Second Son (XIX) | Regulus Black
Second Son (XIX) | 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: The Battle of Hogwarts ensues.
Part XVIII / Series Masterlist
Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader
Notes: Only the epilogue remains, my dear readers. Thank you. Final wc: 8.6k
Time seemed to be warping and blurring together frenziedly; day and night pushed out of conscious thought, the passage of days folding together in one reel of memories in your head. The starless sky peered at you like an endless void, indicating that it had somehow already dipped into the corners of the darkest hours again.
Your heart gives a sharp twinge as you find your eyes locked to the tall figure standing at the head of the hall, face ashened, mournful cloak adorning his imposing figure like a blanket trimmed directly from the night sky. Harry lingered ways off from you as everyone stood with tense backs and squared shoulders.
You blink away the detachment tugging at your awareness as your ears seem to become full of cotton, keenly aware of the way your wand poked at your ribs from your robe pocket. Your former Potions Professor flickers his gaze around the swarms of students around you, and your chest almost collapses in on itself when you lock eyes with the stone-faced man. Snape’s eyes widen ever so slightly, but he masks it with a sneer as he raises his eyes to look over your dismayed face.
Your mind immediately spins into overdrive as you grapple with your thoughts. That couldn’t have been your imagination. He saw you, so why didn’t he say anything?
A frown dances on your lips as you revisit your old sentiments about the man. You had always had your reservations about Harry’s inimical attitude towards Snape (though he had them for good reason), and you were beginning to think that you were correct in your assumptions that the man’s interests weren’t exactly black and white.
Harry drifts through the rows of students and makes himself known, immediately pouring out all of his pent up fury towards the man. Snape’s face does a funny thing as it shifts ever so slightly from suspicion to troubled.
The doors from behind you are tossed open, causing everyone to step back towards the walls as all heads dart to survey the intrusion. At the helm of the group, Kingsley Shacklebolt strides in with more assurance and conviction than you’ve seen in any of Dumbledore’s followers since his death.
Stepping out from the belt of students, you unconsciously begin to reach out towards Regulus. The boy’s eyes move through the crowd furiously until they lock onto your drifting figure, his shoulders immediately slacking as he extends his hand out to you.
A smile crawls up your face as you hurry out of the crowd and towards him, unbothered by the burning of eyes on your back as you do so. Once you grasp the boy’s hand, he brings your hand up to his mouth to give it a faint kiss, shooting you a small wink as he tugs you closer to him.
The Order members hold their unwavering stances, faces etched with determination as they gaze at a frowning Snape. The man’s eyes are still fixed on Harry, seemingly unperturbed by the arrival of the Order and the overt breach of security.
Harry grits his teeth as he practically snarls at the man, “Tell them how you looked him in the eye, a man who trusted you, and killed him!” Your friend’s chest heaves with every word, as if the recollection of the events was causing him physical pain.
You edge closer to Regulus as your eyes flicker between the two individuals. It was a stand-off that had been brewing for years, finally sizzling and tipping past the boiling point as your mind takes you back to your very first year at Hogwarts, painted with Snape’s glares and Harry’s innocent confusion. No longer was your friend inflicted by such adolescent hurt, now only rage and fatigue shrouding from his body.
It happens in a flash, you nearly miss it as you blink—Snape draws back and points his wand at Harry, eliciting choked gasps as the crowd of students split further apart in shock. Regulus steps in front of you instinctually, and if the situation were not escalating to such a degree, you would have found it funny that he jumped in front of you despite having no weapon or wand.
As Professor McGonagall pushes Harry aside, firmly drawing her own wand up, you push Regulus behind you as you reluctantly bring your wand up to point at the man you had made so many mental excuses for. Snape falters at the sight of the woman’s stance, but regains his composure and levels his wand to her.
Silence falls upon the hall, tension as thick as molasses as everyone draws in their breaths in anticipation. For a moment, you think nothing is going to happen, that perhaps Snape would magically curl into regret and surrender, but then a bolt of flames soars through the air.
McGonagall is unforgiving in her onslaught of attacks, and Snape merely backpedals from his spot as he deflects the spells. The man’s face falls impossibly further into hurt, and you’re struck with a whirlwind of confusion.
Why do you look like you’re the one who’s suffering, professor?
The one-sided battle recommences and you’re left rooted in your spot as Snape suddenly flees out of the window in a flurry of black swirls. As the glass shatters, a cloud of excitement seems to sprout into the air as shouts and whispers fill the perimeter.
Regulus places his hands on your shoulders as you pocket your wand, your eyes still glued to the broken glass at the end of the hall. The cheering and clapping die almost as quickly as they erupted when Harry collapses, a sudden sharp stabbing in your head accompanying your friend’s stumble. You hiss as you reach for your temple, noting how the hall was now blanketed by a miasma of fear.
Suddenly, a piercing scream slices through the air like cold steel, followed by another and another. Regulus huddles you to him as he peers at you with concerned eyes, his hands moving to trail your arms as the buds of chaos begin to prickle around the room.
A sharp hiss rings from all around you, and you would have feared for your sanity if not for the petrified expressions on many of the other students’ faces.
“Give me Harry Potter…Do this and none shall be harmed.” The words seem to bounce around the room as you guide your eyes to settle onto Harry’s stiff figure.
“Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave Hogwarts untouched.”
You divert your gaze to look at Regulus, and find that the boy is already glancing at you with conflicted eyes.
“Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded. You have one hour.”
The tint of doom seems to lift almost immediately, and you exhale shakily as the foreign pressure around the atmosphere dissipates.
“What’s that look for, Reg?” You whisper, unwilling to raise your voice as confusion stirs the air into silence.
Regulus huffs through his nose and wraps his hand around your wrist, stepping to stand beside you as he looks towards Harry, “Just wondering if it’s too late to leave and go back to Norway.”
You shake your head and go to retort, but you’re cut off by a resounding voice emitting somewhere among the swath of students, “Someone grab him!”
Your eyebrows furrowed together at the outlandish suggestion and your eyes trail about to try and distinguish who it came from. Seeing many of the gazes aimed towards a cluster of Slytherins, you tilt your head as you see an unfamiliar boy pointing towards Harry.
Ginny makes her way in front of Harry, spurring the rest of your friends to crowd around the speechless boy. As your eyes begin to wander, wanting to take note of those who were readily jumping to serve your friend on a silver platter, you make eye contact with an unimpressed Blaise.
The boy’s eyes flicker to look at Regulus before they jump back to you, an eyebrow slanting up in a manner that reminds you all too much of the Contessa. Blaise slowly slinks towards the back of the crowd just as Filch hobbles into the hall, shouting incoherently about students being out of bed.
“You have some explaining to do.” Blaise’s velvety voice sounds from behind you, causing you to jump out of your skin.
Turning around on your heels, you slam your palm against your chest to jumpstart your heart again. Did he apparate? How the hell did he just appear behind you?
Rolling your eyes, you give the boy a brief hug, “Nice to see you too, B. Sorry that I went AWOL, I wasn’t exactly in contact with anyone.”
“Except my mother.” He points out with a sniff, arms crossing.
Coughing lightly into your fist, you sheepishly smile in apology, “Nothing big, just aiding some vigilantes.”
“You are a vigilante yourself, no? And you couldn’t have sent a little slip of paper telling me ‘hey, I’m alive!’, could you now?” He mutters with narrowed eyes.
Shifting from foot to foot, you lightly frown, “Uh, sorry?”
He waves you off before setting his eyes on Regulus, who looks infinitely amused by your friend’s antics. Blaise pauses for a split second before a shit-eating grin plasters itself on his face, “Oh, how prestante! You disappeared and found yourself a pure blood boyfriend, I see.”
You blanch at his words and he snickers, “Merlin, don’t look so surprised. His facial structure just screams pure blood.”
“Okay, that’s enough of you, B.” You hiss, “You absolute menace.”
The boy doesn’t have time to respond as students begin to file out of the hall, someone bumping against your shoulder as McGonagall announces that students would be evacuated, underage students taking priority, while those of age were welcome to stay.
Your eyes widen at the announcement, the reality of your situation crash landing on you all at once. “B, go. And look out for Draco, will you?.” You point your chin forward, eyes flying around the room before you settle them on Regulus, “Reg, go with Blaise.”
Regulus swivels to look at you with wide, disbelieving eyes, “I hope you’re joking.”
“And I hope you’re joking. I’m not letting you run into danger without a wand!” You shoot back emphatically with a sharp tone.
“Dio mio,” Blaise clicks his tongue, gracefully shoving his wand towards Regulus, “Here. If you break it or lose it, my dear Y/N will no longer have a boyfriend.”
You and Regulus pause. One beat of silence passes, then another.
“Blaise, what the bloody hell? Absolutely not! Your mother is going to have my head if she finds out that I left you defenseless.” You sputter, hands flying up and nearly batting into a passing student.
The boy shifts to the side to avoid a stumbling first-year as he keeps his eyes steady on yours, “Good thing she’ll never know then. Besides, I won’t be needing it. I plan to apparate to Zabini Manor with Theo and Draco once we get out of here.” He rolls his eyes impatiently once you and Regulus remain motionless, “Now take it before I change my mind.”
“Are you absolutely sure?” You mutter quietly, eyes trailing towards the dark wand, feeling torn despite your friend’s insistence.
“Well, he’s going to follow you anyway, and I’d rather be temporarily without a wand than permanently without a friend because you jumped in front of a curse trying to protect him.” He muses dryly, eyes quickly shifting to appraise Regulus as the boy reaches for the wand.
He was going about this way too casually, a wizard’s wand was practically their life! But there was no arguing with the obstinate git, especially when he had that determined look in his eyes.
You nod and swallow harshly as your throat wells up with thick emotion, “Thank you, B. Stay safe, okay? And make sure Draco doesn’t do anything stupid.”
“No worries, our dragon is all out of stupid after what happened last year.” The italian winks at you before elegantly spinning around, his robes billowing behind him as he strides towards the exit, weaving his way towards a familiar mop of platinum blond.
Regulus twirls Blaise’s wand around in his hand as he gets used to the feeling. He looks over at you with a warm smile, eyes twinkling brightly as a fire lights in them, “Always a good judge of character, birdie. Indeed, you are proficient at picking friends.”
“Clearly not proficient enough, Crowface. I managed to grow attached to a stubborn bastard like you.” You hum playfully, taking a hold of his wrist to drag him towards your circle of friends.
Though, one meaningful glance from your savior friend was enough for you to understand: split up and haul ass.
Hermione and Ron take off in search of the basilisk corpse in the Chamber of Secrets, while Luna gives you a small smile before darting off towards Harry with a frustrated frown. Professor McGonagall almost breaks her neck doing a double take at Regulus, clearly recognizing him, but says nothing of her revelation as she ushers you with her.
Regulus trails after you both, flocked by Professor Flitwick and Molly Weasley, both giving the boy discreet side eyes.
“L/N, we are going to need to give Potter as much time as possible. I’m sure you have an idea of how you can utilize your skills.” The woman gives you a small knowing smile, and you nod back quickly despite not knowing exactly what she was insinuating.
It is not until she spins back around and braces her hands up that your brain begins to work again.
“Piertotem locomotor!”
Your eyebrows furrow at the foreign spell, but your attention is immediately redirected when a deep thudding echoes from somewhere in front of your willowy professor. Peering around her, your eyes widen as numerous concrete knights begin to march out in streams from the entrance hall.
Ah. We’re Harry’s first line of defense.
Winking at a fascinated Regulus, you couldn’t resist the urge to demonstrate your own magical prowess, wanting to match up to the boy’s level of intellect. Drawing your wand out, you scurry down the series of stairs and drop to your knees, beginning to draw out the most complex shielding runes you knew, tangling the swirls of characters into compounds of symbols that begin to shimmer against the dull ground.
The strings of characters glow brightly before darting off into the sky in a flurry of streaks, reinforcing the growing bubble being patched together by the Order members. You continue to relentlessly draw your symbols, the ache in your wrist being overshadowed by the warmth of pride that lit up in your chest at the sight of your runes chaining themselves to the colossal dome.
Ways off from you, you see Regulus marveling at the sky, eyes dancing around the strings of your runes. Your brain screeches to a halt as you zone in to look at the boy, mouth floating into a faint smile at the way his lips imperceptibly part.
It was paradoxical, how at the height of slaughter and war, you fell into a hum of peace at that very moment. Your drifting thoughts only surge forwards when a procession of wispy blue streams hail towards the near-translucent dome, raining down towards you in mottles of cerulean orbs.
Just as you begin to rise from your position, knees wobbling unsteadily along the way, the feathery streaks crash into the shield and explode into veins of white combustion. The loud crashing of explosions deafen you, and you stumble in blinded shock towards Regulus.
