Hard Day | Remus Lupin X Gn!reader

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Y’all need to read the full things. This is scrump-dilly-itious

My Atlantis, We Fall | Part 2

Part 1 here.

Summary: A childhood friendship between Viktor and you grow into unspoken love, but your paths diverge when Viktor left you behind. Still heartbroken, you unexpectedly reunite during Progress Day after years, only to cause more heartbreak.

Pairing: Viktor Arcane X Female Reader, she/her pronouns

Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST, alcohol, mentions of blood, no mentions of Y/N.

Words: 5.1k

A/N: I am so mad at them both in this. Also, that first photo does something to me oh lord 😩 Thank you so much for reading the first part! Don’t forget to like, comment, or reblog. Anything helps a lot <3 WILL POST THE FINAL CHAPTER LATER!

Keep reading

This was the sweetest, most tooth rotting fluff ever omg. Kicking my feet in the air and punching it. The flirting is what got me cause omg they’re so into each other I can’t.

“‘You’re pretty clumsy you know… always tripping… it’s a real hazard.’ She hadn’t tripped in years.”

OH IM SWOONING

“His eyes half lidded and staring down at her soft lips.”

AGAHGAHAHZUSHWVSKDIWNWB. Safe to say this broke me. 😭

Terrible Lies

I’ve never posted on Tumblr before and I don’t write a lot so apologies for any mistakes! Don’t forget to comment, like, and reblog. I’m open to comments and requests!

Cross posted on AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61937722

The first time their hands grazed, it was purely by accident… possibly. Years ago when their partnership was still fresh and the idea of working near someone new was starting to bud, his fingers had brushed against hers while she handed him a wrench. He broke his steady gaze from the metal object he was tinkering with to look at where his fingers had made contact. He opened his mouth to say something but then furrowed his brows and closed his mouth. After a moment he said, “You should be more careful.”

Her lips parted with wide eyes and a soft smile forming at his humor. “Yes… it would be a real shame if I dropped it. I could have broken something.”

He hummed in agreement, nodding to the spotless floor.

He tried to shake the feeling of the softness of her skin to no avail. And so the habit began, the “accidental” and very frequent touches. They continued the habit of his hand slowly brushing against the bottom of hers when she handed him anything but it slowly morphed into other acts.

Over time their little touches became second nature - evolving with their relationship. She was standing on a chair and his hand rested against the small of her back. She peeked down at him and smirked. He looked right back at her and said, “You’re pretty clumsy you know… always tripping… it’s a real hazard.” She hadn’t tripped in years.

“You’re absolutely right.” She said as a matter of factly, “I don’t know what I’d do without your support!” She chuckled. A sound so soft that his breath hitched in his throat. Taking a swallow his eyes locked on her back where his fingers splayed.

Soon to follow were more touches, a gentle hand came to rest in between his shoulder blades one day, “Viktor! You’re slouching, you know that’s not good for your posture.” She said feigning concern. His back brace prevented him from slouching which he knows she can feel under his vest and shirt.

“That is very thoughtful.” He said earnestly.

“Isn’t it? You know I want the best for you”

His lips quirked up at the way her hand trailed to brush against the back of his neck when she moved away. Viktor briefly glimpsed her covering up a smile at her desk.

And then there were the late nights. Long hours spent in the lab, going over formulas, revising blueprints and tinkering with Hextech, often turned into leisurely walks home together - purely to ensure her safety and nothing else. On one night, her arm slipped into his and said, “The topside is such a dangerous place,” her voice laced with concern and a small frown tugging at her brows. He looked down at her face and saw the corners of her lips quirked up.

“Much more dangerous than the Undercity.” He said without missing a beat.

“Yes, I’m so glad that you’re here. I think someone could jump out and grab me if I were alone.”

“You would be at a great risk without someone to hold on to.” He said while nodding his head to get the point across as they walked through undoubtedly the safest area of Piltover. His mind halted at the warmth of how natural her arm fit into his.

On one evening when he was about to walk her home, he slowed his pace and said, “Hmm, the weather is dreadful to be walking in. At this rate our shoes will be flooded.” She looked up at the clear sky and frowned, shielding her hair with her free hand.

“We should hurry to your apartment.” She said as they took their time.

At first she took his bed while he took the couch, and then the next night she took the couch while he slept in his bed. It became a ritual to go straight to his apartment rather than hers that was all the way across town. It was truly a miracle that she had been making the trek to her own apartment this whole time. She thanked her stars that he was kind enough to let her stay with him more often than in her own bed. She made sure to stop just next door to grab some of her toiletries though.

One evening, he was resting in bed watching her braid her hair before she retired for the night. He watched the rhythmic motion of her fingers weaving silky strands together and felt a jolt in his chest. Before he could stop himself he quietly said, “It’s a little cold, don’t you think?”

She rubbed her toasty feet together, “You’re right. There’s definitely a chill in here. I guess we can share the bed if we keep to our own sides.”

He hastily agreed, “That would be the most respectable thing to do.”

He struggled with the knowledge that he could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears not knowing that she was going through the same struggle. She was glad that the dimness of the room blanketed her flaming cheeks while he was grateful that the moon shone on her face enough to tell that she was blushing for him.

“This cold sure isn’t letting up is it?” She whispered staring into his golden eyes.

“Bitterly cold.” He said without hesitation.

“Freezing” her breath tickled his face as she scooted closer

“Unbearable” he murmured, his arm brushing against her waist. The crickets chirped outside, louder with the open window allowing for the summer breeze to cool off his room.

Every touch came with a reason. That was the most sound thing to do in any scenario. It would be very irresponsible to touch a coworker for no reason.

Tonight was different. The pull between them was so taught that they could no longer skirt around what was happening between them.

As they worked late into the night, the tension between them seemed to settle heavier and heavier with each passing moment. She felt his eyes on her and turned to meet his stare. His eyes narrowed at her lips.

“Your lips are chapped.” His tone infused with something deeper. His eyes quickly flitted from her eyes down to her mouth.

“Are they?” She felt like she was out of breath from the look on his face.

“Yes, they are so chapped that they are practically cracking. You should probably do something about that.”

“That would be a real tragedy. How would I go over plans with you and Jayce?” She said in a worried tone, her hand coming up to brush over them lightly - smooth and velvety, and she gasped, “Yes, you’re right - they’re very chapped.”

“I’m sorry to say so.” He said softly leaning forward.

“It would be a shame if they bled.” She said just as softly with a teasing smile.

“Disastrous.” He was leaning forward, “You wouldn’t be able to talk for days.”

“I should probably find something to cover them.” Her gaze fixed on his lips, “I just ran out of lip balm though and the market is surely closed by now.”

“That’s a real shame… covering them has to be the only solution.” His eyes half lidded and staring down at her soft lips.

She nodded, her nose brushing against his, barely mumbling, “Mhm.”

Their words stopped with gentle breaths against their faces. She looked up at him through her lashes and let them flutter closed at his proximity. His hand came up to rest on her nape, thumb brushing the juncture where her jaw meets her neck. Their lips met in a slow kiss. Moving gently together with a hesitation that deepened into an unmistakable pull.

When they parted, breathless and flushed, she whispered “Well… that solves the problem for now.”

“It’s only practical.” He whispered.

Could you do a Diluc x reader (one sided on readers part) and she sees he falls out of love with her (inspired by La gata bajo la lluvia-Rocío Durcal) make it as angsty as you can!! 🥲🤲

𝓛𝓪 𝓰𝓪𝓽𝓪 𝓫𝓪𝓳𝓸 𝓵𝓪 𝓵𝓵𝓾𝓿𝓲𝓪

(Diluc x g/n reader angst Songfic)

Note: finally finished this. it feels maybe a little repetitive at the end but I'm still satisfied with it overall. the lyrics might be a bit off because I had to get the translation for it and that might not be totally accurate! Anyways enjoy and criticism and reblogs are appreciated!!!! requests are open!

TW: nothing much just angst no comfort, not proofread :<

“My love don't worry I wont bother you, and I know there's a torrent running through your mind”

He was different, ever since he had come back. You could feel the distance between you two. The words left unsaid, the late nights at the tavern, the times you woke up in the middle of the night and he wasn't in the bed, the way his smile strained when he looked at you. It had been quite some time since you guys went on any dates, or even just sat down to eat breakfast together. The distance between you two expanded every day and all you did is watch, watch as the love of your life drifted away from you.

“Don't fear there's no reason ,I don't blame you for the past.”

You watched him build his walls.. He quit the knights. He pushed Kaeya away too. When he had told you that he needed to go away from Monstadt to clear his mind, you had thought it would be fine, that he just needed space after his father's accident. And though you wanted to be there for him, if he wanted to mourn alone, you would respect that. “I'll be waiting for you when you come back, no matter how long it takes”, you had told him. It took months, and he returned but also not at the same time. It was as if he had aged decades in that time. He was no longer the Diluc you that had fallen for you. You had smiled and hugged him, tears falling from your eyes, and he had hugged you back too, but his embrace no longer felt warm. You had held hope, maybe things would get better, he just needed some time, things would return to normal. And now, as you sat in the empty room you and him shared, it finally hit you, things were never going to be the same. 

"Love, I know, honestly don't say anything. If you see any tears, I'm sorry I know that you didn't want to make an injured cat cry." 

You were going to end things with him. It wasn't because you didn't love him anymore. No, far from it, you loved him too much, and he, didn't love you enough. Not anymore. But you knew he didn't want the same hurt you. Even after everything you knew he was still that kind boy you had fallen for, the one who would rather stay with you even when he didn't have feelings for you anymore just so you won't get hurt. But you couldn't do that to him. To chain him down. Maybe this was your last gift to him, your last act of love. You were going to let him go, even if it would tear your soul apart to do so.

