#i kept hoping for a shoe to drop. for the accent to drop. for it to be revealed of course he wasn't irish of course this was as offensive

[notasapleasure]

ok my power's back and I'm here with a very urgent question:

how does a show with such a (mostly) nuanced and thoughtful take on a deaf character, with empathy for so many of the oddballs in its stories, come up with the same old stereotype of the drunken, shambolic, Oirishman played for laughs? OMITB season 4, so far you are more the show I feared you were and less the show seasons 1-3 proved you to be: i.e. a vehicle for celebrities to explore the cavernous recesses of their own backsides.

[juukai]

DCAtober day 6: Hue

moon/sun x reader, ~3k words, fluff

plz be kind I haven't posted my writing in years

The question was innocent enough and asked extremely casually. Somehow it still threw you off just enough to have you looking up from tying Jamie's shoes for her so that she could leave.

"Huh?"

"Your favorite color, star! Somehow we don't have that information yet. Which is weird, I could have sworn we would have asked as part of your first introduction day..." Sun tapped his chin and gave the impression that he wasn't quite looking at you, though without pupils it was hard to tell. He seemed to be muttering that last part to himself- or to the both of them in there- at any rate.

You shrugged and tightened the last of the bows for Jamie and sent her off to her waiting guardian. An early pick-up today, it hadn't even been nap time yet. You hoped that she was going to get to do something fun at home with her family.

"Well, I suppose if you ask again reeeally nicely this time, I'll let you in on the secret."

Sun huffed in obvious play outrage. "I asked you nicely the first time! My manners are impeccable!" You grinned at the lack of the plural there- it was no secret that Sun thought Moon was slacking on manners. The two of you watched each other for a few moments before his shoulders dropped and he gave you a simulated sigh.

Ha! Point to you.

He must have seen the smugness creeping in, because just as suddenly he had his hand clasped to his chest and another outstretched in your direction as he swept into a bow. Point lost, now he was going into full thespian mode.

It was really hard to not either push at him to get him to stop or to start laughing before he could even speak.

"Please, my dearest and most precious friend!" Oh, he was really leaning into it. He had a little accent going and everything. "We cannot continue like this. Will you not gift us with the knowledge of the hue held closest, the most cherished, in your heart?"

You were doing a terrible job of not laughing at him. Some of the children were giving the two of you strange looks, while a couple others were giggling at the theatrics.

"Oh my god, please stop."

His grin hadn't changed and yet somehow it looked so self-satisfied. If there weren't a bunch of kids around to set a good example for, you'd definitely be pushing him now. It was still very tempting anyways.

He rolled his wrist, reminding you that he was waiting for you to answer him. Between chuckles you finally gave him the response that he was waiting for and dipped lower in his bow before standing up straight with a flourish.

"You're so dramatic." You didn't give him a shove, but you did purposely bump into him once he was completely upright again. He let you and swayed with the motion to give you the effect that you were looking for, and probably also to soften your thunk against his hard frame a little for your benefit.

His rays spun merrily as he looked out over the daycare to get a beat on what the kids were all doing, then returned his attention to you. "Why thank you! We do try our best."

For a while the two of you just stood near one another, the both of you watching different zones to make sure that everyone was following the rules and playing nice. Sun didn't always seem to prefer when there wasn't a guided activity going, but naptime was coming up before too long and you knew Moon harped in their headspace that the kids needed a little wearing out before they were expected to sleep. There was only so much the moondrops could do to help them get to sleep, and the kids always settled for a story better if they were tuckered out.

"Why'd you want to know my favorite color, anyway?" you asked after a while.

"Hmm?" Sun perked up at your question, though he kept looking out across the room. "Oh, one of the little ones wanted to give you a star sticker earlier, for being such a good helper and since we usually call you star! But it seems like they might have forgotten now. I can still give you a sticker, though, if you'd like."

You laughed and waved one hand vaguely. "No, that's okay. Now you know for next time. I guess that got missed somewhere in our introductions." You looked at him and then thought about it for a moment. "... Y'know, I don't know yours either. What's your favorite color, Sunny?"

"Yellow!" He answered so quickly that you had to wonder if that was what he legitimately preferred or if it was a scripted like- sometimes the animatronics, for all that you forgot that they were programmed to be the way that they were sometimes and that they weren't just really weird looking people, couldn't escape a coded response.

"Uh huh. Not sure if I expected that or not." It seemed like too obvious an answer, since he was yellow. But then, it still would have been fitting, you supposed.

The two of you went your separate ways for a while a little later, Sun going to return to taking a hands-on approach to playtime when one of the kids came up and asked to go to the bathroom. It wasn't too long once you came back that it was time to start clearing the softer area of toys and foam shapes to drag out the nap mats and blankets, You helped to get them all set up with the children while Sun made his way to the light switch.

The music shifted to a version of the normal song that was much calmer and quieter, and lacked the goofy sound effects sprinkled in, as the lights dimmed. You stayed off to the side as Moon came back to the area and passed out little wrapped candies to everyone who sat nicely for story time. He gave you a rather impish little look as he made a big show of skipping over you with the distribution of the drops, which earned an echo of amused little giggles. You didn't really want one anyway but you still put one hand on your hip and wagged a chastising finger at him.

You collected all of the wrappers from the candies while Moon took a poll on what story everyone wanted to hear and then started to recite from his internal library. Sometimes he used physical books just so that he would have pictures to share with the kiddos, but today he recited it without one while the kids hunkered down. Most of them were asleep before the story ended and you watched from a good distance away as Moon checked on the remaining few stragglers to make sure that they didn't need anything, then he left their immediate area so as not to disturb them.

You knew that his sensors had picked up that they'd fallen asleep when he approached you. He only put so much distance between him and them when everyone was out and he wouldn't be needed for a while.

"Finished hovering?"

His chuckled softly. "Brat. Are you going to go take your break?"

You shrugged. "In a bit. Thought I'd keep you company first, I'm sure Sun won't mind if my break bleeds over into his time a little."

Moon's faceplate ticked to the side once, twice, and then a full spin in delight. "Oh, he minds. But Mr. Manners needs to learn to share." You laughed, though you were mindful of your volume. You'd gotten plenty of scolding in the past from the naptime attendant, who took his job of making sure sleep happened very seriously. It and security were about the only things he seemed to take seriously.

"You two bickering again? Over lil' ol' me?" You snickered. "You see me almost every day, I don't believe for a minute that either of you actually mind me going on break."

Without having pupils to make it visible, Moon was forced to roll his eyes with his whole head. "Of course we don't, we want you to take your breaks." You could see him pause to give his programming time to work through not needing to tell you to rest. It was a process, he had explained once, bypassing certain triggers to his protocols since adults weren't people that he was in charge of unless it was for security. "That doesn't mean," he continued, "that we like missing time with you."

You were not getting flustered by the robot. "Aw, shucks," you joked as a distraction. "You two are going to make me blush."

He made an amused sound before a comfortable silence settled between the two of you for a couple moments. He watched the children for some of that time, on the look out for any signs that someone was stirring, but luckily most naptimes went very smoothly and stayed dull. You made your way over to one of the craft tables after a while and Moon shadowed you all too quietly for a tall animatronic covered in bells.

You started to clear the table and get things organized again when you came across a sheet of stickers that reminded you of earlier. "Hey, Moon Man?"

"Yes, Starling," he answered in a sickly-sweet tone. You might have deserved that teasing, you know that he doesn't like 'Moon Man', you just used it anyway to annoy him.

"What's your favorite color?"

He hesitated, tilting his head at you before he looked down at the stickers in your hand. You saw the lightbulb in his brain go on. "I am obligated to tell you blue or purple."

You wrinkled your nose at that. "Okay, gross. They really don't let you guys pick your own favorites? Is Sun's actually yellow?"

He stared at you for a moment that felt like it stretched on a little too long. Was he trying to think of something to say? Was he talking to Sun? There couldn't have been something in his programming that kept him from talking bad about the rest of his programming, right?

You only noticed that he'd been slowly leaning in close to you when he stopped. "No."

"No..?"

He didn't move back at all. "No, it's not his favorite."

"Oh." The atmosphere between the two of you was starting to feel slightly heavy but at the same time you didn't move to put any extra space there. "What... are your actual favorite colors? Can you even answer that?" Hopefully they could.

It took some time for Moon to respond but this time you really did get the feeling that he was having some sort of communication with his counterpart. It was a loaded silence.

"Yours."

Huh? "Mine? What, you both like my favorite one?"

He shook his head slightly and the bell on the end of his nightcap jingled softly. "No." He seemed to hesitate and you let him have time to give you an actual answer, just like you'd let him have time to get around the knee-jerk reaction to tell you to nap. "Your color is our favorite."

You started to open your mouth to express your confusion about that, but stopped short when his cool, clawed fingers met your cheek with extremely gentle tenderness. "The color of your skin, your hair, your eyes." His hand cupped your face and tilted it a little further up towards his. "The colors of the clothes you wear aside from your uniform, the ones you pick the most often during crafts time, the one of your phone case."

You were pretty sure that your brain was short circuiting. Was he really saying these things, holding onto you like this? Sure, you and the both of them had gotten pretty close over the time that you'd been working inside the daycare, especially recently, but nothing like this. Was he joking? This wasn't the way that he had ever messed with you before, you had no reason to believe that he would be now, but him being serious made just about as little sense. Your lips parted like you were going to say something, though you had no idea what it could have been. Nothing actually came out.

"The color of your lips," he continued as if your floundering had drawn his attention there and you felt the pointed tip of his thumb just barely brush underneath your bottom lip, which made you squeak. "Your blush."

And now you could feel that you were blushing. Your cheek felt hot against the contrasting temperature of his hand.

"I..." You didn't actually know what to say. You stared up at him, still pole-axed, for a moment before his intensity came down by a few degrees. The way that he held you and looked at you was still achingly gentle, but the pressure of it lessened enough that you could feel some of your higher thought processes rebooting. "You... You both?"

