bow at the back wasn’t bad, perhaps a little oversized, but that could be fixed. It was already five o’clock, anyway. Two hours should be more than enough time to find a wedding dress.
“You don’t like it,” Remus said gently.
“No,” she sighed. “Not that much.”
“Then try a different one.”
Natalie brightened. “Yeah, what about that off-the-shoulder number? With the sweetheart neckline?”
Lily tipped her head back and forth. “My tits were falling out.”
“Exactly.”
“You do love when James makes a fool of himself,” Remus added.
The fabric slid in a smooth cascade beneath her palms. Probably damp palms. Was it alright for her to touch this fabric when she was nervous? Why was she nervous, anyway? It was her wedding. Her James. Natalie was right—she deserved the dress of her dreams. Lily knew her dreams better than anyone else and always had, through Petunia, through her Master’s, through a whole-ass baby. A dress should be the easiest thing in the world to choose.
“You liked the flowers, right?” Remus suggested, picking at the edge of his phone case. “On the…what was it, the third one?”
“The fourth.” Natalie nodded. “That’s the one with the sweetheart neckline.”
It was a nice dress. And she did like the florals. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Never mind.”
“What?”
“You’re not getting a ‘yeah, I guess’ dress,” Natalie said firmly. “Fuck that. You’re getting an ‘oh my god, I love this, I’m going to make every single guest cream their pants when they see me’ dress.”
“I—”
“What did you like about them?” Remus asked. “The other dresses.”
“I…” Lily trailed off. Her raw inner lip pinched when she nibbled at it. Jesus, her palms really did feel fucking soaked. “I don’t like this fabric. Or the bow. I liked the flowers from the other dress, but I want them smaller. The buttons on the bodice were nice.”
“Remind me what the bodice is?” she heard Remus whisper.
“The top,” Natalie whispered back before raising her voice again. “How about you take that thing off and we look together, hon? Three pairs of eyes are better than one.”
The surge of relief in her belly was a surprise, but not unwelcome. Lily examined the way it lay against her thighs for a moment longer before pursing her lips. “I don’t know, you guys have better things to—”
Immediate protests—far too loud for the pristine establishment—burst from both. “I’m not listening to that,” Remus warned. “Nuh-uh. This is a Lily day and I have the calendar invite to prove it.”
Natalie watched her in the mirror with a dangerous arch to her eyebrow. “You gave me rosé, my hot bestie, and pretty clothes to look at. Don’t take this from me. Now, tell us where to go and we will be your little wedding minions for as long as your heart desires.”
Lily loved her. Dearly. She glanced back once more and caught Remus’ eye, and his encouraging smile. “Calendar invite?”
“Midnight to midnight, Evans.”
“Florals, buttons, and something I can sweat in. Oh, and spin.” She shook her head. “Why did I pick a July wedding?”
Natalie stood and placed her hands on Lily’s shoulders, leaving them nearly eye-to-eye with the help of the pedestal beneath her. Her palms were pleasantly cool on Lily’s overheated skin. “Because you can’t fucking wait to marry James Potter, you utter legend.”
--
Two hours.
Fourteen more dresses.
Lily rolled a fine satin petal between her fingertips, dragged her palms up her waist, down over her belly, across the swell of her thighs. The pale green chiffon faded to blush and back in loose waves over the solid ivory beneath. She rested her weight on her other side and followed the tender shimmer where the light caught each movement. The straps were broad, yet elegant—fawn-colored buttons tracked from the valley of her chest to the top of the skirt, where small flowers had been stitched in rows that dripped through the folds like warm candle wax.
“She looks so fucking gorgeous, I’m gonna cry.”
“I know. Jesus. That’s gotta be it.”
“Did you find that one?”
“Mhmm.”
“Nice, Lupin. Hook it up.” A soft high-five interrupted their muttering. “Can you pick out my wedding dress?”
“Propose to Bliz first. Then we can talk.”
“What do you think?” Lily called over her shoulder. She didn’t bother looking away from the mirror; she looked too good for that.
“Stellar as always, Lils,” Remus answered with a firm thumbs-up.
“Creaming myself as we speak,” Natalie chimed in. “Honestly, babe, you’re beautiful beyond belief. The dress just makes it even clearer.”
She gave a little sway to watch it ripple around her ankles—Remus’ sharp whistle made her jump, though it soon turned to laughter. He drummed his hands on either side of the armchair. “Come on, come on, do the spin—oh, there she goes!”
Natalie whooped. “Throw that ass in a circle, baby! You and me are getting down at that reception.”
A blush heated Lily’s face and neck as she laughed, still spinning, but it looked—fuck, it looked so pretty when Lily caught herself in the mirror again. The dappled colors of the dress warmed her away from fire-engine red, highlighting the pinks of her skin and auburn of her hair where it fell over her shoulder. I want pictures of this, she thought. I want a photo album of pictures where I’m in this dress, and I want James Potter to cry when he sees me in it. “I look so hot right now.”
“You so do,” Remus agreed. They were both leaning forward in their chairs, hands clasped. Lily briefly imagined asking them to find her another dress, just to watch them goggle at her.
But she wasn’t sure she’d take this one off for a million dollars.
“Is it…” Natalie pressed her lips together, eyes gleaming. “Lily?”
She was nodding before the words even began to come out. “This is my wedding dress.”
“Yes!”
“This is my fucking Stanley Cup, oh my god.” Natalie held both hands to her cheeks and turned to Remus, bouncing on her toes. “Oh my god, oh my god, wedding dress—”
“Wedding, wedding, wedding, Lily don’t you dare make us celebrate without you—”
Lily laughed and gathered the skirt up off the floor; it was only a short step to the ground before they were on her with all the force of an ecstatic hurricane. Natalie’s arms were a vice around her waist while Remus held them both and pressed a smacking kiss to the top of her head. She hoped this bodice had proper boning, because her chest was simply going to explode with the light radiating inside her.
“I’m so happy for you,” Remus mumbled against the side of her head. “And I’m so excited, and you look so pretty, and I’m so proud of you.”
Natalie was there in half a second to brush her thumbs over Lily’s cheekbones and ease the lump in her throat. “Look at you,” she whispered, beaming. “Look at you!”
“I know.” She laughed again and it came out a bit choked. Natalie made a small, sympathetic sound as Remus pulled a pack of tissues from his back pocket, but Lily waved them off with a few fast blinks. “God, it’s—happy tears, I promise. I’m so happy. Can I get married tonight?”
“Yes,” they chorused.
Remus nodded, still offering the tissues. “Say the word, I’ll call James right now. I think he wanted to get married the night of the Cup.”
“Only took him eight years to ask,” Lily grumbled.
Their burst of laughter made several people across the store glance over, reducing them to hushed giggling in the best huddle Lily had ever been part of.
--
Soft, pastel thread bumped beneath James’ thumb as he ran it along the cuff on his suit. The pockets and lapels held much of the same—microscopic flowers, leaves, and patterns stitched into matte black fabric under Lily’s incredibly cryptic guidance.
“Looks damn good.”
“Ahblahablah!”
James tilted his shoulders this way and that. There had to be some square inch he was missing. Nothing in the world could possibly be this right. Then again, he was marrying Lily Evans, and that was pretty damn perfect. “D’you think her dress matches the suit?”
Sirius’ eyes flickered to the ground for a half-second. “…probably.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“Maybe.”
Something in James’ stomach gave a funny swoop. A Lily swoop. “How did she look?”
Sirius’ laugh made Harry squeal around the fistful of t-shirt (definitely Remus’) he had shoved in his mouth. “Dude,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “You’re going to lose your mind.”
#lily evans#lily potter#james potter#remus lupin#sirius black#natalie darcy#coops#jily#baby harry#sweater weather#lumosinlove#my fic#fanfic#fic o’ween 2023#fluff#wedding shopping
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Quicken
Fic O'Ween Day 10: Spellbound, for the Firefighter/ EMT AU! Read First Burn, Spark (rated E), and Kindling & Embers for previous installments! Coops 'n Cubs belong to @lumosinlove, fest header belongs to @noots-fic-fests <3
TW implied past smut, mentioned current medical emergencies
Keep me?
If you don’t want—
Keep me. Keep me.
I can do that.
Remus Lupin was the biggest idiot in the world. And also stupid. And utterly, hopelessly, unbelievably head over heels for the gorgeous lump of muscle and sweet smiles he had left, adorable and asleep, in a Midtown double-wide.
God, he was so fucking dumb.
You better not be on-call tomorrow morning, ‘cause you’re making me breakfast.
His mouth didn’t always run off on him, but when it did, it always did it with a bang. His bouncing knee rattled the broken edge of his seat and made the lady next to him shoot a dirty look across her phone. The subway hustled onward; Remus glanced at his watch and found that time had not, in fact, decided to run backward and that he was, in fact, officially late for his shift.
Shithell.
He wasn’t even given the mercy of an empty kitchenette to slink into after sprinting the three blocks from his stop to the station. “Good morning, sunshine,” Leo cooed with a smile wide enough to be frightening. He oozed the smug confidence of a man who had more than earned the purple smudge peeking out of his shirt collar.
Remus ground his back teeth against the blood rushing to his face and snatched a mug from the cupboards. The coffeemaker juddered a familiar rhythm. Id-i-ot. Id-i-iot. Id-i-ot.
“How was your night?”
“None of your business.”
“I covered your ass for the last—” Leo gave the wall clock an exaggerated look. “—twenty-seven minutes, my goodness. I think I deserve an explanation.”
A prim sip of tea made Remus’ eye twitch. “I overslept.”
“Exciting. You look sore. Sure you’re ambulatory?”
Remus managed to choke down a knee-jerk defense; something in Leo’s glittering eyes told him this situation would not be made better by a description of his rather athletic night. “Yes.”
“Nice hickeys. What is this, a frat house?”
His hand flew to his neck before his mind could catch up. The panic hit first, followed by a chaser of distilled regret. “God—fuck you!” he complained, shaking his hand out as if that would roll back an instant admission of guilt. Leo buried a grin in the rim of his mug and blew steam at him. Remus snatched the coffeemaker up and gave himself a heavyhanded pour. “It was a good night. I overslept. I’m here now.”
“Twenty-seven minutes.”
“…sorry.”
“No, no, this is worth it. Only your lucky-ass self would find the one call-free morning to oversleep.” Leo’s pager (a preference of the chief) gave a light buzz—saved by the bell. He downed his tea in one gulp, patting down his front pockets the way Remus had taught him during his first week. But then Leo paused with one hand on the wall separating the kitchen from the rest of the station. His chin jerked forward. “Nice shirt, by the way. Don’t think I’ve seen that one before.”
Remus looked down at himself and spit a mouthful of coffee straight into the sink.
--
Hey I’m so sorry.
Nope.
Good morning—
Certainly not.
Hey, I’m sorry, I’m stupid and forgot about my shift this morning even though I was on your case about the same thing, so sorry for saying you could keep me and then leaving you in bed. You were too cute to wake up. Also sorry for stealing your shirt.
Remus’ phone dimmed over the open ‘Messages’ app. Sirius’ Instagram bubble had been green on his last break. He let the screen go dark. Boisterous laughter spilled in from the other side of the station and his heart kicked. No, he thought firmly. Sirius’ team. Not Sirius.
Sirius, who probably woke up alone and cold and confused. Hours had come and gone. He definitely hated Remus’ guts by now.
Don’t fuck your coworkers. How many times had he drilled that sentiment into the heads of his rookies? How many times had Moody drilled it into him? Other stations were fair game, open season, free reign, but don’t fuck your coworkers, stupid. And definitely don’t fuck your coworkers stupid.
Remus’ face heated. He forced those thoughts out of his mind. Under his thumbnail, his phone case bent, and he shoved it into his pocket before it could distract him further. The mental highlight reel of Sirius coming apart under him (around him) was no excuse. He knew better. Sleeping with a coworker was a rookie mistake, but this…this was so much worse, because it was Sirius.
It had been so much better, because it was Sirius.
And he had thrown it away. All of it. Sirius would be right not to look at him after this. He’d be right not to want him.
No more thoughts of dark stubble, or spicy cologne, or the clench of thighs around his waist. No more lingering on Sirius’ wayward grins and soft hair through Remus’ fingers, or the steady way his breath puffed over Remus’ skin when he began to fall asleep. If he could just focus on inventory for twenty more minutes—
The siren slit his concentration down the middle.
“Fuck,” he muttered, checking off a last box of sterile gloves before jogging for the door. Leo was dozing in the window seat he had padded for himself a year back and jolted awake when Remus smacked the wall next to his head. “Go time, Knutty, lights and sirens!”
“All EMS personnel, report to rig 6—”
“Inventory?”
Remus grimaced. “Halfway.”
“Why can’t people ever have convenient emergencies?”
“Make sure to send the next flash flood my calendar availability, yeah?”
They took the corner tight, sneakers squeaking on the concrete. The rig crew was already set up for them—Remus loved it when people took advantage of a slow morning—and he snagged a set of keys off the wall hook with a glance at his pager, chucking them to Layla.
“Bravo on 3rd and Central!” he called to her. “You drive, Knutty and I have the back.”
“On it!”
Go, go, go. If there was one thing Remus loved about this job, it was the total inability to dwell. His keel found even water best when the waves were rolling up around them. Stagnancy was not an option. “D-1, Layla, talk me through!”
“Multiple victims!”
“D-4?”
Her expression flickered for just a second. “Explosion.”
“What’s the Bravo tell you?” Seatbelts, stretcher, respirator. The first ambulance was already out—it would be engines next, then their backup squad. He opened his mouth to speak and found Leo already packing burn ointment into the front compartments. “Nice, Nut. Layla! Bravo!”
“Sorry, uh—potentially life threatening, basic support!”
He knocked on the window between the cab and the rear, and passed a thumbs-up through the gap. “Three for three. Keep it up.”
“Remus!”
“Hi, yeah—”
Remus nearly choked on his own tongue. “Sorry, bad timing,” Sirius rushed out. He pressed close to the ambulance, which was the logical and spatially-aware thing to do in a bustling firehouse, but did absolutely nothing to quell the tsunami crashing through Remus’ insides.
“Hi,” Remus repeated, breathless in the surge. “I’m so sorry. I’m so dumb. Last night was—good, it was really good to—um—multiple burn victims, also sorry for stealing your shirt?”
“We can talk later, it’s okay.” Sirius was looking at him. It was strange. Not…not quite desire, but searching. For what, Remus didn’t know.
The engines roared to life. Sirens fractured his hearing. Layla would have them up and running in the next fifteen seconds. “I’ll be right back!” Remus shouted over the noise, leaning out between the aluminum doors to be heard. “Probably! And—god, sorry I left, that was a dick move!”
“It’s fine!”
“Not really! I didn’t want to!”
Sirius barked a laugh. “I’m glad!”
A laugh simmered in his own chest, fighting to get out. He started to speak again (though to say what, he wasn’t sure) only to be silenced by a quick, chaste press of lips on his own. He sat hard on the cold bench behind him.
“Screaming people,” Sirius said. A grin dimpled his cheek. “Go get ‘em.”
The ambulance jerked forward; Remus kept his side of the doors open as long as he could, spellbound, just to see him stand there against the reds and golds of their shared home. The slam of aluminum and steel dragged him from his dazed reverie. He pressed back against the wall and blinked the stars out of his eyes.
On the opposite bench, Leo clucked his tongue. “So that’s where your shirt went.”
The laughter bubbled free, and it didn’t stop until Remus felt half-drowned from it.
#remus lupin#sirius black#leo knut#coops#sweater weather#coast to coast#lumosinlove#my fic#fanfic#firefighter/ emt au#fic o’ween 2023#fluff
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Nothing But Sincerity
Fic O'Ween Day 6: Rainy Day, inspired by a Day 3 art piece by @tobi-tobi-tobi that was shared on the server! Coops credit to @lumosinlove, fest cred to @noots-fic-fests <3
Sirius made a disappointed sound and clicked his tongue behind his teeth. “Practice got cancelled.”
“Oh, no,” Remus said, pulling his socks off. “Thunderstorms?”
Sirius nodded; their thickest blanket slid easily off the back of the couch. “Dangerous roads and flood warnings.”
“Man, that sucks.” The kettle gave a soft snick as Remus put his slippers on.
“I was really hoping to go today,” Sirius agreed while he kicked the far fleece edge down over his feet. Outside, lightning cracked from the gathering clouds.
“Sounds like we can’t make plans with the guys, either,” Remus called from the kitchen, where he was pouring a marinated pork loin into a baking dish.
“Oh, mais non. Can’t ask them to drive in this. How are we going to survive?”
The squeak of the oven door cut off Remus’ soft tutting. “It’s been ages since we had the house to ourselves. Evening practice is the only thing I was looking forward to today.”
Sirius hummed his agreement as the DVD tray snicked shut. He made it back to the couch just as Remus dried his hands on a kitchen towel, and left one side of the blanket conveniently flipped up while he laid down again with a long, satisfied exhale. “This is going to be really difficult,” he mused.