The boy is already making his way towards you, face grim as he strides across the plaza with purpose. You barely refrain from crashing into him as he reaches to hold onto your biceps.
Blisters of blinding white wash over your figures as you grip onto his elbows. Chancing a glance at the sky, you laugh shakily, “Think you still know how to handle a wand?”
Regulus smiles and cups your cheek, “Of course, I have to protect you somehow.”
“Your sense of humor dazzles me, love,” you search his face, opening your mouth to continue your retort, only to be disrupted by a painfully loud explosion, followed by the sound of insistent sizzling.
Above you, your beloved crown of protection withers away like disintegrating paper.
Chaos erupts almost instantaneously with giants lumbering through the concrete knights on the bridge, as arrays of colorful light fracture the structures around you. You catch a glimpse of Professor Flitwick scurrying around the crumbling soldiers, hands gesturing frantically for the students to take cover inside.
The rune weavings that you spelled float listlessly until they gravitate towards the castle, speedily wrapping around a couple of the towers and absorbing into its walls. Regulus grabs your hand and you both sprint for cover behind a pile of rubble, ducking as gusts of apparition soar above you.
Screaming begins to bloom into the air, followed by hurried shouts of curses and spells. You spring up onto your heels, wand at the ready as your eyes dart around frantically, heart virtually beating in your neck.
“Crucio!”
Your neck snaps to the side at the guttural yell, barely muffling a yelp as a red bulb of light zips towards you. Dodging the spell, you feel a symphony of rage tug at your nerves at the sight of a familiar death eater—the man who had grabbed you during the attack at the Department of Mysteries, Augustus Rookwood.
Practically swinging your wand, you hurl your spell, “Reducto!”
The man goes flying across the courtyard, smashing through a cracked archway before landing roughly like a ragdoll. You feel someone press against your back, barely taking note that Regulus and you were fighting back-to-back before another death eater sets their sights on you.
You don’t know how much time passes as you and Regulus weave through onslaughts of killing curses, blasting aside enemies and assisting other students in their duels. Your world of blurry fighting trickles into clarity once you catch sight of an enormous giant swinging down at a familiar trio, all of them sprinting further down the ruinous remains of one of the castle walkways.
“Paxillos Inferni!” Your shout echoes all around you, and your vision tunnels in on the cast of neon orange that darts from the tip of your wand. A wave of satisfaction drenches you as you see the giant drop its weapon in surprise, body jolting in agony before dozens of small razor-like spikes sprout from its body, suddenly expanding in size with a sickening crunch. The giant drops to its knees, a lifeless husk, remaining upright, supported by the flurry of colossal spikes that impaled it from every direction.
A few death eaters in your vicinity stop in their tracks, eyes widening as they take in the sight of the shredded giant and your bright eyes. Regulus swings his arm forward, sending a death eater packing before taking notice of your victory.
“Where’d you learn how to do that?” He mutters reverentially, eyes drifting from the carnage around you before settling on the palisade-giant fusion.
You shrug before taking advantage of the wave of shock around you, incapacitating a few lingering death eaters, “In one of the books at Grimmauld Place.”
“I see. Nice work, dear.” He hums, tying up a sprinting death eater before the crazed woman could attack a distracted Hufflepuff.
A sudden chill ensnares the nerves in your spine and fingertips, and you have to suppress the violent shudder tugging at your muscles. Risking a glance away from the enemies in front of you, your mouth falls ajar at the sight of a curtain of black drifting towards you.
“Dementors.” You murmured, unnerved by the sheer amount of the creatures making their way over. The golden trio tumble forward and become struck by the same sight. The dementors drop down towards the bridge, swinging and weaving around fallen bodies and chunks of concrete.
A gust of blue threads tangle into a large sphere before expanding across the bridge, the exceptionally powerful patronus charm managing to ward away a majority of the dementor army. Your eyebrows fly towards the sky as you catch sight of Aberforth, the man’s wand extended out towards the retreating veils of grey.
You had no idea the man was even capable of producing a patronus with how downtrodden he seemed just hours before. This would be the last time you’d judge a wizard by their supposed disposition.
Catching sight of a few stray dementors, you instinctually raise your wand, expertly locating a few specific memories of yours to manifest the spell, “Expecto Patronum.”
The familiar sparrow bursts from your wand and darts towards the dementor, the creature immediately retreating into the sea of darkness as the small bird perseveres in its chase.
“What?” Regulus’ breathless mutter has you directing your attention to him, eyebrows raising at the astonished look drawn on his face.
Feeling bashfulness crawl up your chest, you clear your throat and jump back into battle, only sparing him a small biting remark, “Laugh about it later.”
The boy follows your lead and sends a hex towards a cluster of death eaters, “Laugh about what?” His voice is tinged in disbelief, yet still marred by his previous amazement.
“What do you mean, about what?–” you blast an unsuspecting death eater in the side, “--Obviously about my patronus.”
“Why would I laugh?” He practically yells over the commotion of explosions raining from all around you.
You want to groan, feeling that perhaps he was trying to torture you, “Because! It’s a bird. A little birdie.” The boy glances at you with a minute frown of perplexion before his eyes slowly shift in realization, head snapping back to take down a few more enemies.
Once the mayhem around you quells in just the slightest, he turns back to you, “Merlin, what am I going to do with you?” He mutters with a faint grin. Before you have time to question him, he shifts around and lifts his wand up, “Expecto Patronum.”
The light blue swirls jet out from the borrowed wand and you raise an unimpressed eyebrow as it surges towards a confused death eater, the man watching as the spell flies towards him. You really couldn’t blame him—you too, would be rendered speechless at the arbitrary display.
Just when the spell goes to topple into the man, it morphs into a familiar shape that has you gasping. Regulus’ small patronus sharply shoots up into the sky before it can crash into the death eater, the small bird rounding in circles before dissipating into the night.
You and Regulus don’t miss a beat despite the demonstration, both taking aim at the flabbergasted death eater and sending off your best hexes. Once the man goes tumbling away, Regulus turns towards you, “A finch.”
“A finch…” you echo quietly.
Finches and Sparrows. Complementary birds.
“You-” you can barely comprehend the look on Regulus’ face as he breaks out into a wide smile. Your mouth parts, taken aback by how blatant his fondness was.
“My little birdie.” He whispers affectionately, leaning to rest his forehead against yours.
Your heart stutters on the spot, and you have to close your eyes to try and grasp onto reality. Regulus’ hands dance around your waist as colorful blobs spiral across your eyelids, the stench and discord of war suddenly shoved out of the forefront of your mind.
Opening your eyes, you take a brief moment to peer into the boy’s eyes, mouth pursing once you see the fire dancing in them.
“Blast me into a wall if you hate this.” You whisper. Regulus merely grins, immediately understanding your thoughts, and looking anything but bewildered.
Giving no time for lingering doubts to fester, you surge forward and crash your lips onto his. He reciprocates immediately, gently nudging you behind a mountain of rubble as his lips dance with yours. Your hands run around his sides, seeking something to ground yourself to as he leans in further, completely pressing himself to you.
His hands press themselves into your back, pushing you impossibly closer to him as if he were afraid you’d fall through the ground and disappear. You both continue to clash together for a dizzying amount of time, only stopping once the burning for oxygen practically imprints itself into your lungs.
Pulling back with a huff, your eyes widen in disbelief. Reality comes crashing into you like a bludger as your eyes jump around every little freckle on his face. Regulus’ chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, eyes refusing to stray from yours.
“We-” you utter, voice practically a squeak.
Regulus’ eyes flicker with mirth before he drops his head to sprinkle fleeting kisses on your jaw and neck. Your hands freeze against his chest, not knowing how to handle the hot flash of disbelief and giddiness that sinks into your frame.
Your brain was glitching, perhaps even smoking out of your ears.
Eventually, you gently push the boy off of you, eyes already flying around in search of approaching enemies. Flashing the boy a warm smile, you slowly begin to emerge from behind the mass of concrete, “Let’s continue this later, yeah?” Your voice comes out smaller than you’d hope, but you’re just happy it wasn’t shaky.
“No protests from me, birdie.” Regulus whispers lightly, hand ghosting your back as he submerges himself back into battle.
You aren’t sure how much time has passed, but you are vaguely aware of how the sky seems to shed away into a forlorn grey as opposed to its former void of pitch black. When you spin on your heel, you make eye contact with a panicked Harry which has all of your mental alarms ringing.
“Reg!” You call over your shoulder, not glancing back again as you briskly march over to your friend, cognizant of the faint sound of footsteps behind you.
As you near the boy, you reach over to grasp his forearm, “Harry?”
Harry gulps, “Where’s Draco?”
“With Blaise, they evacuated.” Your voice is cautious, watching as Harry’s eyes flicker from you to the battle behind you.
“Oh…Goyle’s dead.”
“He’s what–what the hell? Harry?”
He shakes his head, eyes darting to look at Regulus before he averts his gaze to peer off into the distance, “No time. Come on.”
You share a look of resigned confusion with Regulus before you’re both bounding off after the speeding boy, mind whirring on overdrive as you all duck into the steep shadows and clamber down a vacant stairway. Harry crouches down as you near a building, and you can only silently squawk once you realize it was the Shrieking Shack.
What the hell was the boy up to this time?
Harry leans against one of the walls and peers into a crack in the mosaic glass, eyes wide as he mutely scrutinizes the scene in front of him. You and Regulus huddle together to do the same, but not before you quietly cast a concealment charm to hide your presence.
You’re able to make out Snape’s figure, the man’s face was undoubtedly sullen as he tracks the movements of his companion with a perpetual frown. You feel Regulus tense by your side as you both recognize the other occupant in the room.
Clenching your jaw, you shoot Harry a sharp look that he ignores, the boy becoming entranced by the conversation Snape was having with bloody fucking Voldemort. Craning your head closer to the cloudy glass, you can faintly make out what the tense exchange was about.
The Elder Wand?
Regulus drops his hand down to interlace with yours, eyes shifting back and forth over the lattice of the window as he tries to fathom the topic. A few moments of eerie silence stretch out before you’re flinching back as something tersely slams against the window in front of you.
Your first instinct is to reach for your wand and prepare yourself for confrontation, but upon closer inspection of the glass, you realize that it was muddled by a dark heap. Tilting your head, you hover a finger over the middle of the black shadow, eyes widening once you see the figure move ever so slightly.
Harry’s hands are clenched tightly by his side as he peers on with unblinking eyes.
“Nagini kill.”
The cold voice has you swallowing a gasp, ears prickling with cold needles of dread at the realization of what was happening. A reverberant hissing slices through the air and soon you’re watching helplessly as the figure in front of you slams and struggles against the pane of glass.
Tears stab at your eyes painfully as you remain rooted to your spot, shoulders completely slack as shame wrings your veins unrelentingly. Separated by a mere two inches of glass. You wanted more than anything to be endowed with a wave of courage—to spring into action and save your Professor, but you knew you couldn’t.
Two inches of glass, and Snape didn’t even know such little distance separated him from help. Or maybe he did—yet, you didn’t know if that was worse. If he knew you were all there, and gave no inkling of knowledge to the vindictive Dark Lord. Was he protecting you all?
The banging ceases, eventually.
Your jaw trembles violently as splatters of blood decorate the panes in front of you, dripping bright red, the streaks mocking you. Regulus’ face is completely blank and devoid of any color, but you could see the deep-seated agony flashing in his eyes.
Were they friends? You couldn’t help but want to ask, knowing that Regulus would have been Snape’s junior whilst at Hogwarts.
You hear Snape grapple with his pain, gasping forcibly into the silent air. For a few moments, you wait it out, not wanting to storm into the building just in case Voldemort was basking in his most recent attack.
Harry shoots you a quick nod, and that’s all it takes for you to fly onto your feet, body pushing through the worn door with such force that it slams into the adjacent wall. Your eyes find your Professor immediately, heart flying away into the dusty shadows somewhere as you collapse by his side. Regulus kneels down by Snape’s feet, eyes searching the older man’s disorientated gaze.
“Professor!” Your voice comes out as a thick tremble, hands shaking with adrenaline as you fish out your wand. You begin to try and cast the strongest healing charms you know, but deep in the back of your hazy brain, you knew it would be fruitless. Harry crouches down opposite of you, posture more reserved—guarded, as he swallows harshly.
Snape glances at you briefly, eyes already dimming, before he turns to look at Harry when the boy tries to put pressure on the man’s wound. You refuse to look behind the blood-soaked collar, knowing that his neck was likely a mangled, stringy mess of flesh and muscle.
“Take them…Take them…” Snape utters with a pained groan, small glimmers of tears rolling down his cheeks. Harry, seeming to understand the man’s urgency, whips out a small glass vial from his pocket and collects the tiny droplets.
Snape reaches out with a weak hand towards your frantic friend, fingers ghosting over his face as he smiles weakly, “You have your mother’s eyes.”