His free hand came up to hold your other cheek and he used that to hold you still as he pressed the teeth of his faceplate against your forehead. "Both of us, I assure you, starlight." He stayed there for a moment before pulling back with a soft chuckle. "Did you not notice?"

You shook your head, dumbfounded and wide-eyed.

"Sun thought he was being so obvious. He's losing his mind that I was right and we just needed to be a little more... forward." He practically purred the word and you felt your face heat even further.

"Was he? Being obvious?" You didn't have any idea that this was coming. Were there signs that you had missed? You thought that he was just being friendly! That they were both just friendly! For as much as you found yourself forgetting that they weren't actually just sentient and independent beings also performing a job every day it had never once occurred to you that they could develop feelings like this. That felt like it was doing them a massive disservice now while Moon held you in place and stared at you.

Another chuckle. "A little, but obviously not enough." He backed a little more out of your space, and took in the look of surprise still on your face. A hesitation came over him then, though he didn't release you. "Is this okay? Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No, no! It's okay!" You reached up and held onto his wrists over the ribbons and bells on each. "I just... can't believe..."

He snickered and you could see the way that his constant smile strained at the edges into something so mischievous and smug but with the hold that you had on him and him on you, you could also feel the way that he seemed to be nearly vibrating with energy. He didn't look it, he always outwardly seemed so much calmer and nonchalant than Sun, but you could feel the slight tremor against your skin and you could hear the muffled way that his internal cooling system was working hard to keep his temperature even.

"Then we have your permission to pursue this?"

The answer was out of your mouth before you even had a chance to think about it. "Yes. Both of you." It didn't strike you as something strange until after you'd said it. You had never really considered how logistics with one of the highly advanced animatronics would go, let alone with two separate AI. But this didn't seem strange to them, or at least to Moon. And Sun had never brought anything up before, though he had obviously spoken with Moon about it if there had been this supposed conversation about the tactic that they should take for their approach. He'd chastised Sun teasingly to you for needing to learn to share, but it seemed like there must have already been some sort of discussion about doing just that.

Moon's expression was downright devilish. "Good. In that case, would you mind staying a little late tonight? I think I might need some help once the daycare's closed..." He laughed at your spluttered response and leaned to press his mouth against your forehead one more time before letting you go with visible reluctance. "Don't worry, I'll put in a note to your manager for an overtime request. Now, naptime's over."

You felt very much like a mouse being cornered by a cat as he looked at you for another few seconds before he took a couple steps backwards. "Have fun with Sun, little star."

Oh. He was making his way to the light switch. "Wait-!"

He cackled at you before he lunged for the light and slapped the button.

You missed the change between the naptime and the daytime appearance as you blinked to adjust your eyes to the light. There was a moment where no one made a sound while Sun completely took over and the standard daycare music started back up. A couple of the children started to rouse but there'd still be a small window of peace until you went and got them up for lunchtime and whatever other activities Sun had on the docket for the day.

That quiet was shattered when Sun's eyes landed on you just before he started marching your way. "Moon got to kiss you first?!"

Oh, so that was what he'd been doing to your forehead? "Oh boy," you breathed as seven feet of excited and agitated robot burst your personal bubble.

[joi-me-hoi-me-noi]

Master Gojo Chooses a Wife...

A/n: I came up with this idea at school, it was so silly because it was for my school newspaper but instead, I made it for y'all. Enjoy. If you want more parts, please let me know.

Prologue

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

"That one, Master?" His servant looks toward you, walking around the shops.

Gojo nods and smiles to himself.

"Bring them to me as soon as possible."

"Yes master." His servants immediately leave the estate, going to get you for their master.

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

"Hey, where are you taking me?"

You were restrained and thrown over the shoulder of one of the guys that kidnapped you from the market. They didn't bother to respond to your question and kept walking.

The scenery changed from a bustling street market to a quiet beautiful estate. Sure, the view was pretty but, you had no idea of the intentions inside the mansion.

"Hey! Hey! Get off of me!" You try to wiggle and squirm out of the man's grasp, but he simply tightens his grip on you.

You were going to die. They were quickly approaching the mansion. Begging was your best option right now.

"Please... please. Just let me go, I won't tell anyone about this, I-I swear."

They were right outside of a room connected to the estate; you were scared. You couldn't help the whimper that escaped your lips as they continued to go through different doors. You watch as the flooring changes, they stopped in a tatami room. You start to struggle again, hoping they'd drop you, so you'd have a chance to run.

"Let. Me. Go."

"We have her right here, master Gojo."

They start to put you down onto the mat, not before slipping your shoes off and handing them to some servants.

A man with beautiful blue eyes looks you over and smiles.

"What's the meaning of this? Why am I here? What do you want?" You were really trying your best to stay calm.

The man reaches forward with a fan in his hand to tap the seat in front of the Zashiki. You couldn't do anything else in this situation, so you reluctantly sat down. He sits across from you, smiling softly and pouring tea for himself and you.

"Uncuff them, they aren't going anywhere."

The servant leans down and releases you from the restraints. You wanted answers, not teatime with some random dude.

"You ask some very important questions, miss..."

"You don't need to know my name."

He laughs, genuinely laughs.

"Bunny, I'm going to need your name if I'm going to marry you."

Your eyes widen. Was this what this was about? He had people kidnap you so he could marry you. He didn't even know you and you didn't know him.

"All of this to marry a random stranger!" You stand from the seat, pacing the room.

"You don't know me, and I don't know you! Why would you kidnap me?!"

He smiles, drinks the last of his tea and stands. He simply nods at the two men as you're restrained yet again and thrown over the man's shoulder.

"HEY! WHERE AM I GOING?!" You scream and pound your restrained hands onto the man's back.

They open a door close-by and place you in the room, quickly releasing you and making a quick getaway out of the room. You hear a loud locking sound. You rush to the door and try to slide it open with no use.

"LET ME OUT OF HERE!"

The frustration leaves your body with a scream and the destruction of a couple of items in the room. At least they provided you with a bed. You flop down and grab one of the pillows, stuffing it into your face. You pull away from the pillow soon after and see a folded kimono on your bed with a note.

'For you bunny - Satoru Gojo' is what the note said. The kimono was a beautiful blue color with white accents on it. You rip up the note and throw it into the nearby trashcan, you still couldn't believe you got kidnapped. You throw the kimono onto the dresser, sit on the bed and groan into your hands.

What were you supposed to do now? Wait for rescue? You decided to just play along and head off to bed, hoping you'll think of something soon.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

◁ II ▷

Masterlist —> link

[lostindarkclouds]

I received a request and wrote for this request. but all of a sudden my post was deleted and the request was lost. I don't know why but now I'm posting it again.

...

Wow, this is my first request piece. I don't know much about Alastor's era, but I hope you enjoy this post.

I did some research on Annette Hanshaw and came across a song called 'I've Got a Feeling I'm Falling' and oh my god, It was very beautiful. Im crying.

....

You were still awake as the sky slowly brightened. You continued to wash the shirt as the hot water you just heated overflowed from the iron bowl.

"I'm Flying high but I've got a feeling I'm falling~♪"

"Falling for nobody else but you~♪"

Your voice echoed in the empty garden as it overcame the melody of the crickets. A few of the leaves, flying in the morning frost, fell into the bucket of water.

You smiled and pulled the leaves.

"You caught my eye~♪"

"And I've got a feeling I'm falling~♪"

You kept the rhythm from your seat while continuing to sing with a sweet voice. Drops of water running down your arm are painted a pinkish color. No matter how many times you wash the shirt, it wouldn't get clean.

You kept singing and washing the shirt. Slowly, a chill came over you. You poured the dirty water on the flowers and hung the shirt on the rope. By this time the sky was almost light, the eerie tree shadows gone. You immediately recognized the sound of approaching shoes. Dexterous feet approached you silently, without stepping on any leaves.

"Wow, my dear! Your senses are really well developed than before."

A deep and mocking voice was heard behind you a little above you. The pointed chin was pressed against your shoulder as thin arms wrapped around her slender waist.

"I've already told you, my dear, that it was useless to wash this shirt. I don't want you to waste your precious hands in vain."

He spoke without leaving the chin on your shoulder. The sound vibrations in each word spread throughout your body.The arms parted from her waist and he turned you towards his.

“You look pretty messy, dear. Let's go inside. Long slender fingers wrapped around your wrists and guided you through the house.

You replaced your wet suit with a dry one and your husband changed his work clothes with casual ones.

"Just thought I heard an angel's voice in the garden, but when I looked for her I found no one but you. Did you hear the voice too, my dear?"

You stiffened at the words of your husband. The chill you felt came to mind. Alastor listened to you in the garden. You immediately bowed in embarrassment, but lifted your head at Alastor's voice.

"I have only one guess as to who this voice is coming from, my dear. That angel is here now." He slowly leaned towards your face and paused.

"I haven't heard you sing in a long time, dear. I remember the last time you gave a mini-concert to your friends when we were friends."

The voice spoke with deep hatred. The unconscious eyes came to life and the pupils became straight lines, like those of a snake.

"Little songbird... Why don't you sing a little for me."

He spoke sadly as arms locked you into him. It was impossible to try to get out of it. You were trapped. Alastor placed a kiss on your head and sniffed your hair deeply.

"Hmm I guess you need a booster."

The man coughed a little, then a richly accented voice filled your ears.

"Oh, honey, oh honey, I never felt this way~♪"

The arms forced you to swing with it.

"Romantically I'm up in the air~♪"

The shadows vibrated with you as you two danced.

"Enough of Alastor!" Your panicked words interrupted Alastor's song. Your hands quickly pushed Alastor off his chest.

"Is there a problem dear?" Alastor asked, smiling as if nothing had happened.

"Stop playing with me!"

"My dear, I'm trying my best to be a good husband, but you're pushing me."

You froze at Alastor's hiss. Alastor left her and took the seat opposite you.

"A good husband? Look at what you've done. You keep scaring and teasing me! You killed my friends and ruined my life! You ruined my dreams!"

Alastor made no reaction to your sudden outburst.

He started talking after you calmed down.

"I honestly don't regret anything I've done."

Alastor reached for your body.

"You are mine."