“Love, if one day , we see each other out there, invite me to a coffee and make me love”

You stood in front of your house, with your bags packed, the rain falling on you. It made your heart clench. The memories you had with him flooding your mind. You felt like a cat in the rain, left outside, with no purpose or home. Because that is what he was to you, home. You had left a letter on the table, breaking it off and telling him to not look for you. It had hurt so much to write those bitter words, but for him you'd do anything. You were going to leave Monstadt and go far away, so that you could not convince yourself to change your mind. Maybe one day you’d return, when both of you have grown and his wounds wouldn’t hurt so much anymore. Maybe he would finally let you nurse them. Let you in again. Maybe one day you would be home again.

The fucking angst is angsty 💔

What Could’ve Been [Viktor x GN!Reader]

Plot Summary: In which you find yourself in a world so similar yet so different to your own and are simply too tired of life knocking you down again and again to still play the selfless hero.

Word Count: 3,9k

Warnings: spoilers for Arcane Season 2, talk about character death and illness, suicidal thoughts, slightly suggestive at the end

A/N: I saw that alternate timeline and went ‘Ekko’s a stronger man than I am’ and went with that; actually wanted to write sth fluffy and happy, and this is wholesome-ish, but with some very bleak undertones so I might have to write some actual fluff to compensate. Also, the religious imagery wasn’t planned from the get go but it kinda happened and it is on brand for this man, I just decided to turn it on its head a little 🤷

“Interesting. When I told you about this last, you advised the exact opposite.”

You freeze mid movement, plate hovering an inch or so over the table you were setting. “Well I… I suppose I’ve changed my mind.”

The soft tap of a cane against the floor alerts you to him crossing the room, appearing in your peripheral as you put down the porcelain with shaky fingers. “A rather… hm, siginificant change in such a short time, wouldn’t you agree? Not to mention you acted like I was telling you for the first time.” He doesn’t receive an answer, so he keeps going. “I’ve had a theory for a while. I don’t believe I’ve told you about it, because really, it’s only a pipe dream at this point, but entertaining for the duller moments nonetheless: alternate timelines. The possibility of several different realities, all co-existing with each other simultaneously. Some would call the mere idea preposterous, I’m fully aware, but then again, how would we know for certain? How could we know? Unless one or more of said timelines happened to… overlap.” The silence that follows is deafening and heavy; a precursor of what’s to come. “You’re not originally from this world, are you?”

While he knows this is a conversation that needs to be had, the way you curl into yourself and seem to wither and grow small before his eyes makes him wish he could take it all back. He tries to catch your gaze, but you purposely avoid his as you drag yourself over to the couch. Body heavy and tired, you all but slump down into worn cushions, blankly staring into space as you weakly reply with “No. I’m not.”

He doesn’t move, nor does he speak, cause while he’d been expecting your answer to a degree, now that it’s out in the open he’s… unsure what to even do with it. It isn’t a worry for long, though, as you continue speaking, slow and weary. Like you had been expecting, dreading, this moment just as much as him.

“It wasn’t a… conscious choice. To come here, I mean. It was an accident really, I didn’t even know what had happened at first.” A weak chuckle. “This was a shock to me as much as it must’ve been for you.”

And what a shock it had been for you. To have been standing with your friends in the bowels of the Hexgates one minute and to wake up in an unfamiliar bed the next. Dizzily traipsing through a space that had felt familiar yet foreign all at once; pictures and mementos from times you couldn’t remember staring at you from every surface. And to have had Viktor come through the door, bag of baked goods under one arm, to find you in the living room of what should’ve been your home, looking every bit as lost as you felt. It had been a miracle you’d stayed standing then and there, with the way he’d looked: same lanky figure supported by a cane, same messy chestnut locks, same two beauty marks against the pale skin of his sharp face, same concern in his honey colored irises when he took in your state. But no dark circles borderlining bruises under his eyes, no hollowed, sunken in cheeks, no blood on his lips to betray another attack. And no Hexcore devouring him whole. Your downfall had come in the form of slender fingers gingerly wrapping around your forearm to try and steady you; a silent question and a gentle offer of help. One of those fingers wearing the very same ring you usually kept on a chain around your neck, because you’d always been too busy or too in your own head to just ask him. To offer him your heart, your life, your everything, if only he wanted it. Always too terrified of rejection, of losing him to his illness; too scared of fucking something until it was too late. And when your hand had come up in search for said necklace, a nervous habit that had developed at some point, and you’d found a matching ring on your own finger instead, you’d finally dissolved into a wailing, sobbing mess against his chest, never wanting to let go again.

And what a shock it had been for him. To have talked to you, not twenty minutes prior, an exchange of sleepy, lazy kisses and quiet murmurs, telling you he’d go get breakfast and be right back, watching as you’d curled back up under the blankets with a content sigh. To come through the door, expecting you still in bed and instead finding you in the middle of your living room, looking utterly lost and misplaced in your own home, an almost manic look in your eyes, staring at him like you’d seen a ghost. He’d approached you, carefully, like one would a wild caged animal, and then a simple touch of his had sent you into a meltdown. And at an absolute loss, he’d simply held you. Let you cry yourself to utter exhaustion in his arms, the both of you a heap on the floor, propped up against the back of the sofa. When you had finally, finally calmed down, you’d played it off as the aftershocks of a nightmare. The kind that makes you believe they’re real and keeps you trapped in them for what could feel like a lifetime. And Gods you’d looked like you had aged a lifetime while he was gone. And ever since that night you’d been… different. Getting lost in your own head more often than not. Suffering from nightmares almost every night. Migraines and something akin to epileptic seizures every once in a good while. He had let it go on, assuring you that if you needed anything he would be there for you, and in the following months, you’d seemed to settle and things had gone back to normal. Relatively. But it had been the memory loss that had made him suspicious. Or more so the fact that while some things remained, others seemed to have happened differently for you and some had never happened at all. Never having been able to leave well enough alone, he’d started digging for explanations. And now, at the end of his research, his most impossible theory proven right - he’s yet again at a loss of what to do. How to help you.

“I didn’t know how I got here, much less how to get back. From what I do understand about all of this, and it ain’t much, the thing that sent me to this world doesn’t even exist here. So at first I didn’t have much of a choice but to just… live. To pretend like everything was normal and I belonged here. But eventually I realized that even if I got the chance to go back, I didn’t want to. I wanted to be selfish, I wanted—“ Your voice cracks, thick with emotion and he watches your head drop forward like a doll’s whose strings have been cut, eyes downcast at your trembling hands. “I wanted to be happy again. And for once in my damn life I wanted it to last. It just never fucking lasts…”

Stride over to you and hold you tight, kiss you and tell you that everything would be alright, that you would figure this out together, like always. That’s what he should be doing. Every bone in his body tells him to, but just like so many other times in the past, his oh so brilliant mind prevents him. Tells him that there is no ‘together, like always’ because the person in front of him isn’t the person he’s known his whole life. Isn’t the person he married. Everything’s an ugly mess and he doesn’t mean for his next words to come across as cruel, doesn’t perceive them that way; blissfully unaware of the implications, he’s simply, truly curious.

“What would you do if you were to go back home?”

An inelegant snort leaves you and you wipe the back of your hand over your eyes in a desperate and vain attempt to stop the tears from flowing.

23 seconds.

You were counting, just to give you something to occupy your spiraling mind with, really.

23 seconds.

That’s how long it had taken him to no longer refer to this world, this apartment, him as your home. To prioritize whatever might be going in your other life. And you know it’s not fair, to be this upset with him, this version of him that you’ve been deceiving from the start; even though he has never wronged you. But you can’t help it. Guilt and regret would soon be all you’d have left again, so might as well leave him with some, too.

“Well… if I hadn’t gotten sucked into this mess, I would’ve killed myself by now. I guess I’d be getting back to that.”

The breath that escapes him sounds like you actually just sucker punched him in the gut and immediately makes you feel terrible about how casual and bitter you’d made it sound, but he’d wanted the truth and that was it. Limbs heavy und unsteady, you rise from your position on the couch and make your way over to the front door. “I’ll go take a walk or… you know, go do… whatever. Give you some space, time to think.” Your hand’s already on the door handle, but you pause and somehow find it in yourself to turn around and at least give him the courtesy of looking at him for what you’re about to say. “For what it’s worth, I never meant to let it go this far. It just became so… easy to pretend like things had always been like this. You made it easy. And while I’m sorry that I lied to you, tricked you, intentional or not, I got the chance to fall in love with you all over again. And I could never be sorry about that.”

You’re fairly certain you’ve never seen him move as fast as he does now and before you know it, you’re wrapped in a hug almost too tight, his cane landing on the carpeted floor next to you with a dull thump. “You cannot say things like that and expect me to just let you walk out of that door, I-“

Readjusting his hold on you, he cradles your head against his shoulder and loops his other arm around your middle, continuing in a hushed, gentle tone. “I can’t bear the thought of harm befalling you. Even worse, you harming yourself. In any timeline. Please, just stay. No matter what might happen in the future, just… stay with me. Right here.”

He means for it to be reassuring, comforting, loving, you know that. It’s not his fault that it has the exact opposite effect.

Wincing, a new wave of tears springs to your eyes and you remove yourself from his hold, but can’t bring yourself to let go completely; hands now linked between the two of you. “Viktor, I stole the body and life of a person you actually love. I don’t want you to force yourself to try and love me out of pity.”

“And why are you so certain that’s what this is?!” It surprises you, how genuinely upset he sounds, and a gasp is forced out of your throat when he wrenches his hands out of your grasp and his palms find your face, to force your gaze onto him and keep it there, wether you want to or not. The expression he’s wearing almost scares you; thick brows furrowed in anger and lips curled back in what could nearly be a snarl, but as soon as gold eyes find yours, red and puffy and so very desperate and grieving, whatever fire seemed to have been burning him up inside goes out all at once.