Harry barely bats an eye at the man’s words, only peering at him with a mournful gaze. Regulus speaks up for the first time, eyes hard as he addresses your friend without taking his eyes off of Snape, “Harry, go.”
The boy looks over to you in question, and you give him a brief nod.
Harry hesitates before leaning back and nodding slowly, hand gradually retracting from the bloody mess of the man’s neck. Your friend bites the inside of his cheek before capping the glass vial, “Goodbye, sir.”
Without looking back, Harry flees the room and leaves you alone with the dying man. Your hands wander about in the air helplessly, as you grit your teeth, “Professor, you can’t die.”
Snape’s head lolls over to your side, and he gazes at you dully, chest rising and falling more erratically now. You shake your head and furrow your eyebrows, “Do you think you can just drop down and die like this! You still need to apologize to Harry. If you die, I’ll never forgive you. I don’t know what the hell you’ve been up to this whole time–this whole war–but Dumbledore trusted you. And Dumbledore was no bloody fool. So, live.” Your voice, once hard and full of fiery conviction, drops to a low whisper, “Live so I know that I haven’t defended you for no reason.”
The man squints at you and his fingers weakly twitch, lightly tapping your hand once. Slowly, his eyes flicker to meet Regulus’ tense figure.
“Regulus.” The man murmurs, syllables becoming slurred as his eyes droop lower.
Regulus nods and shifts to sidle by you, hands reaching over to pat the man’s arm, “It’s me, Severus. It’ll be okay now, just rest.” Regulus’ soft words of comfort bring a small smirk to Snape’s face, and as you go to say more, your Professor’s breathing stutters to a stop.
“Fuck.” You mumble out with a scrunched face, eyes burning as you press the image of Snape’s still body into your memory. Regulus’ shoulders sag, and he slowly reaches over to button up the collar of Snape’s robes with glassy eyes.
“He might have actually been a spy for the Dark Lord this whole time, birdie.” Regulus whispers, hands drawing back slowly once he finishes his task.
You sniffle and turn away from your dead professor, “I don’t know. I don’t want to believe that. I don’t even have a sound reason for my judgment—I can just sense it.”
Regulus nods and reaches to cradle your face in his hands, “Your senses have yet to steer you wrong, little bird. I trust your judgment, always.”
It was inscrutable. How could you truly mourn, pity, or empathize with a man who most thought to be Hogwarts’ most depraved? It was dichotomic how you wished to understand Snape’s motivations, but simultaneously wanted to spell away any memory you had of the man.
A part of you hoped that he was everything you thought him to be—slightly misunderstood, heavily misguided, and desperately in need of atonement. Another part of you also prayed that it was the antithesis of your feelings—that he was truly an unredeemable, malevolent mastermind that fooled Dumbledore. At least that way, when the public inevitably denounced the man, he would deserve it.
You refuse to shed tears over Snape’s death, but you wallow in the sea of hurt and conflict that threatens to drown you as you and Regulus make your way back to the castle. It takes a few moments before you snap back into reality, immediately tensing up as you scout the area for any signs of life.
Regulus was faring better than you at the moment, eyes set forward, one hand grasping Blaise’s wand, the other, tightly clutching yours.
“It will end soon.” He mutters, voice level and firm with certainty.
You don’t respond, but you feel a pebble of determination fling itself into the empty cavity of your chest. As you both slip into a dark corridor of the castle, wands raised, you hear distant explosions and yelling around the corner.
It was time to gear up for battle again. Throwing yourself into a slight duck, you swing out from the darkness with a hex at the tip of your tongue, a vicious spell rippling through the air and crashing devastatingly into a death eater moments after.
Mayhem befalls the ruined hallway in a matter of seconds, and you catch a glimpse of two ginger mops. Slowly knocking down death eaters, you work further towards the two Weasleys. When you get within a few yards of the familiar individuals, you feel a small smile paint itself on your lips as you realize it happened to be Fred and Percy, fighting side-by-side.
Seems as though Percy made up with the rest of them.
Just as you send two death eaters down the stairs and into the path of a few stray hexes, you see Fred get knocked to the floor in your peripheral. The death eater standing over your friend waves his hand up menacingly, no doubt ready to obliterate him.
Jumping into action, you aim your wand at the man’s back, “Mors Ruinam!”
A large void swallows the unsuspecting man before unceremoniously spitting him out from the ceiling just as Regulus shoots off a particularly nasty hex.
You hoped that the Ministry wouldn’t be checking your wands after the battle.
Fred is still splayed out against the wall when you approach him, face drained of color as he comes to terms with his near-death experience. You extend a hand to help him up, grunting when the boy nearly drags you down in his attempt to rise up.
“What the hell was that?” He exclaims, eyes suddenly wide and bright.
Leave it to the Weasley twins to bounce back at light speed.
“Just a fun little dark spell.” You flash him a small relieved smile.
He grins and claps your shoulder, “Wicked!”
Percy makes his way over to the three of you with a nod, dark circles jumping out from his face as he slowly gestures for you all to make your way further up the castle.
“Have either of you seen Sirius?” You ask, eyes trailing to focus on the wisps of fire that peeked through the cracks of the ceiling.
“Reckon he’s with Remus and Tonks.” Fred supplies, glancing back to give Regulus a confused look. You nod and cough into your fist, eyes avoiding Fred’s as you deign him with an answer of your own, “Uh, this is my…boyfriend…Regulus.”
Fred’s face splits into a grin and he nearly faceplants on the stairs as he shoots Regulus a knowing look, “Double wicked.” You roll your eyes, knowing that the next family and friends meeting would be awkward as you’d have to explain how and why you were dating Sirius’ dead brother.
Regulus raises his eyebrows in amusement before tangling your fingers together. The journey up to one of the collapsing towers was uneventful from then on, but you were deeply relieved to see that Sirius was still up and running.
“Pup!” He grins broadly, turning back around for a split second to blast an apparating death eater out of the window. The man makes his way over to you, giving you a brief hug before ruffling his brother’s hair, “Where’s Harry?”
Just running amuck with your dead professor’s tears, no biggie.
“Off and about. He was fine, last we saw him.” You answer with a hum, eyes catching Remus’ tired ones from across the tower ledge.
“Where is Tonks at?” You wonder aloud.
Sirius hums and twirls to look at his fatigued friend, “Shacklebolt. They’re off somewhere inside the castle.”
Percy steps forward and huffs quietly, “We should make our way down. There’s no telling how much longer this place will stand.”
Before anyone could make a move to clamber down the stairs, a familiar steely voice hissed through your mind, “You have fought valiantly…but in vain. I do not wish this. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a terrible waste. I therefore command my forces to retreat. In their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity. Harry Potter, I now directly speak to you. On this night, you have allowed your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. There is no greater dishonor. Join me in the forbidden forest and confront your fate…”
A few beats of silence pass and you could hear a few faint pops of apparition echo throughout the perimeter.
“That isn't going to bode well with Harry.” You murmur, and Sirius grimly nods at your words, quickly retreating down the stairs.
The walk down to the bustling dining hall is pervaded by a sense of dread and anxiety, all of you still on guard as if expecting a death eater to leap around the corner at any moment. Just as you reach the heavy doors, Harry comes striding towards your little group from the other side of the corridor.
Your head perks up at the sight of your friend, but confusion washes over you when you see the hard look in his eyes. His eyebrows are harshly furrowed as he stares down Sirius and Remus, both men looking at each other in confusion before starting to walk over to your friend.
“Hey uh, Fred, Percy, I think your family is inside.” You cough out, not looking back as you debate on whether or not you should approach your furious friend. Luckily, both Weasley brothers feel the tension in the air and heed your silent request, Fred throwing an arm over his disgruntled brother’s shoulders as they saunter away.
“What do you think happened, love?” You mutter, peering over to study Regulus’ expression.
He turns to you and hums, “Snape gave Harry his memories earlier, I’m guessing he saw something he didn’t like.”
You raise an eyebrow at the boy and bump your hip against his, “You know something.”
“I know a lot of things, birdie.” He muses, pressing a hand to your lower back as you both watch on.
Harry runs a hand around his lips before he peers up at his godfather and pseudo-uncle, muttering something that has both men flinching back as if he tossed a flame at them. You cross your arms as Harry sighs, seeming to retreat in his tirade, stepping around both men and marching in your direction.
You shift to give him a questioning look, but he shakes his head and grabs both you and Regulus by the arm, pushing in between you both as he continues on his war path, “Later.”
You don’t think you will ever receive an answer from your friend. Your heart feels like it is being ripped from your body as you stand atop of the ruined stairs along with the remaining survivors, watching as a completely still Harry is being paraded over to you by a river of death eaters.
Neville grips the worn sorting hat tightly in his hands, mouth wobbling as he takes in the sight of the approaching forces. Your mouth stretches into a painful line as your eyes zone in on a particularly enthusiastic death eater dancing around beside Voldemort’s strutting figure.
“Neville.”
The boy turns to you as you begin to make your way down to him.
“I hope you won’t mind if I send her to Merlin,” you whisper as you perch beside him atop a hill of rubble.
Neville narrows his eyes at the woman before nodding, “Get to her first. I won’t be able to hold myself back otherwise.”
“Deal. I’ll help you with the Lestrange brothers then.”
Your brief exchange comes to a halt as Voldemort and his forces stop just a few yards shy of you both.
Voldemort shoots a feral grin at the crowd before spreading his arms out widely in triumph, “Harry Potter is dead!”
Ginny shoots out from somewhere behind you with a distressed wail, “NO! No!”
Her father barely manages to tug her back as Voldemort hisses, pointing a spindly finger at her, “Silence! Stupid girl.”
You want to snarl at the man, hand slowly wrapping around your wand. Regulus moves out from somewhere in the crowd behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder as he stares down the laughing death eaters.
Voldemort’s gloating continues for a few more moments before his eyes flit towards you and Regulus. It seems that world tips on its axis in that moment as the serpentine man stills on the spot before his face shifts to one of rage, the man’s change in demeanor spurring Bellatrix to follow his gaze.
“Traitor!” She all but screeches, immediately lifting her wand to aim at Regulus. You react just as quickly, whipping your wand up to blast the woman into the next life, but you’re both distracted by the sound of a few gasps. Reeling over to look at the source of shock, your mouth curls up as you see Harry roll on the ground, standing and firing a spell towards Voldemort’s snake.
Bellatrix whips her head to look at Voldemort before becoming further enraged as death eaters begin to flee by the dozen, clearly petrified by your friend’s ability to dodge death.
“Reggie, cover me!” You yell, taking advantage of Bellatrix’s distracted state. The boy complies immediately, watching your surroundings as he begins to fire spells into the disarrayed crowd of death eaters.
“Flipendo!”
Your spell sweeps the demented woman off of her feet, her hair flying wildly as she bounces off of a broken slab of concrete. Explosions ring from all around you as Voldemort begins to take chase behind a fleeing Harry.
Bellatrix recovers quickly, clambering around on the ground as she tries to find her wand. You almost want to drag out this one-sided duel to a torturous degree, but petty games had no place amidst war.
Pointing your wand at a stone, you swing your arm through the air, “Depulso!” The rugged rock soars through the air before crashing into Bellatrix’s hunched figure, reducing her frantic movements into trembling pulses as she crumbles back down onto the ground.
You pace towards her slack body, heart skipping as your mind races. Fuck, you didn’t kill her did you?
The woman’s eyes bulge in their sockets as she helplessly stares at your looming figure.
“Filthy…traitor.” She mutters with a strained voice, mouth twisting into a repulsive sneer.
You huff and shoot a glance towards Regulus, relaxing when you see him occupied with a duel, “Still have the energy to talk, do you?”
The woman doesn’t answer, and only continues to gaze at you venomously. Her wand had clattered to the ground just a few feet away, and you faintly smile before kicking the curved stick into a nearby fire.
“You brought this upon yourself. And really, it’s a shame for you that I’m not Neville,” you grin broadly at the woman, “he is far more merciful.”
Before the woman can respond, you pace back a few steps before aiming at her, “Anima Redimat.”
The woman gasps shrilly, watching with frightful eyes as the purple spell sinks into her body, “You-”
“You recognize it then? The Soul Ripping spell. I’ve heard you’re quite a fan of soul magic.” You hum as she gapes at you, “You’re not the only one who’s been around Grimmauld Place’s library.”
The woman is unable to reply as the effect of the curse kicks off, a faint purple tinge enveloping her body. Bellatrix begins to twitch on the ground, limbs sliding around in a distressful dance before she completely stills, eyes wide and unseeing as her form freezes in a contorted manner.
You spin on your heel and slide into the mayhem around the courtyard, firing off an endless flurry of hexes as a tidal wave of adrenaline pushes the world into clarity. Regulus joins you by your side soon after, eyes never once moving to greet his cousin’s lifeless form.