He held your chin.

"Taking this beautiful body, this angelic voice under my protection was one of the best decisions in my life."

The man whispered as his amber eyes turned slightly reddish.

"You are with me in this world and in the hereafter, my dear. Our destinies are tied together."

...

I wanted to write this in yandere style. please don't forget to warn me for my spelling mistakes. Feel free to message me for a request piece, any feedback would make me very happy.

Part 2?

[siempre-bucky]

Hi lovely! I hope you are well!! <3

First time sending an ask so if this doesn’t spark any interest, you can totally ignore the blurb weekend request!

#16 from the 2nd prompt list: "Dancing is a dangerous game."

character: Hangman

Regardless, thank you! You’re an amazing and very talented writer :)

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: Dancing with Jake Seresin was a dangerous game. One look as he twirled you and you'd fall in love. But would that be so bad?

wc: 1.1k

A/N: I got a lil carried away, Gigi!!!! I love this prompt so so much and I'm such a sucker for writing Jake fics. I hope you like it!!

Join my blurb weekend!

You didn’t really want to be here tonight, dressed in a long satin gown (it was a nice change from your formal Navy outfits, but you wouldn’t admit that) and shoes that made your heels ache. But it was the last party you and the other daggers were legally obliged to attend, and thankfully this one was hosted by Admiral Kazansky himself. 

It was more than the outfit, forced smiles, and droning small talk. It was him: the tall blond with an ego the size of his home state. Jake Seresin had caught you in his sights years ago when you two were trying to establish yourselves in Top Gun. As any smart girl should, you stayed away from the man with hypnotizing eyes and a cute accent. He’d only break your heart, you told yourself once spending some time with him at The Hard Deck right after telling yourself, I could fall in love with him. 

He never got the hint, his continuous flirting, and lingering glances kept on after all this time. Jake upped the ante at the first post-miracle mission event, “Dance with me,” he asked, his accent laid on thick and dripping with charm when he spoke your name. You remembered how your heart skipped a beat and the way you paused while looking at his extended hand; you wondered what it would be like to feel the touch of his hand. You didn’t dare to look into his eyes, excusing yourself and faking being called over by a member of the Brass. Every party after that—he’d ask—you’d say no. 

Dancing was a dangerous game. 

One look into emerald green eyes, being twirled around a dance floor meant losing this game you felt like you were winning. You weren’t falling in love with Jake Seresin. 

It was almost cinematic walking into the hotel’s grand ballroom, looking out into the crowd, and seeing the aviator looking directly at you. “Shit,” you muttered to yourself, surprise dropping to the pit of your stomach. Why weren’t you looking away? It was like you were giving him an open invitation, like a wrong move on a chessboard. 

You knew why. Deep down you wanted to lose, give in and take him by the hand. Maybe he’d love you right? Take you out instead of taking you back to his place like all the girls before. It pained you watching him leave with girls he picked up at the bar, but this was what you wanted, right?

Jake started to make his way through the crowd, grinning and charming his way around the Naval men who offered their congratulations. Your legs felt like concrete, unable to move and fade into the crowd. Those green eyes got closer, and the colorful lights from around the room painted his skin so beautifully. “Evenin’, Y/N,” he greeted, sticking his hands casually in the front pockets of his black dress pants. 

“Jake,” you greeted, tilting your chin upward, “You look nice.” 

He smirked. “I don’t hold a candle to you, Navy issued clothes don’t do you justice.” 

He took the lead in this imaginary game and suddenly your tongue felt heavy, unable to speak without giggling like a schoolgirl. Swallowing the nerves, you smiled politely and thought of a way to get out of this. “I should go and fi-” 

“Dance with me?” he cut you off. You watched Jake smoothly take his hand out of his pocket and held it out for you. 

“Jake, I don’t dance,” you chuckled, trying to keep the mood light. 

“Ah,” he dismissed, rolling his eyes, “You’re a better liar than that, come on. Besides, this is the last one—you won’t have to see me again for a long time.” 

You didn’t know what hurt worse, not seeing Jake on a regular basis or the soft pout of his lips. 

Dancing is a dangerous game. 

He’ll only break your heart. 

What if he doesn’t? 

You’ll wake up in a cold bed. 

His hand looks warm. 

Your eyes flashed upward, counting the colors in his eyes as you put your hand in his for the first time. Jake smiled, it never looked as genuine as it did at that moment, leading you to the dance floor. He looked back every so often to make sure you were still following, his grip tightened as the crowd condensed. 

The music had slowed, not that you could focus on it because of the pounding of your heartbeat. You fought off making a visible show of your timidness as he guided your free hand on his shoulder and his found purchase on the small of your back. “Was that so hard?” he teased, beginning to sway to the music. 

Yes. “As long as we don’t have to do this ever again,” you chuckled. 

“What’s your problem with me, Y/N? You’ve been avoidin’ me.” 

“Have not.” 

“Don’t make me say ‘have too’, we’re adults,” he joked matter-of-factly.  

You rolled your eyes and inhaled, fighting off a shudder as you caught a whiff of his cologne. Your gaze swiveled from the crowd over his shoulder to his chest. It looked so inviting, almost comforting. 

You could still win this game if you don’t fall in lo—

“Did I upset you?  Is that why we don’t talk anymore?” He asked, his voice soft and close to your ear. 

“N-no,” you managed, voice wavering. “You didn’t upset me, Jake.”

“Then what is it?” His genuine confusion made your lips fall into a grimace. Hangman never asked what he did wrong—ever. Confidence was his main ally and that got him far. It was then you realized there was a difference between Jake and Hangman. 

There was a long pause, you could see how his eyes softened right in front of you. Fuck the game. You leaned forward and placed the side of your face against his chest, hearing the faint thump of his heartbeat. “I didn’t want to be one of those other girls you dance with. One dance and you take ‘em home.” 

“You’re more than that,” he defended instantly, “wouldn’t have asked you to dance every time, wouldn’t try to take up space when we’re together.” 

You pulled away and kept your hands and your side, “and what happens after?” you asked in frustration. Frustrated at yourself for surrendering all your defenses. 

Jake thinned his lips and furrowed his eyebrows. You were as stubborn as him. He jolted forward and put his hands on the side of your face, pulling you in for a kiss. Your lips moved together like you two had been lovers for the longest time. You were grateful his hand kept you from melting. 

Jake pulled away, his lips ghosting over yours. “That,” he confirmed. 

“And after that?” you whispered against his lips. 

“I fall in love or burgers on the beach? Either works for me,” he laughed. 

You shook your head at his comment and giggled lightly, leaning in for another kiss. 

Dancing with Jake Seresin was a dangerous game, and you’ve never been happier to lose.

[hebuiltfive]

WIP Wed... Monday!

Trying out some Doctor Who fan-fiction at the moment. I have no clue where it's going or if it'll ever be posted in its entirety, but I really wanted to write out my favourite TARDIS team getting into some trouble!

Not sure if anyone here will be interested in it either, but posting this little WIP regardless. If the character voices aren't quite right, it's because this is the first piece I've ever penned for them (and it is a WIP). Getting the Scottish accent right is hard work. But I hope it's fun!

Ah, nervous! Okay, enough babbling.

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Green from the grass had stained her bare knees, tacky mud sticking to her skin. Squelching, her shoes we’re slick with mud too. The red leather of her flat Mary-Janes was now barely visible beneath the mire. And to think she’d considered wearing her nice, new special boots. Polly was thankful she’d opted out of that decision. The pretty heels would have been ruined. 

She lifted herself from the ground to kneel on the cold earth. Smoothing out her plaid skirt, Polly sat herself up straight and glared at the lumbering warrior who approached. Behind, his soldiers advanced, clasping irons over her wrists.

Polly glanced over to Jamie beside her. He, too, was on the floor, but unlike herself, the Scotsman wasn’t giving up without a fight.

He was quickly apprehended, despite his best efforts, and cursed the soldiers who held him down tightly.

“Ye cannae do this!” Jamie cried, still attempting with all his might to wrestle out of the soldier’s hold. “We’re no’ the ones t’a blame!”

“Silence!” The lead warrior, the one who had orchestrated the whole chase based on pure assumptions and little-to-no facts, unsheathed his longsword. It glinted under the moonlight, the sapphire gemstone on the hilt practically glowing.

“Oh, do listen to him!” Polly added her voice to the mix. She kept her eyes on the warrior in front of them, pleading with him to see reason.

It hadn’t done any good so far, and she was certain the man wasn’t going to listen to her now, but trying was all they if they wanted to remain alive and not end up on the pointy end of his sword.

“I said silence!” He boomed, his deep baritone echoing off the ancient stones of the cathedral behind them. “I want not to hear your blabbering any longer!”

“But we’re innocent, ye hear? Innocent!”

The warrior spat. “Pah! That’s what the last murdering coward said.”

“But we’ve not murdered anyone!’ Polly sighed. “Oh, this is all just a terrible misunderstanding, can’t you see?”

“Aye! We’re no murderers, ye ken?”

With a snarl, the warrior seized Jamie, his fingers digging into the flesh of his cheek. “If I hear one more word from you, I’ll cut out that lying tongue of yours and feed it to your pretty friend over there. Do you understand?”

Jamie nodded the best he could with his face still being squashed between the calloused fingers of their new enemy.

Polly, angered by her friend being treated in such a horrible fashion, seethed. “Leave him alone!”

Despite the warrior’s attention turning to her, she continued.

“What gives you the right to… to hunt us down like this, anyway? We haven’t done anything wrong!”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“You can’t be judge, jury and executioner, especially when you haven’t got all of the facts!”

With one last squeeze, the warrior dropped Jamie’s face and approached Polly instead. She swallowed, questioning the logic of now having his full attention. Still, she lifted her chin defiantly as the warrior crouched down in front of her, making himself eye-level with her.

Now he was close up, she noticed his pock-marked skin and the patchiness of his beard. Unkempt and scruffy, his appearance was as rough as his attitude seemed to be. His eyes were dulled, a muted brown tone, and Polly found herself staring right back into them.