The Great Pumpkin Waltz rose to the very corners of the room like an exhale over thunder. Remus reached back and pulled his shirt over his head, then slid beneath the blanket and splayed himself across Sirius’ front, kissing a smile into his mouth. “Jeez, Captain, I can’t think of a single thing to do with a rainy-day recess.”
Perhaps Sirius broke first, but Remus wasn’t far behind. Laughter overwhelmed the first few lines of the movie—enough that Sirius had to rummage around for the remote and rewind to the very beginning, despite the best efforts of tiny kisses to his neck to distract him. Remus’ back was warm under the long pass of his hand. He buried his nose in the soft curls just above Remus’ ear and took a deep breath, then let it go, so their weight sank into the plush cushions below them.
“I don’t want to do anything at all.”
Remus kissed the side of his neck again. “Cheers.”
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Kiss me there.”
“Cause I love you.”
“Well, yes, but why there?”
Remus shrugged one shoulder and shuffled the blanket up around his neck. “Easy access. Right height. Beauty mark. Stop talking, don’t you know I’m trying to watch the movie?”
Sirius swatted him under the thick fleece, but he just laughed. “You’ve seen this a million times.”
“It’s October and rainy, baby. Charlie Brown was made for this.”
“Hmph.”
“Hmph. You sound like Dumo.” He pulled a face and Remus grinned, nuzzling into the scruffy part of his cheek. “Hedgehog. Wanna come chop some broccoli with me?”
Broccoli did sound nice. Crispy and smoky on the ends, the way Remus liked it, if they put it in now and let it roast with the pork. Sirius let his arms come up around the broad curve of Remus’ ribs and rest heavy on each measured inhale. A peek over his shoulder toward the dim kitchen; he couldn’t tell whose legs were whose beneath the blanket. “Ouais, sounds good.”
“Hmph.” Hot air puffed over his throat. “Well, now I don’t want to get up.”
“Hey, I didn’t suggest broccoli.”
“I know, I know, but now I have to.”
“Non.”
“Non?”
“Nothing you have to do tonight.�� His thumb had settled near the base of Remus’ ribcage for a few quiet strokes. “You love this movie.”
Remus seemed to ponder that for a moment. His heart thudded the calm rhythm Sirius had grown accustomed to falling asleep to. “We’ll pause at the Red Baron,” he finally said. “Then broccoli, super quick.”
“Mhmm.”
Sirius fully expected the Red Baron to pass them by without a twitch of movement. But true to his word, Remus paused the movie, and sat up with monumental effort. “Up, up, up.” Each word was punctuated by a pat to Sirius’ bare chest. “Let’s go, five minutes.”
“I can’t move.”
“I won’t get up by myself.”
“Non, I can’t move,” Sirius snorted, tugging at Remus’ thighs where he straddled his lap. “Up, up, up, loup.”
“No, I’m comfortable,” came the half-laugh, half-groan as Remus braced his hands on the armrest for a sleepy-cat stretch. He blinked slowly at the television a few times, as if it would save him from his self-imposed torment. Sirius poked him in the belly, just to be helpful.
They managed to make it to the kitchen, but not after much hemming and hawing and old-man joint pops from them both. “I should not be creaky at 28,” Sirius sighed, pressing his hands above his head with a yawn before moving to the fridge.
“You want rice, Old Man McGee?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, I already turned the—” Remus gestured at the rice cooker. “—thing on.”
“Rice cooker. It’s literally in the name.”
A kiss popped against the corner of Sirius’ mouth like bubblegum. “Aren’t you supposed to be chopping broccoli?”
“Hey, hey, wait, come kiss me again.”
He didn’t have to ask twice. Remus spun on his heel with pleased interest written all over his face and backed Sirius up against the countertop, paying no mind to the fresh box of butter between them. His hands moved softly over Sirius’ hips, just above the band of his pajama pants, before settling on his waist as he pressed up for a kiss. His wedding ring was cool on Sirius’ skin. Moonlit rain pattered against the kitchen window. The storm would probably lash the house later, but Sirius didn’t think either of them would be awake long enough to notice or care.
#remus lupin#sirius black#coops#sweater weather#vaincre#lumosinlove#my fic#fanfic#fluff#fic o’ween 2023#rainy day#thunderstorm
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So I just reread the fic about Jules birthday, and I’ve always liked the part where Remus tells Jules that he’ll always be more important than hockey. Could you write a fic about that if you haven’t already? Like Remus leaving in the middle of practice or something like that? Idk it’s up to u:)
Fic O'Ween Day 3: Midnight! Read more amazing works from these prompts at @noots-fic-fests and of course, character credit goes to @lumosinlove <3
TW illness (coughing, mentioned vomiting, fatigue)
Remus leaned against the countertop for support and stared at the floor. “But he’s okay, right?”
“He’s okay,” his mother answered. She sounded beyond exhausted.
Remus nodded and rubbed his fingers under his eye. The night suddenly seemed so much darker. “How’re you and dad? Taking time off?”
“We’re alright.” He knew that low edge to her voice—it was the same one his own took on when he was trying to hide his hurt. Silence fell over the line.
“Mom.”
“Your dad can’t get PTO this week and neither can I.”
She cleared her throat; he closed his eyes. “Can Leanne keep an eye on him?”
“Visiting her daughter in Florida.”
No parents, no neighbors, no way they’re getting a babysitter for a sick kid… “I’ll be on the next flight.”
“Remus, no.”
“There’s nobody else—”
“Honey.” He could see the way her eyebrows drew together in his mind. “Honey, you’re on the road this week.”
“I know.”
“In Montreal.”
“They can handle a couple games without me.”
“You’re practically a rookie, Remus,” his mother insisted. After a pause, she lowered her voice. “You’re not going to damage your career when we can get a babysitter, or—or I can find a couple days off. Hell, your dad’s got a pullout at the office he can rest on.”
“I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon, okay?”
“Remus John, you have a responsibility to your team.”
“Jules comes first.” If there was one thing Remus would stand by no matter the circumstances, it was his family. The Lions would survive a roadie without him. Jules would never be alone and sick on his watch.
His mother was silent for a long time.
Remus picked at a chip in the granite. “There’s no babysitter that will watch him, is there?”
A sigh traveled down the line. “I guess we’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too, baby. Give Sirius my best. Sleep well.”
“I will,” he lied. The call went dead and he turned, bracing both hands against cool stone. Sirius’ footsteps were soft, his hand gentle. Remus sniffled. His chest was a vise. “Mom says hi.”
Slow circles pressed between his shoulder blades. “What happened?”
“Jules got the flu, and they can’t get time off work to stay home with him.” Fucking assholes in fucking corporate. Remus swallowed around the clog in his throat. “Sounds like he’s pretty sick.”
“Does he need to go to the hospital?”
Remus shook his head. The hand on his back slid down and wrapped around his side, guiding him to lean on Sirius’ chest. “Do you want me to book your flight while you call Coach?”
“Yeah.” His voice was rough. He didn’t let go. “God, I hate being so far away.”
Sirius’ other arm came around him and held him tight.
--
Remus and his father talked the whole ride home from the airport, and said nothing at all.
The house was just as he left it at Christmas. No snow remained, and little frost—crocuses peeked out of the lawn where the squirrels had snatched and buried them.
Apologies for the late notice, but due to a family emergency, I will be in Wisconsin until the 22nd. Thank you for your understanding.
Rapid responses. Cranky responses. Remus had tried to keep a level head, even through the tremor of his hands on the computer keyboard. The organization wasn’t happy with him, but when were they ever?
It didn’t matter either way. Fine or not, suspension or not, they weren’t going to stop him from making chicken soup and raspberry Emergen-C for his sick little brother. He was damn lucky to have Arthur on his side, easing the retribution from men in offices who had hardly bothered to meet him at the start of the season.
“Your mother’s worried.”
Remus glanced up from his hands. His father was facing forward, brow pinched while he pulled into the driveway. “Yeah.”
The engine turned off with a sputter. “Be gentle, okay?”
“It’s not your fault they wouldn’t give you time—”
“Be gentle.”
Remus bit the inside of his lip and nodded. A goldfish cracker peered out at him from the crevice by the door. This passenger seat always made him feel so small. He slung his backpack out of the seat well and stepped out, letting the crisp air nip his face and bring him back. He needed to come back more. The heartache had lessened, and distance was simply exhausting now. Running fast and far to Gryffindor had seemed so smart before.
The front door still squeaked when he turned the doorknob. Remus was glad for that, at least.
His mother smiled when she saw him. “Hi, baby, how was your flight?”
“Hey, mom.” It was good, he started to say, only to have the words fall from his mind the moment she stepped around the kitchen table and wrapped him in her arms. It’s been a lot I love you I missed you how are you where’s Jules—“Uneventful, thankfully.”
“Good, that’s just the way you want it.” She gave a little sway, one hand cradling the back of his neck. He felt a light pulse of pressure. Her back, ever tense, relaxed slightly. “It’s so good to have you home.”
Remus breathed deep. Lemon-scented cleaning spray and drugstore shampoo, laundry detergent and just-sharpened pencils. He pressed his nose tighter to her shoulder and felt her squeeze him, just a little. “Missed you.”
“Oh, Re,” she sighed. A hand rubbed along his spine for a few hard, grounding, wonderful seconds. Warmth seeped in around his edges. The floor was solid beneath him, the walls sturdy. A kiss found his temple. “Baby, we missed you, too.”
A rattling cough made him wince. “Jeez.”
“I know.” Her face crinkled into a grimace when they separated and she looked back down the hall. “That started up two days ago. Poor thing. Keeps him up at night.”
“Aw.” The cough was followed by a rough throat-clear that made Remus frown. “Fever and everything?”
“102, as of this morning.” Hope ran a palm over his shoulder, the way she tended to right after he came home. Remus tried not to think about that too hard, or else he made himself sad. “You’re sure about this? You could get sick. It’s the middle of the season.”
Remus tried for an encouraging smile. “My immune system’s great, mom. I’m in good shape, I take my multivitamins. Eat my Wheaties, and all that.”
“Hmm.” She scrutinized him for a beat. “You better be.”
“I’m basically indestructible.”
Her laugh bounced off the corners of the house like it always had. “Let’s not get hasty, hon.”
“Mom?”
Remus’ heart sank.
“Dad?” Jules croaked, a little louder. “Did the neighbors come over?”
“Hey, J,” Remus called. The floorboards gave a light groan when he set his bag down at the end of the hall. “It’s me, bud.”
Silence followed. The bathroom nightlight was on, casting the hall in gentle blue. His hand drifted toward the first door on reflex (cool metal knob, lock on the inside, jimmy it three times in the winter when the frame sticks), but he managed to step past it and knock lightly below the ‘J LUPIN. DO NOT ENTER.’ sign scotch-taped to the old wood.
“Jules? I’m opening the door.”
The first thing that hit him was the smell. Stale, sweaty, feverish—Remus did a double-take without meaning to.
“Jesus Christ, dude.”
“Oh, you weren’t kidding,” Jules rasped from somewhere to his right. “Hey. Hi, why are you here?”
“You slept too long. It’s June. I’m here for the summer.”
“Hey.”
“You’re sick, dummy.” Remus tried to be subtle about propping the door open wider with a loose hockey glove. “I’m taking care of you.”
With the new, faint light from the hallway, he could see just how terrible Julian looked. His unconvinced squint didn’t help the sallowness of his skin or the heavy bags carved under his eyes. “Nuh-uh.”
“Yuh-huh.”
“Nuh-uh, you have a roadie in—” Another hacking cough interrupted him. It shook his tiny frame hard enough to make his knees bend under the covers. Remus’ heart gave an acid lurch.
Agitated heat radiated off him to the point that Remus could feel it when he perched on the edge of the bed. The sheets were a tangled mess; one blanket half-tucked, the other mostly on the floor. “Deep breaths,” he soothed when the coughing turned to a few aggressive sniffles. “Take it easy.”
“Montreal,” Jules finished in a mutter. He wiped his nose on the edge of his baggy t-shirt (almost certainly their father’s, with the way it dwarfed him) and laid back with a long huff. “You got a roadie in Montreal. Dad ‘n me are gonna watch the game.”
“Dad and I.”
“Shhh.”
He smiled to himself and tugged the top blanket down to shimmy the next one into position. “Well, you and I can watch it. How’s that sound?”
“No, you need to play,” Jules groaned, but even that was weak. He curled onto his side and peeked out of his huddle, dull-eyed and flushed. “How come you’re here anyway?”
“Told you. I’m taking care of you.”
“But hockey.”
“But you.”
“But…hockey.”
“But you.” His stomach gave a little pull. “You’re more important than a couple games, bud.”
Jules didn’t look like he believed him. “…okay.”
“I’m serious.”
“No, you’re R—”
“Don’t you—” Remus bit back his words (and his grin) and whacked lightly at the outline of Jules’ legs under the blankets, coaxing a crunchy sort of laugh from him. “Watch it. I’m in charge of feeding you for the next few days.”
Jules’ giggling trickled out with a last sniff. “Mom and Dad gotta go to work, huh?”
“Yeah.” The wrinkle of his nose was almost certainly reflected on Remus’ face. “But hey, we’ll have fun.”
“Mmm.”
The air shifted, along with his gut. Jules’ breaths were heavier. His eyes, lidded. His forehead was far too hot against the back of Remus’ hand when he checked it. “Tired?”
“Mhmm.”
Wrapping him in a dozen blankets and cuddling him as tight as possible wouldn’t help. Logically, Remus knew that. The temptation was still there. “Too hot?”
“Warm.”
“Want me to take a blanket?”
Jules shook his head. His eyes were closed fully now. “Weight’s nice.”
Every inhale hitched when Remus rested a hand between his shoulder blades, feeling for his pulse. That, at least, was calm. Jules had sweated through the old grey fabric there. He combed a few strands of hair off his burning brow and swallowed around his dry throat. “Want me to leave you alone for a bit?”
“Gonna nap.” Jules’ twitched, as if he was trying to readjust but lacked the energy. “Here when I wake up?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be here.”
--
The evening passed without issue. Night rolled in with a gust of wind that hissed across the windowpanes while Remus dried the last of the dishes. Jules had managed to get up and come to the table for dinner, but he had looked even worse in the brighter light and barely ate half a bowl of soup. He could see their mother struggling not to fuss over him, not that Jules had any oomph to give real protest.
What kind of family emergency is this, Lupin?
A family emergency. I can come back the 22nd.
You’re missing two games. Do you understand that? Weasley won’t play you for the third, either.
I understand.
Is this a funeral?
No.
A wedding?
No.
It’s a request for nonvital time off, then. This could very well result in a fine.
I’m aware of that. Time off for a family emergency is covered in my contract. I’m permitted to miss four games.
Are you really going to put in a request for this? For a nonvital midweek trip instead of two NHL games?
That’s precisely what I’m requesting, yes. This is an emergency and therefore it is vital.
Remus had not missed the bureaucracy of the NHL during his time on the ice. There was still administrative irritation, of course, but it had not been nearly long enough since he played email tag with someone determined to make his life harder. ‘Nonvital emergency’. It made him want to laugh and lose it at the same time. What a fucking joke.
A sudden rustle and thud—likely Jules’ elbow hitting the wall between their rooms, ouch—startled him from half-sleep. Clumsy footsteps pattered on the floor; a door creaked and closed, quickly followed by a dry heave. Remus winced in sympathy.
This bedroom felt too small. His feet touched the end of the bed if he stretched out. There were only a few inches’ allowance for his shoulders on either side before he hit a wall or the edge of the mattress. Even his stuff felt smaller, as if the books shrank in his hands and the trophies had been made for someone Jules’ size.
He supposed they had been. Juniors was a world away, these days. He had turned the idea of keeping a potential you-know-what ring here instead of in Gryffindor, but never really committed one way or another. That, too, felt far off. He was stuck in the middle of a spectrum, where nothing felt quite right.
The toilet flushed, but he didn’t hear Jules leave. The low timbre of their father’s voice buzzed in the hall for a second; he didn’t catch Jules’ response. Remus swung his legs over the side of the bed with a huff and stood despite the creaking protests of his knees.
The blue light looked eerie in the cover of real night. He propped Jules’ door open again as he passed. A little ventilation couldn’t hurt. He paused in the doorway of the bathroom and crouched down, lowering himself to the cool linoleum with a soft groan. “Sup?”
“M not gonna throw up again.”
“Okay.” Remus flexed his ankles against the cabinets and tilted his head back. The soft towels buffered him from the wallpaper. Next to him, Jules’ forehead was stubbornly pressed into the crease of his elbow where he rested it on the toilet seat. “Still sick?”
A wordless mumble answered him.
“I’m gonna make chicken and dumplings tomorrow.”
Jules weakly raised his head. “Really?”
“Yup. Protein, veggies, sodium, starch. All that good stuff.”