As you turn to send off another spell, you still on the spot as you come face-to-face with Narcissa Malfoy.
“Lady Malfoy.” You greet evenly, moving to blast away a death eater behind her.
The woman hardly flinches at your ministrations and continues to stare at you before she finally whispers, “Draco?”
“With Contessa Zabini and his friends, I sent Blaise off to take care of him earlier.” You reply, sending a binding spell flying from your wand as you see Rabastan Lestrange sprint across the rubble around you.
The woman nods and peers at you with relieved eyes, “I see. Perhaps we should have tea one of these days.” Without waiting for a response, she strides away and grabs her husband, apparating out of the battlefield in the blink of an eye.
Why did everyone insist on having tea with you? Your stress levels will be off the charts by the end of the day.
“Making your way up high society, birdie?” Regulus chuckles from beside you, a glint of satisfaction flashing across his eyes as he overpowers his opponent.
“A penchant of mine.” You reply, tone glazed with amusement.
Regulus shakes his head as he flings his fallen challenger away from him, “Trust me, the grandeur of it fades quickly.”
The battle ensues for a few more beats before crescendoing as two figures suddenly drop down and roll into the middle of the square, driving everyone’s attention towards the disruption.
It seems that time halts in place as Voldemort and Harry gather their bearings, wands raised up as beams of green clash into red, an overwhelming aura of power mounting up into the air. You faintly feel the magic, Voldemort’s smothering signature grappling with Harry’s light and airy one.
The junction of power twirls into a vibrating ball of light as you see both men shake to push forward. Voldemort suddenly collapses onto his knees as the magic fades, a tense silence dispelling the air from your lungs as you step forward with bated breath. Harry quickly peers back in shock, and his contrast from Voldemort’s stricken demeanor tells you all you need to know: the tide of the battle has changed.
Both men swing their wands forward again, but the power clash is less evident this time as the Dark Lord futilely struggles against Harry’s potent magic. The push-and-pull between the two disintegrates once Voldemort becomes enveloped by his own spell, the green wrapping around his figure like a deflating bubble.
The man crumbles to his knees, body gradually going rigid on the spot as his skin begins to flake off into a wisps of ash. The swirl of flying particles reduces the man to nothingness, and you feel like you can breathe again.
Voldemort was no more.
Harry steadies himself to his feet before smiling shakily, turning on the spot to greet the confounded faces around him. Sirius and Remus come flying from somewhere in the crowd, examining Harry’s condition as the boy stares off in content.
This war was over.
So many years of suffering and struggle finally blooming into a new era, and your friend was at the center of it all.
Regulus inhales shakily before turning to face you, seizing your stiff body into his arms when you glance back at him with disbelieving eyes.
For the second time that day, he joins your lips together, and you can only claw at his enthusiastic figure helplessly as he crowds you against him. Cheering echoes from all around you as more people begin to pool into the courtyard, cries of victory lifting to the skies and blowing away the gloomy clouds.
You cup Regulus’ face as you both slowly disconnect, lips swollen and eyes wide.
“I love you, birdie.” He whispers with conviction, hands dropping to grip your waist.
Your laugh bubbles into the air with a watery edge, and you try to ignore the tender fulfillment that permeates across your chest, “I love you too, Reg.”
Today you would shed relieved tears and hold the untimely losses close to your heart, but with the battle won, tomorrow would be the beginning of a new chapter for Magical Britain. You would have to begin reconstruction, reelections, and rehabilitations—mere band-aids for the decades of emptiness that would scar every survivor of the Wizarding Wars, but it would suffice.
The incalculable change was a never-ending battle—even with Voldemort gone, but at least now you have Regulus by your side. Perhaps if change became too much, you could pay Reine a visit.
A vacation or permanent getaway could be in order now, but that seemed like a worry for tomorrow.
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More Posts from Night-fall-moon and Others
Idk why I haven’t seen this with Jayce but 😭😭 I need want a fic of him inspired by El Chico Del Apartamento 512 by Selena Quintanilla.
One: The song absolutely suits him, my god like he literally is el chico del apartamento 512… 😭
Two: I was thinking of having Caitlyn be his sister (cause let’s face it they’re so siblings coded, not even friends, siblings (coming from someone who actually has siblings, Viktor and Jayce are NAWT sibling coded at all… but that’s another discussion)
Three: The thought just came up because I was cleaning out my wattpad reads out and that one Sero fic (I read when I was younger) popped up I just chucked it in the bin (tween/teen me would be rioting if they saw what I did 😭) I then saw “The Man in Apartment 381” by lemonlover1110… and I was like if Toji has one, best believe I want to see a Jayce one ❤️🩹
Just me sharing my thoughts 😼 (I might actually make this but I can’t promise shit. Sorry y’all 🧍😞💔)
Also if anyone has seen anything like this please do link, my ass is thirsty for next door neighbor typa crushes 💔
Prologue: Reina Nakou
masterlist next chapter
Reina Nakou, was a mystery to almost everyone who worked with her at the CCG. Her lively—almost childish manners—seemed to drive everyone away from her. And it didn't help that the way she dressed wasn't in any way modest.
Her lilac hair swayed behind her, her eyes glued in front of her. She wore black button up leaving the first two open revealing a bit of her cleavage. A tight blazer that accentuated her big bust, and a tight fitting skirt that hugged her curves. Her 3'' high heels clicked against the concrete floors, manicured nails raking through her hair.
People around the building mumbled about how provocative she was. Her name rolled off their tongue with distaste, rumors of her seducing the higher ups led to her promotion to become a Rank 1 Investigator. They rumored her to be a dumb bimbo who had no skill on the field, but was kept because she was a good fuck once in a while.
"It's a shame, she's got the body—but that's all she's got." They'd pity her.
Not once did they ever seek her out either, not unless some horny co-worker of hers tried to seduce her into bed. She'd always reject every advance,
"I'm sorry, but I'm not interested." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"So you only whore yourself out with men with money? Just say you're a prostitute. How much is a night with someone like you?" He tried to negotiate with her, not noting her body language.
She was irritated to say the least, her eyes screwed shut as she sighed,
"Look, I'm not a prostitute—and I already told you I'm not interested. So, please, leave me alone." She argued, fists balled up ready to strike the bastard.
She left him outside the street as she walked herself home that night. Occurrences like these were becoming the new normal for her. It also didn't help that she was in the Quinx Squad.
The Quinx Squad made up of five other people (not including herself) were treated like a joke with little to no respect for them. It even tore the reputation of Investigator Akira Mado, daughter of Kureo Mado—a renowned Ghoul Investigator in the 20th ward.
She was a blonde girl with deep purple eyes, and always acted professional no matter the circumstance. It's what she was known and respected for in the CCG.
Walking back out the building she called the first person that came to mind.
"Hey, Haise. Where are you?"
"By the Main Office with Mutsuki, but we've got bigger issues to deal with-" He sounded out of breath, the sound of wind prevalent in the audio feedback.
"Oh I just passed by there— hey wait I see you. Hold on, I'll come to you." She hung up quickly and ran towards the duo.
"What's wrong—and why are you both so out of breath?" She asked confusedly as she watched them gasp for air.
"Urie and Shirazu are probably pursuing a ghoul without notice." Mutsuki huffed.
"You mean the Torso case? Everyone's been talking about it—specifically Shimoguchi Squad since it's their case-" she was interrupted by a yell,
"You knew and didn't report this-"
"How was I supposed to know they were gonna pursue this fucking guy?! Ugh let's go, you've already read the details, haven't you?"
They nodded at her question and made a run for it.
"Those fucking idiots." She mumbled under her breath as the now trio grew closer and closer to the scene in front of them.
The idiots let their guard down after seemingly "defeating" the ghoul they were attacking which left an opening for the old ghoul to attack those two boys behind their backs. But before his kagune cut through their flesh it was stopped by a quinque making it rebound back to the owner.
"You fucking idiots can't even kill a ghoul correctly and you wanna do missions together." She sighed in disappointment while Haise only looked back at them and lightly scolded them.
"Never let your guard down," he said.
"Investigator Sasaki..." the monotone boy lulled out.
The sharp toothed boy only blanched seeing both of his mentors there; one looking upset and distressed and the other disappointed.
"I'll finish him off." Urie claimed more than offered to do so.
"No. 'The infliction of unnecessary pain against ghouls is strictly prohibited.' It's in the Ghoul Countermeasures Handbook. He could provide us information." Haise remarked.
"But more importantly I said not to act alone." He warned them.
"But I'm with Urie." Shirazu started.
"He's right." Urie agreed.
"Don't be cute with us now, boy. Don't you know how dangerous it is to act alone?! For fucks sake you're injured." She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose, her patience wearing thin as she pointed a finger in his direction warning him about his behavior.
"But we got results, didn't we?" He mocked them as he took his headphones out blocking their comments.
"Even if we gotten wounded, we would've regenerated eventually." The monotone boy defended their actions mumbling a little 'takes a bit longer for me but...' under his breath as he walked away.
"If we keep following article thirteen we'll never get rid of ghouls."
Getting tired of his shitty attitude she walked up to him grabbing him by the shoulder and slapped him. Everyone stood surprised, including the boy. His cheek stood red, a small cut from her nails led to small dribbles of blood flowing down his face from the small cut.
They'd never seen the kind, patient, and childish mannered woman become so serious and fueled by anger before—up until now.
"Get your act together before you regret your actions, idiot." She warned him.
"Let's clean this mess up..."
"That's 902 for squad leader Urie and 850 for Yonebayashi. 920 for Shirazu and 655 for Mutsuki." The doctor spoke as he handed the results to both Haise and Reina.
"Urie and Shirazu have RC factors on the higher side, since they've been using their abilities." He mentioned.
"I think they're using their kagune outside our supervision, should we stop them?" Haise asked worriedly.
"Tell them I said not to have too much fun, after all the quinxes are still a research project in progress..."
"But on the other hand Mutsuki's levels are basically the same as a normal humans. It goes against the original Quinx plan of utilizing ghoul characteristics." He finished.
"Makes sense as to why his progress in training hasn't improved much. He's still weak and slow." She muttered under her breath.
"And he can't control is kakugan. It's activated all the time."
"...well it's better than having no control and high RC levels. Too many RC cells and like a ghoul—he might not be able to eat normally."
…
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."
"It's alright. Oh we should get going, we have a meeting in a few." Haise waved off awkwardly.
"Alright. Oh and... Investigator Yonebayashi is a bit on the heavy side... tell her to watch herself." He concluded.
Both mentors said their thanks and walked to the exit.
"Seems the ghoul that Investigator Urie from Mado Squad confronted the other day wasn't Torso. Torso's currently an A rated Ghoul, but because no one has actually encountered him in battle, his rank is unknown."
"Maybe it's better they didn't encounter him." Mado said.
"In any case, we're on the Torso case. The Mado Squad needs to their own case." Someone on the Shimoguchi Squad barked out.
"That reminds me... I understand that the Quinxes followed up a tip about a possible Ghouls sighting. Something about growls... what did they find?" A different member of the squad snickered out with a cocky raised eyebrow.
"Stray dogs?! That's what the Quinxes do? They find dogs?!" They bursted out cackling.
Both mentors sat awkwardly watching their fits of laughter and mocking words towards them. Haise could only attempt to laugh with them in hopes to appear less embarrassed about their findings while Reina played neutral and oblivious to their comments.
"Ha-ha... yeah... it was a bit of a let down, but we're glad it wasn't a ghoul." Haise smiled awkwardly.
"Wipe that grin off your face. It seems Investigator Sasaki is something of an idealist..." the squad leader of the torso case sneered at the way Haise was treating this case so lightly.
"Why wasn't a ghoul of that rating taken care of right then and there? He had no useful information. He's rate B at best."
"Civilian safety is our highest priority. That's what it says in the Ghoul Countermeasures article thirteen. Ghouls need to be dealt with swiftly."
"But clause two says 'the infliction of unnecessary pain against ghouls is strictly prohibited.'" Haise said as a matter of factly only to be turned down.
"I think you're misinterpreting. Clause two doesn't prohibit us from killing ghouls, just causing them 'unnecessary pain.' In other words ghoul investigators are expected to kill them instantly."
His lips puckered up as he continued trying to rile Haise up. Though it wasn't working because the man was too good for everyone, and Reina stayed acting oblivious letting Haise take the fall.
"Or do you sympathize with them... Investigators Sasaki? It's certainly a possibility with you. After all, a ghoul did-" he was interrupted by investigator Mado.
"Investigator Shimoguchi. Training my team is my job. I'll talk to him later." She reassured him.
"Investigator Mado, maybe you're not doing your job well enough. He demanded we hand over our case files the other day. I was shocked—thinking he could just take over our case!"