“I don’t need facts.” The warrior boasted. “I simply know you two are to blame.”

“Oh, really? And why is that, then?”

He chuckled. “Because you two were at the scene of the crime.”

Beside her, Jamie shuffled. Polly shot him a warning glare. It stifled any attempt he wanted to make at rebuking the warrior’s claim. Polly hadn’t known the warrior for long, but she was certain he’d make good of his threat.

“Being near a crime scene isn’t enough to convict someone of a crime!”

“Then, tell me who did it.”

Polly stared at the man, aghast. “Why ever would you think we knew who did it?”

“You were there.”

“That doesn’t mean we know anything about it!”

The warrior stood back to his full height. Shaking his head, almost like he was amused, he strolled away a few paces. “The Strogans are stubborn, I will give you that, but you are also known to be ruthless. The time for lies ends now.”

Strogans? If only the Doctor was here to clarify.

“We’re no’ Strogans!” Jamie disputed, his brows furrowing. “We’re no’ from here!”

The warrior whirled around  and levelled his sword towards Jamie’s face. “What did I tell you about being quiet?”

“You expect me t’a be quiet when ye threaten us like tha’?”

“Put the sword down!” Polly yelled.”You’ll take someone’s eye out!”

“I believe his threat was Jamie’s tongue, Polly.”

She released a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. Even in the most dire of situations, when all hope appeared lost, he managed to show up in the nick of time.

From out of the shadows, the familiar stout figure of the Doctor appeared. He strolled forward, Ben in tow, without a care in the world for the several swords that were now directed in his direction.

“Now, now,” he said, raising his hands gently. “I’m sure we can all work this out without the need of violence, yes? Who knows, we may even be best friends by sunrise.”

“I’ll be no friend of a Strogan.”

“Well, it’s a good thing my two friends here are perfectly human then, isn’t it?”

[rindecisions]

St. Patrick's Day '85 You Know Where to Find Me Part 2

Explicit | 10k First Blowjob | Chance Meeting

Find the rest and more here

Part 1 | Valentine's Day

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“Do I really have to do this?” Eddie complained as Wayne fixed the bowtie to the impressively green suit he was forced to wear.

“Yes,” Wayne stated simply. “I told ‘em I would months ago before I got swapped to the night shift, so you’ll have to do it in my stead.”

“You agreed to it, not me,” he grumbled.

“Quit yer bitchin’. If you’re gonna act a fool, might as well look like one.” Wayne put a green velvet top hat on him and stepped back to give Eddie a look over. He was in a slightly oversized dark green faux velvet suit with gold clover details around the trim. The legs of the pants cinched just under his knee, showing off his white nylon-clad calves. His shoes were shiny black with a gold buckle that matched the one on the top hat.

Eddie took off the hat. “So, this is a punishment now?”

“How many times has Jim dropped you off in the last three months?” Wayne stated firmly.

“I don’t keep track of that shit,” Eddie squinted grumpily.

“Five, Eddie. Five. Be grateful he hasn’t locked your ass up.” He took the last accessory out of the bag, a false red beard and mustache combo that hooked over the ears.

“No,” Eddie whined. “I’ll wear the fucking hat, but I draw the line at ginger face pubes.”

“Eddie…” Wayne warned.

“Wayne!” Eddie pleaded. “Come on, isn’t this ridiculous enough?” He gestured at his costume.

“Just be glad I’m not forcing you to wear a wig or spray your hair red.” He hooked the beard over Eddie’s ears, finding amusement in his expression. It reminded him of a pissed-off black cat.

“The fact that this is in another town is the only reason I’m even kind of okay with this. If anyone from Hellfire sees me, I’ll never live this shit down. I’ll forever be a goddamn halfling bard to them.”

Wayne shook his head, having no idea what Eddie was talking about. “It’s pretty unlikely you’ll see anyone from Hawkins.”

“Let’s fucking hope.” He put the hat on and glared at Wayne.

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Eddie was tasked with handing out gold and green plastic bead necklaces as people entered the festival. He took off the beard as soon as he pulled out of the trailer park and kept it tucked in his suit jacket. He plastered on a fake smile with dead eyes as he put the cheap jewelry over the heads of everyone that passed him. After a few minutes, he started trying to have fun with it and said various bad puns in his best attempt at an Irish accent. A familiar voice caught his attention, and he went pale as a ghost. No… He glanced up to see Steve Harrington paying the entry fee. Quickly, he fumbled for his beard and put it on by the time Steve arrived in front of him. His attempt at saying ‘Let’s shamrock and roll’ as he put a gold necklace over his head came out closer to “Le shmark a rall.” It sounded so far from English that he just hoped Steve thought he was speaking Gaelic or something. He tried not to visibly cringe when Steve raised an eyebrow at him.

“You… too?” Steve looked very confused before heading into the fairgrounds.

Eddie watched Steve’s ass walk away in his usual tight jeans. As soon as Steve was out of earshot, Eddie cursed at himself and returned to handing out the necklaces. He was just glad that Steve didn’t seem to notice him, but now he had to keep the stupid beard on.

After about an hour, the crowd petered away, and the staff relocated Eddie to waiting tables at the pub. He was relieved that Steve Didn’t show up, or anyone else that he knew for that matter. There were a couple times Steve passed by the outdoor seating area and every time, Eddie made sure to hide before he could be seen. There was no way he was letting Steve Harrington see him in this ridiculous outfit.

It was getting close to sunset and Eddie bummed a smoke from the bartender before taking a break out back. He took off the hat and beard before leaning against the back wall of the building, watching the pop-up rides in the distance. Eddie found it comically dangerous to have rides running on a holiday for people to get smashed, but a large portion of the attendees were children and their families.

A rustling nearby caught his attention, and he looked over to see three men roughly his same age walking up. Each one was plastered with the same familiar grin. An expression that Eddie had coined ‘the face of overcompensation’. He took a long drag of his cigarette and tossed it to the ground, snuffing it with his shoe before they got too close.

The one Eddie assumed was the leader spoke first. “Aren’t you a bit big for a leprechaun?” The other two snickered.

Eddie stared at them flatly. “Aren’t you a bit big for your dick?” It wasn’t his best comeback, but he didn’t have the energy to be clever.

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Steve wandered the fair. He’d gone there originally to see if maybe the out-of-town girls would respond to him a bit better, but he should have expected that most of the people there would either be couples, families, or men trying to get drunk. With a heavy sigh, he started to walk toward the exit when he heard a familiar voice. Eddie? He followed the voice and as he got closer; it was more obvious that Eddie was in some form of an altercation. A hint of worry built up in him and he picked up his pace, hurrying behind the bar-turned-pub.

He got there just in time to see a slender man in a green suit dodge a punch and sweep the leg of his attacker, toppling him to the ground. “Eddie?” He said without thinking.

Eddie looked over with panicked eyes at hearing Steve’s voice. The distraction got him socked in the jaw. He stumbled to the side, groaning, and elbowed the man in the nose. A metallic flavor filled Eddie’s mouth as he ducked under another punch. He fell on his ass when he saw the man that just tried to swing at him get punched square in the mouth by Steve. He wished he had time to process just how hot that was before spitting the blood from his mouth and jumping back into the fight. As Eddie dodged fists, Steve used the opening to land whatever blow he could manage.

Eddie wasn’t their only target now, and when he saw one aiming a fist toward Steve’s perfect face, he kicked the man in the ribs. Steve smirked at him in thanks. Together, they had two of their attackers on the ground, and Eddie landed the last blow to the leader’s cheekbone. He shook his hand as the man stumbled away.

“Come on, man!” One of the others called, already leaving the area. The leader glared at them and spat blood in their direction before following his friends.

Steve glanced over at Eddie, who was shaking the pain from his hand. The beginnings of a bruise had already formed on his jawline, and he had blood on his lips. “You alright?” Steve asked.

Eddie groaned. Now that the fight was over, he had to face Steve, looking like this. “Yeah…”

“You held your own pretty damn well. I’m surprised,” Steve chuckled.

“Not my first fight,” he said plainly, leaning against the wall.

“I could tell.” He glanced at the mark on Eddie’s chin, walking closer to him.

Eddie tensed slightly as Steve approached. “Didn’t seem like yours either.”

Steve huffed a small laugh. “Far from, but we need to get some ice on that,” Steve tapped his own face where Eddie was hit. “Or it’s going to swell like a motherfucker.”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighed. “I can probably grab some from the bar.” He pushed himself off the wall, flinching when Steve placed a hand on his chest, keeping him in place.

“I’ll get it. Wait here,” Steve said with a soft smile before leaving.

Eddie watched Steve walk away and smiled to himself, leaning against the wall and looking up at the sky. He sighed and let gravity pull him to the ground.

It wasn’t long before Steve came back with a bag of ice and a can of soda. He knelt down in front of Eddie and placed the ice pack on his chin.

”Thanks,” Eddie said sincerely, placing his hand on the bag of ice to support it.

Steve’s heart jumped when Eddie’s hand rested on his. He leaned forward an inch and froze, an electricity danced over his skin as he swallowed and glanced away, removing his hand.

Eddie noticed, and his heart took up residence in his throat. Did Steve almost kiss him? In public?

“Don’t mention it. I’m at least a little to blame for that.” Steve popped open the can of soda.

Eddie blinked and swallowed the lump in his throat. “You’re entirely to blame,” he teased with a smirk.

Steve groaned and handed him the can. “Sorry.”

Eddie took it and softened his smirk. “But seriously, thanks for the help.” He washed the taste of blood out of his mouth. “Hmm,” he hummed contemplatively, looking at the can of soda. “Blood and Coke mix well together.”

Steve chuckled, leaning back on his wrists in front of Eddie.

“What d’you think, Harrington? Think it would sell?” He altered his voice to match a commercial. “All new, Bloody Coca-Cola.”

Steve laughed. “Somehow, I doubt that would be very popular.”

Eddie smiled at Steve’s laugh and shrugged, taking another drink. “I’d buy it. I mean that Cherry flavor they released last month is going nuts.”

Steve shook his head. “But what happened?”