His shoulders drop and he rests his forehead against yours with a sigh, warm breath fanning over your face. “I’m sorry, moje láska, please forgive me. I’m not angry with you, I just… I can not comprehend why you are so ready and willing to accept rejection, but will not even entertain the possibility that loving you comes as easy to me as your affections for me do to you. Why can you love every version of me, but I’m not allowed the same with every version of you?” He watches you blink owlishly, your mouth opening and closing several times and he’s not sure wether it’s endearing or heartbreaking, how clear it is that this possibility never even crossed your mind. “You act like this entire situation only penalizes me, when in reality, I’m not actually your Viktor, either, am I?”

He expects this to help, to give you a new perspective. To make it clear to you that you are both the same; you are not a villain in his story. And there is a smile on your lips, but it’s so small and sad that his stomach drops at the sight. “No, you’re not. You couldn’t be. My Viktor is gone.”

And all of a sudden, it makes so much sense. How sometimes you’d stare at him with the most haunted look in your eyes, like he was a dead man walking, ready to collapse at any given moment. How you’d grow frantic when he came back late from the academy. How you’d insisted on tagging along on the most mundane of tasks, always under the guise of wanting to spend more time with him, but really just keeping a close eye on him at all times. Though he suspects the former to be true; the chance to spend even a few more precious hours with a loved one you’d thought lost, who wouldn’t jump at that chance?

His world would simply seize spinning if you were no longer in it, he can’t even begin to imagine how you feel. How tormenting it must’ve been to see him everyday, a second chance dangling right in front of you, but never certain if you were to wake up back in a world where he was gone.

You’re in his arms again in a heartbeat, one hand carding through your hair, the other rubbing soothing patterns into your back; whispering sweet little nothings into your ear as you bury your face into the crook of his neck and sob. All so much like the day you arrived and saw him for the first time, and yet… softer. More intimate.

You stay like this until your bawling dies down to whimpers and sniffles at which point he gingerly coaxes you to look at him.

“Miláček, listen to me. As it stands now, you have no way of going back to your original world.” He doesn’t call it your home anymore, you notice. “You did not ask for this, you did not choose this; you had it thrust upon you while going through enough pain and grief you considered taking your own life. For the love of everything, you needn’t feel guilty for wanting to use this chance to find happiness again. And you shouldn’t feel guilty if you continue to do so.” Still sniffling you gently caress his face, thumbs running over his chiseled cheekbones and heart stuttering when he leans into your touch. But then you catch sight of the ring on your finger again.

“I’m not… I’m not the person you married, Vik.” Unknowingly, you parrot his own thoughts back to him, but surprisingly enough, he finds he doesn’t much care anymore. He’s flabbergasted how he could ever even doubt for a second that it would matter which timeline you were originally from. Because it’s still you. Damn it all, it’s still you. “Maybe so. But I’ve seen the same kindness in you in those past few months that I’ve always known. The same wit. The same ambition and passion. All the things that made me love you in the first place. You said this gave you the chance to fall in love with me again; would you allow me the chance to do the same?”

The truth is, while you want to try and build a life here, you feel guilty. Guilty about the friends you left fighting a war. Guilty about taking over the life and joy of someone else, even if they are a different version of you. Guilty about forcing the man you love into a relationship with a person he technically doesn’t even know. All these months, you’d only ever reciprocated his affections, never initiated them, had barely let him touch you at all, because you’d always felt like somehow you were coercing him into cheating on someone he actually loved. But here he is now, telling you that he wants you, this version of you, all of you. Could you really do it? Leave behind everything and everyone you’ve ever known, for a chance at happiness, a fresh start? You had no guarantee that things would go smoothly in this universe either, after all. Wouldn’t you just be playing pretend for the rest of your life?

“So what, we’ll just… pretend like it’s the first time then?” you ask, a quiet breathless laugh accompanying your question. He shrugs and smiles at you. “Something like that. Falling in love with you again and again and again? I could imagine a worse fate.”

So could you. Much, much worse, in fact.

Your expression shifts somewhat without you even realizing and he immediately recognizes that he must’ve triggered some form of painful memory. He places tiny little kisses all over your face, murmuring apologies all the while and when you sigh in contentment it finally dawns on him that this is very much the first time you’ve let yourself enjoy being close with him since you got here. He doesn’t blame you; the moral dilemma that was forced on you would put anyone on edge and make them anxious about what they could allow themselves to experience without some form of consequences. He would prove to you that there would be none, he’d make sure of that; singlehandedly destroy them if they did decide to raise their ugly heads. That you didn’t always need to give and give and ask for nothing in return. That you could take what you wanted and not be punished for it. You’d taught him that after all.

“Moje světlo…?”

Gods have mercy on your soul, you never could say no to him when he used those damn pet names on you.

You crash your lips to his, desperate and practically starved; in direct contrast to all the sweet promises and gentle reassurances you just shared, there’s nothing romantic about it. It’s all tongues and teeth and absolutely filthy and it’s exactly what you need right now. Your back makes contact with the door you’d been oh so insistent on walking out of not even fifteen minutes ago, that thought now the furthest thing from your mind as his hands are already under your shirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Your head falls back against the worn wood with a thump as his lips find your neck, leaving marks and bruises for everyone to see and maybe the moan that escapes your throat with a broken version of his name coupled with how weak your knees already feel could’ve been embarrassing, but you don’t have it in yourself to care; it feels like it’s been years since he last kissed you like this. Touched you like this. The whine of protest as he pulls back is cut short when he drops to his knees in front of you, hands on your hips to keep you in place and placing on last kiss on your stomach before he puts some distance between you both, not more than a few inches really, but still too much for your liking. One hand goes to cover his own, while the other cups his face, trying to tug him closer again, but he refuses. Brows knitting together in confusion and frustration, you’re about to ask him what he thinks he’s doing, but he beats you to it.

“I won’t go further unless you tell me you want this.” You almost laugh, because he can not be serious. How much more obvious could you be? Your own body is doing half the talking for you, really. But of course that’s not exactly what he means. “I want you to admit to me, and more importantly to yourself, that you want this life. I want you to realize that it is perfectly alright for you to be selfish every now and again.”

His words trigger a memory from long ago, when you’d found him passed out on the desk in the lab one too many times. After you’d been done yelling at him, you’d told him that he couldn’t just always give and give and give until there was barely anything left of himself. That it was okay to be a little selfish and take things for himself every once in a while.

Take your own advice, liar.

A voice somewhere in the back of your head purrs bewitchingly and it’s right. You are still lying. Not to him though - to yourself. Telling yourself that you feel guilty for wanting to stay here, when in reality that’s how you should be feeling. But the truth, the real truth, is that you’re scared.

Scared of how little you actually care. About the friends you left fighting a war. About taking over the life and joy of someone else, even if they are a different version of you. About forcing the man you love into a relationship with a person he technically doesn’t even know. You haven’t truly cared about any of it from the get go; always too self righteous to admit it to yourself, though.

Practiced fingers slip from his cheek to the hair at the nape his neck and pull; he goes along willingly this time, head forced back and his eyes lock onto yours, right as fresh, hot tears start to travel down your face. But you’re done grieving; you are livid, plain and simple. “I want this…” you breathe out, so quiet he almost misses it. You don’t stay quiet, though, you can’t anymore, and your voice rises in volume with every sentence spoken. “I want to stay. I want a life with you. All blissful boredom and domesticity. It’s all I ever wanted. Why…? Why was even that too much to ask?!”

He doesn’t have the answer, but he does have the solution, delivered with a slight turn of his head and a kiss to your wrist.

“It wasn’t. It isn’t.”

Breaths heavy and irregular, you simply take in the sight of him: all disheveled hair and kiss swollen lips, pretty blush all the way down to his neck, eyes dark and pupils blown wide, only a thin ring of gold left, looking at you so longingly, on his knees for you and you alone; like a worshipper ready to commit any atrocity for the sake and love of their god.

“You can take what you want, anděl. No one will punish you for it. I won’t let them.”

Angel. Oh, the irony. Irony turned certainty. Certainty turned reality.

So take you would. And you wouldn’t bother looking back at the things you’d left behind.

Second Son (VI) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: Y/N goes looking for Regulus. Umbridge's spectacular rise and fall are overshadowed by the group's mission to the Department of Mysteries.

Part V / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Not canon compliant. Regulus isn't in most of the chapter, but the events that occur are crucial to the story line.

You didn’t head to the dining hall for dinner that night. After sitting on your windowsill in a state of disarray until darkness blanketed over the castle grounds, you realized that Regulus didn’t intend on returning anytime soon. 

If ever. But you brushed that thought aside as soon as it surfaced; you didn’t want to mull over the possibility until you were absolutely certain, and you weren’t going to be unless Regulus told you to your face. 

Curfew would sweep into the night any moment now, so you made a decision. 

Startling up from your stupor, you quickly grab Regulus’ portrait frame and your wand, pacing out of your dorm and the common room. Many sent you furtive glances, intrigued by your determination, while others full-body turned as if tempted to warn you against toeing the line for curfew. 

However, it seemed that their words were caught in their throats after catching a glimpse of the blood-stained bandage around your hand. It was clear that you were aware of the consequences of breaking the rules, and you just hoped that you wouldn’t run into Umbridge on your walk. 

You wondered what would happen if she caught you. Surely, she wouldn’t use the quill on you again, but you couldn’t rule out the wandering thought that she might just test out a potion by pouring it down your throat. 

You truly couldn’t wait for her to run back to her post at the Ministry. 

Walking along the cold castle corridors, you cast a silent lumos and bring up the bulb of light to scan the collection of portraits around you. Many of the portraits hissed at the brightness, whispering furiously to usher you away. You didn’t pay any mind to their protests, eyes darting around frantically to try and find Regulus. 