"Maybe he just got tired of your investigation being conducted at a turtle's pace... and tried to help."
"What?!"
"Sasaki and I could close that case in ten days. But unfortunately we're busy dealing with Aogiri Tree. Even Sasaki and the Quinxes could get a physical description of Torso in a month."
"You little-"
"Mado, Shumoguchi... that's enough." Take Hirako, leader of the Hilario Squad intervened before the discourse could get more physical.
"The Torso investigation will be handled by both the Shimoguchi Squad and Mado Squad. So please share case files."
The room was silent until Shimoguchi caved in and reluctantly handed over the information.
Mado Squad: 1
Shimoguchi Squad: 0
"Hirako Squad will continue our investigation of the rate ≥S Orochi. That concludes our meeting for today." Hirako ended.
Everyone started gathering their things, all of the Hirako Squad left leaving both the Mado Squad and Shimoguchi Squad alone. Taking this opportunity Shimoguchi spoke up.
"Investigator Mado. A physical description of Torso in a month? I'm looking forward to it." He taunted, obviously thinking they couldn't do it within that 'deadline'.
"Yeah, and when we do, I hope we can look forward to some willing cooperation from your squad in the future." She ended.
"...fine." He said as he left.
A few seconds passed before Haise looked in Mado's direction.
"I'm sorry you had to cover for me, Investigator Mado." He apologized.
"Sasaki." Was all she said before she pulled him by the shoulder and landed a signature punch onto this abdomen.
She looked down at him as he crumbled to the floor by the sheer force of her previous action.
"I don't dislike your gentle temperament, but ditch it when it comes to battles. Your comment on clause two embarrassed me even."
She looked at the other girl who was standing behind Haise.
"As it is that you're already discriminated against more than the Quinxes. Don't defend ghouls. If you want to avoid any more Mado Punches. That kindness... it'll kill you." She turned away.
"We got Investigator Hirako's authorization. Get me a physical description of Torso within a month. I wanna see Shimoguchi's lips quiver in shame. And you," she turned to the lilac haired woman.
"When are you going to apply yourself? You're smarter than you let on, and yet you bring more shame and embarrassment to the Quinx Squad... I expect better from you the next time we meet." She hung her head low as she walked away, heels clicking every step she took until the sound quieted.
...
"Let's get you up. Come on." Reina said as she hauled him up.
He leaned over her shoulder in pain.
"Thanks." He grinned shyly at her.
""Investigators Sa-sa-ki, Re-i-na! Quite a scene in there." Spoke Ito. Another investigator from the Hirako squad.
"Oh, Investigator Ito." Haise acknowledged the man.
"I'll go check up on the rest of the squad, I'll see you at home, Haise. Investigator Ito." She clasped her hands together pushing her breasts together and bowed—taking her leave.
"I'm home!" She yelled once she closed the front door.
"Instructor Nakou? Where's Instructor Sasaki?" Mutsuki asked, his face a bit disappointed to see only her walking up the stairs to the living room.
"He got caught up with Investigator Ito, he'll take a while. Where're the others?" She stretched herself out on the sofa.
"They left to blow off some steam.. I think." He strung off.
"Do you know where they left specifically?" She straightened herself up-right on the couch.
"They wouldn't budge when I asked them." He shook his head in defeat.
"You tried your best, that's what matters most. I'll be in my room if you need me, night, Mutsuki."
"Goodnight, Nakou."
"A physical description of Torso in a month?"
"Yeah."
"A case Shimoguchi Squad is already struggling with in a month?"
"I know I'm asking a lot, but I think it's possible if we all work together. If the quinxes can come together as a group..." Haise remarked.
Shirazu just chuckled out a bit at his words.
"You really are something, Sassan."
"Shirazu..." Reina warned.
"I'm goin' it alone."
"No you're not. Sit your ass back down, kid."
"What's your deal? Got a crush on Sasaki?" Urie countered.
She whipped her head to look at him.
"I don't." She crossed her arms in front of her.
"Sure seems like you do. Always kissing at his feet since you've joined, praising him in every way. Seems like you really like him." He taunted.
She inched closer to the brats' ear. She didn't care for his words, she found them hilarious.
"I don't, but what's it to you? Mad that he's got my attention unlike you? Mad that I'm praising him instead of you? How cute. Maybe it's you who's got a crush on me. You want me to get on my knees and worship you like a god? I can do that."
She peeled herself away from him, fixing her gaze on his face. He was disgusted by her words and upset at what she was trying to imply. She just grinned mischievously and patted his cheek.
"Cheer up, maybe if you put your ego aside and actually thought of someone else other than yourself—you'd earn my attention and respect rather than hearing me berate you like a little puppy."
He just clicked his tongue and brought the conversation back to what it was originally about.
"I'll collar Torso in a month." He started before he made his way out of the meeting room.
Haise tried calling out to him but to no avail, he didn't care. Turning around, Reina looked at Haise's figure and saw him beating himself up for not being able to keep his team together.
"It's not your fault, they're just stubborn." Reina tried to reassure him.
Tooru just looked at them with a worried expression. So far it's only been him and Reina who's been making an effort to actually work together as a team. Everyone else like Saiko, Urie, and Shirazu work alone, or sometimes don't even bother to get up. More than anything, Tooru was losing hope.
"So they insist on acting independently, huh?" Haise started with an ominous tone.
"Fine, I think it's time to show those boys what I'm capable of. The three of us are going to bring in Torso, Mutsuki, and Reina. Before those two do!"
Haise started spewing a lot of things, things she wasn't bothered to really listen to.
"If you're done shouting then maybe we can get started with the actual investigation, Haise." Reina sweatdropped.
"Right. First step: Cochlea."
"Investigator Sasaki. Investigator Mado told me you'd be stopping by." The warden said as he was met with three faces, two of them being more recognizable than the third.
"Why hello, Haisaki." Reina waved at him with a smirk.
"Welcome back, Nakou." He welcomed, his voice void of enthusiasm.
Both Haise and Mutsuki looked between the both of them trying to figure out how they knew each other.
"As I was saying, Cochlea was hit hard when we lost Warden Misaka at the hand of Aogiri Tree. I personally have high hope for the Quinx Squad." Haisaki admitted.
He mumbled a little praise and continued leading us to where we were headed. Mutsuki was a tad bit nervous mainly because they were visiting a prison full of ghouls.
Reina noticed his worrying and hoped that her reassurance would calm him down a bit.
"Hey, don't worry. The walls are made of Quinque steel, and they’re weakened with RC Suppressants.." she scratched her nape.
Sasaki on the other hand just watched the two with a dazed look. There were dark circles under his eyes and small eye-bags that could be seen if you studied his face close enough. She nudged him a bit to wake him up from his little daze and he perked up a bit, seemingly startled for a little until he looked at the girl. She just smiled and nudged her head towards the big door that held who they were scheduled to speak with.
"Well, well, if it isn't Haise and Reina. I was just getting bored." Donato Porpora grinned whilst rubbing his shoulder.
"I'm surprised to see you've sided with the CCG, princess. Hey, where's your commanding investigator, Haise?"
"Akira Mado is on a different case." He put it simply.
"How does it feel to be under the thumb of a female investigator?" The man behind the shatterproof glass asked.
"It doesn't feel so bad when it's the thumb of a brilliant woman. How about you, Father?"
"You brought a new face with you today. Very young and... appetizing." Donato growled out getting as close as he could to Mutsuki with the glass being the only thing separating the two from his bloodlust and insatiable appetite.
Mutsuki could only stare in horror and backed up slowly as he felt himself pale at the SS rated ghoul words. He ended up tripping over his own two feet and fell to the ground looking up at the terrifying Russian ghoul.
"I would like to rip that stomach open at my leisure, and stuff my mouth full of plump organs." Donato’s eyes went wide as he salivated and went on and on about how he'd kill him and eat him up.
"Oh, you! Take it easy on him." Reina scolded the old pastor.
"I apologize." The elder said with a small smile.
"Oh, you! Take it easy on him." Reina scolded the old pastor.
"So... what are you investigating?" Donato asked as if nothing happened moments prior to his question.
"A ghoul that goes by the name Torso." Haise said as he pulled up the information.
The glass separating the prisoner from the investigators then displayed a map of every single crime scene.
"We believe he's using a vehicle to get around since his feeding range is so broad. All victims have been females." Haise explained.
"In addition only their torsos have been taken." Reina added.
The old pastor looked at the girl expectantly to continue. He knew the girl for quite some time, well enough to know that she already knew who the ghoul really was. But she didn't relent.
"I see.. the head is a very important part for a ghoul. Understanding what one is eating enriches the experience. Enjoying the rest while appreciating the face—or perhaps going straight from the head... to each their own." He kept his gaze fixed on the lilac headed girl.
"The head truly is the centerpiece of a meal. It's a single flower as the only garnish to a meal that may seem insipid to humans."
"To show no interest in that flower and to leave it behind—he must either be an awfully picky eater or have a refined palette." Donato put it simply.
Haise was ruminating. He felt as if there was more than just hunger fueling Torso. There was definitely something more and he felt it.
"...or does he feel threatened." Haise began.
"The eyes express emotions—the mouth utters words. A face contains an enormous amount of information. What if he's trying to block all that information... entirely?"
"A ghoul aware of his own powers... afraid of humans.. because-"
"He's blending into human society." The old man finished.
"Concealing his identity as a ghoul... working for a normal business. Most likely some kind of an errand boy. Cleverly fooling everybody around him while being tormented by his boss, the clients... a position that requires familiarity with the streets. For instance a cab driver."
With that everything in Haise's mind went off and memories of Urie submitting hundreds of cab receipts. All along Urie was on the right track, but because of the lack of communication Urie was holding everyone, including himself, back.
"Thank you for the insight, Mr. Porpora." Haise thanked as he left the room leaving Mutsuki and Reina inside.
"Have you told all of them?" Donato asked the girl.
"No." She replied, gathering all the materials left inside.
"When will you?"
"Soon." She hummed.
"C'mon. Let's go, Mutsuki." She waved her hand to signal the boy about their departure.
"Nice seeing you again, Father."
"Instructor Sasaki... why does the CCG keep that man alive?" Mutsuki asked, still spooked and upset between their previous interaction with him.
"When I look into that ghoul's eyes... I'm terrified." He shuddered.
"It's because he's a valuable source of information for the CCG. That's why the Bureau uses him. At least until... and I don't like how this sounds like either, but.. until they get rid of him." He explained the duo trailing behind him.
Though Haise works for the Commission of Counter Ghoul, he doesn't find pleasure or satisfaction in killing them. He's a gentle soul who tried to find the good in almost everyone, even if they are cold blooded convicted killers. He sighed silently in his mind as he looked to his right, Reina walking with a high held head. Meanwhile Mutsuki trailed behind them both with a low strung head.
wc: 3.7k masterlist next chapter
a/n: so that’s the prologue… how we feeling? Honestly idk what I’m doing. I grew bored and this is like the 3rd rendition of this FF. I’m somewhat satisfied with this one enough to post it so bleh. Masterlist has been uploaded!
ps. updates will probably like three posts every month if I’m lucky if not then I’m sorry. Writers block will kick my ass hence why this is the 3rd rendition of the original.
Tag list:
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 🤷
![What Could’ve Been [Viktor X GN!Reader]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/3e0b2a2645f908044a340df3dcb058cc/3c3424cc83873ca5-58/s500x750/609fadb0883a76ed061bb05e64994fcf15cc2d31.gif)
“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.
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.
Title: Eyes On Me
Genre: Slytherin! Yoongi, Ravenclaw! reader, smart and kind! reader, bad boy! Yoongi, pureblood! Yoongi, muggle born! reader, tutor au, fluff, and angst
Summary: Professor Longbottom asked L/N Y/N to help Min Yoongi out with Herbology. She’s excited to help another person out but Yoongi on the other hand doesn’t want people knowing she’s hanging out with him. Instead he tells her to study within the room of requirement but Y/N assumes it’s because he wants peace and no distractions to study. As time passes, Yoongi sees her more as his tutor and starts to develop a crush on the strange girl but what happens when his Slytherin friends see him with her?
[ The distance I feel from you is too far, I can't let go of a little trace I got from you ]
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His deep voice hit her ears making her face turn a light red shade. Professor Longbottom smiled at this and looked at Y/N with a soft look, “Is that okay for you, Ms. L/N? You can always decline it if you're busy with your studies.”
She shook her head at him with a smile on her face. She glanced at Yoongi to see that he was already looking at her (with a blank expression), “I would love to help.”
“Alright, thank you Ms. L/N. Mr. Min I expect your next test grade to be at least a 70.”
They nodded their heads and left the classroom. She saw that he was walking faster than her and she grabbed his arm to stop him. He glanced at her and she noticed that he never had a smile on his face. She gave him a nervous smile and looked down at the ground, “I was wondering when you want to study. I usually study on the weekends to make things easier but if-”
“We can study on the weekends. I have charms to get to, can I go?”