Eddie glanced over at him. “You mean the fight?”

“Yeah.”

“Just the usual. I was minding my own damn business, and some jackasses decided to pick a fight.” He finished off the can and leaned his head against the wall, holding the ice to his face. “So much for leprechauns being lucky.”

“Seriously,” Steve laughed. “Why are you here wearing that, anyway*?*”

Eddie groaned dramatically. “My uncle. He agreed to help with this event as a favor to his friend but ended up having to work, so he pushed it on me. Trust me, I don’t want to be here, especially wearing this shit.”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah, I’d say today is not your lucky day.”

Eddie looked at Steve. “Why are you here, anyway? Meeting a girl?”

“No, unfortunately,” he sighed. “Came here looking for a date, actually. No luck on my end either, by the looks of it.”

Eddie licked his lip as he thought, wincing when he ran over the small split on his lower lip. Did he want to push his luck with Steve again? A grin spread over his face. “You see,” he said smoothly, “I’ve heard that if you want luck on St. Patrick’s Day, you have to catch and kiss a leprechaun.”

Steve’s face fell in surprise at Eddie hitting on him so blatantly. His heart thumped in his chest. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about their last encounter a month ago. In fact, he hadn’t been able to get it out of his mind. Was it the same for Eddie? He bit his lip and decided to play along. “And where do you suppose I could find a leprechaun?”

Eddie quirked his brow and squinted at Steve. He set the ice pack on the ground next to him and picked up the ridiculous top hat, slamming it on his head. “Oi,” he said softly in a rather impressive Irish accent. “Ya going to kiss this leprechaun or not?”

Steve burst into laughter and glanced around, making sure no one was in sight before crawling up to Eddie and taking the kiss. His chest tightened, making it hard to pull away. When he did, there was a faint redness to Eddie’s cheeks that wasn’t caused by getting punched.

Eddie sighed and rested his head back against the wall, taking the hat off. “I missed that.”

“Same,” Steve chuckled, sitting against the wall next to Eddie. They were close enough that their hips and the sides of their leg were flush with each other.

Eddie looked over in shock. “Re—really?”

“Yeah,” Steve glanced over at him and raised his eyebrow when he noticed that he’d taken the ice off. He reached across Eddie’s lap to grab the ice pack, stealing another kiss as he did.

Eddie tensed at the close proximity, but leaned into the kiss, his split lip stinging slightly on contact.

“Keep this on.” Steve placed the bag of ice on Eddie’s chin and stared at his lips for a few solid seconds before sitting back on the wall.

“O—okay,” Eddie said tentatively as he supported the bag. Had Steve really been thinking about kissing him over this last month? He didn’t think that making out and hand jobs would have any impact on someone like Steve, someone that was known for getting around. Maybe doing it with a guy made it stand out a bit more. “Hey,” Eddie said softly, nudging Steve’s knee with his own and glancing over at him. “Want to get out of here?”

“And go where?” Steve furrowed his brow as he looked over at Eddie.

Eddie shrugged and leaned into Steve’s shoulder. “My place?”

Steve smiled and turned his head, placing their faces in kissing range. His heart thumped in his chest. “Would we be alone?”

Eddie turned his head a little more and licked his lips. “Yeah…” He said with a faint nod. The pull to kiss him was almost too strong. Steve was right there, and the smallest twitch would connect their lips. They were still technically in public, so he held himself back.

“Good.” Steve took the small lunge forward and pressed their lips together. Eddie gasped and shivered as soon as their lips met. He let the bag of ice fall and placed the chilled hand on Steve’s cheek. Steve turned his body to face Eddie and leaned more into it. When he pulled back, they were both panting. “Let’s get out of here.”

Eddie nodded and stood. “Do you know where Forest Hills Trailer Park is?”

“Yeah,” Steve stood as well. “It’s pretty close to my place.”

“I’m in lot 53. It’s a rundown piece of shit, but at least it’s a roof, right?” Eddie shrugged, realizing that a rich boy like Steve may hate going to a trailer park. “If you’d rather go somewhere a bit nicer, I’m fine with that, too.” He awkwardly glanced away.

Steve smiled and stepped closer to Eddie, taking a quick glance around as he did. “All I care about is that we don’t have to worry about prying eyes.” He placed his hands on Eddie’s waist and pulled him into a brief kiss. He smiled at the silly outfit as he stepped back.

“Yeah, I know,” Eddie grumbled, noticing Steve examining his suit.

“It’s cute,” Steve chuckled.

Eddie furrowed his brow, unsure if that was a compliment or an insult.

Steve’s eyes hooded as he smirked and glanced over Eddie’s body. “But I look forward to getting you out of it.”

Eddie’s jaw fell slack at Steve’s words. “Yeah…” Eddie took a deep breath. “Let’s get out of here,” he said quickly, turning around and starting to walk away.

Steve hurried after him, grabbed his wrist, and spun him into his arms, taking one more firm kiss. “See you in a few.” He enjoyed Eddie’s startled expression for a couple seconds before letting him go and walking away.

Eddie stood there dumbfounded for nearly a full minute without a thought in his mind. He shook himself out of his daze and headed toward the entrance. He froze and ran back for the hat and beard he left behind the bar. A thought crossed his mind, and he snuck in the back door of the bar, grabbing a six-pack of green beer before hurrying to his van.

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When Eddie arrived at his trailer, Steve was already in his driveway, leaning against his BMW, smoking. Eddie took in the attractive sight before stepping out of his van. He sighed in disbelief when Steve smiled at him while taking a drag. “Hope you weren’t waiting long,” Eddie said as he approached.

“Nah, haven’t even finished my—”

Eddie took the cigarette out of Steve’s fingers and put it between his own lips. Steve smirked as he watched Eddie take a drag. “Come on.” Eddie nodded toward his trailer, letting the smoke freely flow from his mouth. He walked up the concrete steps and unlocked the door, stepping back to let Steve in first. He lightly chewed on the cigarette filter as he watched Steve’s ass walk into his living room. Once Steve was in, Eddie skipped up behind him, shutting the door. “Welcome to the Munson Castle.” Watching Steve look around opened his eyes to just how run down and messy it was. He started to feel a bit insecure about it. “If you think this is bad, wait ‘till you see my room.”

Steve smirked, watching Eddie take another hit off his cigarette. “Lead the way.”

Seeing no signs of disgust from Steve made him feel a little more comfortable.

Steve’s eyes landed on the green cardboard carrier in Eddie’s hand with six bottles in it. He squinted at it. “Where did you get those?”

Eddie grinned and held up the six-pack. “Consider it my compensation for helping at the fair.”

“A.K.A. You stole it.”

“No,” he chimed sarcastically. “Why would I ever do a thing like that?” He glanced over Steve’s body before walking past the kitchen and down the small hallway.

Steve chuckled and shook his head, following Eddie. He whistled when he walked into the room. “You weren’t kidding. Did a tornado run through here?”

“Told ya.” Eddie set the six-pack on one of his amps and pinched the cigarette in his teeth. He started unbuttoning the green velvet jacket.

“Woah,” Steve said, placing a hand on Eddie’s, startling him. “Not so fast.”

“I want to get out of this shit,” Eddie said around the cigarette. “I’m not trying to be sexy.”

Steve took the cigarette from Eddie’s mouth and quickly took its place. Eddie sighed into the kiss, sliding his hands over Steve’s hips. He grunted when Steve pressed his tongue through his lips. The invasion made his whole body light up. Steve leaned back, smirking as Eddie followed him. “Maybe I want to be the one to take it off of you.” He took a long drag of the mostly gone cigarette and held it in his lungs as he leaned forward. When Eddie parted his lips to accept a kiss, he blew the smoke into his mouth before locking them together.

Eddie swooned and gripped his hips, eagerly wrestling his tongue with Steve’s. There was a slight pain from where he bit his tongue when he got punched, and a sting from the split in his lip, but nowhere near enough for him to back out. He couldn’t believe that Steve Harrington was in his room, let alone that he was making out with him, again. He could almost forget he was wearing a leprechaun costume. Steve stepped back, took the last drag, and put the butt out in one of the many ashtrays in the room. Eddie tensed when Steve shot him a hungry glance. “Uh,” he swallowed. “You’re a lot more forward than last time,” he said nervously as Steve approached.

“I’ve had some time to think,” he said coolly, placing his hands on Eddie’s velvet-clad shoulders and sliding them down his biceps. “I’ve decided what we did wasn’t a big deal.” He slid his hands over Eddie’s elbows and onto his waist, pulling him closer. “And that I wanted more.”

Eddie’s jaw dropped at Steve’s words, confirming that he’d been thinking about him over this last month. He grunted when Steve occupied his open mouth and started unbuttoning the suit jacket where Eddie left off. He placed his hands back on Steve’s hips and let himself enjoy the feeling of their tongues tangling.

After Steve got the last button open, he ran his hands up Eddie’s chest and shoved them under the collar, gripping the back of Eddie’s neck and pushing their kiss deeper. He felt Eddie grip his hips tighter and lean into it. If their mouths were any closer, they’d end the night with more bruises. Eddie was so lost in Steve’s mouth that he didn’t care about the split on his lip opening. He jumped when Steve pushed the jacket over his shoulders and down to his elbows. He didn’t fight as the jacket was pulled free of his arms and tossed aimlessly to the floor, leaving him in a white dress shirt and dark green velvet pants.

Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie’s narrow waist, holding him tightly in the kiss before pushing on his chest. Eddie shouted in surprise as he fell backward onto his mattress. Being on his bed while looking up at Steve, who was staring lustfully back at him with an obvious bulge in his pants, helped set things more into reality. When Steve said he wanted ‘more’, what exactly did he mean? How much was ‘more’? He gasped and tensed as Steve crawled over him.

Eddie’s nervous, wide-eyed expression amused Steve and made it hard to resist teasing him. He grabbed the collar of the dress shirt, getting another small gasp and a yip as he wrenched on it, forcing their mouths together. Keeping in the kiss, Steve started unbuttoning the white dress shirt. The idea that Steve Harrington was undressing him made Eddie's head spin. He'd thought about undressing Steve many times, but he never thought about the reverse.