You knew that portraits could wander into other portraits located in the same building, so that narrowed down his whereabouts. Unfortunately, Hogwarts happened to be a proprietor of hundreds of valuable portraits–so Regulus could be anywhere.

Growing restless as hot frustration pervades your chest, your shoulders sag as you stop in defeat. Standing in the middle of the corridor, your wand resting by your side, you turn your head up to the ceiling. It felt like a million thoughts were whirring in the back of your brain, yet every single one evaded your mental grasp. 

It was overwhelming. There were too many conflicting thoughts and emotions coursing through you. Unconsciously patting the vacant frame in your pocket, you begin to slowly walk forward into the darkness, no real destination or plan in mind. 

It was likely past curfew now, and you imagined that you’d already be halfway down to the shrieking shack if you had Harry’s invisibility cloak on you. You didn’t want to stay in your dorm, every inch of your side of the room was infused with the memory of Regulus. 

You wanted to be somewhere where you could forget. Somewhere that took your mind off of Voldemort’s antics. Somewhere where you could stop stewing over the absurdity of your feelings and attachment to Regulus–a portrait. 

Merlin, you weren’t even sure how much of him was human. What did he retain? Was he real? Yes. Maybe. You didn’t know. But it was giving you a headache. 

Maybe him leaving was good. You needed to sort out your feelings and confusion. 

Suddenly, you hear two pairs of footsteps echo around the walls. Loud clicking and uneven stomps. You had grown accustomed to hearing those two walks. Umbridge and Filch. Scrambling further down the hall, you quickly disperse your lumos as you reach a turn in the corridor. 

As you throw yourself against the stone wall, you peer from around the corner to see a faint light along with two figures. They stop just yards away from your position in the darkness, and you hear Umbridge begin to order Filch around, “These as well. They must go at once!” 

Of course, he was doing her bidding. You were pretty sure he had a school boy crush on her. 

Furrowing your brows, you watch attentively as Filch begins to lift the portraits off the walls, shaking them to the side to empty them. Shock paralyzes your body as he continues to move down the frames, savoring the loud protests echoing from the other paintings. 

Umbridge looks downright pleased by Filch’s compliance, simply making a noise of approval before spinning on her heel and strutting back from the direction they both came from. 

This was madness. First, performing Ministry evaluation on teachers, now dictating what kind of decor was appropriate? But it didn’t make sense, why would the Ministry want all of the castle paintings removed? Making Hogwarts a barren institution did very little for them. 

Quickly straightening up from your huddled position, you begin to walk down the dark corridor, eyes partially accustomed to the dimness now. There was no way you could cut past Filch now, so going back to the dorms was completely out of the question. Perhaps, you could just spend the night in the Room of Requirement. 

As you quietly navigate through the castle, a sudden epiphany strikes you. Stopping in your tracks, your mouth parts in dumbfoundedness as you realize that the Ministry does not care about the castle paintings. Umbridge taking them down was out of her own fear, and as a show of power–something she would have never done without explicit permission. 

Dumbledore would never allow the paintings to come down. Which means the Ministry did something to usurp Dumbledore. 

Merlin. Was he being punished for the D.A.? If so, Umbridge was now the reigning head of Hogwarts. 

And Harry didn’t know. 

Bringing a hand up to cover your mouth, you pick up your pace towards the Room of Requirement as you process the revelation. As you quickly approach the wall in your distraught state, you let your mind slip to the first thought screaming at you in your head. 

I need to find Regulus. 

The large wooden doors appear with a muted crackling, the door handles protruding out just large enough for you to distinguish in the darkness. Quickly swinging open the door, you don’t process the sight in front of you until the door is shutting behind you with a click. 

You are rooted to the spot for what seems like hours, taking in the familiar sight in front of you. This seemed to be a cruel joke, but the magic doesn’t lie, your magic seemed to sing in harmony with the room just as it did over the summer. 

The disappearing room at Grimmauld Place was right in front of you. No. Just the disappearing room. It didn’t seem to be truly tied to Grimmauld Place if it appeared at Hogwarts. 

Inklings of warm magic flowed throughout the dusty room, entangling with your cooler magic. Earlier, you thought of a place where you could find Regulus. Did that mean that he somehow was in the disappearing room? 

Closing your eyes, you concentrate on reaching out to the magic in the room. You had spent enough time with Regulus’ portrait to grow familiar with the feeling of his magic. If he were in the room, you would be able to tell. 

The cool stretch of your magical core blanketed the room, but gradually receded as you realized you couldn’t feel Regulus’ warmth. Oddly enough though, you felt something akin to Regulus’ magic, almost like a faint wisp of magic tied to the room. 

What could it all mean?

Your escapade brought more than you could have bargained for. The information was overloading your brain, and you slowly willed your legs to move around the cluttered room. 

Yes, this was truly the disappearing room, not a fib version conjured up by the Room of Requirement’s magic. 

There was time to kill, meaning you could finish exploring the expanse of the room’s items. Over the summer, you were too engrossed with bonding with Regulus to try and sift through the items, and you weren’t sure you’d get a window of opportunity quite like this again. 

Running your eyes along the room, the familiar dresser you attempted to investigate the first time you accessed the room caught your attention. Slowly reaching over to pull out the bottommost drawer, you hesitate for a beat as if anticipating for Regulus to magically appear and ask you what you were doing like he did the first time. 

When nothing happens, you suppress a heavy sigh of disappointment. Pulling at the brass knob in defeat, your eyebrows stitch together as the drawer’s contents reveal themselves. 

The first to catch your eyes is an expanse of gloomy colors, painted delicately to capture the details of an ashen cliffside, strokes of navy and sapphire paint overlapping to create waves. In the right corner of the canvas, signed in the peaks of a wave, a simple R.A.B beams up at you. 

Regulus Arcturus Black. 

The painting was so finely detailed that you could have mistaken it for a photograph. 

Under the oceanside painting, you realize that dozens of canvases occupied the drawer, evidently all belonging to Regulus. 

It felt like you were intruding on his privacy, so slowly, you pushed the drawer shut and tried to erase the sight of his vivid paintings from your mind. Taking another once-over of the room, you huddle against one of its corners, resting your head on your knees. As your eyes grew heavier, and you slipped into the void of unconsciousness, one last silent thought burned at the surface of your brain.

Regulus stored those paintings in here while he was still alive. He’s been here at one point in time. 

You’re nudged awake by an aching in your lower back, body stiff from the position you fell asleep in. Unfortunately, there was no telling how much time had passed since you went to sleep, so it was better to leave sooner than later. 

Stretching your sore muscles and stiff joints, you quickly smooth down the wrinkles in your shirt, tightening your tie. Luckily, you didn’t go exploring in your sleep wear the night before. Reaching for the crystal door knob, you pause and take in the sight of the room one last time. 

Until next time. Your bittersweet farewell left a sour note in your chest as you were forced to return to reality. 

Quickly exiting the room, you swing your head furiously side to side in order to scan for people. Releasing a breath of relief, you realize the corridor was desolate. Facing one of the grand glass windows, you realize that it was around sunrise. Good, there was time for you to sneak back to your room before your dorm mates woke up. 

As you padded through the passageways, you realize that Filch managed to strip away every single portrait from the castle walls overnight. He was surely dedicated, but now you were incredibly anxious about Regulus’ whereabouts. 

In the spur of your tornado of thoughts, you suddenly are struck with a realization that has you loudly gasping and suddenly sprinting to your dorm room. 

Today was the first day of your O.W.L exams. Oh you were nominally, extraordinarily fucked. 

As you sit in Umbridge’s class, quill in hand, you briefly amuse yourself with your thoughts as you stare down at the paper in front of you. You had almost skipped breakfast in favor of last minute cramming, but your dorm mates practically hauled you to the dining hall, reprimanding you good-heartedly about your absence during dinner the night before. 

Question 7. What is the incantation for the tongue-tying curse?  

Sweet Merlin. Sifting through your mind, you curse yourself as you realize that there were a lot of holes in your memory. Your stress and anxiety over Regulus seemed to impede on your mental capacity. Think. Mutterwutter? No, that’s not it. Mibblewimbble!

Silently cheering at your victory, you go to write the answer, but a distant rumble pulls you from your concentration. Lifting your head up in confusion, you note that everyone was now distracted because of the noise. 

Tilting your head to the side, you briefly make eye contact with Umbridge as she hurriedly goes to investigate the source of the disruption. 

One moment there is a gaping silence as everyone waits with bated breath, the next, the twins are flying in on their brooms, scattering your test papers in the air. You’re unable to contain your laugh of wonder as they proceed to chuck sticks of fireworks over your heads, bursts of colorful sparks clouding the ceiling arches. 

Oh, Mrs.Weasley is going to be so pissed.

Soon, you’re joining Harry and Ron’s side as you watch a firework dragon chase Umbridge towards the doors of the classroom. As the dragon explodes around her stout figure, the sharp sound of shattering glass cuts through the noise of firework explosions. Umbridge freezes in shock as the frames of her educational decrees come crashing down from the walls. 

Splints of wood surround the furious woman and you’re snorting a laugh as you take in her ashen state. 

Oh, how the cookie crumbles. 

Grabbing Harry’s hand, you don’t look back as everyone in the class rushes outside to follow the Weasley twins, cheering at your professor’s karma. Amidst the thunderous noise of clapping and laughter, you’re snapped from your excitement as Harry makes a choked noise next to you, beginning to sway on his feet. 

“Harry?” Your voice comes out as a mere whisper. 

He seems unaware of your panic, slowly falling to the ground, eyes wide in fear and shock. You scramble to kneel in front of him, grabbing at his shoulders as he breathes heavily and seems to look through you. 

Another vision from Voldemort. Of course, the bastard had to spoil every happy memory Harry had. 