She let go of arm and looked down ashamed that she kept him from his class, “Yeah...I’m sorry about that. I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah.”
She watched him go down the hall until he disappeared. She frowned to herself and looked down at her shoes, Yoongi, you're so weird. When Yoongi turned the corner, he leaned against the wall and clenched his chest as he felt his rapid heart beat on his hand. He felt his face turn red now that he's alone and he hoped no one saw it. He ran his hand through his hair as he let out a deep sigh, “Y/N...”
in another life
This little trilogy fucking broke me 🤩
My Atlantis, We Fall | Part 1
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: Kid!Viktor X Kid!F!Reader, Viktor Arcane X Female Reader
Warnings: ANGST Words: 2.7k
A/N: Thank you so much for the love on my last Viktor fic! I am new to the Arcane fandom, so I apologize if I wrote some of these incorrectly <3 Hope you like this one as well. I will be posting Part 2 later today, hopefully!
The smog of Zaun never lifted. To Viktor, it was a constant haze that wrapped the Undercity in an unpleasant shade of gray. But even in that, there were spots of color, moments that broke through the dullness of it. For him, that color was you.
You were no stranger to the way the city worked. Born to a family scraping by on restricted earnings, you spent your days scouring the alleys for bits of scrap that could be sold or repurposed. The life of a scavenger wasn’t glamorous, but it was honest, and it was all you’d ever known.
At 9 years old, you met Viktor in the middle of a dusty alley, where scraps of metal and broken pipes littered all over the ground. He stood there, his cane awkwardly propped against a pile of junk as he messed around with some contraption he had made using a discarded piece of clock. For the first time ever, his golden eyes darted up to meet yours, they were wide with curiosity.
“Do you need help?” you asked, your tiny hands already brushing away the grime to pick up the gears he had dropped.
He hesitated before nodding. “Only if you don’t mind dirt.” You heard the accent for the first time.
From that moment on, dirt never mattered. Neither did the cane, or his limp, or the thin, almost too-pale figure that struggled to keep up with the other children. What mattered was him and the way his mind worked. Sharp and inventive that even the very air of Zaun couldn’t dull it.
The two of you spent your days hunting for scraps together, crafting makeshift toys your parents cannot afford, or setting little boats afloat in the polluted streams of the Undercity.
Life in the Undercity was a series of neverending struggles, but when you were with Viktor, it felt lighter somehow. You knew that together you could dream. Like you can achieve anything.
In the dim of the makeshift workshop you two had set up behind an old factory, you would spend hours building and talking about the future. Viktor would sit cross-legged on the ground, cane resting beside him. His golden eyes always alight with a passion that seemed to defy the gloom of your surroundings.
“We will leave someday,” he said, voice filled with determination. “We’ll go to Piltover. The air is clean there, and the people don’t suffer from the smog.”
You smiled at him and chuckled softly, hands busy polishing a piece of scrap metal. “And what will we do there?”
He let himself think for a moment, as if the question caught him off guard. Then he looked at you, his expression unusually serious. “Once we are there, we can change the world,” he said simply.
You laughed, a soft, melodic sound that echoed in the small space. “That is a big dream, Viktor.”
“Hey! It’s not just a dream,” he insisted, gaze unwavering. “We’ll do it. Together.”
"Promise?"
"Promise."
There was something about the way he said it that made you believe him. Viktor’s certainty was infectious. You could see it in the way he worked and the way he poured every ounce of himself into his small inventions.
Some days when his leg hurt too much to move, you would sit beside him to help him sort through the piles of scrap you had collected. He’d teach you the basics of his engineering, he was always patient and thorough while his hands guided yours as you pieced together a simple mechanism.
“See?” he'd say, voice tinged with pride as the small contraption you built whirred to life. “You’re a natural.”
You grinned, the warmth of his praise spreading through you like sunlight.
The days blurred together in work and laughter as your shared dreams served as a beacon in the darkness. It was during one of those days when you were both ten or eleven, that Viktor made a declaration that would stay with you forever.
You were sitting by the river, watching the toy boat Viktor had built move along the surface of the water. The sunlight did its best to pass through the smog, casting a glow over the scene that made the water seem like it was sparkling.
“When we grow up,” Viktor said suddenly, his voice quiet but firm, “I’m going to marry you.”
You turned to look at him, eyes are wide with surprise as you felt the warmth of your blood travel up to your cheeks. Then you laughed, a sound so full of joy. It was music to him. “Then you would have to make me a pretty ring, silly.”
Viktor nodded, his expression earnest. “Of course! Then I’ll build us a house in Piltover, and we’ll have a workshop where we can create anything we want.”
It was a childish promise, one you didn’t take seriously at the time. But for Viktor, it was more than that.
It was a goal; a dream he clung to with every fiber of his being.
୭ ˚.⁺⊹ .ᐟ
The day you found a cave felt like the start of a new stage of life.
As usual, it began with Viktor’s handmade boat, the delicate creation that floated across the river. You were laughing, like you always do when Viktor is around. It was as if everything's happy when you were together. Your voice echoed through the narrow canyon, laughing until you saw the boat drifting too far downstream.
“I’ll get it!” you called, kicking off your shoes and splashing into the shallow water. Viktor watched from the bank, his cane resting against a rock, his expression was a mix of amusement and mild concern. He would've been the one to dive in if only it wasn't for his leg.
You chased the boat until it got caught against a jagged rock near the mouth of a dark opening in the cliffside. “Vik, look!” you shouted, pointing to the cave.
He limped over to join you, curiosity piqued. The two of you went inside, the cool air of the cave was a contrast to the warmth of the day. The deeper you went, the more excited you grew.
What you found inside changed everything.
As you went further, the light spilling in from the entrance slowly faded, replaced by an eerie green glow. You exchanged a glance with Viktor, “What do you think it is?” you whispered, the volume barely louder than the drip of water from the stalactites above.
“No idea,” Viktor murmured, his fingers tightening around his cane.
The source of the glow soon became clear: a hidden lab, long abandoned yet still pulsing with strange energy. You could almost feel it on your skin. Machines lined the walls, coated in layers of dust. Beakers filled with faintly glowing liquids sat undisturbed on a table alongside half-finished notes and sketches in a language you didn’t understand.
“Woah!” You stepped closer, your breath hitching at the sight. “Viktor, this is awesome!”
He nodded, gaze fixed on a machine in the corner that hummed silently as if it was alive. “Whoever built this was a genius,” he said, his voice filled with awe. He felt like this is where he belonged. For the first time he felt like he belonged. “Imagine what they could have created here.”
It was then that you heard the shuffling of footsteps. You both froze, hearts pounding in unison as a figure emerged from the shadows. He was sharp-featured, eyes glinting with a dangerous intelligence.
“Curious little mice, aren’t you?” the man said.
You instinctively moved closer to Viktor, your hand grabbing his arm. You felt safe that way. “We didn’t mean to intrude,” you said quickly, your voice steady despite the fear curling in your chest.
The man—Singed, as he introduced himself—was a Zaunite alchemist. He seemed more intrigued than angry as his gaze lingered on Viktor with intensity. He asked many questions, probing Viktor about his interest in machines and invention.
“I see potential in you, boy,” Singed said after a long pause, his voice carrying a weight of authority that was impossible to ignore. “A sharp mind like yours shouldn’t be wasted scavenging scraps. I could teach you things. Show you how to truly create.”
Viktor hesitated, his grip tightening around the worn wood of his cane. His knuckles whitened, using his other hand to place it on top of yours that was still rested around his arm. His touch comforted you more that he realized.
“What about her?” he asked, his voice quieter. He glanced at you, golden-brown eyes searching yours as if they were trying to find reassurance, or perhaps permission.
Singed’s gaze shifted to you briefly, cold and judgmental, before dismissing you entirely with a shrug of indifference. “I have no use for distractions,” he said bluntly, as though you were nothing more than an inconvenience in Viktor’s path.
The words stung. But what hurt more wasn’t Singed’s dismissal, it was the flicker of emotion on Viktor’s face.
You could see the storm brewing in his eyes. The pull of ambition against the weight of loyalty, the desire to seize an opportunity against the fear of what he’d leave behind.
He looked at you again, his expression was pained and conflicted. “I...” he began, but the words died in his throat.
“Hey, it’s okay!” even though it wasn’t, you still said it while smiling. “You should go, Vik. This is what you always wanted, right?”
The words felt like lead on your tongue, but you said them anyway. Because this was Viktor’s dream, wasn’t it? To break free from the chains of Zaun, to do what he is passionate about and take any step to build a better future. You couldn’t stand in the way of that, no matter how much it hurt.
After that day, everything changed.
Viktor began spending more of his time in the cave with Singed, learning things you couldn’t begin to comprehend. The closeness you shared, the companionship that defined your days, was slowly replaced by distance.
At first, he tried to make time for you. You’d see each other twice a week. His hands and clothes would often smell faintly of chemicals and his mind clearly still preoccupied with whatever he’d been working on.
“How was it?” you’d ask, trying to keep the bitterness out of your voice.
“It’s fascinating,” he’d reply, eyes lighting up in a way that made your heart twist. “There’s so much to learn, so much to do.”
You wanted to be happy for him. You tried. But it was hard not to feel like you were losing him, piece by piece, day by day.
The Viktor you had grown up with, the boy who had dreamed with you, who had promised to build a life together in Piltover, was slipping away.
You can feel it.
Eventually, even the twice-a-week meetings stopped. You hadn't realized that the both of you have grown into teenagers.
You considered that it was just a temporary thing at first, that Viktor was just busy with his new life and his ambitions. But the days turned into weeks, then months, and still, there was no sign of him. You did not bother going to that cave, still too hurt to face that man Singed for the second time.
You went to the places you used to go to frequently together. Hoping to catch a glimpse of him, hoping that the streets of Zaun would somehow bring him back to you. You waited, watched, sometimes even hallucinated he would appear around the corner with that damn crooked smile. The same smile that used to make everything feel okay.
But it never happened.
You said you didn’t care, but then you would be lying to yourself. You didn’t want to care, but the ache in your chest told you otherwise. You missed him more than you were willing to admit. And every time you walked past the spots where you once laughed and talked, where you shared dreams, that pain hit you all over again.
The day your family decided to move out of Zaun was the final blow. You wanted to tell him. No, you needed to tell him. You needed him to know that you were leaving. Maybe, just maybe, he’d say something to stop you from walking away from the place that had once held the dreams you shared.
So, you went to his home.
You stood there. The familiar wooden door that always opened to reveal him, limping toward you with that look of recognition and warmth.
You knocked. And knocked again. Heart pounding in your chest as you waited to hear his voice from the other side. But when the door opened, it wasn’t Viktor who greeted you.
It was an empty, cold silence.
The neighbors told you he’d moved. No one knew where, just that he wasn’t coming back.
The feeling was like a slap in the face.
Since when was he gone?
You couldn’t comprehend it. How could he just leave like that? The memories of all those times, those quiet moments where you had thought you were the most important person in his life suddenly felt like lies.
You convinced yourself, over and over, that he would always come back to see you, to explain himself, that the bond between you was way too strong to break. The amount of times you told yourself, "If he comes back tomorrow, I will forgive him" was beyond ridiculous at this point. Because it never happened, and now, everything seemed foolish.
The anger bubbled up inside you. Burning and consuming. And yet, underneath the anger, there was a deeper, more painful emotion. A quiet sorrow you didn’t want to acknowledge because it was too raw, too unbearable.
"Why..."
The truth was, you loved him. And he left you behind.
The years passed, and you are now in your early twenties. The anger inside you eventually faded. Time, as it always does, softened the sharp edges of your pain. But the emptiness never truly went away.
You tried to fill it with other things, other people, other distractions. But there were nights when his face would appear in your dreams, and you’d wake up with that same hollow feeling in your chest.
You thought about him often, even when you told yourself you wouldn’t. You wondered if he ever thought about you, if he ever regretted how things ended between you two.
You hated yourself. For still caring, for still holding on to something that crumbled a long time ago. You wanted to move on, to forget him and everything he had meant to you. But a part of you still clung to the memories of your childhood.
The laughter, the dreams, the whispered promises.
It was the only thing you had left of him now. It hurt, but you couldn’t bring yourself to let go.
୭ ˚.⁺⊹ .ᐟ
Progress Day
You found yourself in Piltover, the city you and Viktor had once dreamed of when you were just children playing amidst the grime of Zaun.
He was right. He always is. The air was indeed lighter, free of the toxic smog that choked you since the day you were born. The streets were filled with energy and purpose, lined with tall buildings that gleamed under the bright sun. Progress hummed in every corner, from the click of Hextech gadgets to the chatter of inventors sharing ideas.