Quiet fell over them for a long moment. “What are you talking about?”
“What, you don’t want a science lesson?”
“Nerd—”
He knew it was going to happen before Jules’ first jerk forward and caught his side when he wobbled, giving gentle pressure until he was upright. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay, I got you.”
“Ugh.”
“I know. You’re doing great, J.” It was over as fast as it started. Jules trembled lightly under his touch, sweaty again, all too warm again. His knuckles stood out in harsh midnight shadows where he gripped the porcelain, thin arms shivering.
Jules sniffled. “I wanna go to bed.”
“I bet.”
“I’m tired.”
“Can you stand up?” It took Jules a moment to even start moving; when he did, it was sluggish and unsteady. Remus hovered his hands close and resisted the urge to scoop him right up. Jules wouldn’t like that. He hated being babied. It was still fucking hard to watch him pull himself to his feet.
A rinse-and-spit and a cool washcloth on the back of his neck made Jules sigh. He leaned right into Remus’ hip, head at the base of his ribs, and staggered along on foal legs while Remus guided him back to bed with a lump in the base of his throat. There was no fuss about being tucked in—he simply sighed again, so content it hurt. Remus smoothed out the hem of the comforter by his neck just one more time, once more, just so he could be sure.
--
Their parents were out by the time Remus woke. He distantly recalled the sound of them leaving, but the plane left him groggy enough not to notice or care. Jules was still snoring loud enough for him to hear it through their shared wall.
Breakfast, then. Something light. Oatmeal or eggs, if he could keep it down. Broth, if not. Remus would have to check the fridge for Gatorade and lemons.
It was strange to be functionally alone in the house. The carpet felt too soft, the curtains too still. A bright pink sticky note was stuck to the table with his name written in big letters at the top. He’d check it later.
Message To: SB <3
Morning :)
Fever’s still going, nasty cough, the works. I’ll keep an eye on him today.
Miss you
He clicked his phone off and set it aside—hopefully, Sirius wouldn’t be awake for some time yet. They didn’t have practice for two more hours in his time zone. He liked to sleep in on days like that. Remus, on the other hand, had work to do.
Quick eggs and bacon for himself took fifteen minutes. He parked himself at his usual seat without really thinking about it, pulling a dish towel and a fork from their drawers with an absent mind. He hadn’t dared to check his email yet and seriously contemplated leaving it alone until he was back in Gryffindor. Time off was time off. Professional hockey wasn’t big on ‘work from home’.
Jules shuffled in half past ten and made a beeline for the couch.
“Good morning.”
A grunt answered.
“Sleep well?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Want oatmeal?”
Jules’ mumble seemed vaguely affirmative. Remus set the kettle on and dug a pot out of the cupboard, then turned to rummage in the pantry. This was setting up to be a silent morning.
Measuring for a sick preteen was almost as strange as picturing his childhood bedroom as a normal size. Remus had only cooked for himself for years, then himself and Sirius, with the occasional potluck dish for a team dinner or holiday party. A single cup of anything was a novelty. “Want sugar?” he checked once the oats and milk were simmering. Jules snuffled in response, dragging one of the knit blankets further over his head. “Lemme check your temperature and then you can tell me, yeah?”
“Mmkay.”
A quick search of the medicine cabinet revealed no thermometer, and the same went for the hall closet. Remus spent a good five minutes riffling through the bathroom drawers and Jules’ desk before he found it propped against the base of his dolphin lamp. It had been left uncapped; gross. He made sure to give it a thorough wash before moving back into the living room.
“Blanket down.”
“No.”
“I can’t see your mouth. C’mon, just for a second.”
“Cold. Bright.”
“Twenty seconds, J. I promise. You can count.”
The blanket lump shifted. “Twenty?”
“Fifteen. Then I’ll bring your oatmeal over and leave you alone.”
A handful of shallow breaths filled the silence before Jules’ forehead poked out, then his glazed eyes, and finally the lower half of his face. Remus grimaced. His nose was red and chapped from tissues, and a faint crack split the side of his lower lip. “Have you been drinking your water?”
“Fifteen seconds,” Jules slurred.
Remus knew he wasn’t getting a better number than yesterday. Not with this vague lucidity, and not when Jules was hardly able to hold a fragment of a conversation. All the same, it made his gut sink when the thermometer beeped.
“Whuzzat?”
“102.5.”
“ ‘S worse?”
“Yep.”
A resigned nod told him Jules expected as much. The blanket swallowed him up again. Remus pulled it down over his feet before heading back to the kitchen.
Three hours passed with all the rush of a snail on codeine. Jules rallied to choke down his oatmeal before going down for a noon nap, let Remus rouse him to gulp down about a gallon of water, and overall remained sedentary while Remus channel-surfed for anything even slightly interesting on daytime TV. They settled on NCIS from one to 2:30, NCIS: Miami from 2:30 to four (with a brief break for sandwiches, or toast, in Jules’ case), and rounded it out with NCIS: LA while Remus tossed some rotisserie chicken and chopped vegetables in a simmering pot of broth.
“Re?”
“Yeah, bud?” Bisquick puffed over the side of the mixing bowl in a soft cloud.
“My stomach hurts.” Jules’ voice wavered. “And my mouth feels weird.”
Fuck. “Bathroom, hustle.”
The glimpse he caught of Jules before he vanished down the hall confirmed it: pallid skin, dilated pupils, sweat gleaming on the back of his neck. Remus rinsed his hands in the sink and dug the box of Pepto Bismol tablets out of his bag, and sent a silent thanks to whatever small mercy it was that left him without a reactive gag reflex.
He spent twenty minutes sitting sideways with water seeping into his pants from the bathmat. “I’m gonna throw up until I die,” Jules whined, pressing his forehead to Remus’ palm.
“You’re not gonna die. Definitely not while I’m here.” He slid his hand around to press against the nape of Jules’ neck and gave a light squeeze. “You’re almost done. Work it out, buddy.”
“Gonna miss the game?”
Despite the sweat, despite the illness, despite it all—Remus smiled. Of course Jules would be thinking about that when he looked like death warmed over. He wouldn’t be a Lupin with anything else on his mind. “We’ve still got half an hour.”
Jules gave a faint push back into his hand. His lower lip wobbled. “I don’t want to miss it.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll make it.”
“I don’t—” His voice cracked, but it wasn’t even slightly funny. He took a shuddering inhale and sniffled again, harsher. “I don’t want to be sick anymore, I don’t, I’m so done, I don’t like it.”
“Jules…” The redness had flooded his cheeks and ears, inching down his neck with each horribly choked breath. Jules’ eyes were bright, but not like usual. He blinked and a drip tracked down his nose. His exhale wasn’t much of an exhale at all—it wracked him, made him sway. “Oh,” Remus murmured. “Oh, hey, c’mere.”
The edge of thirteen had left Jules gangly, all bones and joints. He still fit just right in the hollow of Remus’ chest and arms. A shivering, overheated mess, but a mess that fit all the same. Fuck it, Remus thought as he tightened his arms around Jules and let him fall apart in the safe dark. He didn’t care if he got sick. This was the most vital emergency he could possibly think of. If the administration had a problem with that, he’d happily turn his gear in before leaving Jules to burn through this alone.
“I’m tired,” Jules whispered through shuddering breaths. “My head hurts ‘n my stomach hurts ‘n everything else, too.”
“I know, bud, you’re being so brave.”
A damp, wounded noise made Remus wince.
“But hey, you haven’t thrown up in, like, five minutes.”
Jules felt around blindly for a tissue and blew his nose several times before answering. “I guess.”
“You ready to get up? Have some dinner and watch the game?”
“Dizzy.”
“Okay.” He pressed the wrinkles out of Jules’ shirt with his palm and felt him go limp. “I brought some super special secret hockey medicine, if that’ll help.”
“…is it Gatorade?”
“No, but we have that, too.” He rattled the box next to Jules’ ear. “Pepto Bismol. My secret weapon.”
“Nuh-uh. That’s the pink sh—stuff.”
“Nice save,” Remus said dryly. “This is the same. It’s easier to keep down, though. And it works faster.”
“Makes my stomach stop hurting?”
“It might help.”
He waited a beat, then two. A clammy palm extended from the tangle of limbs near his middle. He dropped two of the chalky tabs into it and loosened his hold by a degree, enough for Jules to pop them both in his mouth and frown immediately. “Yuck. It’s crunchy.”
“Keep chewing.”
“Why is it coming apart like that?”
“Keep chewing,” Remus repeated through a light laugh. “Doesn’t work if you talk the whole way through.”
Jules tucked his legs closer to himself, pushing him further into Remus’ lap. As horrible as the past twenty minutes had been, he seemed better for it. The fevered sheen to his face wasn’t quite as nuclear. His breathing sounded more even and controlled.
“You finished?”
“Mhmm.”
Jules might have looked better, but Remus didn’t have the energy to fight the coddling urge this time. He slid his free arm across the back of Jules’ knees and hefted him up like a cat gone boneless, and received no protest whatsoever. Instead, Jules curled into him with a long, relieved sigh. Remus’ heart may have shattered a little.
The pregame show was just wrapping up when he set Jules gingerly on the couch and pulled the blanket around him. Half of his waterbottle was gone in a few desperate swallows; Jules wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and all but collapsed onto the throw pillows, a heap of exhaustion. The belltower by the middle school tolled six. His sandy hair was damp at the root when Remus passed a hand through it. They’d fix that eventually. Fluids first (hockey first), then everything else.
New Message From: SB <3
Heading to the rink. Miss you love you : )
Remus smiled down at his phone as he set Jules’ bowl on the coffee table and folded himself into the armchair.
“Tell Sirius I say hi.”
“He’s literally right there,” Remus laughed, gesturing at the TV. “He’s not gonna see it for ages.”
“Still.” Jules poked around with his spoon for a few seconds before attempting a small sip of broth. An approving nod followed. “It’s good.”
“Glad it meets your standards. Eat. Protein, veggies, sodium, starch.”
Jules’ eye roll was weak, but very much present. “I know, I know.”
“You gotta know that stuff.”
“I’m not gonna be a doctor.”
“Yeah, but you’re still gonna be a person.” Remus cut a dumpling in half with the side of his spoon. “If you don’t know how to feed yourself by the time you move out, I’m totally making fun of you.”
“Whatever.”
They both booed when the Habs skated out, and cheered when the Lions appeared soon after. Jules couldn’t muster much more than a rough whisper, but the soup and a bottle of Gatorade seemed to help. Remus made him get up and stretch during the first period intermission (to immense complaints, but eventual acquiescence) before letting him rest while he washed up in the kitchen.
New Message From: SB <3
First period up.
How’s J?
New Message To: SB <3
Haha yeah we’re watching
Temp’s high, still pretty sick. Getting better tho
Made soup
The response was almost immediate. Remus’ heart skipped at the thought of Sirius glued to his phone even after a rough period, just to chat with him.
New Message From: SB <3
Oooo jealous
New Message To: SB <3
Yeah you should be
It’s a real rager up here
Miss you. Go get ‘em.
A simple heart and hockey stick emoji followed. The grey bubble cycled for a moment before disappearing. That would be the midgame meeting. Remus was glad to be home—wouldn’t trade this—but he had to admit the hockey ache was still there. Even easy choices had consequences.
By the time he looked back, Jules was asleep. Remus checked his forehead as delicately as he could and was pleased to find it slightly cooler than that morning, if altogether too warm. The pattern of creaky floorboards laid a map in his bones as he moved through the house: first to open Jules’ window, then to let his blankets air out, and while he was at it, he may as well wash the sheets. The nightstand and bookshelf needed to be wiped down. It wasn’t hard to get that done while the washer rumbled on the other side of the hall. In the meantime, the soup had cooled enough to pack up in Tupperware to stack in the fridge for later. Who knew if Jules would suddenly get his appetite back? The kid was a bear when he was hungry.
He lingered for the end of the second period and swapped the sheets into the dryer at the start of the third with a cookie and a cup of Emergen-C for himself. He damn well better not catch whatever germs Jules had percolated from the hellscape of middle school. Sirius had called him ‘stubbornly healthy’ on too many occasions for it to be disproven. Besides, the administration might actually fire him if he came back from an emergency and was immediately out for three more games.
“Re?”
The sound of a quiet voice took Remus’ off-guard in the last few minutes of the third period. “What’s up?”
Jules shifted around until he could prop his chin on the throw pillow and blink blearily at Remus. “Did we win?”
“Game’s still going. 4-3, Lions.”
“How much time?”
“Just under five.”
Jules attempted a whistle, though it came out as more of a shaky breath. “Almost there.”
“Dad texted. They’ll be home in a few, traffic was rough.”
“Oh, okay.” A small smile lit his face. He burrowed back under the blanket. “That’s good.”
“They’ve been asking about you all day.”
“Did’ja tell them I was fine?”
“Something like that.” Sort of. Maybe. He had been gentle about it, at least. Gory details would only make them panic.
He made sure to poke Jules awake for the last minute of the game before shepherding him down the hall to brush his teeth and shower. It was only 8:30, but Remus felt weary all the way to his core. He made Jules’ bed while the water ran and tried to tuck the sheets in along the wall a little deeper this time, just in case one tried to end up on the floor again. If he had the time, he may as well do it right, pinched fingers notwithstanding.
It was all worth it when Jules trudged back into his bedroom and threw himself into bed, only to gasp aloud. “Aw, man, this is great.”
“You’re welcome,” Remus laughed.
“Oh, wow.” The bumps of Jules’ feet kicked happily under layers of fabric and down. “It’s all warm, and cozy…”
“Get some sleep,” he reminded him, and turned out the big light. “If you need anything, I’m right next door.”
He made it halfway across Jules’ carpet.
“Wait!”
“What?”
“You—” The faint outline of Jules’ head was backlit by his lamp. Remus could see the shadows of his hands fidgeting with the top blanket. “Will you…can you tell me about the soup stuff? The proteins and all that.”
Remus hesitated. “For real?”
“Yeah,” Jules said with a surprisingly enthusiastic nod. “It sounds cool.”
“I mean—yeah, sure. Uh…” Jules’ desk chair looked wildly uncomfortable for this time of night, so edge of the bed it was, he supposed. The sheets provided a nice cushion when he sat. “Okay, have you ever heard of macromolecules?”
“That’s a made-up word.”
“It’s what you’re made up of, actually. How about DNA? You know that one?”
--
Lyall opened the front door with a muttered curse for the bitter wind and the worse traffic. It was brutally unfair that the one day he tried to come home early, everything went to hell and kept him an age and a half longer. What kind of karma came after a father trying to get home to his sick kid?
“It’s awfully quiet,” Hope remarked behind him. The door opened at last; warm air rushed over them. “Boys? Are you up?”
The NHL postgame show was playing at a low volume, next to a plate with crumbs on it and a mug so old the pattern had washed off it. One of Hope’s blankets from her knitting phase was haphazardly piled on the couch. The evidence of both of them there, present and accounted for and safe, plucked at his heartstrings. “Why do I feel like this is exactly where they sat for the entire day?”
She shook her head. “Good for them. I’m jealous. Remus? Julian? Are you home?”
Remus’ bedroom door was closed. The bathroom fan was still on, and steam clung to the corners of the mirror next to a still-damp towel. It couldn’t have been long since they went to bed, then. Lyall pushed Julian’s bedroom door open wider and covered his mouth with his palm.
They had nearly rendered each other invisible, save for Remus’ legs stretched over the side of the bed and Julian’s arm resting atop his pile of blankets. Julian’s congested snoring drowned out the heavy, even rhythm of Remus’ breathing. As far as he could tell, only one of them had actually been prepared for bed.
“Oh my goodness,” Hope whispered at his shoulder. Her grin was radiant, even half-covered by her palm. “I don’t want to move them.”
“Re’s going to wake up with one hell of a side cramp if we let him sleep like that.”
“You do it, then.”
“…no.”
Hope scoffed fondly and tossed her hands in the air, then kissed him on the jaw as she stepped deeper into the bedroom. The whole place felt lighter, Lyall noticed. Julian had been holed up in here for two days, refusing to come out for anything but necessities. Whatever Remus had done, it worked wonders.
“Remus,” Hope singsonged in her quietest voice. She shook his shoulder, soft enough that for a moment, Lyall forgot Remus wasn’t a toddler anymore. “Baby, you need to wake up. It’s bedtime.”
“ ‘M asleep,” Remus mumbled without opening his eyes. “In my bed.”
“This isn’t your bed, lovey,” she laughed. “Come on, up you go.”
“Goin’ to sleep, promise.” His eyelashes fluttered, nose crinkling. “Talking ‘bout—‘bout proteins. Jules wanted to know.”
At the head of the bed, Julian didn’t show so much as a hint of waking. Lyall stepped forward and braced his hands under Remus’ arms, then hoisted him into a sitting position as gently as he could manage with the unexpected weight of an athlete to counterbalance him.