The few minutes seem to blur together, one moment Hermione and Ron were crouching next to you, the next, you were rushing up deserted stairs with the trio as Harry frantically explained his vision. Your stomach churns at the thought of Sirius being in danger, having been captured by Voldemort of all people. You weren’t exactly close with the man, but he was Harry’s family and Regulus’ brother, so you did care to a great degree for his safety. 

“What if Voldemort meant for you to see this? What if he’s only hurting Sirius to try and get to you?” Hermione’s words come out breathless, but firm, trying to ground Harry to reason. 

“What if he is? I’m just supposed to let him die? Hermione, he’s all the family I’ve got left.” You find yourself agreeing with Harry’s words, but you also know you could very well be marching to your death because of this vision. 

The conversation leads to the formulation of a shifty plan, something you were already used to dealing with, having been friends with the three for so long now. As you all break into Umbridge’s office to access the floo network, your heart nearly stutters to a stop as Umbridge’s sharp voice interrupts your mission and punctuates just how screwed you all were. 

Damn, you forgot to check to see if the room was warded. 

You gave little care to her prattling as she pushed Harry into a chair, members of the Inquisitorial Squad holding you and your friends by your collars like wet dogs. Though, your attention snaps to Umbridge once she slaps Harry, berating him for his dishonesty. Merlin, even Draco shifted away in shock. 

God, where was Rita Skeeter when you actually needed her?

Your mental cries for help only increased in severity once Professor Snape came barreling through the doors, sneering down on Umbridge as she requested the use of Veritaserum on Harry. 

Merlin, she’s lost the plot. 

It seemed that the trio’s influence rubbed off on not only you, but a couple of your other (usually reasonable) friends as well. It was merely half an hour after Umbridge tossed you out of her office when the four of you, Luna, Neville, and Ginny were convening on the bridge, conceiving another, probably awful, plan. 

If Voldemort and his death eaters didn’t get you first, the Ministry surely would toss you to the dementors for trespassing in the Department of Mysteries. Reaching in your pocket to toy with Regulus’ frame, you nervously try to run through a back up plan in case everything spiraled into disaster (which it most likely would). 

Harry’s scouts in action, once again. Though, you’d do it all over again for him, he didn’t deserve to shoulder the burden alone. 

But if you died, you’d never get to say goodbye to Regulus, and no one would know about his portrait. 

He’d be alone again. 

That left you all but one choice. You couldn’t die, even if that meant having to kick Voldemort where the sun doesn’t shine in order to escape. 

“Luna, I love you, but if I fall off and die, I’m going to be quite miffed.” Your words come out playful, but you were being completely serious as you try to suppress a wave of nausea once she suggests flying on thestrals in order to get to the Ministry.  

Couldn’t you all have a normal day for once in your life? 

Forget a career. You’d just write an autobiography about your adventures after you graduate. You could be the next Gilderoy Lockhart–except without all the lying and felonies.  

Surprisingly, you didn’t slip off or faint on the journey to the Ministry, even when you got lightheaded as your thestral suddenly dove down once you were nearing your destination. 

That’s a win in your books. 

You find yourself fiddling with your wand as you all clambered into one of the Ministry elevators, adrenaline suddenly weaning away as unease enveloped your body. Tilting your head to look up at the elevator ceiling, you have little time to panic as you feel a hand land on your shoulder. 

Turning your head to the side, you raise an eyebrow at Luna’s soft smile, “Don’t worry, he is always watching over you.”

Mouth falling open at the girl’s ominous words, you can only squeak out a small response, “Him? As in God?”

She shakes her head in amusement, leaning over to quietly whisper in your ear, “The one who is always with you, in your pocket. The nargles told me. They say he’s a strange one, special magic. I can see it too, all around your ring.” 

Shifting your shoulder to study her in shock, your hand instinctively slaps against your jacket pocket, the frame pressing against your palm. 

As the elevator dings, Luna loops her arm in yours, “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.”

Releasing a breath of exhaustion, you simply pat her hand and whisper a small, “Thanks.” You’d question her uncanny abilities at another hour, for now you just hoped you’d all survive to see the next sunset. 

As your group warily files into the hallway, you take a moment to appreciate the interior design, intrigued by the design choice to have floor-to-ceiling black tiles.  

Understandment dawned on you though, once your group entered through the hallway door, entering a vast room of high shelves, spanning hundreds of feet high, so far that it seemed to disappear into the darkness. As you peer over Neville’s shoulder, you realize that the shelves seemed to go on for hundreds of rows. 

It seemed that the Department of Mysteries was going for a grand theme of monotony. Fascinating stuff. 

Casting a small lumos, you trek next to Luna as your group walks further down the aisle, Harry soon breaking away to rush and see if Sirius was anywhere around (being tortured and whatnot). Luckily, Sirius was nowhere to be found. Unluckily, you had an eerie suspicion you were now all trapped like rats in a metal cage. 

Harry reaches to pick up a small orb of fog, a familiar voice beginning to croak a prophecy as he holds the sphere tightly. That voice. You knew that voice, and apparently so did Hermione as you see her cringe from the corner of your eye. 

Bloody hell, Professor Trelawney was responsible for Harry’s prophecy? You had no idea the woman was an actual seer, after all, Luna gave her a run for her money. 

“Harry.” Hermione’s voice is quiet but taut with panic, a sound concerning enough to have your group following her gaze towards the darkness. Slowly, a masked figure breaks through the wall of black.

A death eater. 

“Fuck. It’s a trap.” Your words come out breathless and you spin on your heel to check your surroundings. Not being able to identify any other threat, you turn back towards the approaching death eater just in time for them to pull out their wand and disperse their mask. 

Fuck, even worse. Not just any death eater, it was Lucius Malfoy of all people. Of course, Voldemort just had to send in the most insufferable, bigoted–wait. Was that?--

“Bellatrix Lestrange.” Neville’s words come out with more bite than you’ve ever heard from the boy, and for a moment you want to break from the tense moment to give him a proud smile. 

Not the time. 

As Lucius continues to try and coax Harry, your nerves prickle as you realize that you were gradually being surrounded. Shifting closer to Ginny and Luna, you draw your wand as you steel your nerves. 

“Now!” Harry’s command has all of you firing off your best stupefy as you begin to sprint through the endless rows, inevitably splitting up as death eaters begin to apparate around you. Realizing that you somehow managed to end up alone, you prepare yourself just as a black swirl appears in front of you. 

Ducking as a spell flies over your head, you whip your wand towards the cloaked figure, hissing a confringo that fires off more fiercely than you intended. Seemingly startled at your reflexes, the figure narrowly misses being reduced to meat scraps by apparating away, allowing you to blindly sprint forward. 

Merlin’s balls, you just casted a pretty impressive curse. 

Letting out a noise of surprise, you nearly crash into your friends as you all reunite in a circle. As a black wisp quickly flies towards you, Ginny steps forwards and casts a firm reducto, reducing the black wisp into a bright light. That didn’t kill anyone, did it? No matter. 

“Ginny, you are truly amazing.” Your words come out unevenly as you try to catch your breath, catching the small smile the redhead sends your way. Your amusement is cut short, though, as the impact of her spell has orbs falling from the shelves and raining down towards your group in heavy clusters. 

Trespassing? Check. Breaking and entering? Check. Destruction of private property? Check. Potential manslaughter? Check. Today was just a fun little getaway to see how much you could extend your criminal record.

Soon, you’re all blindly running towards a door that has you falling towards the ground at an alarming speed. Just before you’re reduced to a human pancake, you all are jolted to a stop just inches away from the ground. 

As you’re softly dropped onto the floor, you let out an ungraceful grunt as you clamber onto your legs, trying to make sense of the day’s events. You probably aged ten years from stress, so surely Harry would die young from heart problems at this rate. 

Looking around the room, you realize it was completely empty save for the giant stone structure erected in the middle. The translucent swirling that filled the door-shaped gap of the structure made you realize just exactly what it was. 

“The veil.” Your whisper comes out as a mixture of awe and excitement. 

“Indeed.”  

You barely have time to register the scratchy voice behind you before you’re being manhandled by an iron grip, holding you in place. Your friends have no time to notice your predicament before they’re being swarmed by streaks of black. 

Damn. A part of you had hoped that the death eater lieutenants had succumbed to the downpour of crystal balls earlier. 

In record time, the intruding death eaters have you all successfully apprehended, victorious sneers painting their faces. 

Sure. How impressive of them to successfully take down a group of students. 

Their victory doesn’t last very long as before they could do any real damage, light fills the room as Aurors apparate in, allowing you to sag in relief. The man holding you draws in a breath of panic before he’s tossing you to the side and firing off a killing curse at Moody. 

Awfully nice of him to spare your life, yet vaguely offensive that he didn’t perceive you to be a threat. 

Not wanting to interfere with the Aurors' concentration, you hurriedly shuffle away from the fighting and towards your friends. Sweeping your eyes over the chaos, you manage to see Sirius guiding Harry away from blasts and hexes, guarding him from flying rubble. No doubt, the man was still cracking jokes at such a time. 

The next time you look over at the pair, you almost tumble down in shock as you see a curse hit Sirius square in the chest. His body goes rigid before immediately falling limp, slowly sagging backwards. 

Your heart seemed to disappear in that moment, dread pouring over you like a bucket of freezing cold water. 

Harry’s scream is unlike anything you’ve ever heard from him, but it's enough to kickstart your brain. 

Acting on instinct, you pull out your wand and cast a swift trahens actio, snagging his body towards you midfall, pulling him from falling back into the jaws of the veil. There was still a chance.