You had fought hard to get here. The countless nights spent working until exhaustion, the sacrifices, the dreams you had held onto so tightly—it had all led to this. You should be proud of yourself.
And you were. You could look around at everything you had built and feel the satisfaction of knowing you did it. But no matter how high you climbed, no matter how far you tried to run, it still feels hollow inside. An emptiness that lingered like a ghost.
An emptiness that only Viktor could fill.
Deep inside, you knew that to yourself. It whispered in the quiet moments, when the celebrations died down and you were left alone with your thoughts.
The city was alive with celebration. It was a day to honor the advancements of Piltover after all. You attended one of the more exclusive parties, hosted by none other than Jayce Talis, the prodigy of Hextech innovation. You had little interest in the fanfare, but it was a chance to network, to prove your place among the elite minds of Piltover.
You had expected the night to be uneventful. Mingling with strangers, exchanging polite but fake smiles and calculated compliments. It was all part of the routine by now.
What you hadn’t expected was him.
please rb when u see this!
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last updated 8/12/25
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Emmy, you are the sweetest person ever!! Thank you for your love! I truly am always so honored to see you around :) <33 ! I hope you're having a great day/night, lovely!
No, thank you, love! It’s always been a pleasure reading your works. I can honestly say I’ve never interacted with anyone’s page as much as yours which is saying something. Your works always intrigue me. They’re so eloquent, full of drama, and the themes in it always help out the plot of the story. The way your add more characteristics to the already known characters adds to them. It’s as if we see them as a person and not just a character we like, it’s someone we can relate to in our own way. I love your work and will always continue to support you, I’m glad to be there for you. Have a great morning :)
IVE BEEN FED THIS EARLY TODAY YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS GODDDDDDD 🤩🤩🤩🤩
Overlock Stitch Part 2/?
Summary:
Viktor is just trying his best to survive his years as a student at the academy when a girl studying textiles suddenly begs him to let her tailor his uniform. She is right, it doesn't fit, but he isn't in the business of accepting charity from strangers. "Please?" She asks, "It would be fully anonymous on your part and we would both be better off." Then again, but with feeling, "please?" Viktor eyes her again and against his better judgement, presents an undeserved olive branch, "Will you be here tomorrow?" Her smile is so wide it almost makes him want to recoil. He wonders if her cheeks hurt.
Contains: Third person POV, She/Her Pronouns for reader
Word Count: 5,311
Read on AO3
She manages to shove her embarrassment down long enough to get the photos taken, organising them into a neat stack and then leaving them on her worktable for later. Viktor has gone back to not talking very much at all, wordlessly adjusting his stance for her photos but otherwise just peering down at her quietly. His eyes are coolly intelligent and piercing, she has to avoid making eye contact or she completely looses her focus.
Her hands shake when she picks up her pins, sticking a few into the pincushion on her wrist for easier access, "I'll start with your shirt, if that's alright."
Viktor nods and continues watching intently as she takes a tentative step forward and reaches for his wrist. She notices his knuckles tighten when her fingers brush against him, but she tries her best to ignore it. The cuffs on his shirt are a touch too long, so she exhales an even breath out through her nose and folds the fabric of his sleeve up under itself so she can raise the cuff and pin along the seam-line.
Her voice shakes, but talking makes her feel less nervous, "It's best to make all the alterations against the existing seam, that way no one can tell you've had any tailoring done at all." she grabs a few more pins from her pincushion and works to adjust the loose fabric around his elbow, "That's why most of my classmates prefer to do design work, because if you're a good tailor, no one will ever notice you."
Viktor hums at that, it's a pleasant sound. Oddly warm.
Since he doesn't seem to mind her talking, she keeps doing it, "The forearm of your shirt fits pretty well, but the upper arm will need some work. Just-" her brow furrows as she pins along the seam all the way up his arm, "Just try to stay still, I haven't um, I haven't had much of a chance to do alterations on a person."
"Ah, I am a test subject, then?"
She isn't sure if that was supposed to be a joke, but it makes her laugh and she lets it, "I suppose so? Most of the other students I've done work for only ask for cosmetic alterations, minor, usually. I've had plenty of practice on mannequins though, so just don't breathe and it'll be fine."
This time Viktor laughs, a gentle chuckle the rises up and out from his chest. Hearing it is like an achievement in and of itself and she can't help the shy smile that tugs at the corners of her lips.
"Hey, no laughing either or you'll get a pin in the ribs."
He exhales an amused breath and then says, "Yes, of course, my apologies."
She moves onto his second arm, feeling much more confident this time. Part of her wants to express just how grateful she is that Viktor even agreed to meeting with her today, but anxiety churning in her gut worries about coming on too strong, too desperate. So she keeps her mouth shut, adjusting his cuff and then pinning up the length of his arm the same as the previous.
"There." She says, quietly admiring her own handiwork, "Much better already. Um, I will need you to hop down from the platform for just a moment, I won't be able to reach your shoulders while you're up there."
As before, Viktor follows her directions quickly and without complaint, she does notice the way he braces his cane on the floor before stepping down and tries her best to avert her eyes when his brows draw together in what is clearly a wince of pain. She resists the urge to apologise again, because she gets the sense he doesn't like when she does that, even though the word sorry escapes her more often than breath does. Like it's perpetually waiting in her lungs.
"Thank you." She says instead, which is marginally better. Viktor just nods in response.
Her heart jumps a little when she steps towards him again, assessing his waistcoat first. It's too long, and loose around his chest. It will need quite a bit of work, and presuming the shirt underneath is the same size, it will need just about the same amount. She hums, eyeing the upward jut of his left shoulder, debating if she can account for his uneven stance when pinning just to save herself from having to ask any invasive questions. In the end, she decides against it, getting the job done properly will be worth the momentary embarrassment. No matter how much her hands shake at the thought.
"I'll need your shoulders at neutral when I'm pinning, or it will end up wonky." She begins shakily, wringing her hands together. Then, with trepidation she adds, "will you be alright to stand without your cane for a few minutes?"
Viktor tilts his head back and forth, weighing the question before giving her a curt nod.
"Okay!" She says, relieved that he didn't seem at all offended by her question and reaching out to take the cane from him.
The moment her fingers brush against it, Viktor yanks back from her, every muscle in his body tensing, his eyes fiery and jaw set in a challenging line. The inhale and exhale of his breath is sharp, a furious punch of his chest and the grip he has on the cane turns his knuckles white.
She has no idea how to break the thick and painful silence, her hand still half raised in the air because she is worried that even lowering it back to her side might seem like a threat. Her mouth opens and closes, as she tries to figure out what she has done wrong, what to say or do to fix this. The arch of his brow is dangerous, threatening, but with her eyes locked to his in a frozen panic, she can't help but notice how pretty their colour is. Even if the intensity of his gaze makes her nearly want to turn and run from the room.
"Never take it from me." He hisses between gritted teeth, "You Pilties think that you can just take whatever you want whenever you want, but you cannot ever take this from me, do you understand? Never."
Her heart thumps wildly in her chest and she suddenly remembers yesterday when he asked if she thought he was dangerous. He is all sharp angles, looming over her with a posture that screams violence. But he doesn't move, he just keeps on staring at her and maybe because she takes the time to look, she thinks that she sees something like fear hiding behind his eyes.
She takes a deep breath and tries to keep her voice even when she says, "I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry."
He doesn't offer false platitudes, doesn't tell her that it's fine, or that she doesn't need to apologise. Doesn't insinuate that there will be no harm done so long as she offers him a favour in return for his silence, instead he bites a quick, "Do not do that again." and it's equal parts refreshing and terrifying.
"Yes, I won't. I'm sorry"
The tension leaves his shoulders a little, but she can tell he is still wound tight, "Go get the stool." He says quickly, inclining his head towards the tall stool by Eliza's project. She does as asked, bringing it over and placing it next to him. He leans the cane against it, well within arm's reach. It's only now, when the intensity in the room has begun to dissipate, that she realises exactly what she did when she snatched his cane from him. It's not just an object, it is his mobility and she had just tried to take it away without permission.
She picks at her cuticles, once again getting the sense that a plethora of apologies will not have the desired effect, not matter how desperately she wants to let them loose. Instead she takes a deep breath in through her nose and endeavours to prove that she is at least capable of not making the same mistake twice, "Is it alright if I get back to doing the alterations?" she asks quietly, adding on a quick, "You can leave if you want, I'd understand if you did."
"No. I'd rather you finish what you started." Viktor answers, short sharp and polite enough but no politer.
Relief rushes through her, not an irreparable mistake, then. She's so glad. Even though she offered for him to leave, she has no idea what she would have done if he had. So she doesn't bother wasting time on hypotheticals, instead she clamps a couple of pins between her teeth and positions herself on top of the platform behind Viktor to get a better look at his waistcoat, "Stay still, just like before." she slurs around the pins in her mouth, quickly working to adjust the seams across the width of his shoulders. He needs a good inch removed before the hemline sits at the appropriate spot on his hips and she is quick to pin both sides evenly.
"Much better." She says quietly to herself, "Would you mind taking your waistcoat off now? Then I can pin your shirt and you'll be free to stand with your cane again."
He doesn't reply, just starts carefully removing the garment, being sure not to poke himself with any of the pins on the sleeves of his shirt. When removed, Viktor hangs the waistcoat on the same stool where his cane is resting and then returns to standing straight.
"You're okay to keep standing a little longer, right?" She ventures cautiously, "You aren't in any pain?"
Viktor scoffs, "I am always in some degree of pain." one of his hands waves through the air in a vague gesture, "Though if it ever becomes noteworthy, I will be sure to inform you."
A hot lick of shame travels up the length of her spine and she can't help wondering why she had even asked such a stupid question. Her mouth begins to form the shape the word sorry-
"I would prefer you did not apologise." Viktor says before she gets the chance, "If you were to apologise for all the things wrong with me we would be here all day."
"Oh." Is all she is able to say. She doesn't much like his assertion that there is something wrong with him, multiple somethings, even, but she can't even begin to formulate a sentence that could properly convey that without making things worse somehow. So she doesn't bother trying, "I won't then."
Viktor nods once, "Good."
She wordlessly begins pinning the excess fabric on his shirt. His shoulders are quite broad, at least proportionally, it's honestly a shame that he has been walking around in such an ill-fitting uniform for so long. She tries not to think about it too much, but even now she can tell that he will look quite captivating in properly tailored garments.
It's only when she steps back down from the platform and returns to his front that she realises how much of a relief it was standing behind him. Viktor's eyes unsettle her with their summer-gold brilliance. His gaze is so sharp and intelligent that it feels like her insides are being slowly unspooled anytime she gains enough confidence to meet it.
"Okay, your shoulders are all done." She says quietly.
Viktor quickly grabs his cane again, settling into what is clearly a more comfortable stance. She doesn't talk much when she works on pinning the sides of his shirt, only once to ask him to put his waistcoat back on so she can pin that too. Then twice to make sure he stays still while she pins up the side of his ribcage. As close as she is standing, she can hear the rasp of his breath in his chest, the way it shudders out from him on each exhale. She really isn't used to tailoring clothes for strangers, her hands shake from the proximity and her heart thunders in her chest when she accidentally brushes her knuckles against the side of his waist.
"Sorry." She mutters before she can stop it.
Viktor sounds tired when he replies, "Please just be careful."
"O-Of course, sorry"
"And stop apologising."
She flinches, "Yes, sorry-"
Viktor says her name, it's the first time he has done it, she half thought he may have forgotten what it was. She pauses in the middle of adjusting his waistline, peering up at him. They are very close to each-other, so close that she can see how well bitten his lips are, notice the length of his eyelashes.
"You are like a frightened little mouse, has anyone ever told you that before?" He asks.
She feels her cheeks flushing, "Y-Yes, though never so kindly."
Viktor hums, she is close enough that she hears the sound rumble through his chest, "Are you nearly finished?"
"Oh! Yes! Nearly!" She quickly returns her hands to task, "Just a pin or two on this side and then I can move onto your trousers."
The quiet returns like a blanket, the silence awkward and heavy. She feels the urge to break it, to talk aloud to herself just to fill the void with something. She doesn't instead she just chews on her lower lip as she finishes adjusting the seams under Viktor's left arm.
"Done?" He asks.
She nods, "Yes, thank you. Would you mind hopping back up onto the platform? Just so I don't have to lay down on the floor to get at your ankles."
Mercifully, that makes Viktor smile, just a little. It's barely a tug at the corners of his mouth, but she drinks it down anyway. He doesn't offer a response, though, just returns to his spot on the platform and watches her intently as she grabs a few more pins and sticks them into her pincushion.
"Your trousers do seem especially loose." Now that his waistcoat sits at the right spot she can see his belt tugged tightly around his hips to keep them from falling down, "Could you take your belt off? I'll start there."