Remus jolted, startling into consciousness. “Woah—”
“Shh, shh.” Lyall helped him stand on clumsy legs and guided him to the door with a last playful glance at Hope. “I’ve got you, buddy.”
“Fell asleep.” Remus blinked hard. “Jules’ bed. Wanted me to stay. Time is it?”
“Almost nine.”
“Oh, god, ‘s early.” A yawn overtook him, spilling more of his weight into Lyall. He didn’t seem to know where his own feet were, but he went easily into the room next door.
“Alright,” Lyall huffed as he helped Remus stumble toward the bed and splay over the mattress. That old thing was definitely too small for him these days. Funny, how times changed so rapidly. That same bed used to make Remus look like nothing more than a pile of sheets. “Brush your teeth?”
A drawn-out snore answered him.
Lyall smiled to himself in the darkness and ruffled the back of Remus’ hair. “Night, Re.”
A single socked foot twitched in response. That was good enough for him.
(Jules’ fever broke the next morning. By the end of the day, he was well enough to go with them to the airport and give Remus the fiercest goodbye hug either of them had experienced, with a pinky-promise that the Lions would win the next game he played.)
#remus lupin#julian lupin#sirius black#lyall lupin#hope lupin#sweater weather#vaincre#lumosinlove#my fic#fanfic#fic o’ween 2023#illness#sickfic#lupin bros#hurt/ comfort
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Hey! I hope all is well. I really enjoy your account and I want to thank you for all your hard work to run it, it doesn't go unnoticed.
I also had a fic rec if you wanted to think about it. I'm craving a good harvard finnlo story, where they are being very obviously in love with each other but won't admit it. I know you have something like it, but I just love every different take on this
I hope you have a wonderful week:)
Fic O'Ween Day 5: Ritual, with our favorite silly little lovebirds to put in Situations. Mega love to @noots-fic-fests for the fest and @lumosinlove for the Harvard boys :)
The impulses seemed to catch him when he least expected it. Frenetic, nearly frantic energy—pale hands flexing and teeth worrying marks into a thin lower lip. Fingers fidgeting, ripping at essay edges, tapping pens like Morse. It surged in him and filled his face with blossom-pink. Turned his ears red. It was as if the urge forced itself free and wrested control of every bit of him. That, Logan could relate to. Urges had never been gentle with him, either.
“What do you mean?”
Finn fixed him with a quizzical look. “New York? The city?”
“No, I—yes, I know.” The glorious blip of attention was gone, focused once again on a haphazard backpack. “Why?”
Paper rustled as Finn waved a vacant hand. “Just needed to.”
Logan frowned. “Is Alex okay?”
“What?” Confusion deepened the crease by his mouth; Finn didn’t bother looking up. “Far as I know.”
“So you’re going all the way to New York for a weekend, and you’re not driving—”
“Gas is expensive.”
“—and not even going to a game?” And you’re not taking me? It coated his tongue like the caramel from Finn’s Dunkin runs. He stomped the thought down before it could threaten his teeth. “Don’t you have an exam next week?”
“It’s fine.”
“Harz—”
“It’s fine, man,” Finn repeated, shooing him gently aside to dig around in the dresser for socks.
Logan pushed himself up on the edge of Finn’s desk and watched him rummage. He was tight around the shoulders and jaw; his hoodie sleeves were pulled all the way to the heels of his hands. The redness in his cheeks lingered in a soft arc. Maybe overheating, from the radiator. Maybe he was just frustrated. Knowing Finn, eight different emotions and a million thoughts were on rotisserie. Logan bit the inside of his cheek. “Is it…is it your mom, or…?”
He fell quiet when Finn straightened, socks in-hand and brows pinched in the middle. “Logan, what are you talking about?”
You’re leaving on one of our only free weekends and being cryptic about it. Also, I can’t come, and I’m going to think about that for the next several days whenever I wake up and your bed is still made. “You’re being weird. Stop it.”
“Why am I being weird?” Finn half-laughed, resting his hip against the dresser.
“You’re spending eight hours on a train to visit home when you have a car, an exam, and a free weekend to just hang out.” Logan shrugged. “It’s weird. There’s a party tonight. Don’t you have a fanclub to look after?”
Finn’s brow arched with amusement. “Who, you?”
“Non—fuck off, god,” Logan grumbled, kicking at him when he passed. Finn’s laughter lit up the sunset shadows in the corners of their room.
“I’m literally fine, just missing home.” Finn tossed the socks into his bag blindly, already reaching for something else. “I guess Alex just had a buddy get traded and he’s kinda down, so we’ll probably just hang out. Video games, movies. The usual. It’ll only be an hour or so to the station if I take the subway. And I’m not worried about my exam, anyway.”
The tension in his neck told a different story, but Logan wouldn’t press. A stressed Finn was a distracted Finn, and he was allowed to be selfish for every bit of focus when he was about to leave. “Do you need a ride?”
Deodorant, toothpaste, and a third paperback made their way into the duffel. “I’m taking the train.”
“A ride to the train station, dumbass.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
Logan tossed a wool cap at him. “That’s why I offered.”
Finn finally paused for more than a breath; his forehead pinched, and Logan watched him draw his lip back between his front teeth. “Isn’t there a party tonight?”
“Ouais.” Finn was looking at him like that meant something. “Quoi?”
“Don’t you want to go?”
“Do you need a ride?” Logan countered.
“No.”
“Do you want a ride?”
Finn glanced out the window. His nose scrunched on one side. “Kinda.”
Logan spread his hands. “Then I’ll take you. Easy.”
“But—”
“Non.”
“Okay.” Finn looked at him for a long moment, then smiled, almost to himself. “Cool. Thanks.”
“This is why you have a roommate.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He still seemed pleased, despite his huff. Logan would never understand. It was delightfully entertaining all the same. He swung his feet while Finn finished up—like this, he could practically follow the path of Finn’s disorganized mental checklist.
“I don’t suppose I’ll be allowed to actually drive you there,” he joked when Finn slung his (full to bursting) duffel over his arm.
That got him a snort of laughter. “There will never be a day you’re allowed to drive my car while I’m in it, Tremblamalay, unless it’s a fucking hearse.”
“I’m a good driver!”
“I didn’t say you weren’t!” Finn propped their door open with a foot and snagged his keys off the hook. “Don’t yell at me.”
“I’m not yelling.”
“You basically are.”
“You want me to yell? Because I can yell at you. Ah—”
Logan broke off with a curse as a pool noodle swung from the open door to their left. “Oh, hey,” Percy said, shock falling to a smile in an instant. “Where are you two off to?”
“Train station,” Finn answered. He cocked his head. “What’s with the shit?”
“Party, duh. Heading home?”
“Just for the weekend. Lo’s driving me.” Something in Logan’s stomach gave a giddy whirl at the jerk of Finn’s chin. It fizzled into a puddle of goo when he cracked a half-smile. “Well, he’s driving back.”
“Oh.” Percy nodded. “Damn, we’ll miss you guys tonight.”
Logan frowned. “I’ll be here.”
“I thought…”
“I’m driving back,” he repeated. “Back from the train station.”
Understanding dawned on Percy’s face, then bemused surprise. “You finally did that separation ritual, huh? Something slashed the sutures sticking you two together? You might keel over the second you cross the state line, you know.”
“Wow, Marsh, you’re so funny,” Finn parroted with a loud and brash HA HA that made Logan grin, but Percy just snickered to himself and let them through with gentle smacks to the backs of their heads.
“Go forth, young men!”
“It’s West!” Finn corrected.
“Go West, then! Or—northeast, I guess.”
Finn let Logan through the front door first (what a fucking gentleman, god, Logan was not going to survive him) before closing it with a pointed slam. “I’ll get the—”
“Passenger seat,” Finn interrupted. He swooped his bag out of reach when Logan went to take it from him. “Nuh-uh. Go sit.”
“I’m being helpful.”
“You’re going to break my trunk.” Finn shook his head. “She doesn’t need to be closed that hard, Tremz. She’s a lady.”
Logan wrinkled his nose. “Please never refer to your car as a lady ever again.”
A theatrical demonstration of proper trunk-handling was the only response Finn gave. Logan watched him come around the side of the car while he buckled in, running a hand through his hair and twirling his keyring around one finger. Logan knew what that hair felt like. Mink-soft and thick. A little wavy, when he let it grow out. It had pressed against his cheek on the bus oh-so-many times, when Finn nodded off ten miles from the nearest gas station and the roads were too bumpy for Logan to sleep.
He wondered what Finn would do if he reached out and touched it now, while he adjusted the radio and hummed to himself. The energy vibrating under his skin had calmed to a low current. If Logan could tap into it, maybe he could be brave enough to find out.
“Speak!”
Logan jumped. “Quoi?”
“Oh, it does work,” Finn said, seemingly pleased. “Logan, sit!”
“Get fucked.”
#logan tremblay#finn ohara#finnlo#harvard finnlo#coast to coast#lumosinlove#sweater weather#my fic#fanfic#fluff#weekend trip#fic o’ween 2023#percy marshall
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Dial Drunk
Fic O'Ween Day 1, for the prompt 'First Frost'! Many thanks to @noots-fic-fests for organizing and @lumosinlove for the best characters <3 Have some baby Sirius and James causing Dumo heart failure for your Thursday!
TW drunkenness (silly fun, not angsty)
Pascal enjoyed 20 minutes of a PG-13 movie (the first in three months) before stumbling, out-of-sync footsteps outside his house interrupted his peace. He should have known better than to think a quiet night in would live up to its name.
“Come on, man, work with me—”
“Shh.”
The kids were in bed. Why couldn’t that be enough?
“No, no, why can’t we just go back to your house?”
“Because—”
They had been gems this evening. Dinner passed without a fuss; a FaceTime with their mother riveted them more than a TV show, for once.
“James…”
“Don’t whine at me, god. Can I have my arm back?”
Pascal cursed softly to himself as he rummaged the remote from the couch cushions and paused the movie. Rustling became a scuffle—he opened the door just as the bell rang through the house.
James Potter stared at him, then broke into a broad grin. “Dumo! Hi!”
“Did you read the sign?”
James’ eyes flickered over the doorframe. Pascal got to watch him read the Please Do Not Ring Bell—Infant Inside! in real time. His smile slipped into more of a grimace. “…shit. My bad.”
“Bonjour,” Sirius mumbled blearily, listing into James’ side. “Ça va?”
Pascal sighed. He had been hoping someone on the team would keep an eye on those two. Parties were all well and good until the dynamic duo of poor decision-making was left to their own devices.
“We had fun,” James offered by way of explanation. Sirius’ hiccup jostled them both. “Maybe—maybe a little too much fun.”
“Got kissed on the cheek,” Sirius said with an enthusiastic nod.
The lipstick print on his face was glittery in the porchlight. “Congratulations.”
“Merci.”
Christ above. “Pots.”
James had the decency to look embarrassed. “I know.”
“Are you serious?”
“Non, c’est moi,” Sirius snorted, swaying toward the potted plant at the edge of the stairs. They both reached for him at once; Sirius made a noise of surprise, but was pliable as putty when James coaxed him back out of the danger zone. The sharp tang of alcohol and at least three different perfumes spilled off him in waves. Sirius was doe-eyed when he bent to rest his head on James’ shoulder. “Thanks for bringing me home.”
Pascal arched a brow; James gave Sirius a guilty pat on the back. “Any time, buddy.”
“Are you sure we can’t go back to your house instead?”
“Mhmm.”
Sirius huffed in disappointment. “Why?”
“Because my guest room isn’t unpacked.”
“Can sleep on the couch. Or the floor.”
“Lily’s coming over tomorrow morning.”
Sirius’ groan cracked as he pushed his face into James’ shoulder. “Just put me in the backyard.”
“One of us will turn the hose on you.”
Pascal shook his head and reached out. “Allez, mon fils, let’s get you—"
“You’re so mean,” Sirius complained, still fixated on James. “I don’t want to go home. Dumo’s going to be upset.”
James’ gaze darted to him for a beat. “Pads, no, it’ll be fine.”
“Non.”
Pascal’s stomach sank. “I’m not upset,” he tried, gentling his voice.
But Sirius just nodded. “Yes, he is.”
“Hey.” Pascal prodded his arm. “Hey, petit chou.”
“Don’t like cabbage. Crunchy.”
Pascal exchanged a look with James and fought an eye roll. Without initial surprise clouding his vision, James was clearly only more sober by a slim margin. His glasses seemed determined to balance on the very end of his nose, despite repeated attempts to push them up again. His sneakers shuffled sheepishly on the doormat.
“Just tell me you didn’t drive.”
“I don’t have a car,” Sirius said brightly.
James gave a vigorous shake of his head. “Fuck no, we took an Uber. Are you crazy?”
“Are you drunk?” Pascal countered. Sirius barked a laugh; James’ already-flushed cheeks darkened. A once-over revealed little he didn’t already know, only a comfort in the sense that they both seemed hale and whole regardless of their wobbling.
Oh, to be twenty again.
Pascal inclined his head toward the house and stood aside. “In. Don’t wake the kids.”
An attempt to fit through the door at the same time was admirable, but doomed, as they soon realized after a few seconds of fumbling. James eventually squeezed past with Sirius trotting close behind. Something about it struck Pascal as a particular poetic irony.
“Where’d you end up?”
“Place on sixth.” James’ hands were clumsy on his shoelaces. Sirius observed him for a moment, then kicked his own shoes into the closet still tied.
“Was it fun?”
“Mhmm. Hopping tonight.”
“We left early,” Sirius chimed in. “James said I needed to go home.”
“He’s smart. You should listen to him more.” Listen to me more, he added in his mind as he guided James’ jacket off his flailing arm and nudged Sirius’ phone away from the precarious table edge. Despite their clumsiness, their clear efforts to stay quiet did not go unnoticed. It was a common courtesy that some of the rowdier boys tended to forget.
“D’you want me to—”
“Guest room,” Pascal interrupted, tilting his chin down the hall. “Bathroom’s yours. Advil in the top drawer.”
James took a breath, then paused. “Does it have one of those kid-lock things?”
“Yes.”
He whistled through his teeth. A reluctant nod followed. “Kay. I can handle that.”
“Lame if you couldn’t,” Sirius mumbled.
“Like you’d do better.”
His lazy grin became offense in half a second; his back stiffened under Pascal’s palm. “I could—”
“Quiet,” Pascal reminded him.
“I could,” Sirius repeated in a harsh whisper, jabbing his finger toward James. “And you know it.”
James raised his hands in mocking surrender before raking one through his hair. His glasses had wandered down his nose again, and he gave Pascal a drowsy blink. “I’ll be out by, like, nine tomorrow. Lily’s coming over at eleven, so…y’know. Gotta clean my kitchen ‘n shit.”
“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that,” was Pascal’s response of choice. He was fairly sure noting the late (or rather, early) hour was a poor course of action if he wanted James Potter asleep in the next five minutes.
James squinted at the floor for a few more seconds. “Fuck, I gotta wash my sheets.”
“Go to bed, James.”
“Yeah. Yeah, alright.”
Pascal propped Sirius up on his shoulder as he watched James go. There was a hole in the heel of his sock that was only going to get bigger. James probably wouldn’t throw the thing out until it literally fell off his foot. Maybe it was a good thing Lily was visiting—she always shook some sense into him.
“Dumo.”
Pacal’s stomach swooped. “Are you going to throw up?”
“No,” Sirius snorted, as if the very idea was ridiculous.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothin’.”
“What do you need?”
“Nothin’.” Sirius wrinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out for a weak raspberry. “English tastes gross. Makes my head hurt. Regulus doesn’t like it, either. Mine is a lot better since because I was here but he’s pratiss—practick—pratique. In school. See? Dumb language.”
“You’re doing a very good job.”
Sirius beamed at him. “Really?”
“Ouais. Much better than I did.”
“Yours is a lot better than mine, though.”
Pacal was glad he didn’t protest the subtle guidance toward the basement stairs, if he noticed at all. “Well,” he began, grunting slightly at the weight imbalance on the first step. “I’ve been in the league for nearly twenty years. You’ll pick it up.”
“I wanna play hockey forever,” Sirius sighed.
“Give it your best, and you’ll do great things.”
Sirius hummed in acknowledgment, though he seemed a little too focused on holding the railing for Pascal to believe it. They edged their way down two more steps before he glanced up again with an astonished look on his face. “You’ve been in the league as long as I’ve been alive?”
Holy Jesus fucking Christ. His tongue went dry and stiff as leather. “I guess I—” Pascal tipped his head toward the ceiling and let a breath siphon through his nose. He should’ve taken James up on the backyard offer. A spray-down with the hose would do Sirius some good. “I hadn’t, ah. Thought about that. Merci.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Isn’t it just?” Perhaps if he asked nicely, Sirius would kick him down the stairs. It would be kinder. He might even hit his head hard enough to forget the entire evening. Where was the shy boy covered in winter’s first frost when Pascal needed him, anyway?