The next few moments are a blur and you’re barely focused enough to stay upright. You’re vaguely aware of Harry sprinting after a cackling Bellatrix, and you lean back against the wall, finding purchase on its stability. Sirius’ motionless body lies a couple of feet ahead of you, and you want to sigh in relief as you see Remus sprinting towards him, dropping to his knees and immediately checking for a pulse. 

Murmuring incoherently to yourself, you blindly fish around in your pocket for Regulus’ portrait, needing to ground yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming. 

As you blurrily peer down at the small item, you’re sure you must be dreaming as you lock eyes with the boy you’ve desperately been looking for, his own eyes swimming with concern and uncertainty. 

“Reggie?” 

And the world seems to stutter to a stop.

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Maybe in Another Universe, You're Still the Man I Love: Viktor x Reader

Summary: You get sent to the same alternate timeline with Ekko and Heimerdinger, and you find out just how wonderful your life could've been.

Words: 2.1k

Author's Notes: Yeah so that finale sent me into deep grief and writing is the only way I can heal I fear. I hope you enjoy this interpretation of what Viktor could be doing in the alternate timeline.

“Are you alright, darling?”

Your vision comes into focus, though your head is still pounding. You’re extremely nauseous, feeling like your body is not your own as you become aware of the all-too-familiar voice that just spoke to you.

You’re sitting on a desk in an Academy classroom, journals and various papers surrounding you. The sun is shining through the windows, cascading gold onto the other desks and tables. It’s a peaceful, simple sight. Something that feels so wrong for precisely that reason.

“I don’t have another class for a while, you can talk to me,” Viktor says, brushing his fingers against your face. “Care to tell me why you’re looking at me like that?”

You suppose you look like you’ve seen a ghost, which isn’t so far from the truth. You must be dreaming—maybe hallucinating—anything to explain how this isn’t real.

“I…” you start, failing to find the words to say.

-

You storm into the lab, locking your eyes on the empty hexcore cocoon, then at Jayce.

“Where the fuck is he?”

“I don’t know!” Jayce fires back at you, clearly just as distraught as you are. “He woke up and told me he needed to leave me and this place. I have no idea where he went!”

“Why didn’t you follow him?” you scream, your mind spinning. Who knows how the hexcore changed him, he could literally be anywhere.

“He didn’t want me to! What don’t you understand?” Jayce slumps back into his chair, his face in his hands. As soon as he notices a tear fall down your cheek, his tone softens. “Look, I...we both know he’s been different since he started messing with the hexcore. He had told me to destroy it...but I couldn’t. And now he’s even more different. I’m so sorry,”

“Jayce…” you walk towards him. “I’m not blaming you for anything that’s happened. He’s been pushing both of us away for a long time. I guess...I just thought maybe when he woke up he’d love me again like he used to. Did he even ask about me?”

Jayce shakes his head, and your heart sinks even further.

-

“I think I’m dreaming,” you finally say, and Viktor tilts his head. “This...this isn’t real. We’re not like this, we haven’t been like this in a long time. You’re not...what are you here, a professor?”

He cups your face and kisses your forehead, “Darling, I don’t think you’ve been getting enough sleep, you’re talking nonsense,”

“No, no, no,” you jump off the desk and pace around the room. “If this isn’t a dream, then where am I? Some sort of other reality?”

“You mean to say you believe...this is not your world?” Viktor takes in your words intently.

“Well in my world, you fell out of love with me in favor of your work, and then you nearly died and got severely mutated by the hexcore. So yeah, I’d say things are pretty different,”

He raises an eyebrow, “Hex...core?”

“You don’t have that here?”

“Seemingly not,”

You sigh, perching yourself back on the desk, “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“No, I...I have theorized the possibility of alternate universes before, but I never thought I would come face to face with it in my lifetime,” he starts writing on the wall chalkboard. “I see no reason not to believe you. After all, my wife of this universe would probably not be saying these things,”

“We’re married?”

“Of course. Now tell me, what else is different in your universe?”

-

You’ve tried to find him everywhere—going all the secret places the two of you would go in the past, and asking people if they’ve seen him both topside and bottom. There’s no signs, not even a clue. He doesn’t want to be found.

You make your way back to Jayce’s lab, surprised to see Heimerdinger and a young man you don’t recognize with him. They fill you in on their concern about wild runes showing up around the city, and their plan to check on the hexgates. You’re desperate for anything to get your mind off Viktor, so you go along with them.

You’ve never been to the source of the hexgates before, and it’s even more grand than you imagined. One thing could go wrong and the entire thing would explode, but it’s precisely the potential of destruction that makes it all the more fascinating.

That is, until it becomes entirely unpredictable.

Your surroundings change at the blink of an eye—warped visuals and sounds you can’t make out. You scream for the others, but no one can hear.

-

You do your best to describe all the important events and details of your timeline, while Viktor takes notes on the chalkboard and compares what you say to his timeline. He seems particularly interested in his inventions in your timeline, and his partnership with Jayce—who’s no longer alive in his timeline.

“He died in an explosion here at the academy several years ago, it was a tragic accident that also killed a young girl from the undercity. He was a friend and a brilliant mind,” he pauses. “We...actually named our son after him.”

Your eyes widen, overwhelmed by this possibility of what could’ve been, “We have a son?”

“We do. And he’s perfect,” Viktor smiles softly. “You really are from a different time, aren’t you?”

You nod, trying to hold back tears. Why does this reality’s version of you get to be happy? Why does this Viktor get to dodge corruption and the hands of hubris?

Viktor gazes once again on the chalkboard notes, looking for patterns and causes for the differences in your timelines. Would he have reached the same fate if Jayce was still alive? What caused the Undercity to heal and thrive in his timeline but not in yours? Was this hextech you speak of really so destructive?

You are the same person he fell in love with, there’s no doubt in his mind about that, but you’ve been significantly more hurt than the Y/N he knows.

He steps close to you again, wiping the tears from your face and pulling you into him, “I’m so sorry your version of me has taken a different path.”

You sob into his chest, gripping his clothes. He runs his fingers through your hair and rubs your back, soothing you as if you’re his own.

But you’re not his. This isn’t your life.

You pull away, taking a deep breath, “As much as I want to stay here, I can’t keep taking over the consciousness of the me in this world. I need to find the others,”

“I don’t know if it’s possible for you to get back,” he says. “You say you got here through hextech, and that was never invented here.”

“We’ll find a way,” you run to the window, looking out to get a gauge of where you are. Heimerdinger might have landed somewhere here in the Academy too, and Ekko probably went back to the Undercity. But Jayce—if he’s dead in this universe—where would he be?

“Before you go,” Viktor places a hand on your shoulder. “Would you like to meet our son?”

Anxiety washes over you, your body going numb from the prospect. Would it only hurt you more to see a life that you could’ve created?

“Don’t you have more classes to teach, professor?” you smile, trying to turn your nervousness into something lighthearted.

“I’ll cancel for today. It’s about the time you usually pick him up from school anyway,”

He grabs his cane with one hand and takes your hand with the other, posting a quick note on his door as you leave.

-

You sit on a bench outside the elementary school, your heart pounding. This child is going to run out that building any minute, eager to see the mother he’s always known.

But you’re not her. You didn’t carry him, birth him, or raise him. You don’t have the same memories and experiences.

But you must pretend that you do.

You know which one he is immediately. He’s a perfect combination of yours and Viktor’s features, just like you’d imagined. His smile is contagious, and he wastes no time jumping into your arms.

“Look what I made at school today, Mommy!” he puts a crafty contraption in front of your face, a colorful collection of sticks and paper glued together.

“That’s so creative, honey, I love it,” but your attention is solely focused on him, his sweet face glowing with pride and joy.

“Quite the little inventor, aren’t you?” Viktor applauds him. “What else did you learn today?”

“We did reading and spelling. I can spell family now. F-A-M-I-L-E!”

“Close, sweetheart. There’s a ‘Y’ at the end,” you laugh,

“Are you sure about that?” he says, wincing his adorable face in thought. “Whatever. I learned how to spell brother and sister too, but I don’t have any of those. How do I get one of those?”

Viktor chuckles, “I’ll talk about it with your Mommy, how about that?”

“Okay!” he jumps up and starts walking home with the two of you.

-

What if I stayed? You wonder.

You’re playing with your son on the living room floor, with toys mostly made by Viktor himself. The house is small but cozy, a home you wish was really yours. What if you just stay in this dream reality forever?

What if you never find the others? What if there really is no way to get back?

But no, that wouldn’t be fair to the you of this reality. She’s the one who has this life, not you. Besides, Viktor and his son deserve their wife and mother back.

You hear a knock on the door, and Viktor goes to open it.

“Oh, Viktor, it is so good to see you.”

Your head swivels instantly towards the yordle in the entryway, “Heimerdinger! You found me!” you join Viktor at the door, “Where’s Ekko and Jayce?”

“I have not found Jayce as of yet, but I did find Ekko and sent him back to his timeline about a week ago. We found some hextech fragments and were able to use them to jump through time and space.”

“So...I can get home too?”

“As soon as you’re ready. We built the machine in a young girl’s lab in the Undercity,” he looks between you, then Viktor, and finally your son. His attitude of urgency dissipates as he begins to understand. “But...I could not blame you if you want to stay longer.”

Your son Jayce comes running to join you, grabbing onto your leg, “Who’s this guy, Mommy?”

“This is Professor Heimerdinger, he used to work at the Academy,” you pat his head, “Your dad used to be his assistant.”

“I’m sure you already have a brilliant mind, my boy,” Heimerdinger says. “Your parents must be proud.”

Little Jayce giggles.

“Actually, I would very much like to see this new invention you’ve built, Professor,” Viktor speaks up. “I’m now quite intrigued by the prospect of other universes.”

“I have no rule against you observing, Viktor, but I’m sure you understand I must destroy it after we all get back. It is too dangerous to be left here unsupervised,” Heimerdinger’s tone becomes more serious. “I’m sure Y/N has told you of the destruction hextech caused in our universe, especially to you.”