Viktor seems apprehensive at first, but then does as asked. He lays the belt over the seat of the stool he was resting his cane against before. Without the belt, the waistband of the trousers gape almost wide open, many many inches of extra fabric. She tries not to think too much about how slim his hips are, swallowing thickly as she begins to adjust the sides and back of the waistband so it will at least stay up.
Nervously, she starts talking, "Um, technically, the uniform trousers should be worn with braces, not a belt. We should have a couple laying around in the back of the workshop, we have a lot of abandoned accessories." She sucks in a breath as she pins the right side of his trousers tight, the base of her palm brushing against his protruding hipbone, "They probably won't be the right colour, but so long as you don't take off your waistcoat no one will notice."
Viktor scoffs, lifting his right arm to give her more space at his hip, "And what would I owe you?"
She peers up at him, he has his head turned away from her, his jaw tight, "Nothing! I promise! People just leave them behind and don't come back for them, we even have a couple from the theatre department that they don't need anymore." she exhales an uneven breath and starts working to adjust the seams down the side of his thigh, "And I suppose if someone does notice, I can just tell them I lost it, it wouldn't be a big deal."
Viktor doesn't respond for a long time, she makes it all the way down to his knee before he does, "I suppose I will take them, then."
She lets out a relieved sigh, "That's good. I'm glad."
He stays quiet again while she pins down the rest of his leg. She does note that he favours the left one, so she is very careful when manipulating the fabric on his right. He shifts uncomfortably once or twice, but doesn't tell her to stop and he did promise to tell her if his pain was noteworthy, so all she can do is take him at his word and assume that he is fine. When she is at his ankles, she quickly grabs her low stool and places it at the edge of the platform to make the last few pins a bit easier.
She eyes the tight fabric at his calves, now that the seams have been adjusted, chewing on her lower lip when she realises that an idea has struck and there is no way to tell if it is a good one or a bad one. Inserting the last pin at the cuff on his right leg, she inhales a deep breath and forces herself to remember why she is here.
"Do you have trouble getting your trousers on and off?" She blurts before she can regret it.
Viktor glares down at her, "Excuse me?"
She panics, "The ankles of your trousers will be much tighter when I finish the alterations, if you already struggle to get them on and off, it will be far more difficult now and- and I think I have something I can do to help. If that's okay?"
"I agreed to let you tailor my uniform." Viktor says firmly, "Nothing more."
Her pulse rushes, the words just keep coming, "I just want to help, I promise! My father lost an arm in a skirmish seven years ago and I started modifying his clothing for him, first just for appearances and then eventually for convenience, to make it easier for him to undress on his own." She explains, hoping that her reasoning will make more sense to him now, that he will understand that she isn't trying to mock him or pity him.
Viktor scowls, and it is not the reaction she was expecting, "A skirmish." He bites, his posture suddenly looming and sharp all over again, "Your father must be an enforcer, then."
She can hear the sound of her own heart beating in her ears, her throat turns dry as she peers up at him from the floor, trying to meet the roiling gold fury in his eyes. A familiar lie dances on the tip of her tongue, years of practice make it difficult to ignore, but because he isn't from here, because he doesn't offer candy-coated lies, maybe just because he is Viktor, she finds herself for once telling the truth.
"A skirmish with an enforcer." She corrects, and the words feel clunky and uncomfortable in her mouth.
For a beat they just stare at each other, Viktor eyes are suddenly wide and vulnerable, darting frantically across her face as if something in her appearance will make it all make sense. Her hands tremble where they are still gripping the fabric of his trousers and she can almost hear the echo of her heartbeat reverberating through the room. It's a weight off her shoulders, to have told someone, after years of lying and pretending. She isn't sure Viktor understands the significance of it, but she hopes he does.
Viktor's mouth opens and closes a few times, struggling to find his words. Eventually, he says, "Your father, he's…" the words from the undercity go unsaid, but the weight of them still hangs oppressive in there air, she feels like she might choke on them.
"Yes." She answers, averting her eyes, "Y-You can't tell anyone, you know what the people here are like, they'll eat me alive and I'm not-" not brave like you are, she thinks, but that feels far too bold, far too personal, "I just want to finish my studies in peace." Is what she says instead.
~~~
Peering down at her now, Viktor realises that everything begins to make sense. The way she cowers like a mouse as if the world itself is a cat out to get her, the way she desperately tries and fails to fit in, the fact that she dared to speak to him at all, even if it looks like she is preparing to bolt every time she does it.
"Have you even been to Zaun?" He asks, though it is more of a test than a question.
Her brow creases and he expects her to answer what's Zaun? but instead she just says, "No, at least not since I've been old enough to remember."
It was an easy test, but even still, Viktor hadn't really expected her to pass it, "We are not similar at all then, are we?"
She looks thoughtful, for a moment, chewing on her lower lip, "Not in present company, no." she inclines her head to the door, "Out there though, we might as well be neighbours. The line they draw it's-"
"Definitive." He finishes for her, "You are either on one side or the other, Pilties are not big fans of grey area. At least, not when it comes to Zaun."
The expression she offers him next is half a smile, half a wince, "Yeah, they aren't"
Viktor isn't sure how he is supposed to feel about her, part of him rushes upward from somewhere deep in his stomach, desperate to fall to his knees and plead for her to show him something, anything that reminds him of home, to let her shaking hands sink into his chest and hold his heart tightly between them. The other part, the intelligent part, the part he actually has control over, begs him to not break his composure. She isn't like him, not really. Her breath is even and clear, her lungs expand and recede in great, nervous gulps that his own would stutter and rattle the whole way through. Aside from her nervous disposition, unkempt hair and overall mousy appearance, there is nothing that truly others her from the other topsiders. That makes the third part of him, the loudest part, want to bare his teeth, to grab her by the throat and shake her for daring to share his heritage but nothing else, for having working lungs and working legs, for having anything to hide behind.
"Viktor?" She whispers quietly, her brows pinched together in what he can only interpret in concern.
He makes a choice then, a middle ground. Gripping tightly to the handle of his cane, he asks, "What kind of, help were you offering, exactly?"
She brightens just a little, he really only notices it in her eyes, the way they shine.
"I can alter the inseam of your trousers for you, so that you can undo them at the ankle." She jumps from her stool and moves quickly over to her worktable, digging quickly through an open sewing kit, "I have snap fasteners, they're easier to undo than buttons and I can very easily hide them in your inseam, no one would ever see them, but it should make things easier for you."
She steps back over to him, slowly and holds out a small metal tin. Inside Viktor can see a collection of small rings, various pieces that must combine together to make the fastener.
"Show me." Viktor finds himself responding, pushing the tin back towards her, "Where would they go?"
She blinks at him again, a nervous little smile tugging at her lips that makes him feel slightly better, "Y-Yes! Of course!" She crouches down and reaches out with a finger, running it gently up the inside of his right leg, stopping halfway up his calf. His skin prickles at the sensation, even through the fabric of his trousers, "So it would be from the cuff up to here, I'll loosen the seam on the outside of the leg to offer more space on the inside, unpick the inseam and add a series of snap fasteners the whole way up. They just snap shut, and all you should need to do to undo them is tug on either side of the fabric." She grabs the inside of his trousers, tugging quickly twice, "Just like that."
Even loose as they are, it has been a struggle to work his leg in and out the ankles of the trousers. Especially now that the weather has turned cold. He shifts his foot slightly, feeling how tight the tailoring will leave the garment and feels a familiar angry ache building in his gut, picturing himself struggling into his own clothes every morning. He peers down at her again, at her wide, expectant eyes. Her cheeks are flushed, with nerves or with something else, her poorly styled hair coming loose from it's up-do and strands of it are hanging loose around her face. Nothing in her expression is mocking, or pitying, if anything she looks hopeful.
"Would it…take much longer?" He asks.
Her smile is back in full force, the one that makes her mouth seem too big for her face, the achingly bright one, "Not at all! Maybe an extra hour at most."
Viktor darts his eyes to the clock on the wall, he would like to get some studying done today, "If I return before sunset, would it be finished?"
"Yes, yes! Absolutely it would." She lets out a laugh that sounds nearly exhilarated, "Thank you so much for trusting me, it means- well, I guess it means everything."
It might just have been so long since he has seen someone so passionate about what they do, but a smile tugs at the corner of Viktor mouth, unbidden, "Now, now. I never agreed, did I?"
Her mouth snaps shut, eyes widening.
He laughs and puts a stop to her fretting before it starts, "Don't worry, I was just teasing, you have my permission."
She laughs now, loudly, inelegantly. It's only halfway through her fit that she catches herself, hiding her mouth behind a hand, "Sorry. Sorry. I'm just so relieved." she takes a deep breath, holding a hand to her chest to calm down, "Thank you again, I mean it."
Viktor shrugs, "Eh, I did not really do anything."
She snorts then and Viktor finds himself enamoured by it, "You let me do some actual alterations for once, it's important to me at least." Then, as if remembering something, her eyebrows jump, "Oh! just a second." She darts back over to the sewing kit and returns with what Viktor recognises as a seam-ripper, "I'll quickly undo the inseam on your trousers now, that way it will be easier for you to take them off before you leave."
She returns to her stool, shuffling forward so she can more easily get her hands between his legs. Viktor turns his head to the side, finding the proximity easier to deal with if he doesn't have to actually look at her. He's already learned that she talks when she is nervous, so he isn't surprised when she starts speaking again, but oddly, he finds he doesn't mind it much at all.
"I started using the snap fasteners for my father, because they are much easier for him to do up and undo with only one arm. My mother used to help him with his clothes, and she didn't mind doing it, but his independence meant a lot to him and I wanted to help."
Curiosity gets the better of him and Viktor asks, "Did he tell you much about the undercity?"
"A lot, actually." He feels her moving to pick some stitches further up his leg, "I think he misses it, but he hasn't had much of a chance to go back. My mother works and I'm studying here, it just, makes it easier if we don't really talk about it."
Viktor feels himself bristle at that, the angry part of him that is always so loud rears its ugly head again, "Do you have no pride in your heritage?" he spits, and only half regrets it.
She laughs bitterly, inclining her head towards the door again, "Not nearly enough to make it worthwhile facing all of them "
Viktor scoffs, "You're a coward, then."
"I know" She replies quietly, "and you aren't."
Viktor is surprised how much he likes that assertion. He has heard from a few misguided, well meaning topsiders how brave he is for being here, but the meaning is different. How brave he must be, they say, to live the way he has for so long, how fucking brave he is to walk around with a limp and a cane, how hard his life must have been.
That is not what she is saying and he knows it. How brave you are, she says, to put up with all this Piltie, obfuscating, bullshit, day after day. How brave you are to not have already ripped their throats out with your teeth, to not have set this entire building on fire. That is what she thinks he is brave for and that feels good.
"All done." She says softly, unpicking the last stitch, "Just, um, just be careful not to tear it, or poke yourself with any of the pins." she gestures to a section of the room closed off by a curtain, "You can change in there and just leave the uniform with me on the way out."
~~~
She watches silently as Viktor walks to the changing room, grabbing his bag on the way and slinging it over his shoulder. Once he is out of sight, she takes a long, deep breath in through her nose and tries to calm her breathing. This could have gone better, but it could also have gone a lot worse. She sighs, peering shyly at the curtain Viktor is changing behind. One day she will be able to give something back, re-open her father's shop, do something that matters something more than frivolities, more than lace and silk.
Quietly, she starts tidying her leftover pins and returning them to her workbench. Then she removes the canvas cover from her sewing machine, it's much fancier than the one she has at home, not as loud as she works the pedal. She had gotten so used to the way her father's old machine would stick, how it would sometimes catch and tangle on loose threads. This newer thing, she keeps waiting for it to bite her, for it to realise she is different the same way her classmates did so quickly.
Her head snaps at the sound of the curtain being pulled back, and the sight of Viktor emerging in something other than his uniform. Whatever he is wearing clearly wasn't purchased in Piltover, it's mostly brown and green, with a few purple touches here and there. More importantly than any of that, other than the trousers being a few inches too short, it fits him perfectly. Her eyes dart to the narrow dip of his waist, the broad stretch of his shoulders. She had been right, he is captivating.
All she can do is watch as he steps back over to her, holding out the neatly folded pile of his uniform, "Just before sunset, yes?" he clarifies.
She swallows, taking the pile from him, "Y-Yes, that's right. I'll be here."
"Alright." Viktor leans down just a little, enough that his eyes meet hers, "Then I will see you later, Myšičko"
Her heart thunders behind her ribs and she clutches his uniform tightly to her chest, watching as he turns on his heel and heads back out the door, desperate to ask what he had just called her, but too shocked to get the words out.
The door clicks shut behind him and she hopes not just to see him later, but to see him again and again and again.
-
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