He winced at the thought. As accidentally-devastating as Sirius was with alcohol coursing through his veins instead of common sense, he couldn’t make himself wish for the opposite. They had only just managed to get his shell open; James better than anyone. There really wasn’t a world where he would trade this newfound vibrancy for anything, but—
His lower back panged when Sirius lurched toward his bed. “Woah.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Sirius muttered. “Tired.”
“Je sais.” Pascal shook his head against the glimmers of pain in his vision and made a mental note to ask Remus about that during their next session. “Pajamas, water, then bed.”
“But—”
“Pajamas, water, bed,” he repeated firmly. “Or skip the pajamas. I don’t care.”
Sirius frowned down at himself, scratching at his cheek. Glossy sparkles spread into an amorphous blob. Exasperation pressed against the inside of Pascal’s ribs; he sat Sirius on the edge of his desk and dampened a washcloth in the bathroom, then returned to his side. “Let me see.”
“See what?”
“Your cheek.”
Dark brows knit. “Not hurt.”
“Just—hold on.”
Sirius was flinching back before the cloth even got close. “Hey, hey, non.”
“You’ve got—”
A forceful push to his wrist made him pause. “Non.”
Pascal blinked. “There’s something on your cheek,” he tried. Sirius watched him with strange, alert suspicion. He held both hands palm-up between them and bit the inside of his lip against the urge to reach again. “Here.”
Silver eyes flickered back and forth in the low lamplight, towel to Pascal to towel to Pascal. Sirius shifted on his perch and took the cloth hesitantly. The rigidity of his torso eased once the gloss-print was gone under a few harsh scrubs, and Pascal took it back without issue.
“I’m not upset with you.”
“Hmm?”
“I’m not upset.” He watched Sirius take two large gulps of water from the bottle on his desk before flopping back on the bed. “I’m just glad you two got home safe.”
Sirius made a faint noise of agreement while he made himself comfortable, tugging at the sheets with little regard for their proper direction. A leg and most of his shoulders stuck out when he finally gave up and pushed the side of his face into the pillow. Pascal tucked the blanket around him on instinct; his heart tugged at the long, contented exhale that followed. “James is so nice to me.”
“He’s your friend.”
“So nice,” Sirius mumbled, almost to himself. His eyes were already half-shut. “Dumo?”
“Ouais?”
“Is James going to play hockey with me forever?”
“Ah.” Of all the questions you could ask. “I think you two do well together on the ice, so there’s no reason to split you up.”
Sirius tucked his knees up beneath the covers and shoved an arm under his pillow. “I don’t want to play hockey forever if James isn’t there.”
Pascal sat on the edge of the desk and crossed his arms across his chest. It had been nearly twenty years since he last checked his blindspot on the ice. There was no need—not while Sergei was there. They had talked about the end, of course, and the after. It went unspoken that they’d probably leave together. Too many jokes about PTA duels would be wasted if they didn’t.
How many nights had they dragged each other home, stumbling and giggling? They had walked nearly four miles the night they won the Cup in Colorado, those glorious quiet hours between being shooed home and when the taxis would answer their phones. Pascal couldn’t recall the last time he had fallen over the welcome mat with Sergei on his heels, instead of being the one holding the door open.
“Sirius?”
“Mhmm.”
“James will stay with you.” There was nobody Pascal would rather have at Sirius’ back, when he thought about it. Not even himself. “If you decide you want to play hockey forever, he will be the first person to sign up with you.”
“You’re not—” A yawn interrupted him, wide enough to make him scrunch his face. “—upset that we were loud?”
“Non. Promise.”
“Merci.” The sheets twisted in Sirius’ fist as he brought them close to his body. His mere twenty years made him look small without a frown and a ‘C’.
“Bonne nuit, mon fils.”
An incoherent mumble was all the answer he received, and more than he expected. He turned the lamp off with a gentle click, leaving Sirius to sink into heavy, even breaths.
New Message To: Vans
Pots and Black home safe
Lunch tomorrow @ usual. Kids included.
I’m buying. No protests.
New Message From: Vans
?
Why are you awake
New Message To: Vans
Lunch. Usual. Kids included.
If you bring your wallet I will kick your ass.
New Message From: Vans
Vans laughed at your message
:thumbs-up_emoji:
Can’t wait.
#pascal dumais#sirius black#james potter#sergei ivanov#sweater weather#lumosinlove#my fic#fanfic#fic o’ween 2023#first frost#rookie sirius#fluff#drunkenness
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Slowburn
Fic O'Ween Day 12: Goosebumps, with part five of the firefighter/ EMT AU! Coops, Leo, and Layla belong to @lumosinlove, fest header belong to @noots-fic-fests!
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
TW extremely brief mention of bodily fluids (one sentence at the beginning)
Five hours and forty-four minutes. He had been bled on, puked on, grabbed, yelled at, and nearly toppled. His only spare pair of pants was now bound up in a plastic bag. Miracle of miracles, Sirius’ shirt was the only thing that hadn’t been damaged in the miserable afternoon. It made a great undershirt. It would also need to be washed at least four times before he could even dream of returning it.
Layla stared at a spot above his shoulder in the opposite jumpseat. One side of her eyeliner had been completely smudged away; the other, smeared sideways to her temple in a smoky trail.
“Nice job today.”
“Thanks.”
“That was a lot.” Layla nodded mutely. His heart pulled for her, a little bit. Even if their cases had been run-of-the-mill, nearly six hours of back-to-back calls would wear anyone down. He nudged the tip of her shoe with his own. “You’re learning fast. I saw some good work out there.”
“I’m…” She blinked slowly, then shook her head. “Wow, I think I fell asleep sitting up for a minute.”
“It happens.” In time, she’d learn to sleep wherever she could catch it. “When does your shift end?”
“Seven.”
“Almost done, then.”
“Mmm.”
The ambulance went over a bump, rattling the near-empty shelves and bashing Remus’ tailbone against the back ledge. “Sorry!” Leo called through the small window to the cab.
He had mostly given up hope that he’d see Sirius in the next twelve hours. His shift wasn’t over until midnight, and Sirius’ started at six the next morning. If he made time between his dentist appointment and calling his parents, he might be able to stop by in the afternoon, but it would be a stretch if he wanted to get any laundry done. And, Christ, that was a chore he couldn’t delay for another week. He liked those pants. More importantly, he now knew just how much Sirius liked them.
Something stirred in his belly at the thought. Warm hands cupping his ass and sliding over his flanks with astonishing care. Sirius had felt him up enough that he could probably make a Model Magic version of Remus’ body on touch alone—and wasn’t that a thing to picture. Somewhere between rounds two and three, Remus remembered kissing the backs of Sirius’ thighs. Pale skin and dark hair above the bare, sensitive bend of his knees. They slotted so well in his palms. Sirius had looked like glory itself when he peeked over his shoulder to look.
“What’re you thinking about?”
Remus jumped. “What? Nothing. Sorry, nothing, why?”
“You’re all frowny.”
Thank god for that. “Just…the day.”
A vague and reliable excuse. Layla snorted. “Tell me about it.”
There will never be a day when I tell you about this. Remus hoped his laugh didn’t come out too strained. “Seriously.”
They took the next turn a little wider, sending their final two ointment boxes sliding out of place. He fixed them blindly while the city center rolled past through the back windows. Did Sirius still have scratch marks on his upper thighs?
Another bump knocked the thought from his head. “We’re home,” Leo singsonged from the driver’s seat. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the showers, wondering why I chose this life path.”
“Mood,” Layla mumbled.
“I’m also Grubhubbing a sundae, and you can’t stop me.”
One of the last functioning neurons in Remus’ head lit up. “Get me one.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Get your own.”
“I’m your boss.”
“You make more money than me.”
“Yes, let me flaunt my extra fifty cents an hour,” he countered dryly. “Every night, I rub my quarters together, just to flex on you. That beautiful sound of a handful of nickels.”
“…I’ll see what they have.”
“Good rookie.”
He didn’t wait for the ambulance to stop before opening the doors. The familiar ka-chunk of the lock coming free was music to his ears—a sweet, sweet anthem of freedom, the promise of a lukewarm cup of coffee and a maybe-stale donut from the break room.
And Sirius.
Sirius, sitting on one of his packed and labeled inventory bins.
Remus stared.
“Remus?”
“Go ahead,” he said absently. “I’ll catch up.”
Layla hopped out with a groan. Six hours was a long time to be up and down. Remus was sure his feet would ache the same when he stood. If he stood. Sirius’ hair stuck up at the back, like he’d been running his hands through it.
Remus loved when he did that.
He just. He really did like him, quite a lot.
Keep me.
What had he been thinking? Six hours was a long time to wait. He had told Sirius he’d be right back. It was his day off; why hadn’t he left after it was clear Remus wouldn’t return?
He supposed he could ask the same question about that morning. God, could it really only have been a few hours since he felt Sirius’ bare chest against his own? They had practically been spooning with how tight they were tangled in each other when he woke. Remus hardly remembered falling asleep, only aware of the pleasant ache in his muscles and the humming pleasure in his belly. Pure satisfaction. Pure comfort, at having Sirius hold him like more than a friend.
He watched Leo wander off. Sirius didn’t seem to have noticed. He didn’t so much as flinch when Remus stumbled off the rig and beelined for him, not until Remus stopped in front of him, unsure what to say. I want you I like you I’m sorry please kiss me again, I still get goosebumps thinking about the way your mouth tastes with adrenaline.
Sirius blinked up at him, full lips and glossy lashes. His bone structure was fucking criminal. “You’re back,” he said, so soft and sweet and genuinely happy that Remus’ stomach flopped over itself. Sirius stood, tucking his phone into his pocket without a second glance at it. He was just—big. And tall. And gorgeous. Remus now knew precisely how solid his chest was, and how nice it was to kiss. “Did you have a good day?”
Remus stepped forward and planted his face directly into that chest.
“Oh,” Sirius laughed. It vibrated against his forehead; he closed his eyes. Arms came up around him, hands settling at his nape and the small of his back. He knew he smelled awful. Sirius didn’t seem to care as a tentative kiss nestled on the top of his head and melted Remus’ insides out his throbbing feet.
He sighed. Sirius smelled all warm and spicy. Detergent, cologne, or simply the way he was? Remus couldn’t wait to find out. “This is nice.”
“Yeah.” The delight was back. Sirius pushed the breath from his lungs on a squeeze. “Yeah, it is. I like this.”
“I’m gonna kiss you,” Remus mumbled. “Gonna kiss you so good. Just…two seconds.”
“You can kiss me whenever you want.”
“Two seconds.” It was so dark in his new haven. Sirius’ lungs moved calmly, steadily. His heart rate was a little fast, but nothing to worry about. Remus let his ears go foggy and pressed closer, nuzzling into the space between his collarbones.
Sirius kissed the top of his head again, less hesitant this time, before resting his chin there. “Long day?” he asked after several seconds. Remus hummed. “Sounded like you guys didn’t get much of a break.”
“Mhmm.” He turned his head to the side and rubbed his cheek over Sirius’ sternum. He couldn’t count the number of times they had sat together on the couch or at the table or in the window seat, legs intertwined while they worked through their days. Separate snacks at first, then a single bowl to share once they knew each other’s favorites. It had been nice, to have someone there. Someone to talk to, someone to listen, someone who understood.
But this…this was so much better.
Sirius’ thumb stroked a short path along his spine. It zinged all the way into the base of Remus’ skull. “I sweated through your shirt,” he muttered, pushing his head further beneath Sirius’ chin. “After I stole it from you by accident. Sorry. I’ll wash it.”
He felt Sirius’ smile on his temple. “Keep it. Looks better on you.”
“Think I left mine at your place.”
“Guess you’ll just have to come back and get it,” Sirius whispered playfully. Remus couldn’t help a grin, raising his head despite the pounding drowsiness behind his eye—he had barely opened his mouth to retort when there were lips brushing his own, a wordless request. He granted it easily.
This was different than the rushed promise on the ambulance. Different than last night’s smoky, need-fueled passion. He let Sirius lead, tender and questioning, then pushed into it a little more. Have it, he tried to say. Take it all, it’s been yours for a while. The words may not work, but he was willing to bet Sirius would understand anyway. His lower lip was chapped on one side when Remus ran his tongue along the seam, giddy and dizzy with the kiss-buzz of chasteness.
“Hmm.”
That was good. It was all good, if Sirius would keep making noises like that. He brought his hands up to rest on narrow hips (marked with a tiny scar just above his thigh, which Remus was so fucking glad he knew now) and gave a little more, pushed a little harder. Sirius’ hand cupped his jaw and the right side of Remus’ brain powered down.
“Hm—wait, wait.”
His attempt to lick forward into Sirius’ mouth was stymied by sudden distance between them. Not far—he could still pick out each fleck of quicksilver in Sirius’ unfocused eyes—but far enough to be frustrating for the part of him that was enjoying turning his thoughts off. Remus went up on his toes for more, but Sirius pulled away. “What?” he whispered, though they were alone. “Did you—are you mad at me?”
“No,” Sirius said hurriedly. His hands soothed down Remus’ sides in a long drag that sent tingles through each cell. “God, no, I’m trying to—” His cheeks went a touch pink as he glanced around them and coughed lightly. “Uh, I’m trying to calm down.”
“Oh. Oh.”
Remus hadn’t even thought about that. He was pretty sure he was too tired for his body to consider arousal, aside from the inevitable spike of desire for a soft place to land for two to eight hours. Sirius’ mouth was so nice, his body so warm, that it was all too tempting to get lost in it.
Sirius’ tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. Well. Remus supposed he might be able to feel something other than pure exhaustion, if he tried. “What time do you get off?”
“Whenever you want me to,” Remus answered immediately, then felt himself redden at the arch of Sirius’ brows. “Fuck—sorry. Midnight. My shift’s done at midnight.”
The fingertips on his back had become an extraordinary distraction. Sirius looked almost shy, so at odds with the animated boy he knew against this backdrop that Remus wanted to memorize every inch of it. “Can I…” Sirius began, then trailed off as his blush darkened. His thumbs hooked around Remus’ hipbones and paused there, lingering on bare skin. “Can I maybe take you to dinner? Or a diner?”
“At midnight?”
“I know a couple places.”
Remus frowned. “You have work tomorrow.”
Sirius gave a sheepish half-shrug. “We could nap together. Today, I mean. If you want.”
“I smell horrible.”
“You smell fine.”
“I’m soaked in dry sweat.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I—” That was it for excuses. That was all he had. Every defense against Sirius was dust in the wind. He smiled, and stood on his toes again to kiss one scruffy cheek. “Yeah, sounds good. Let me wash my face and grab some water. I’ll meet you in the bunks.”
Sirius’ eyes crinkled, and Remus fell for him all over again. “I’ll be waiting.”
#remus lupin#sirius black#coops#leo knut#layla#sweater weather#vaincre#coast to coast#lumosinlove#my fic#fanfic#firefighter/ emt au#fic o’ween 2023#fluff
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So I was just watching Matty Healy’s “celebrity school run” interview from BCC Radio One, and my mind jumped right to imagining Sirius with a couple awestruck hockey kids in the back of his truck, navigating questions as he drives them around (maybe to hockey practice instead of school??)! Congrats on finishing finals!! <3
Fic O'Ween Day 9: Sugar Rush! Cap credit to @lumosinlove and fest credit to @noots-fic-fests <3 Cutie patootie start to the weekend!
“Ask him!”
“I don’t wanna ask. You do it.”
“Everything alright back there?”
A small boy in a blue shirt dropped an elbow into the side of his, equally small yet significantly blonder, companion. “How does the internet work?” the blond boy blurted.
In the front seat, Sirius Black frowned at the road. “Quoi?”
“I told you it was a dumb question!” a redheaded little girl whispered across the seat.
“The internet,” the blond boy repeated, twisting the pocket of his cargo shorts into a nub in his fist. “How’s it work?”
“Uh…”
“My mom said the government tells you on your first adult birthday,” the dark-haired boy informed him as he leaned forward onto the console. “So you’ve gotta know, ‘cause you’re totally an adult.”
“Your mother is right, Ethan,” Sirius agreed. His eyes darted to the small camera stuck on the car’s dashboard. “That’s—yes, you’ll have to wait until you’re eighteen to find out. I can’t tell you. It would be illegal.”
Ethan rolled his eyes. “But you’re Canadian, so American laws don’t apply to you.”
“It’s international.” Suburban homes rolled past outside, surrounded by fresh spring foliage. “The UN decided on that rule.”
“Aw, man.”
“Are you really getting married?” the redheaded girl piped up.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Summer.”
“But when?”
“Summer,” Sirius repeated with a laugh.
“What day?” She poked her head between the front seats as well, bumping shoulders with Ethan. “Can we come?”
“Definitely not. Both of you, sit back, you’re going to get hurt.” Sirius glanced into the rearview mirror as he turned onto another narrow street. “Look at Jacob. He’s doing it right.”