“Of course, Professor. I understand.”

-

You’ve never seen the Undercity look this beautiful.

It seems that the other version of you comes here often, so many people wave to you and little Jayce automatically runs off with some kids his age to play.

You meet a blue-haired young lady named Powder, who helped Heimerdinger and Ekko in their experiments. She looks so familiar to you, but you can’t place where you’ve seen her in your reality.

Heimerdinger explains how it works, and both you and Viktor listen intently. With everything up and running, you could go back this instant.

The pull to go back is strong, like an obligation to return to your rightful place in the universe. But the pull to stay is equally strong, as you gaze into your husband’s beautiful amber eyes that you want to find solace in forever.

“It’s your choice, my love,” Viktor says, as if reading your mind.

“I know I need to go back…” you exhale, tears welling in your eyes once again. “But I don’t know what I’m going back to,”

“I don’t know either,” he caresses your face, “But I do know you are strong in every universe,”

“I’m not,” you shake your head, “Not without you.”

“Don’t say that,” his thumbs smooth across your cheeks.

You nod, turning towards the device.

“Could you…could you kiss me one last time?” you ask.

Viktor wastes no time honoring your request, crashing his lips to yours with lasting passion. He pulls away only as you back into the circle, leaving you with one last affectionate whisper:

“I’m so fortunate to have met another version of you, my love.”

donate an esim for a coloured sketch!

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SCRUMPTIOUS I TELL YOU!! I always come back to this one cause gods 😫

Arcane requests you say 👀 hmm...how about a Viktor x Reader with reader as an empress/queen visiting Piltover to learn about Hextech and falls for a certain scientist?

sowwy this is a month late but i rewrote it like three times!!

“You love this, hmm?” Viktor rasps, his teeth grazing over your jaw, “Royalty being taken apart by some lowlife from the Undercity?”

His teeth bite down right below your jaw, hard enough that you know it will bruise. Your brow creases in frustration. 

“I find that talk deeply unattractive, Viktor,” you tell him, your posh accent never wavering, “You’re a son of Zaun, and you’re going to save my people after your own.”

Thats how it began, truly, as something much more noble and innocent. You had shown up to the council room draped in silver a newly crowned young queen from a far off land, shimmering as your quiet voice asked for representatives of Zaun. As it turns out, your father had let innovation move too quickly, and factory smoke now choked yourself and your people. Your downfall is your own, unlike the downfall Piltover had thrust upon Zaun. No one had spoken up at first, and some councillors had even averted their gaze. But all it took was one look, and Jayce had quickly volunteered his partner, whether he wanted to be brought forth or not. 

An hour later, he found himself in the lab, you folded up sitting on top of one of the tables with your legs under you and your dress bunched up on your knees as you picked his brain about how Hextech could be used in air purification, and the topic of Zaun and your kingdom’s survival would be intertwined as you’d throw any supplies or funds needed their way without a thought. You promised them the world, a flirty smile thrown Viktor’s way as you did so. 

Another hour later, he finds himself here. Snug between your thighs with the material of your dress now wrinkled against his waist, his hands in your hair and a ridiculous amount of silver jewelry discarded in a pile beside you on the table as his cane rests precariously on the back of his chair. 

“Ah yes, you wish to see things as you want to, not as they are,” he teases, “Of course, your Majesty.”

This only further infuriates you, as you dig your heel into his ass to pull him even closer to you, grinding down onto him as your lips reclaim his own. You bite, two can play at that game, and drag your hands across the back of his vest. 

“I see you as you are,” you say, exasperation and annoyance not hidden in your tone, but anything you were about to say gets cut off, a moan interrupting your thoughts. Viktor seizes the opportunity to thrust his tongue into your mouth, silencing anything besides the pretty moans that he licks from you. 

He cannot pinpoint what started this: your lingering looks as your honeyed words dripped silver onto him, or the hunger that sparked in his fingers with the way you spoke of Zaun in reverence and hope. Maybe it was him, actually, with the way you had practically pounced on him the moment there was quiet in your otherwise very spirited conversation. 

But he can’t think about that right now, not when you’re licking his pulse point and your deft fingers are working at the buttons of his shirt.

Until Jayce opens the door, and you pick yourself up off of his lap and back into your own chair. If his partner was surprised by this turn of events, he doesn’t show it.

Viktor doesn’t miss the mischief in your eyes when your eyes meet his again. 

Days pass in the lab, but the fire between the two of you never subsides. It’s everything, the way he runs his fingers through his hair, the way he gets so engrossed in a logistical issue, the way he and Jayce work so fluidly with one another. Everything about the Zaunite drives you wild. 

It makes you almost preen with pride, the way the two of them look at you every time you up their budget or tell them to try it. You know Piltover’s council has a budget for them, but with no limits? They are working harder and working faster than they have in years, as they’ve told you. It’s easily intoxicating, the enthusiasm and pure joy between the two of them, the way they share it with you, the way it wafts through the room. Mel Medarda floats in and out, and she too is drawn in by the excitement. Your reserved penthouse is neglected, as you spend most of your time here, your royal guards and servants given time off with a budget to explore the city as you become more and more enraptured into their work. 

“And different alloys, they affect how the hexgems output energy, yes?” you ask, and the men respond in turn, “I’ll figure out how cheap I can make a workable alloy so that Zaunites and my people alike can all afford it.”

You say it so easily, because it is easy for you. You’re glad your brother stepped aside. Raised as the Infanta, you expected your only aptitude to be valued in a marriage bed. Your crown prince brother a gambler and cruel hearted, but not stupid, realized quickly the crown was not for him. His crown for a lifetime salary was an easy choice. You had always excelled in lessons, had always been the messenger and wine pourer during your father’s meetings with his council. You had been raised a sharp politician despite the fact that it was never meant for you. To think, had he been selfish in another way, you would have never seen this. 

Now you’re excited, a real opportunity to change things within your grasp. Your partnership with Hextech is clearly advantageous for your kingdom, however thats not the part of it that excites you the most. 

Viktor’s hand falls upon your thigh, his calloused palm against the lace of your dress. The movement is absentminded, as if he’d done it a million times, as if the movement is natural. Oh! Your cheeks heat up in a way that feels immature, only worsened by the way that he only smirks and goes back to the conversation with Jayce, as if his action is commonplace. All thoughts are silenced besides this feeling. 

The more you get to know the men of progress, the more you struggle to understand why they are so underutilized. Piltover and Zaun could be at peace in literal hours with their ideas. But you know politics, and you know no one spoke for them before Jayce. He doesn’t belong on the council, you think, not because he isn’t worth the merit but because he is wasted there when he can do this here. Viktor is a mad genius, wild but subdued, fanatic but contained, chaos wrapped in a soft tone. 

The days run long, and you bring Viktor back to your penthouse with the promise of sleep.

Sleep does not come, at least not before you do. 

“I’m only a twelve hour ride away in an airship,” you tell him, his lips dragging across your bare back. He kisses along every inch of skin he can reach, the moonlight the only source to illuminate his path. 

“And when do I go on this royal journey?” he teases, his hand firm as he drags it up your hip to settle at your waist. 

“Whenever it suits you,” you whisper, now closer as you claim a kiss from him.

“When it suits me,” he repeats, his tone hard to decipher. 

“Viktor,” you start, sitting up. Viktor shifts instantly with you, hanging off of your shoulder now as his arms circle your waist and pull you in.

“I am not making you,” you mumble, confidence fading away with each passing second that Viktor doesn’t speak. His head falls to rest against yours, lets out a deep sigh you feel more than hear. 

“I want to come visit you, often if possible,” he admits, his lips close to your ear. Warmth blooms in your chest as you turn in his grasp, your noses bumping together as you meet his gaze.

“You do?”

“Come into my lap,” he tells you, and you crawl over his frame to straddle his thin thighs. The sheets pool around your hips, exposing you to the moonlight. It feels a lot like the first night, all unsure and needing hands, all limbs feeling numb and weird and wanting. 

Viktor’s lips find yours, warm and pressing and harsh and clumsy. He kisses into your mouth with fervor and ferocity. His teeth graze and bump your lips, bruising and biting and sure to leave scarring and you return it in kind. It is less a dance of mouths, more an awkward sparring, but it fills you with heat just the same. His hands move down your body, pulling and grasping and squeezing at your hips, your thighs, your ass. 

“Be careful,” you whisper, pressing your chest to his, “I may just try and keep you.”

Viktor chuckles, and lays back against the mattress. You follow him enthusiastically.

Language of flowers.

Pairing: Young! Remus Lupin x Fem! Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: In a moment of darkness, Remus finds the light of his life.

Warnings: angst, grief, fluff, hurt/comfort, flower shop AU, lots of flowers

Masterlist

The flower shop was open, colors drifting through the breeze. But the sky was grey and Remus was feeling a weight crushing his heart and soul.

It was hard to say where it started and where it ended, the sky or the heaviness of his heart.

It had been a few months since 31st of October, spring slowly settling in. A few months since Remus had found himself alone, with his bestfriends dead or imprisoned.

A few months since Remus had been questioning everything he ever knew. He often wondered about it. If he was to be there with them, would things be different? And what about Padfoot?

He couldn't answer his own questions. They drove him insane.

A few birds, flying over him and chirping, brought him back to reality. Life was coming back to life, basking in the glory of now, but he was still stuck in the past.

A bell dinged when he opened the flower shop's door and all sorts of sweet smells hit him. There was some stark, but delicate, almost lacy, perfume drifting through the air, some daring ones too (like the lilies in the corner).

Lilies.

They broke his heart.

"Sorry, I'll be at the front in just a moment!" a soft voice called out.