When Steve got to the last available button, he leaned out of the kiss and straddled Eddie's lap, pulling the rest of the shirt free of the green pants so he could access the last buttons.

Eddie swallowed nervously as he watched Steve open the last button and fling the shirt open, revealing his entire chest and stomach. “You sure you're not drunk?” Eddie asked anxiously. “Last time you had to be drunk and high to be even a little forward.” He chuckled awkwardly.

“I’m completely sober.” Steve smiled and ran his hands up Eddie's bare chest.

He shivered at Steve's touch. “You... you can fix that,” he suggested, looking past Steve and at the untouched beers.

Steve glanced over his shoulder at them and smiled when he returned to staring at the nervous Eddie. “Nah, I want to enjoy you with a clear head this time.”

Enjoy…me? Eddie was floored by that statement. Steve may want to do this sober, but Eddie wished he was smashed and high on whatever substance he could get his hands on. He sighed at the pleasant feeling of Steve exploring his chest.

“I knew you'd have tattoos.” Steve chuckled and ran his fingers over the demon face on his pec.

Eddie smiled and relaxed a little. The dress shirt fell off of one shoulder. “That was actually my first tattoo.” He watched Steve's fingers press into his decorated skin.

“Does it mean anything?”

“Not really.” He shrugged. “I got it when I turned 16. It was the only present I ever directly asked my uncle for.” He chuckled airily. “I'm still surprised he let me.”

“Why that design, though?” He placed his whole palm under it, cupping Eddie's pec, and gently pressed his hand into it.

Eddie swallowed and took a deep, uneasy breath. “It was one from their catalog. I just thought it looked cool.”

Steve chuckled and ran his palm from Eddie's pec to his waist. “You're a surprisingly simple creature.”

Eddie snorted. “Did you expect me to be deep?”

“You have a point,” Steve laughed, rubbing his thumb over Eddie's ribs. “What about the spider?” He glanced at the black widow by his collarbone.

“That one's…” he trailed off as Steve tightened his grip on his waist and moved their faces close. “My…” His breath got heavier as Steve slowly approached. “Newest…” He tilted his head as Steve did the same. “You don't actually care, do you?” he asked with a smile, their lips on the brink of touching.

“Not particularly,” Steve answered honestly and pressed their lips together, tongues soon to follow.

Eddie pushed into the kiss, letting himself take Steve's affection as it was given. He shook his shoulders, getting the other side of the shirt to drop. He sat up, pushing Steve along by his mouth, and took the shirt off the rest of the way. After he discarded it to the abyss of his bedroom floor, he wrapped an arm around Steve's neck, holding him in the kiss as he slid a hand under the hem of his pale green polo.

Steve hummed into the kiss at Eddie’s touch, smirking when he felt the callouses against his skin. He firmly pushed on Eddie’s chest, sending him back to the bed. His smirk intensified as he gazed down at the shirtless man between his legs. Why wasn’t it weird? Why was he so attracted to this man? Why was he attracted to a man at all? Regardless of the reason, he was.

Eddie propped himself up onto his elbows and looked up at Steve. His jaw dropped as he witnessed a fantasy come true. Steve was taking his shirt off while on top of him. He huffed at the sight. He couldn’t count the number of times he had been in this exact spot thinking about this exact thing, without the leprechaun pants, of course. Steve was stripping, and he was stripping for him. He was almost convinced he had to be dreaming.

Steve pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Eddie's awestruck expression made him smirk. “What? Never seen a man shirtless before?”

“The last time a shirtless man was this close, he was trying to punch my lights out and he was nowhere near as hot as you.” Eddie eagerly scanned Steve's chest and the fade of hair over his sternum.

Steve chuckled and fell forward, placing a hand on either side of Eddie's head and enjoying his startled expression. “Well, I don't plan to punch your lights out.”

“That's good,” Eddie said quicker and higher than he intended. “What… do you plan to do?” he asked softly, examining every detail of Steve's face.

Steve smiled and bent his arms, lowering himself. “What do you want me to do?”

Eddie's breath got heavier as he anticipated the kiss Steve was suggesting. “You can do whatever the fuck you want to me, Harrington.”

“Can I get that in writing?” Steve teased.

“Get me a goddamn pen,” Eddie said in a serious tone.

Steve laughed and finally connected their lips. Eddie groaned and wrapped an arm around Steve’s bare back, enjoying his soft skin. He hummed as Steve slid his hands into his hair, tensing as one of the hands moved to his waist. He put more force into the kiss and pulled on Steve’s back, forcing their chests together. A sharp gasp escaped him as Steve moved the hand from his waist and to the black pleather belt.

Eddie’s fingers pressed into Steve’s back as his anxiety increased. Eddie’s trembling was somewhat charming to Steve. The fingers pressed harder into his back and Eddie desperately wrestled their tongues when Steve unclasped the belt. Eddie clenched his eyes tightly at the feeling of Steve popping the button on the velvet pants. Why is this so much scarier sober? Steve pulling down his zipper was as far as he could handle. “Steve!” Eddie gasped, leaning out of the kiss and looking up at him, terrified.

“You okay?” Steve asked, lifting himself to arm's length over Eddie.

“Ye—yeah,” Eddie sighed, pulling himself out from under Steve. “I just…” He glanced over Steve’s concerned face. “I need a drink.”

Steve chuckled and sat up, letting Eddie get off the bed and walk over to the six-pack. He watched him pick up the cardboard carrier and set it on the end table, sitting heavily on the bed. He pulled one out and stared at it in shock.

“What’s up?” Steve asked with his brows furrowed.

“Whoops,” Eddie chuckled. “I thought I grabbed a pack of those cheap-ass dyed beers. Turns out someone swapped them out for Guinness.” He held up the bottle as proof.

“Shit,” Steve laughed.

Eddie shrugged and placed his hand over the top of the bottle, and popped it open.

Steve furrowed his brow, confused how Eddie managed that without a bottle opener. “How’d you do that?”

Eddie looked over at him mid-chug. He removed the bottle from his mouth with a gasp. “I used the back of my ring.” He turned his hand around and ran his thumb over the ring on his middle finger. He took another long drink. “Damn, it’s rare for me to get the good shit,” He said as he stared at the bottle in his hand.

“Maybe it is your lucky day,” Steve smirked.

Eddie leaned back on his hand and smiled at Steve. “I do have you in my bed, don’t I?”

Steve crawled up behind Eddie and ran his hands over his shoulders, receiving a sigh. “Then why did you run away just before I got to the good part?” He pushed Eddie’s hair aside and kissed his neck.

Eddie gripped the mostly empty bottle in his hand, shuddering at the foreign sensation. “Can you blame me for being nervous?” He downed the last of the beer and set it on the end table, sighing as Steve kissed over his bare shoulder.

Steve chuckled and stroked Eddie’s biceps. “You really are a virgin, aren’t you?”

“You mocking me, Harrington?” Eddie asked in offense, picking up another bottle and popping the cap with the back of his ring.

“I’m not the one running away from a blowjob.”

Eddie choked on his beer. “What!?” he snapped through his coughing fit.

“You said I could do what I want.” Steve smirked as Eddie caught his breath and looked at him in disbelief.

“And that’s what you—” a cough interrupted him. “That’s what you want?”

Steve smiled and stared at his lips. A few drops of beer clung to them from his coughing fit. He shrugged. When Eddie licked his lips, it snapped his attention away. “I’ve gotten so many. I’m curious what it’s like to give one.”

“Seriously?” Eddie skeptically looked at Steve’s coy face.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Why? Is that weird?”

Eddie raised his eyebrow at him and took a quick drink before tentatively saying, “I feel like you should find it weird.”

Steve shook his head in amusement. “Eddie.” He tilted his head to the side with a gentle smile. “I don’t care that you’re a man.”

“I have a hard time believing that.” He squinted at him from the corner of his eyes as he chugged a portion of his beer.

“I guess I’ll just have to prove it,” Steve said smoothly.

Eddie chugged faster, finishing the beer just in time for Steve to take the empty bottle from him. He watched Steve reach across him to set it on the end table before turning back and pressing into a kiss, shoving his tongue through their lips. The Guinness blended oddly well with him. Eddie sighed and placed a hand on Steve's waist, gripping it gently as he leaned in.

He gasped as Steve ran a palm up his chest, caressing and massaging as he explored. A small laugh was forced from Eddie at Steve's fingertips inadvertently tickling his stomach. Steve smiled and enjoyed feeling the muscles flex under his hand. He almost wanted to tickle him more, but decided to stay goal-oriented.

Eddie's eyes popped open, and he nearly shouted when Steve shoved his hand into the open velvet dress pants. He put more force into the kiss and gripped Steve's side tightly. The arm he was using to support himself trembled, and his fingers dug into the blanket as Steve started stroking his dick over his boxers. Ungracefully, Eddie moved the hand from Steve's waist to the back of his neck, pulling their faces closer. As embarrassing as it was, he was unable to stop his hips from moving.

Steve gently bit Eddie's upper lip as he slid his hand into his underwear and pulled out the erection. He enjoyed Eddie's shuddered moan and tightened grip on his hair. He increased Eddie's volume by gripping him tightly and pumping a few fast strokes.

Eddie gasped as Steve stood and removed the hand from his pants. He looked up at him and watched as he moved to stand between his legs. He huffed when he saw the bulge in Steve’s pants nearly at eye level, swallowing at the lewd thoughts that crossed his mind.

Steve swept his foot over the rust-colored carpet, pushing a Heavy Metal magazine, an empty cigarette pack, and a crushed beer can out of the way of his knees. Eddie’s eyes widened in complete disbelief at Steve kneeling in front of him. This is actually happening. He flinched when Steve placed his hands on his knees and ran them up the dark velvet. The silly pants took Eddie out of it.

“Can I at least take the rest of the costume off first?” He glanced to the side, having a hard time meeting Steve’s lustful gaze.