Jacob preened, shooting each of his companions a Cheshire grin. “Lydia said you’re getting married to your boyfriend. Is that true?”
“Fiance, but yes.” Sirius reached back to shoo Lydia and Ethan back into their seats, one hand on the wheel. “Why do you know so much about my wedding? Aren’t you supposed to ask me hockey questions?”
“We have time. School doesn’t start for an hour.” Lydia folded her hands in her lap and squinted to look out at the road. “Also, my sister plays hockey and she was telling me that her team was telling her that you're gonna be the first married hockey player ever.”
“That’s…that’s not true.”
“Of course it is.”
“There are so many married hockey players!” Sirius laughed.
“Oh yeah?” Jacob challenged. “Who?”
“James Potter, Pascal Dumais, Sergei Ivanov, Adam Fox, Mika Zibanejad, Brad Marchand—I think most NHL players are married, actually.”
“Is the Earth actually round, or is the government lying?” Ethan asked, picking at the back of Sirius’ seat.
Sirius pressed his lips together for a moment. “Ah,” he began, coughing through a laugh. “Nope, it’s definitely round. People have known that for a long time.”
“My uncle says the government lies a lot.”
“Well, my uncle works for the government,” Jacob scoffed.
“Well—”
“Why is the Earth round?” Lydia butted in. “I think you’re lying. If it was round, everything in Australia would be upside down.”
“Oh god,” Sirius muttered. “Okay, new rule: no flat Earth discussions in the car.”
“Cause you’re lying?”
“Cause Galileo is spinning in his grave.”
“Isn’t that the bird from the movie with the girl and the volcano and the lizard and Russell Crowe and that one lady?”
Jacob gasped and turned to her. “My mom loves Russell Crowe! Y’know, Mr. Sirius Black, you kinda look like Russell Crowe.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“He kinda does,” Ethan admitted.
“Nuh-uh.”
“Yuh-huh.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Yuh-huh.”
“Nuh—”
“Okay,” Sirius announced as he paused at a stoplight with a thousand-yard stare. “We’re not doing any ‘nuh-uh’s until you are safely at school. Do you act like this when your parents are driving?”
All three children stared at him from the backseat. For a singular second, their fidgeting paused. “Like what?” Lydia asked, clearly bewildered. “The lady with the camera told us to ask you questions.”
Sirius seemed to process that for a beat. His fingertips drummed on the steering wheel while they waited for the light to change. “I’m starting to realize I don’t spend enough time with kids to know how you’re supposed to act.”
“Isn’t your brother a million years younger than you?”
“Six years.”
Lydia gave him a skeptical look over her glasses. “I’m only eight, so that’s basically forever.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“How come clouds have different shapes?” Ethan asked. “Is it because birds fly through them and turn them all thin after they’re fluffy?”
“No, the wind does that.”
“Why?”
“It’s the wind, it doesn’t have reasons.”
“How do you know.”
“Because I’m an adult. Hey, look, a pigeon.”
All three children lunged toward the window, straining at their seatbelts and booster seats. Sirius glanced at the dashcam with a small, pleased smile and made a smooth left turn onto Main Street. “Where is it?” Jacob asked eagerly. “Was it big? What color was it? I don’t see it.”
“Oh, I think it was in the parking lot back there,” Sirius said casually. “Keep an eye out, see if there are more.”
“I’m never allowed to ask adults this many questions,” Lydia gushed, swinging her feet above the floor of the car. “Do you pay taxes?”
“Yes.”
“How do they work?”
“Good question. I have no idea.”
Ethan, apparently tired of pigeon-spotting, sat up straight and began peeling a sticker off the side of his booster. “Do you speak French?”
“Ouais.”
“Can you say something in French?”
“Ouais,” Sirius repeated with a grin.
“Please?”
“I just did.”
“Way,” Ethan mimicked. “Ha! That sounds like a duck. Wah-wah-wah-wah—”
“Yellow punch buggy.”
A flurry of movement and stifled ‘ow’s followed on swift wings; Sirius winced, but didn’t seem particularly regretful. “So,” he tried again. “What do you guys like to do at school?”
“Have lunch.”
“Read.”
“Recess.”
He nodded with a light laugh. “You know what, that’s fair.”
Jacob cocked his head to the side. “Did you like school?”
“I loved school.”
“What was your favorite subject?”
“Math.” A simultaneous false gag from three different mouths made him jump slightly, glancing over his shoulder. “Jesus—”
“I hate math,” Lydia declared. “We started multiplication and it makes my head hurt.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
Ethan’s nose wrinkled. “I like math, but it’s definitely not my favorite. Hey, do you have tattoos?”
“No.”
“Can we see them?”
Sirius’ brow knit. “I just told you I don’t have any.”
“You’re a hockey player, you gotta have tattoos. Thomas Walker has them, Cole Reyes has them, James Potter has them…”
“James doesn’t have tattoos,” Sirius snorted. “Where are you getting your information?”
“My brother. He knows everything.”
“How old is he?”
“Eleven.”
Sirius nodded slowly, biting the inside of his cheek. “A wise age.”
“How many teeth are you missing?”
“None, dude,” Jacob interrupted. “Didn’t you see earlier? He has perfect teeth. Hey, Mr. Sirius Black, did you have braces?”
“No.”
“Your teeth just grew like that?”
“Mhmm.”
“I just lost a tooth last week.”
Sirius stopped at the corner, looking over his shoulder at them. “Oh, really? Your first?”
“Nah, my fifth,” Jacob answered, as jaded as a third-grader could get. “It’s boring now. I got a quarter for it, though. My sister wanted to tie it to a doorknob, but my dad didn’t let her.”
Lydia nodded solemnly. “My cousin lost her first tooth when a piñata hit her.”
“I lost mine while I was eating a tuna sandwich,” Ethan added. “Then it was a blood sandwich. It was crazy.”
“Gross,” Lydia said with great approval.
Apparently satisfied with the direction the conversation had gone, the car remained near-silent for almost fifteen seconds. They headed past several gas stations (and their pigeon-filled parking lots) before stopping once again at a red light.
Ethan let out a loud gasp. “Tim Hortons!”
Sirius turned as if on instinct, craning his neck, before he seemed to realize the danger of the situation. Lydia slapped at the back of the driver’s seat with an excited hand, bouncing in her booster. “We gotta go, we gotta go, we gotta go.”
To his credit, Sirius spared a half-second to consider it. “Absolutely not.”
To his demise, Sirius spared a half-second to consider it. They fell on him like miniature wolves to a downed caribou.
“Please,” Ethan begged. “Please, please, their hot cocoa is so good, you don’t understand.”
“I’m Canadian, I understand better than you do.”
“Then we have to go!”
“There is no world where I get three kids on a Tim Horton’s sugar rush before school.” He shook his head and began turning off Main Street. “Not in this lifetime. Your teachers would hunt me for sport.”
“You’re Canadian! You’re—you’re Queb—” Ethan made a frustrated noise and turned to Jacob. “What’s the word for Quebec people?”
“…Canadians…?”
“Quebecois,” Sirius informed him. His eyes widened slightly. “Wow, is that the first question you’ve asked that I can actually answer?”
“You’re Quebecois,” Ethan continued, stumbling over each syllable. He made it there in the end, but not before everyone else in the car made a pained face. “That means you have to take us to Tim Horton’s.”
“No.”
Lydia’s eyes were fever-bright in the backseat, as if she had knocked back a handful of jellybeans and Red Bull. “Timmy’s, Timmy’s, Timmy’s…”
“Please, no.”
Jacob and Ethan brightened immediately, because of course they did. Sirius watched the road in mournful disbelief, like he was driving into his personal hell with no exit ramp in sight. “TIMMY’S, TIMMY’S, TIMMY’S—”
“I’ve never having children.”
“TIMMY’S, TIMMY’S, TIMMY’S, TIMMY’S—”
The shouting came to an abrupt halt. Sirius parked the car under the shade of a large oak tree and waited for several seconds, until all three kids started to exchange wary looks. The silence dragged on. Polyester and cotton rustled.
Sirius rested his elbow on the console and turned to the backseat, one eyebrow raised. “Are we done?”
“Are you gonna turn this car around?” Jacob whispered in quiet horror.
“Non. I have a deal for you, though.” Instant curiosity overcame their concern. Sirius held three fingers up. “One: don’t kick the back of my seat. Two: don’t yell in my car, it’s very distracting. Three: Count five pigeons by the time we get to school. I will ask your parents if I can bring you Timbits—”
Gasps of delight filled the car.
“—if you promise to do all three of those things.”
Jacob tucked his hands under his legs, all but vibrating with anticipation. “Can you get cinnamon ones?”
“Can you find five pigeons?”
“Of course I can,” he whispered.
Sirius nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Do you make a million bajillion dollars?” Lydia asked.
“Non. But I do have money for Timbits for nice kids who ask cool questions.”
Ethan’s mouth fell open. “We’re nice kids who ask cool questions!”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Sirius gave a teasing hum. “I don’t know. Think you can prove it in the next five minutes?”
“What kind of dog do you have?” Lydia asked without hesitation.
“Oh, that is a good question.” The car rumbled to life, and they pulled onto the road without issue. “I don’t know. She’s black, and she has pointy ears.”
“How long do you want to play hockey?”
“Oof. A while. Maybe ten more years? We’ll see.”
Ethan finished peeling the sticker off his booster seat and reached over Lydia to stick it on Jacob’s. “Is being an adult fun?”
“Yes.”
“Is it hard?”
“Yes.”
“If you could get in a time machine and be eight again, would you do it?”
“No.”
Jacob frowned. “How come?”
“Because I like being able to make my own dinner, I would miss my friends, and I wouldn’t be able to get Tim Horton’s whenever I want to.”
Lydia started to kick the back of his seat in boredom, but quickly tucked her foot behind her other leg. “If you were eight and went to our school, do you think we would be friends?”
Sirius smiled, moving slowly past a wire fence. “Sure.”
“Can you say more French stuff?”
“Comme quoi?”
“Um—can you say ‘hello’?”
“Bonjour.”
Jacob chewed on his lower lip. “Can you say…this school is super cool?”
“Cette école est très cool.”
“Is ‘cool’ the same in both?”
“Ouais.”
“Okay, stop, stop, you gotta do English now,” Ethan said hurriedly, waving his hands. “I don’t speak French.”
“That’s okay, you can learn,” Sirius laughed. They rolled to a stop in a mostly-empty section of the parking lot; he waved to someone outside, and the children quickly followed suit. He propped his arm on the console again and raised his eyebrows. “I think your parents are ready to have you back. Any last questions?”
“Do you like books?”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“What kind of Timbits do you like?’
“Have you been playing hockey since before we were born?”
“How does electricity work?”
“Do you kiss your boyfriend? Oh, yeah, how do cars work?”
“How come the sky changes colors but the ocean doesn’t?”
Sirius didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, blue, all of them, yes, I think it’s something with electrons and metal? Yes, engines and combustion, and because the sky and the ocean are made of different things.”
“Okay,” Jacob said with a decisive nod. “Cool! Thanks!”
“Thank you, this was lots of fun.” Sirius unbuckled his seat belt and stepped out of the car, then came around and opened the backseat door for them. They spilled out in a pile, each meeting his gentle fist-bump with incredible enthusiasm that only grew when he feigned injury at the strength of their hands. Their booster seats came free with little finagling. “Alright, go see your parents. I can carry these.”
“Wait!” Lydia yelped, turning on her heel halfway through a step. “What about the Timbits?”
“Nobody kicked my seat or yelled,” Sirius mused, gathering the boosters in his arms. “Pigeons?”
“Two on the sidewalk, one in the parking lot, and two at the Gas ‘n Sip,” Jacob announced.
“Then they’ll be here when you get out of school,” he promised. They shook on it, tiny hands dwarfed by his palm, before they were off at a sprint once more. “Be safe! Don’t trip on the concrete!”
#sirius black#ocs#sweater weather#vaincre#my fic#fanfic#lumosinlove#fluff#lion pride#celebrity school run#fic o’ween 2023
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If you wanted to write grumpy logan and finn/leo lovingly making fun of him until logan is no longer grumpy, you would do it so well and I would love it
Fic O'Ween Day 7: Pumpkin Spice, for the Cubs :) Kudos and thanks to @noots-fic-fests and @lumosinlove for fest details and characters!
“You’re so cute when you’re grumpy,” Leo hummed, nuzzling into the soft fluff of curls above Logan’s ear. A wordless grumble answered him and he smiled. “Like a kitten, getting all puffed up.”
“—fucking—taxes, mon dieu—”
Cranky French interspersed the muttered undercurrent. Leo wasn’t worried; Logan got loud and direct when he was angry. This was nothing more than the usual fussiness. “I made muffins.”
“—witchcraft fuckery—”
“With cranberries,” he coaxed.
Logan aggressively scribbled out a line on his notepad, but Leo felt him lean closer.
“You’ve been here for two hours, cher.”
He pressed a flat palm between Logan’s shoulders, rubbing gently over the tight muscle and warm skin beneath his shirt. It was one of Finn’s, he thought—a faded thing from the Strand in the pretty red that made his eyes pop. It might have been a gift from some point in their college years, but that was unlikely. Logan had always preferred petty theft from their closets to actually owning anything he liked.
Logan groaned under his breath and pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m going to commit felonies against the IRS.”
“Very American of you.”
“Get out of my apartment.”
“It was my apartment first,” Leo smiled into his temple, and sealed it with a kiss. “C’mon. Muffin time. You’re hangry.”
“It’s not my fault you can’t do your own taxes.”
“I can. It’s just that I have a boyfriend who offers to do them for me.”
Logan snorted. “Do you?”
“Mhmm.” He wrapped his arms around Logan from behind, bending slightly. “He’s real smart, too. Capable. Knows how to do math.”
“What a dreamboat,” Logan deadpanned.
“Yeah, you got it.” He was still tense in Leo’s hold, but it softened when Leo pulled his hat off and kissed the top of his head. “I have a thing for nerds.”
“Boo. Go away, I need to finish this.”
“You’re sure you don’t want a muffin? They’re still warm.”
“Not hungry.”
Liar, liar. “Alright. More for me, then.” He nipped the shell of Logan’s ear. “I’ll tell Harzy he’s got free reign.”
“Fine, whatever.”
Leo rolled his eyes and hoped Logan felt it. “Taxes aren’t due until April, baby.”
Logan’s pen gave a prompt clack. “Ouais, and if I put it off until then, you won’t see me for four days. Let me drown in my spreadsheets, please.”
“Whatever makes you happy.”
Logan grumbled something like never makes me happy, but if he wanted to continue making himself miserable, Leo couldn’t really stop him. He had already offered muffins; what more could he do?
He had only partially been telling the truth, anyway. One batch of the muffins was done. It was just that he tended to get excited when fall hit, and ravenous when hockey season started, and every recipe spontaneously doubled in his hands like a cornucopian miracle. Some people kept special daylight lamps around. Leo had a five-pound bag of Craisins and a free afternoon to go absolutely ham with the last bit of sunlight energy he could throttle from October. They all had their own methods of dealing with it.
He only burnt his fingertips a little while prying a muffin from the tin and popping it into his mouth in one bite, and considered that a win.
An hour passed without much change. Leo measured, Logan worked. Leo mixed, Logan groused. Leo doled out batter to (perfectly-lined) muffin tins, Logan scribbled away at his notepad and beat Google Calendar into submission. Finally, as the third tray went in, Leo watched him stand with a groan worthy of an octogenarian and wander stiffly down their short hallway. He smiled to himself and set the oven timer. The work would be done soon enough. If he popped a show on and got comfortable on the couch, he might even be able to tempt Logan away from his numbers into a pre-dinner snuggle.
Whistling echoed from the hall outside, followed by the jingle of keys. Finn was already kicking his shoes off when the door opened, clicking his tongue to the rhythm of whatever played in his earbuds. His face brightened when he saw Leo. “Sup, Butter?”
“Heads up.” A muffin sailed through the air and Finn caught it, barely. “Tremzy’s cheating on me.”
“Wh—” Finn gave a hard blink and glanced over his shoulder. “Is this—I’m going to walk out and come back in again. Wrong apartment. Sorry, cheating? Logan Tremblay? Are we talking about the same person? If you’re talking about me, I’ve made sure that joke is overdone.”
“Her name is Microsoft Excel, and she’s got to be stopped.”
“Oh.” Finn’s bafflement became a regretful nod as he joined Leo by the sink. “His first love. I see the problem.”
“He turned down muffins.”
“Damn, this guy sounds lame. Need a new boyfriend?”
Leo kissed his sideways grin and flipped the water on. “Not currently looking to fill that position, but I’ll keep you at the top of my list.”
Finn’s arms folded around his waist and gave a gentle squish. “You should let me do that, babe.”
“Just rinsing.”
“Hmm.” He felt a kiss through his shirt. “Been cooking all day?”