Remus made no move whatsoever, afraid to wither the flowers with even just an intake of air. He was just standing there, in the middle of the isle, surrounded by bouquets and flowers, with his hands in his coat's pockets and shoes sticking to the floor. His hair was probably a mess too (when was it ever not?).

The soft pads of converse against the pristine tiles and the swishing of a dress drew his attention to the backroom. She was wearing a polka dotted, red dress and a warm smile. She reminded Remus of spring itself. "Hi! Sorry for that, just some organizational stuff! How may I help you?"

She was looking straight at him, not afraid to meet his eyes and he suddenly felt small, fidgeting on the spot. The flowery smells tickled his nostrils. "I, uh- I want to buy some flowers."

Her smile broadened, her white teeth glittering in the light. "Well, I sure would hope so! It is a flower shop, after all."

He felt his face burn up and he cleared his throat. "Just those lilies, please."

Her gaze turned to the flowers in the corner, their white so fragile and pure. "That's beautiful. Lilies symbolize purity, something heavenly. Did you know that?"

He shyly shook his head. His voice croaked out a no.

"Well, now you do." she softly smiled at him before going to take them out of their vase. She started counting them. "How many would you like?"

Remus remained silent for a moment, his gaze dropping to the floor. "An even number would be fine."

Her moves halted, hands wrapped around the flowers' stems. "Oh, I see."

Even numbers for the deceased, odd numbers for the living.

Without turning to him, the florist brought six lilies out of the vase, putting them tenderly on the counter, as if she was dealing with a porcelain doll. "I'm sorry for your loss." she quietly added, her voice just a mere sound in the air.

Bashful, Remus shrugged, his hands still stuck in his pockets.

"These are beautiful flowers. I'm sure they'd love them." she continued, her fingers delicately tying a blue ribbon around the lilies.

He slowly lifted his head. "She was a lily and he always loved lilies." he whispered, but he was sure she still heard it. Her eyes met his, in a compassionate gaze, a touch of sadness in them.

"I'm Y/N." she said in a meek voice.

"Remus."

She handed him the bouquet, fingertips brushing. A strand of hair was falling from the ponytail she hastily put up. "That'd be ten pounds."

"Make it twenty. For the company."

She laughed, eyes lighting up and cheeks blushing. "You're a charming one. But can't do. It wouldn't be fair. Just ten pounds."

Remus felt a daring something in his chest and he took a step closer to the counter. "Fifteen and we'll see each other again?"

She shook her head, a smile still etched on her lips. "Yeah, okay, can't say no to that."

His own smile turned into a grin, before he put the money on the counter. He straightened his back and saluted her.

Y/N waved, her voice carrying sounds of worry. "Take care, Remus. Flowers wither easily."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He knew the path all too well, taking turns through the cemetery. Left, right, left and right again. He was still holding the lilies in his hands, maybe a bit too tightly, his knuckles turning white.

It was a bit odd coming back here. Nothing ever changed since the funeral. And he supposed nothing would ever change. Life would go on, time passing by, but the cemetery would still be stuck here in a time bubble, a testimony to the past.

He knew the path all too well. Right, left, left. Grave stones after grave stones. Left, right, left. Stillness. Quietness.

Loneliness.

He remembered the times when they would all joke around (Prongs had the most bonkers ideas), and Lilly would be the one who'd always get them out of trouble. He remembered how it felt to have someone besides you in the darkest moments.

And now he had no one.

Right, left. Stop.

The grave stone greeted him like always: cold and motionless, their names hitting him like bullets.

James and Lilly Potter.

He'd forever miss them.

Remus placed the bouquet on the grave, letting a moment of quiet pass, before he turned on his heels and left.

He knew the path all too well.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He kept coming back to the flower shop every month. At first he only bought lilies in even numbers, but then she started suggesting him to try something else ("Maybe white hyacinth. It symbolizes loveliness, prayers for someone.") Other times, she'd have a bouquet ready for him to pick up.

Remus no longer felt lonely. There was a light in every thing she said or did. She was careful with her words, and even more careful with the flowers. More often than not, even surrounded by a multitude of colours and flowers, the only flower he ever saw was her.

It was a wonder, to begin with. He'd get lost in the way she handled the flowers, so carefully, delicately. Just a touch of the hand, caressing them, never squeezing them. Angelic. Velvety.

After a while, he started to stop by just to greet her. He'd usually find her in the back, planting seeds or wetting the flowers she was growing. (These are irises. They symbolize faith. Isn't that beautiful?")

Y/N was the whole spring in the form of flowing dresses and warm smiles.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The flower shop was closed that day. He frowned in a confused manner, sticking his hands in his pockets. For a moment, he rocked on his heels, looking around, a breeze ruffling his hair. And then he turned to leave, a destination already imprinted in his mind.

But a weep stopped him. He recognized her. Her voice was muffled and strained by cries, but it was still her voice.

He followed the sound, taking the corner of the shop. His knees were weak, trembling just at the thought of her crying.

He found her on her knees, near a grave behind the shop. There was a whole meadow behind the flower shop, flowers everywhere and Remus figured out that this is where she was growing most of her flowers.

He took a tentative step towards her before stopping abruptly. What was he supposed to say? Words failed him.

Y/N sniffled. "I know you're there. I can feel you, you know?"

Remus gulped, before taking a seat near her. He didn't dare to take a look at the grave, instead gazing at her, waiting for her to say something. Patiently.

"I'm sorry that I closed the shop today."

He shook his head desperately, reaching out with his hand to touch her arm but dropping it at the last second. He didn't know how to comfort her. "Hey, hey, it's fine. I understand."

A broken laugh made it through her lips. "You're my most faithful customer."

"Irises, right?"

Y/N laughed again, turning to meet his eyes, unshed tears shining in her own. "You remembered!"

He shyly shrugged (he seemed to be doing that often around her). "Of course I did. I remember everything you ever tell me."

Her grin turned soft and her gaze dropped. "You're sweet. I wish I could repay you for all the kindness you've ever shown me. The business thrives just because of you."

This time he didn't hesitate to grasp her hand. She was soft, just as he always imagined. She was warm too. Her touch was velvety, much like a petal would be. "Don't say that. It's always a pleasure to come by. And your flowers are some of the most beautiful I've ever seen. They're very alive. You put love in your work. Anyone would see that."

She raised her head, wonder in her eyes. "It used to be mom's business. But I took over once she-" She inhaled. "Once she passed away."

Remus was familiar to grief and loneliness. He slightly squeezed her hand.

"Her name was Iris." Y/N added.

He nodded his head. "I see." He pushed behind her ear a strand of hair. "My best friend's name was Lily."

Her eyes turned sad once again. "Purity."

"Faith." Remus replied, referring to her mother's name.

An unspoken, shared pain settled between them as she slowly let her head fall against his shoulder, a few birds singing in the distance.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The bell chimed when he enter the flower shop that evening. He was smiling, his face flushed.

"Sorry, just a sec!" her voice called out, much like it did the first time they met.

Her converse padded against the tiles much like they did the very first time. Her dress swished like it did the first time.

And Remus blushed much like he did the first time he saw her. Y/N's face lit up when she rounded the corner and met his gaze. No amount of greetings could reflect the excitement and warmth in her eyes. The sun would be jealous of the light in them.

She approached the counter, a skip in her steps. "What flowers this time? Magnolias?"

Remus shook his head. "Roses."

Her lips formed a perfect "O", eyebrows rising. "That's new. Even or odd?" she asked, already going around the counter towards the flowers.

"Odd, this time." replied Remus, carefully watching for a reaction, one that'd betray her thoughts (he was hoping for a blush to resurface, or a tint of jealousy).

Even numbers for the deceased, odd numbers for the living.

Her moved halted, fingertips barely brushing the roses' stems. "How many?" Her voice was even, but Remus could detect a sound of annoyance in it.

"Just one. A single red rose."

The flower shop went silent. Somewhere outside, leaves rustled and the wind of early April started picking up, ruffling the trees. Her hands froze in the air, once again, before she straightened her back, her face void of emotion. Her face betrayed her, though. ''Who's the lucky one?''

''You.''

It was as if time stopped. Y/N was speechless for the third time that day and Remus took a few steps closer to the counter, trying to meet her eyes. ''It's you, Y/N. The rose is for you.'' And with a tremor in his voice, he hastily added. ''That is if you accept it.''

He was now in front of her, hands on the counter itching to touch hers, to grasp her fingers in his, ''Please, do.'' he whispered.

She slowly lifted her head, her eyes shyly meeting his. ''Is it for me?''

Remus nodded his head, soft crinkles appearing in the corner of his eyes. ''Indeed.''

''Nobody has ever given me a flower before.''

''That's quite ironic. You have a flower shop.'' he said while a breathy small laugh escaped his lips. His fingers tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. He could see her bright eyes clearer now.

She shrugged. ''People buy flowers for others.''

Remus cupped her cheek gently. ''And now I bought one for you. Please, say yes. Let me take you out. I promise I'll be extra good. I'll hold doors open for you. I'll hold your hand. I'll pay. Just- just have me.''

Y/N turned her head slightly and kissed the back of his hand. ''Yes.''

A grin broke out onto Remus' face and he lightly let his forehead fall against her, the sun rays bathing both of them. The quietness filling the room. Tranquility.

''You'll still have to pay for the rose, though.''

''Right, yes. Of course.''

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A/N: Hello! Thank you so much for reading! I've always felt for Remus after the whole Voldemort fiasco. All his best friends died or got unfairly imprisoned. One of them even faked his death! So, this fic kinda blossomed (pun intended) from that. I threw in some language of flowers as well, lots of researching!

Another Remus Lupin fic is in the works. Hint: it's a Titanic AU.

If you'd like to be added to my tag list, just comment under this post or send me an ask! Lots of love xx

Tag list: @bohemianrhapsody86 @andreead