“Sure,” Steve chuckled and beat Eddie to the belt of the pants. He kissed over his stomach as he pulled the pants down, boxers included. He enjoyed the erratic flexing of Eddie’s abs under his lips and his soft, involuntary laughs.

Eddie took a deep breath and leaned back on his hands, lifting his hips so Steve could strip him. He tried not to think too hard about the fact that it was Steve that was stripping him and just wished the booze would kick in already. He didn’t want to be drunk; he just didn’t want to be able to think so clearly. Everything Steve did was anxiety-inducing, mainly because all of it was new. Every kiss, every touch, every glance… it was all unfamiliar and overwhelming.

When Steve wasn’t looking at him, he wanted to take every ounce of affection Steve offered and even give it in return, but as soon as those large brown puppy eyes met his, he wanted to turn invisible and run away. Was he allowed to react? Was it okay for him to touch Steve in the ways he wanted to? His heart punched him in the chest when Steve looked up at him. The desire to disappear crept back in.

Eddie’s nervous expression wasn’t one Steve was unfamiliar with. Most of the women he’d slept with were virgins. Were. So, he assumed Eddie’s anxiety was similar. What threw him off, though, was that he wasn’t sure the usual tricks would work on a man. The idea of calling him beautiful and treating him like he would break at the slightest misstep felt weird. He didn’t really know how to treat a man in this situation. He continued pulling down Eddie’s pants as he thought, finding it weird that he didn’t find it weird to be staring at a dick less than a foot from his face. He assumed Eddie’s nerves really had a hold on him, as he wasn’t very hard, far from flaccid, but far from erect as well. He tried to think of what to do as he pulled Eddie’s buckled black dress shoes off, followed by his pants.

Steve looked gorgeous as he undressed him. Eddie watched his bare arms and back flex with his every motion. After Steve tossed aside the pants and shoes, the only article of clothing left was the knee-high white socks. Steve stared up at him as he ran his hands up his shins until they were on his knees. Eddie swallowed and watched Steve wrap both hands around one calf, pressing his chest seductively to his shin, keeping a pleading look in his eyes as he wrapped his fingers around the top elastic of the sock. He maintained eye contact and kissed Eddie’s knee. Little by little, he pulled the sock down, kissing his leg as it was exposed.

Eddie raised his eyebrow at the strange, yet still very attractive sight. Steve made his way to Eddie’s ankle and pulled the sock over his heel, kissing his way onto the top of his foot. He grunted when the foot he’d just released from the sock was pressed against his face, pushing him away.

“Dude!” Eddie snapped. “Don’t kiss my fucking feet, that’s gross.”

“Then can you get it off my face?” His voice was muffled by the foot on his cheek. Eddie removed his foot and grimaced at the thought. Steve chuckled and shrugged. “Some women like it.”

“I’m not a woman…” Eddie said simply as he let Steve take the other sock off normally.

“You don’t say?” Steve said sarcastically, pressing his hand on Eddie’s mostly limp dick, getting a gasp, a full body tense, and a strong flex of the cock under his palm.

Eddie looked down at Steve’s unfazed expression. “You really don’t care, do you?” His breath had already started to get heavier.

“No, not really.” He wrapped his hand around the dick and started stroking, enjoying the feeling of it swelling in his palm and Eddie sighing in pleasure.

Steve being so casual about it helped calm Eddie a little, even if he had a hard time wrapping his mind around the situation. Which could be, at least partially, due to the blood rapidly leaving his brain. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, losing himself in the feeling of Steve’s soft hand. He panted softly. At least this time, he felt like he would last a little longer. That idea flipped on its head as soon as Eddie felt Steve lick up the shaft. “Fuck!” he shouted and looked down to see Steve smiling up at him from under his dick, mouth open and tongue out.

Steve chuckled. “Why so shocked? I told you I wanted to blow you.”

“I just…” he panted. “I can’t believe you were serious.”

Steve kept his eyes locked on Eddie’s as he dramatically licked from the base to the head. The only thing that prevented Eddie from going cross-eyed at the foreign feeling was his desire to watch Steve in this once-in-a-lifetime position. He wanted to take in every detail of Steve’s expression, the way his cheeks had flushed a deeper pink, same with his lips, the way his eyes seemed to dilate and gain an unfocused appearance, and the way his dense, warm breath flowed over his cock. It was a sight he’d dreamed about, but seeing the real thing was something else entirely. He shifted all of his weight to one hand and risked running his hand through Steve’s thick hair. Steve’s faint hum at the contact vibrated through his dick, making him groan softly. A fog started clouding his mind. Now the beer kicks in.

The feeling of a dick on his tongue was far more enjoyable than Steve expected. It was unrealistically soft, especially the head. It was an attractive warmth, and there was an indescribable scent that made his head spin. Is this what the women he’d been with experienced? He licked his lips and lined them up with the head of Eddie’s dick. He continued to stroke the shaft as he pressed his lips against it. His heart raced as he parted them and lowered his mouth onto it. Eddie groaned loudly and tightened his grip on his hair. Steve felt an electricity on his skin at the feeling of the dick flexing against his tongue.

It took everything Eddie had to not push on Steve’s head. The feeling of his warm mouth was insane as it gently sucked on him. He knew blowjobs had to feel good, but this was otherworldly and beyond anything he could have imagined. He caught himself trying to push on Steve again and took his hand off of his head, putting it back on the bed to support himself. His whole body broke out in goosebumps when Steve looked up at him. Damn, he looks good with a dick in his mouth… With my dick in his… Eddie felt dizzy just from the thought, let alone actually experiencing it. He was irritated that he wasn’t going to last much longer. He didn’t want it to end so soon.

Steve closed his eyes and indulged in letting himself enjoy blowing Eddie. The feeling of it gliding over his tongue, filling his mouth, and teasing the back of his throat was almost addicting. He flinched when he felt a quiver up the underside. Was he close? He increased his suction and speed, gripping the base a little tighter. Eddie’s panting and moaning got louder. He could tell Eddie was holding back, thrusting his hips. A part of him wished he wouldn’t.

Eddie gripped the blanket under his hands and panted as he watched Steve through hooded eyes. “Shit,” he hissed when he felt a surge of warmth. “Steve, I—”

Steve glanced up at his name. As soon as their eyes met, Eddie groaned loudly and rolled his eyes up, twisting the blanket in his hands. Steve grunted in shock when he felt a flood of cum fill his mouth. He pulled back, and the rest hit him in the face. Eddie took a deep relieved breath and froze when he saw the mess he’d made of Steve, who was sitting there with his mouth open, cheeks, lips, and chin covered in cum, his cum. He huffed as a bit dripped from Steve’s lip and onto his chest.

The feeling and flavor of the cum in his mouth was beyond nasty, making Steve gag. He looked around for anything to spit into and grabbed the empty cigarette box he pushed aside. Quickly, he spat the semen out into the carton. “Fuck, that’s gross!” He spat into it again. “I think I’ll take one of those beers now.”

Eddie shook off his daze and grabbed one of the bottles, popping it open with his ring, and handed it to Steve, who took it and chugged. Eddie watched in awe as some of his cum dripped down Steve’s neck and onto his collarbone.

Steve gasped as he removed the bottle from his mouth. “No wonder women never want to swallow that shit.” He wiped his arm over his mouth and cringed when he smeared cum over it. “Where’s your bathroom?” he groaned as he stood.

Eddie swallowed, just realizing he was staring with his mouth open. “Uh, yeah.” He shook his head and stood, pointing toward his door. “First door on the left.”

“Thanks,” he grunted in disgust.

Eddie’s heart punched him when he saw the bulge in Steve’s pants with a small, dark, wet spot near the head of his dick. As soon as Steve left the room, Eddie fell back onto his bed and stared blankly at his ceiling.

Not only had he just gotten his first blowjob, but it was by Steve Harrington, the last person he ever would have expected to be okay with it. His head spun, recalling the image of Steve’s face painted with his semen. It was an image he hoped would burn itself into his brain, and he knew for a fact he’d be using that memory in the future. Slowly, he came down from the afterglow and sat up. He pulled the pair of black and red plaid boxers out from under the leprechaun pants and slid them on. With a stretch, he walked toward his open door, jumping when he met up with Steve, his face now cum free.

“Uh,” Eddie gasped. “I was going to grab some water. Want anything?”

Steve stared at Eddie’s face, eyes lingering on his lips. “Got anything flavored?”

Eddie stepped back to let Steve into his room as he thought. “We might have some Coke or something.”

Steve nodded and entered the room. He scanned Eddie’s body and watched him walk down the hall before turning his attention to looking around the cluttered room, his eyes landing on a pile of cassettes. He grabbed the half-empty beer and walked over to them, passively sipping what was left as he flipped through the tapes. There wasn’t much he really recognized. He’d heard of a few of the bands, but most of them were completely foreign to him. He set the empty beer bottle on the desk and held up a cassette for some band named ‘Black ‘N Blue’. Based on the album cover, he honestly couldn't tell if half of the band were women or not.

“Hey,” Eddie called from the doorway, getting Steve to look over at him. “Catch.” He tossed a can of soda at him.

“Thanks,” Steve caught it, trying not to shake it too much.

“Feel free to throw something on if you want to,” he offered as he sat on the edge of the bed, cracking open a bottle of water.

Steve set the cassette down and sat next to him, carefully opening the soda can, letting it hiss out before opening it all the way. “I don’t even know most of those.”

Eddie took a long drink, leaning back. Steve stared at Eddie’s exposed chest stretching as he drank. With a gasp for breath, Eddie sat up and chuckled. “Let me guess, you’re a top 40 listener?”

“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?” He took a quick drink, the flavor of the cum was almost gone. “Top 40 just means they’re the best current songs.”

“I would strongly disagree.” Eddie hoisted himself to his feet and finished off the water, tossing the crushed bottle wherever it landed. “Just because the masses like something, doesn't make it good.” He knelt in front of an unorganized pile of cassettes under his desk. “Let's see,” he sang as he looked through the pile. “Something a pop-tart would like…” He said to himself, but just loud enough for Steve to hear.

Steve squinted at him mid-drink. “Pop-tart?”