“Mostly. Reg called this morning and I’m going out with Bliz and Cole at five.”
“What, I’m not invited?” Finn asked with false offense.
“Goalies only,” Leo said with even falser sympathy.
“Reyes isn’t a goalie.”
“Well, we like him better.”
Finn’s indignant noise was stifled by a mouthful of muffin and Leo laughed, jumping at the light pinch to his hip where his shirt rode up. He let Finn shoo him away from the sink with a dishtowel and waited by the counter instead to admire the way he shoved his sweater sleeves up to his elbows.
The bathroom door opened and Leo watched Logan make his way back to the table, all grimaces and stretches, with a final jaw-cracking yawn as he fell into his chair again. The neckline of his shirt was damp, like he had washed his face. He took no notice of the sneakers by the door or Finn at the sink.
“Hey, Lo,” Leo called. “Gotcha something.”
“An accountant?”
Like you’d let anyone else handle this. “A treat.”
“Thought you made muffins.”
Leo caught Finn’s smile out of the corner of his eye and shut the faucet off, passing him the towel. “Nope, different treat.”
“What is it?”
“Guess.”
“Uh…” Logan trailed off, tapping his pen against the notepad. “I don’t know, what?”
“C’mon, humor me.”
“Give me a hint.”
Leo bit his lip against a smile and hooked his finger in Finn’s waistband, guiding him away from the sink. “Pumpkin spice.”
Finn had to turn his face into his shoulder to muffle a snort. Leo pressed three fingers over Finn’s lips, not that it would do much. Ahead of them, Logan’s shoulders relaxed. “You got me coffee? That’s nice of you.”
“Try again.”
“What—uh, bread. Pumpkin bread.”
“Sweeter.”
“Cake?”
“Sweeter.”
“…doughnuts?”
“You like it more than doughnuts.”
“Is it…like, Halloween candy, or something?” Logan sat back from the table and lifted his arms to adjust his hat; Leo caught Finn around the waist and hefted him off his feet, then plopped him with great ceremony into Logan’s waiting lap.
“Oh, hi there,” Finn laughed.
“Coucou.” Logan’s eyes crinkled with the force of his smile and he ducked his laughter into Finn’s neck. “Pumpkin spice, eh?”
“Apparently.” Finn shuffled into a more upright position and slung his arm across Logan’s shoulders, toying lightly with his mussed curls. “A little birdie told me you’ve been up to no good. Taxes, scowling, refusal of muffins.”
Logan’s cheeks darkened with a blush. He cast Leo a guilty look. “Sorry.”
“There’s a heavy punishment for neglecting baked goods,” Finn informed him. “We have to take you into custard-y.”
“Get off me.”
“And you have to pay a fine of a hundred kisses before five o’clock.”
Logan’s eyebrows rose with interest—his loose hold around Finn’s waist tightened. “Stay on me. Quoi?”
“This is serious business, Mr. Tremblay.”
“Who gets this payment?”
“Well, it’s a half-and-half deal.” Leo didn’t know how Finn kept his face so solemn. “Half to the lawyer—me, obviously—and half to the baker who was so cruelly slighted in this afternoon’s incident.”
“Do I have to pony up all at once, or can I make…” Logan nudged up against Finn’s cheek, a dimple just barely forming. “…a down payment?”
“I’m sure something can be arranged.”
“Hmm.” Their kiss was soft enough to make Leo’s breath stutter in his chest—just a whisper over Finn’s bottom lip that had him chasing more. Logan bumped their noses together. “Spicy.”
Finn all but melted into his chest. “You know it.”
Jade eyes darted over and fixed Leo in place. Logan cast a quick up-and-down look over him, then propped his chin on Finn’s shoulder and gave a small, close-lipped smile. “That baker better get over here so I can give him a piece of my mind.”
The countertop was oven-warm when Leo leaned back. “How much are we giving to charity?”
Logan blinked. “Seventeen percent.”
“What’s seventeen percent of fifty?”
“Eight and a half.”
Leo stepped forward and braced his hands on the back of the chair, bracketing Logan’s head. “Tip your local bakeries, Tremblay. You owe me fifty-eight and a half kisses.”
Confusion blossomed into the kind of smile Leo lived for. “Let’s call it an even twenty percent. I’m feeling generous.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal.”
#leo knut#logan tremblay#finn ohara#cubs#oknutzy#coast to coast#sweater weather#vaincre#lumosinlove#my fic#fanfic#fluff#pumpkin spice#fic o’ween 2023
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WAIT CAN WE HAVE THE FIRST TIME JAX SAW REGULUS CRY PLEASE PLEASE IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY
(bonus points if they comfort him)
Fic O'Ween Day 4: Dead End, or three times Regulus almost cried in front of his friends and one time he actually did. Thanks to @noots-fic-fests for compiling all these amazing submissions, and to @lumosinlove for a tragically beautiful Regulus <3 Jax, Kris, and Vanessa are OCs of mine!
TW for injury, and canon shitty treatment at the hands of the Snakes
I.
Regulus was really good at not crying. Not crying was the easiest thing in the world. Instead of letting himself get worked up until he spilled over, he could just…not do that. He could swallow it down. Choke it back. The problem was that once he started crying, he couldn’t stop, and since nobody would care either way, it wasn’t worth the effort and embarrassment. He was a grown man. He’d been through worse.
Worse than a B minus, at least.
He was pretty sure.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” he answered mildly. “And yourself?”
Jax’s mouth turned down at the sides. “Uh, can’t complain. What’s…what’s going on?”
Regulus shrugged one shoulder. He couldn’t bring himself to close the tab of his failure. “Preparing for the week.”
“Right.” Jax didn’t sound like they believed him. Unfortunate. He used to be a much better liar.
“I always do that.”
“I know.”
Odd. He hadn’t expected them to know his habits. It had only been three months.
“You seem—” Jax broke off, setting their bag down on the floor with an unusually delicate touch. They leaned against the edge of their desk and gave him a funny look. “Do you want to talk?”
Regulus’ gut twisted on reflex. “About what?”
It came out too harsh—they shrank back slightly, shoulders drooping, dark eyes flicking away. He should apologize. He should.
“What would you like to talk about?” he tried instead.
“Dunno.” That was another thing he was getting used to: the way people started speaking just to speak, to fill the silence. Jax rarely second-guessed their words. Even now, they shifted their weight from one hip to the other only once before beginning again. “I was at the gym this afternoon.”
A strange thing to note. He waited for them to continue; when they didn’t, he mustered an encouraging noise.
“So if you’re ever interested…”
“You want me to come with you?”
“Well, I—if you’re interested—”
“Why would you want that?” What was it about college that made people so vague?
Jax gestured at him with one hand. “I don’t know! You’re in good shape, I guess I figured you were there anyways. And it seems dumb to go at different times when we live together.”
“But then we don’t have to argue for the shower.”
Regulus wasn’t always good at facial expressions, but even he could read the exasperation (though not irritation) in the set of Jax’s eyes and mouth. “I want to spend time with you,” they said bluntly. Kindly. Almost like Sirius, without his awkwardness. They tilted their head to look at him. “You don’t have to, but we haven’t had a lot of time to just hang out. I’m going for a shared hobby here, man.”
Hobby. Regulus didn’t recall the last time he worked out for fun. Never, probably. Running out his feelings on a treadmill made him less likely to curl up under his blankets in a screaming possum ball, but it wasn’t necessarily fun.
In his periphery, his computer screen dimmed. His heart went with it when he wiggled his computer mouse and the reminder of everything bad in the world glared back. “I don’t know if I can,” he said carefully. “I just failed out of English, so I should probably focus on that.”
“Wh—” Jax’s eyebrows shot toward their hairline before knitting in the middle. “How do you know that? It’s not the end of the semester.”
Regulus jerked his chin toward the screen. They followed his gaze. Looked back at him. Back to the computer. Back to Regulus.
“You’re looking at me like that explains everything,” they finally said.
“It’s a. Um.” Bitterness filled his mouth. “B minus.”
“And?”
Are you stupid? Regulus bit his tongue hard enough to make his eyes water. “It’s a B minus,” he repeated. “And so they’re going to kick me out.”
Jax let out a long breath, as if they were holding many things back. Regulus didn’t like it when they did that. He’d feel much better if they just told him they pitied him outright. “That’s not…no, that’s not how that works. Reg, no professor will fail you out of their class because of a B minus.”
The part of his brain that had been running through various explanations when he inevitably slunk back to Sirius’ doorstep came to a sputtering standstill. “Excuse me?”
“Dude, that’s not even a failing grade.”
Something next to his lungs began to shake. “Explain, please.”
“A C is considered average. You’re above average. Do you know that?” Jax’s concern crept back into their face. “It’s important to me that you know that.”
Average.
Above average.
He had been screamed at for above average. Lived in terror of doing his best and being found lacking for above average.
The fury was white-hot and all-consuming, and unexpected enough that he had to blink several times in quick succession to clear the burning from his eyes.
“Reg?”
“Excuse me,” he muttered. He tried to stand and found he couldn’t so much as twitch for fear of combustion.
“Hey.” Jax’s voice gentled. “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Kindness was the cruelest thing university could have given him. It was too-tight shoes and a necktie done just wrong on game day. Regulus felt his nostrils flare around a few deep breaths. A pulsing rod blazed just behind his eye. “You didn’t. Sorry. Yes, we should work out together sometime. Text me when you’re free.”
He stood on unsteady feet, left the dorm, and began to walk.
II.
“Don’t move, don’t move—”
“Shut the fuck up and do not touch me.”
The pain was overwhelming. Regulus’ temple throbbed from the force of squeezing his eyes shut. He could feel them all there, crowding him, closing in with their worry, holding their breath because he was angry and scared and angry because he was scared and scared because he was angry and in pain. And in pain.
He could work through pain. He had done it so many times.
Breathe. His chest didn’t hurt. His shoulders didn’t hurt. His stomach didn’t hurt. The throbbing below his waist could wait until he had taken a few deep breaths.
“Reg?”
Analyze. His leg was too hot and too cold at the same time. Everything below his left hip echoed his pulse, but his shin had a special kind of searing to it. His palms, too. Someone’s fingertips hovered at his pulse point and he twitched away. They stopped. They left him alone.
Do not cry.
The corners of his eyes were too wet in the gentle breeze.
Step Three: Do Not Cry.
“Reg, are you alright?” Kris’ reedy voice should have grated on him.
“I’m fine.” His voice wavered, but did not break. He unclenched his fists and flexed them, wincing at the sting of scraped skin. He took a sharp breath and wiggled his toes—no immediate pain. His leg muscles constricted when he told them to, relaxed when he breathed out.
Move on.
He went to bend his knee and immediately heard four people stumble over each other to stop him.
“You’re fine,” Jax said near his right ear. “But also, please don’t do that.”
Regulus opened one eye and frowned up at them. “Pick one.”
Jax hesitated a half-second longer than his patience. Regulus muttered a curse under his breath and sat up, grimacing at the carnage. The heels of his hands were trashed from the concrete; they would need full gauze, without a doubt. The gash running down his shin bled freely onto his (favorite) jeans and was beginning to seep out onto the ground. He sighed. “That’s not ideal.”
“Can we help?” Kris asked, all big eyes and bigger heart while he fiddled with the zipper of his first-aid kit. “I’d prefer to get a bandage on that before you move much, but we need to wash it out.”
Regulus tried to keep the judgement off his face. It seemed rude. “That’s not necessary,” he said. “But thanks. Pardon.”
Standing turned out to be a bad idea after all. The first bit of weight made his entire bad leg buckle and he narrowly missed crumpling on the ground for the second time in five minutes. Pain lanced up to his hip; Regulus dug his hands into the sidewalk to anchor himself, and when that only made it all hurt worse, settled for a handful of measured breaths.
The touch to his shoulder blade was featherlight. “Let me help,” Vanessa said softly.
Regulus hesitated. Better up than on the concrete, he supposed. He just—what if she couldn’t hold him?
She waited for him to nod before holding a hand out for him to take. Deadlift calluses and a firm grip reminded him just enough of Leo to not pull away when she braced her other hand behind his elbow and hoisted him upright, catching him when he swayed into her. “Easy,” she soothed. “Take your time.”
Regulus felt himself buffer, eyes fixed on her. Thick, dark hair drifted into her face in tiny wisps where it escaped her ponytail. She frowned down at the jagged rock that had cut into him like it personally wronged her.
“Thanks,” he mumbled. The upset vanished from her round face when she looked up again; there was a light squeeze to his torso. He got his weight under him, and yet she didn’t let go. Vanessa’s hold didn’t falter as they limped their way down the sidewalk, supported on every step.
He caught Jax’s eye as they turned toward the engineering building and found them already smiling.
III.
It’s a dumb movie, anyway.
That’s what Regulus told himself, listening to Clare sniffle while Kris watched the screen in openmouthed horror next to him. Jax’s description had been vague at best—something about a house and balloons and an old man’s emotional support Boy Scout.
But here they were, five minutes in, with no sign of balloons, Boy Scouts, or emotional support to be found. Just utter devastation and the inevitable march of death in spite of overwhelming love.
Goddamn mailbox, he thought. This whole problem could have been avoided if those two didn’t love each other to the ends of the earth. Which, of course, only made him think of Sirius’ ability to love with his entire heart and he really hoped Remus didn’t die first because that would be such a nightmare for everyone involved and oh, god, Sirius was going to die someday and leave him there—
“I forgot about this part,” Jax whispered in the darkness of the dorm. Their voice was only just loud enough for Regulus to hear over the movie.
He exhaled, and was surprised by how shaky it sounded to his own ears. “Fuck you.”
“Yeah,” they said sympathetically. “Fuckin’ Pixar. Need a minute?”
Regulus shook his head.
“ ‘Kay.” They sat quietly for another few seconds. A shoulder pressed gently against his own. “Let me know if you do, though.”
+1:
On an unassuming Thursday in April, it happened. The hammer came down. The other shoe dropped. Regulus’ luck ran out, the final bits drip-drip-dripping out into the ether and leaving him in a dead end of his own making.
In a way, it was inevitable.
“Holy shit,” Kris said, quiet and stunned and slower than Jax had ever heard him. His green eyes were blown wide; what had been a comfortable sprawl across his mattress for over an hour was now tense, the catch of breath before a scream. One airpod sat snug in his ear. His phone was lax in his hand and utterly innocent from Jax’s side of the room, save for Kris’ look of growing horror among his confusion.
“Kris?” they ventured. Kris remained silent. Jax’s pulse kicked. “What happened? Come on, man, that’s ominous as hell.”
“It’s Reg.”
Jax’s heart skipped a beat and fell right into the canyon below. “What?”
“He’s—” Kris’ mouth opened and closed a few times. “I don’t…”
“Is he hurt?” Their phone was here somewhere, buried under their notebooks goddamnit their mother was right about the organizing bins— “Kris, is he hurt? What happened?”
“He’s famous.”
They stuttered to a stop with their hand buried in the mess of their backpack.
“I think—I think he is? Or was. Or something. Hey, did you know he played hockey?”
Jax stared at him, then shook their head. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Come see this.” Kris finally looked up, motioning them over with his head as if he couldn’t let go of the damn phone. “Come here, c’mere.”
“Are you seriously about to make me watch a Tik…”
“Regulus, do you have any comments on the rivalry being set up between you and your brother? Does it get in the way of your personal relationship with Sirius at all, being on the Lions and the Snakes?”
“My brother’s got a dirty game—”
Jax didn’t hear the next few words. They were a little too concerned with the sudden absence of the floor beneath their feet.
“—don’t endorse that sort of hockey.”
“And your personal relationship? How about Thanksgiving?”
“What personal relationship?”
Jax closed their eyes. It wasn’t enough.
“As far as I’m concerned, he might as well stay away with the rest of his pack of cubs—”
“Stop.”
Light music halted and left the room in the soft rattle of their ancient radiator.
“This isn’t—stop,” they repeated, though Kris had long since abandoned his phone on the sheers. His pale hands were pressed against his mouth. Jax felt their skin crawl. “This isn’t right. I’m not watching that.”
“He looks sick.”
“Yeah. Jesus, yeah.” Something was wrong in that video. Regulus’ bright, clever eyes were emptier than a scoured pot. A scrape marred his cheek. The violent green of his uniform—jersey, maybe? Or just a shirt?—washed him into a greyed-out version of himself. His hair was cropped harsh and short above his ears, hardly a curl in sight.
Someone was laughing in the background of the video. Jax didn’t like the way he looked at Regulus. There were too many cameras and microphones shoved into his space; Regulus wouldn’t like that, either.
“He doesn’t talk about his brother that way.”
“No,” Kris agreed in a murmur. “No, he doesn’t.”
Not that Regulus talked about his family often, but on the rare occasion it came up, Sirius was always the first one he mentioned. Jax had met him back in September—tall and broad and handsome, with a barking laugh and a voice that carried. Regulus gravitated to him like a magnet, though Jax wasn’t sure it was a conscious habit.
What personal relationship? He might as well stay away.
Kris was right. He did look sick in that video.
“Can you…” God, this felt wrong, but they had to know. “Can I use your phone real quick?”
Kris’ sideways glance made them swallow convulsively. Nevertheless, he picked up his phone.
Search: Regulus Black
Buzzfeed: NHL DROPOUT APPLIES TO…
ESPN: Regulus Black: Where Is He Now?
NHLWorld: Black Jerseys 70% Off—Everything Must…
Hockey Daily Magazine: Broken Contract and Rumors of Court!
#BlackBash
#RegulusBlack
#RegulusBlackSnakes
#BlackSlytherin
#BlackBrothers
#Playoffs2020
#AllStars2020
“Holy shit…”
NHLNews: Player Abuse in Sly…
#RegulusBlackCollege
#RegulusBlackSiriusBlack
@ hockeypalooza: I’m sorry but Regulus Black was the best player that team had ever…
@ slythlife: Black better not show his face in slyth ever again I stg
“When was that taken?”
Kris’ throat bobbed. He turned his phone off. “Last November.”
Jax pressed their fingers to their temples and let a sour breath out. This was too much. Too much. Their skull was going to implode. “Okay. Okay. Christ. Okay. Reg was famous, he left, he’s here now, it doesn’t matter.”
“We can’t tell him we know.” Kris stared into the middle distance—or, no, at Regulus’ bed. Always made, but a little wonky, like he was still figuring out how to do it right. A loose sock laid on the floor by one of his astrophysics books. “He doesn’t want us to know, or he would have said something. I’ve never heard him mention hockey. He said sports weren’t his thing.”
“He was a professional player.”
“For, what, half a season?” Kris’ lips pursed. “I’m not telling him we know. He left for a reason. Fine. That’s his business. He’ll say something when he’s—”
A key scraped against their door lock and Jax…Jax’s organs discovered the miracle of negative acceleration along the y-axis.
Regulus stepped in and slung his bag onto his desk chair. He opened his mouth to speak, saw them, and stopped. Stopped, like a deer staring down a Ford-F150. Every muscle primed and wound tight, as if someone had pressed ‘pause’ on the rotation of the world. His fingertip hovered in the handle-loop of his backpack.
“Oh,” he said simply. “Oh, no.”
And he left.
“Wait,” Kris called, far too weak and far too late. Jax’s brain refocused all in a rush—they both scrambled for the door, slipping on shoes and snatching wallets off whatever horizontal surface they called home.
“Shit, shit shit, shit,” Jax muttered. They shouldn’t have done this. They shouldn’t have looked. Kris was always right, always reasonable, never knee-jerk, so much better at this. They should have known better than to dig where they shouldn’t.
“I’ll check the library,” Kris said, jamming his phone in his back pocket. “I’ll—mother of fuck, this is not what I wanted. I’m deleting TikTok. And Google, fucking Google?”
Jax’s jaw throbbed with tooth-locking guilt. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t have looked, I’m so sorry.”
“Abuse cases? Abuse cases.” Kris swore again and pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Fine. Alright. I’ve got the library. Text if you find him first. Holy shit.”
“I’m telling Vanessa to keep an eye out.”
“Good, yeah, whatever.”
Jax fought every urge to sprint down the hallway. Regulus was already long gone. Causing a scene wasn’t going to help. He probably wouldn’t come back to the apartment unless they found him first. Maybe ever. Oh, god, Jax would never forgive themselves if Reg left because they were a nosy little shit with no poker face.
For the first time, Jax wished NYU didn’t span a million city blocks. A fenced-in Ivy in the middle of nowhere would make them miserable, but it would be a hell of a lot easier to corner his flighty roommate when his hiding place wasn’t the entirety of New York City.
Well—well.
Regulus’ backpack was still in the dorm. He kept his wallet in the side pocket, zippered up tight. No MetroCard meant no subways. No student ID meant no twenty-story buildings to slip into. Regulus’ Ultra Panic Mode meant…nothing good, but at least he wouldn’t go far. Jax’s stomach twisted more than usual at the thought of him falling apart alone.
They shot off another text to Vanessa (whose string of ????? was the only correct response to their disaster of an initial message) and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
For a day with the potential to ruin a new and treasured portion of Jax’s life, it was quite beautiful out. The air was crisp and only reeked a little from the crusty hot dog stand down the block; the massive column sticking out of a manhole was missing its usual billow of subway steam and left the sky an unmarred blue above them. They were learning to like the spring on this coast. It was cold, sure, but if they wanted it to feel more like home, they would have gone to California. New York was their escape in every sense. They just—
They just really didn’t want to lose Regulus.
They hadn’t been sure what to make of him at first: so quiet, so reserved, every emotion leashed. But then he was kind and smart and funny in his weird way. He hadn’t fumbled a pronoun since the first day. He came home early from winter break, just so Jax and Vanessa wouldn’t be alone for their last holiday week after flights home fell through.
It wasn’t that Regulus didn’t like them. It was just that he was so very afraid of some looming shadow that had remained unnamed until that very afternoon. Jax couldn’t even blame him for it. If hockey made Regulus that ill, it was a small wonder he did everything in his power to leave it behind.
The bell of the narrow bookstore on 14th street chimed when they entered. The corner seat was unchanged, down to the burnt-orange cushion with a torn side seam. The rest of the shop vanished behind a massive chestnut shelf when they sat, folding their legs up. It was nice in here. Dim lights and a quiet heater. The owner had swapped out the winter candles for fresher springtime scents just a few weeks before.
“I never lied.”
“I know.” They stretched one leg out to roll the tension from their ankle. “You okay?”
“Non. How did you find out?”
His accent was thicker. Upset was etched in every angle in the corner of Jax’s vision. Shame wedged icy fingers between their ribs. “A video popped up on Kris’ TikTok feed. We shouldn’t have watched it.”
“I wouldn’t have told you.”
“I figured.”
“I wasn’t—I was trying—” Regulus’ jaw ticked. His forehead furrowed as he picked at the laces of his shoes. “You have no idea what it was like. The way it got twisted up, I—and I didn’t want it, and I couldn’t leave.”
Don’t fucking cry.
“I couldn’t get out. Not until that game.” They saw him shake his head minutely. “I wouldn’t have. I wouldn’t have tried.”
“What game?”
“The…” Regulus turned to look at them then, eyes narrowed. “What was in the video?”
My brother’s got a dirty game. What personal relationship?
“You were in a room. I don’t know, there was a lot of hockey stuff around. People had stuff all up in your face.” Jax brought a fingernail to their mouth and bit absently at it. “It was an interview, something about your brother.”
“Fuck.”
The quiet ferocity of it made their heart clench in surprise. Regulus tipped his head back against the cool window. The edges of his lips had gone white with tension and Jax had never felt such regret for honesty in their entire life.
“I hate that fucking video.” It came out hoarse. Jax’s belly went Gordian. “I’m sorry.”
“What? No, dude, I’m sorry. We should have scrolled past it. We should’ve—we should have waited for you to tell us.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Then you wouldn’t,” Jax said gently. “And that’s fine.”
Regulus’ mouth turned down at the corner. “I can be out by Saturday.”
In the throes of disbelief, all they could do was shake their head. “What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t bring a lot of stuff. It shouldn’t take long.”
“Reg, what are you talking about?”
An owl-eyed stare pinned Jax; intense, but not angry. They had been prepared for anger. Not…whatever this was. “Why are you here?” he asked carefully.
“To apologize? Because Kris and I fucked up and you left before we could say anything?”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do,” Jax insisted. “And clearly not enough people have apologized to you even once in your life, ‘cause it’s shitty when your secrets come out and it’s scary and so I’m here for you. And I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. For this, and for all those assholes who made you play hockey when you were meant to be a space nerd.”
Of all the reactions to a sudden outburst Jax had expected, a trembling lower lip wasn’t one of them.
“Oh, god.” Panic pulsed in their chest. “Was that too much?”
“I hate that fucking video,” Regulus whispered, voice breaking. His eyes welled with tears. Jax’s tongue turned to lead in their mouth.
This couldn’t possibly be real. Not this. Not sitting in a hole-in-the-wall bookstore while Regulus took stuttering breaths around tears he didn’t seem to know how to handle. “Hey,” Jax said softly. “Oh, hey, I’m sorry.”
“No, no, no,” Regulus muttered angrily, scrubbing at his cheeks with shaking hands. “Fuck—merde, one second.”
“It’s okay.”
“Non, stop it.”
We’re doing this. We’re doing this. “Reg, it’s fine. Is this—is this alright?”
Regulus froze up at the tentative touch to his shoulder. Jax waited, heart in their throat, before Regulus gave a slight, pained nod and leaned ever so slightly into them. It was incredibly heartbreaking and also deeply weird, the way Jax supposed it would feel to pet a wild tiger in a zoo.
Worst of all, it made sense. The mottled skin of Regulus’ ankles. His careful silence, only broken in the presence of a few friends. He had hardly spoken unless spoken to until January. Jax had seen skates, just once, tucked in the corner of his closet behind his laundry bag.
They had chalked it up to the Canadian thing. One of their stupider moments, looking back.
“Please don’t leave.”
Regulus paused with his sleeve pressed below his nose. “Quoi?”
“It’s…” There was a dent in the hardwood beneath the toe of their sneaker. “I mean, you’re my best friend. So I’d like it if you stayed. If you want.”
The request felt too fragile. The wound, too raw. Would Regulus be angry that they asked?
“Why would you want that?” Regulus asked after several beats of empty air between them. He sounded mystified by the very thought.
“You’re my best friend.” The corners of their eyes stung. They gave Regulus a little pulse of pressure, the shadow of a hug. “I’d miss you if you left.”
“Oh.”
“I won’t make you leave if you don’t want to.”
A tear glimmered in the light as it fell from Regulus’ cheekbone to his jaw, where he brushed it on the sleeve of his shirt. The cuffs were stretched, like he’d been gripping them in iron hands; they matched the frayed hems of his hoodies in a rather sickening way. “I want to stay.”
“Thank god.”
A rueful smile pulled at Regulus’ mouth. “You know, you might be the first person who wanted me around.”
“That’s so…” There were no words. Literally nothing could encompass the fresh-scrape sting of each new layer of tragic backstory peeling away. “Is there any part of your life story that isn’t depressing as hell?”
“Probably not,” Regulus snorted.
He was warm under Jax’s palm. The shivering had stopped. “Well, I’m here if you want to talk about it.”
“Merci.”
“Do you—”
“No.”
They nodded and mimed zipping their lips, and it made Regulus smile just a little, so it was worth it. He hadn’t pulled away from their one-handed hug yet. Jax counted that as a victory. It was sort of like washing a wound in the ocean: it stung like a bitch, but they were better for it in the end. Regulus’ wounds had been opened and reopened for nineteen years by uncaring hands. His cleanse was going to burn more than most. But even if gifts baffled him and kind words made him grimace and hugs were—whatever this was, Jax would be there. This time, he wouldn’t have to do it alone.
#regulus black#jax#kris#vanessa#sweater weather#vaincre#lumosinlove#my fic#fanfic#hurt/ comfort#angst with a happy ending#fic o’ween 2023#best friend comfort#3+1
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Resurrection
Fic O'Ween Day 13: Resurrection, for a continuation of last year's Season of the Witch. Endless love to @noots-fic-fests for another spectacular fest, and of course all the kudos to @lumosinlove for bringing this community together <3 Happy belated Halloween! Thanks for sticking through another year! This fic o'ween was simply a joy to be part of.
There is a house on Lacewing Drive.
This is not that house.
This house is located on Collins Street, a block east of Lacewing Drive. Passerby marvel at its vibrant colors and sturdy bones—friends of the inhabitants joke that it’s simply a gingerbread house, come to life. A street dead-ended by a house so fantastical, it couldn’t possibly be a place people live.
Collins Street is kind enough to divert attention from its (notably odder) neighbor in spite of the creeping vines that continuously attempt to tiptoe across backyard fences. Autumn stretches into being with a yawn and a lazy roll from sun to wind to biting cold, and with it, the earth below Lacewing Drive charges with anticipation. It is the duty of the house on Collins Street to take the brunt of tourist curiosity, and it does so with gusto: peaking eaves, rounded lintels, and statuesque windows draw all wandering eyes while the magic begins to seep forth.
That is not to say there is no real magic outside Lacewing Drive. An argument can (and has) been made that there is more magic on Collins Street, actually, and perhaps the tall dark-haired witch at 126 Lacewing should keep her mouth shut. These beloved arguments frequently go nowhere at all. That does not seem to stop them from happening.
Regardless of presumed magical ratio, November is a quiet month for all. The magic is receding, changing, growing ready for the lumbering of winter and resurrection in the spring. Dormant? Never. Drowsy? Most certainly. The rainy days will start soon enough, then the snow. First frost nibbles the sills every other night. There’s still time for a last harvest before everything goes down, but not much.
November 6th dawns chilly and gray. Lily stretches, yawns, and lazily rolls onto her other side with a mumble of nothing in particular. The window dressings were left open the night before; goosebumps prick her arms, and she burrows down under the burgundy duvet with only a whisper of a shiver.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
“Hrngerfrng.”
“I never get hangovers. You know this.”
Lily’s grumble is lost in a silky pillowcase. Her hair spills in a loose auburn flood to the top of her shoulders before vanishing under cotton and satin thread. The sudden supercharge of magic takes a toll on her—perhaps not as severe as Remus when the seasons change and the moon hangs heavy, but enough to make her head throb and her mouth go dry with the drain of each ritual. A magical hangover, she had complained the first year they moved to Collins Street. That’s what this is. Someone get me hashbrowns, stat.
James flips to a new page and slides a few inches lower under the blanket. It’s a good morning. A quiet morning. Another Halloween, gone without a hitch. Sirius’ raging birthday party, lighting up the neighborhood long past midnight if not for the layers of diversion spells wrapped around the little cottage. The lull is sweet as fresh chai and warms the belly just as deep. Even the newspaper is quiet today, full of lovely, inconsequential things typed up by Eliot Johannes three doors down. The neighbors feel the roar toward Samhain just like the witches do, though they may not know the reason.
November is the exhale after a two-month gasp for air. James is more than happy to spend the morning in bed, enjoying each moment of it.
Harry will be up soon. Seven years old and likely still riding out the sugar rush bestowed upon him by his aunts, who just don’t know how to put candy bowls out of reach—he’s practically unstoppable like this. Like his mother. James loves them both so dearly.
Lily’s hand emerges from the sheets to flail around. “Jamie,” she rasps. “Baby?”
“He’s asleep.”
“Mm. Coffee?”
“Downstairs,” James laughs, squinting at the ‘Best Rated’ section. “Probably with my glasses.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then peeks out with one sleepy, hopeful green eye. “Get some for me?”
“Glasses? Sure.”
“Coffee.”
“You’re a real monster in the mornings, you know that?”
“November,” she offers by way of explanation. “Need coffee.”
“You have got to start listening to Remus.”
“The day I drink chamomile to make myself feel better is the day I go in the ground forever.”
She can’t see James’ eye roll from her faceplant in downy pillows, but rest assured, dark eyes are undoubtedly rolled. Fond, all the same. James is spellbound by her in every sense except the literal and everyone knows it; neither would change a thing about it. It’s mornings like this that make it count. Sore from dancing on Sirius’ dining room table, buzzed from the tingly residue of Samhain magic, both so pleased to wake up beside one another for the thousandth consecutive day.
They built the house on Collins Street together, the four of them, back when love was muddled and confusing with its deep, deep roots. There’s a touch of them in every paint chip and floorboard. Remus’ rich earth tones, Sirius’ stained glass. James and Lily kept the place once they were all sorted, and as such there isn’t a speck of house left without their signatures. Scorch marks from Lily’s cauldrons and scuff marks from James’ boots. Crayon scars on silk wallpaper and vivid paint alike. Candle wax left so long that it may as well be part of the desk, now, because spirits know the actual holder is too far buried to be found again.
“Jamie.”
“Mhm.”
“Coffee.”
James smiles into ceramic molded by Lily’s own hands. “Yes, my love.”
“Mrs. Gibson tried to gimme some of that pumpkin spice creamer.” Lily manages to sound indignant even boneless and half-asleep. “Can you believe? Out of season?”
“No pumpkin spice,” James promises.
“I know you wouldn’t. Love me too much.”
“Sure do.”
Lily is silent for another handful of seconds. James watches them pass on Sirius’ handmade cuckoo clock. “Don’t want coffee.”
“No?”
She sighs and reaches out with both arms, giving a noise of pure contentment when James sets the mug aside and joins her under the covers. “This,” Lily says on a misty November day where nothing bad can touch them. “This is what I want.”
#james potter#lily evans#jily#remus lupin#sirius black#coops#sweater weather#lumosinlove#wolfstar#my fic#fanfic#witch au#fic o’ween 2023#fluff
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