Eddie chuckled and stood, holding a cassette in his hand. “My personal name for those that listen to that trash.”

“What’s wrong with pop music?” He defended.

“It’s objectively bad.” He shrugged with a smirk. “In my opinion, anyway,” he added quickly.

“Wha—” Steve knew there was something off about that statement but couldn’t pinpoint it and got stuck mid-word with his brows furrowed.

Eddie smiled at his ditzy expression as he took the album ‘Van Halen’ out of its case. “I have a feeling you’ll like some of these.” He held the tape between his fingers in display before putting it in the stereo on his cluttered desk and pressing play. He adjusted the volume so they could still hear each other over it. When the guitars started, Eddie spun and mimed playing along as he walked up to Steve.

Steve glanced around the room, noticing the multitude of guitars. “So, you actually do play.”

“What, did you think I lied?” He stopped at Steve’s feet and dropped his arms.

“I just don’t know many people that do.” Steve’s eyes scanned up Eddie’s slender body until they landed on his smirk.

Eddie stared down at him and gently gripped the can in Steve’s hand. “You done with this, good sir?”

“Yeah…” Something about Eddie towering over him was very distracting.

Eddie took the can from his loose hand and finished off the last sip before tossing it aside and straddling Steve’s lap, grinning when he noticed Steve tense and breathing speed pickup. He draped his arms over Steve’s shoulders and leaned close. “Now, I believe there’s something I owe you.” He pressed their lips together, sighing when he felt Steve’s cool hands touch his waist.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Steve laughed.

“Oh, but I do,” he cooed.

“Really, I only did it because I wanted to. You don’t have—” He gasped as Eddie shoved his tongue through his lips and moved a hand to his groin.

Eddie smiled as he felt a reaction to his touch from under Steve’s jeans. “Steve,” he panted, staring into his eyes. “I’m going to blow you.” He rubbed his palm over the growing bulge in Steve’s pants, pleased to feel his words make it jump in size.

“I… okay.”

There was a strange meekness to Steve that made Eddie want to exploit it, but decided against it. “Then scoot your fine ass back and lay down.” Having familiar music helped his confidence and calmed his nerves. Steve had already blown him. He’d made it obvious he at least wanted him physically, so why not take advantage of it? Why deny himself the luxury when it was literally being handed to him?

“Uh,” Steve swallowed and stared at Eddie. There was a new, more intense presence from him. It was almost as if he was a new man. He did as requested and pushed himself further back on the bed and laid down. There was a faint scent of cigarettes with an undertone of sweat that came off of his messy blankets and to Steve’s surprise, he kind of liked it.

Eddie smiled at Steve doing as he asked. When he crawled over him, Steve propped himself up on an elbow and met Eddie’s mouth, melting as their tongues intertwined. Steve gasped when he felt Eddie’s hand press to his groin and rub. They both leaned more into the kiss, Eddie more than Steve, pushing him back down onto the bed. Eddie messily broke the kiss and sat up, straddling Steve’s lap. He ran his hands up Steve’s chest, indulging in the soft skin and the feeling of Steve’s heavy breaths under his palms.

A bubble of anxiety grew in Eddie’s chest as he slid his hands closer to Steve’s hips. He was about to suck a dick, and not just any, but the one belonging to the man he's craved for years. He took a deep breath and pushed himself back so he was sitting on Steve’s thighs. He made quick work of the belt, button, and zipper in his way. First hurdle down. He slid Steve’s pants over his hips and stared at the trapped partial erection. He ran his hand over it, feeling it respond to his touch with a flex and increase in size.

When he took it out, his mouth watered, finally able to get a clear look at Steve’s dick. It was just as large as he thought it was. He smiled at the twin freckles under the head that almost matched the pair on his cheek. He gave it a gentle stroke, coaxing a groan from Steve. Eddie took one final look at the spread in front of him before pushing himself between Steve’s legs and lying on his stomach in front of him. He felt an embarrassment well up as Steve propped himself on an elbow to get a better look.

Eddie flashed him a nervous smile and pressed his lips to the side of it. It was warm and incredibly soft. His mind started to cloud as he ran his lips up the shaft and back. Steve’s aroma was intoxicating, and the soft, growl-like sound he made when Eddie licked up his shaft was better than any drug. He slid the head of Steve’s dick between his lips. The size of it almost filled his mouth to its capacity. He gasped around it when he felt Steve gently toy with his hair.

Watching someone on his dick was far from a new experience for Steve, but something about this time was different. It could be because it was a man, or it could be because it was Eddie. Regardless, it was a sight he wished he could capture on film. When their eyes met, they both froze, and Steve felt a wave of goosebumps on his arms. Eddie’s eyes were shockingly beautiful, especially at this angle. Thinking of a man as beautiful was a foreign thing for Steve, but it didn’t feel wrong. He found Eddie very attractive, and there was no point in denying that.

The passive toying of his hair slightly tickled his scalp as he slowly bobbed his head on Steve’s dick. Every texture was amazing and soft. The occasional hint of salt from his pre-cum was proof that Steve was enjoying it. That and his soft panting. His volume did make Eddie insecure. He worried that he wasn’t good enough. He tried to think about what Steve had done to him. He’d stroked the base with his hand. Eddie replicated that, getting a small groan of approval. Steve also focused a lot on his head. Eddie twirled his tongue around the stupidly soft cap of his dick. The hand in his hair gripped involuntarily, accompanied by a deep grunt.

With those little tidbits confirmed as Steve’s preferences, Eddie increased his suction and pushed the dick as far to the back of his throat as he could comfortably go. He made sure to grip the base firmly and follow his lips with his hand. Steve’s hand gently rested on the back of his head, not pushing or guiding, just a passive acknowledgment. As he pulled up, he flicked his tongue under the ridge of the head. If his mouth wasn’t full, he’d smirk at the twitch of Steve’s hand in response. The slickness of his saliva built up under his hand, allowing him to more confidently pick up his pace.

Steve groaned and gripped Eddie’s hair at the increase in intensity. Even knowing this was Eddie’s first time giving a blowjob, it was still better than most. If he deep-throated him, it would quickly be the best. With Eddie also being a man, he knew where to focus and where to apply pressure. He couldn’t call him skilled, but he knew what he was doing. He watched Eddie bob on his cock, eyes closed, cheeks flushed and concave from the suction. It was a sight that helped urge him closer to orgasm.

Eddie didn’t care that his jaw was getting tired. If anything, the stiffness was just another layer of validation. He’d been high on so many substances, but so far, this was the best. Nothing else existed except him and what he was touching. For all his mind cared, they were on his bed amidst a void. He groaned around Steve’s dick when he felt the hand on the back of his head gently urge him deeper. Eddie took in as much of Steve as he could and applied a strong suction, dancing his tongue around any surface it could reach.

Steve’s moans had to be his new favorite song. He could listen to them on repeat forever. If only he’d thought to set up a recording. He nearly lost it when he felt Steve start vaguely thrusting his hips. The feeling of the smooth, slick cock rubbing over his tongue and lips was mind-numbing. Even the sting of his split lip wasn't enough to distract him. He opened his eyes to look at Steve and shuddered a breath when he saw him laying back with his other hand running through his own hair. There was no denying it, Steve was enjoying himself. A wave of confidence flooded Eddie, and he began sucking with new vigor. Steve grunted loudly as Eddie put his all into blowing him.

“Fu—” Steve hissed. “Eddie,” he gasped. “I’m almost.” He moaned loudly and gripped Eddie’s hair tightly as Eddie only increased his enthusiasm.

There was no way Eddie was going to miss the chance to take Steve’s load in his mouth. He didn’t care how gross it was going to be. He’d tasted his own out of curiosity and pretty much knew what to expect. He fought against Steve’s tight grip on his hair to suck his dick with everything he had. A faint shudder up the base of Steve’s dick filled Eddie with excited anxiety. After just a couple more plunges into his mouth, Steve moaned, his voice ringing clear over the sound of the music. Eddie felt Steve press on his head and the warm, thick fluid flooded his mouth. It was one of the nastiest things he’d ever felt, and he loved every second of it.

Steve looked down at Eddie, who was gently sucking, coaxing every last drop out of him. After knowing what it was like, he had no idea how Eddie could stand having it sitting in his mouth like that. He coughed when Eddie met his eyes and swallowed with the dick still in his mouth. Fuck, that was hot.

Once Eddie was certain he’d bled him dry, he took all of Steve’s softening dick in his mouth and sucked firmly as he slowly slid it out. He enjoyed Steve squirming at the sensitivity. He couldn’t help but smirk at Steve’s gasp as it popped out of his mouth. They were both panting and flushed as they stared at each other.

Steve gave an impressed huff and shook his head. “I don’t know how you could swallow that shit.”

Eddie grinned and shrugged. “I like gross things.”

Steve pushed himself into a sitting position but was quickly tackled back to the bed by Eddie pouncing on him and forcing their mouths together. He fought back. Tasting himself on Eddie’s tongue was just as gross as it was when women did it. The main difference was that he could wrestle with Eddie, something he couldn’t do with women. He flipped them over, confident he was stronger than Eddie, and pulled out of the kiss, holding Eddie’s wrists to the bed below. Eddie’s bright-eyed mischievous expression made Steve laugh and drop all urge to fight. He shook his head and fell on the bed beside him.

Steve turned his head to see Eddie already staring back. He smiled at him and pulled his pants up, but left the belt undone. He didn’t know what to say after that, his mind was still clouded by the high. Eddie said something, but he didn’t catch it. “What?” he asked, turning back to face him.

Eddie propped himself up on his elbow and placed a hand on Steve’s chest. “I asked if you wanted a smoke.”

“Oh.” Steve shook his head. “Yeah…” he said with a distance in his voice. “Yeah,” there was more certainty in his voice that time. “Sure.”

Eddie reached across Steve, putting his chest over his face. Steve swallowed as he stared at the smooth tattooed skin, resisting the urge to lick the nipple that was barely an inch from his lips. When Eddie pulled back, Steve sat up and took the stick offered to him. Eddie lit his own, puffing smoke around the filter before holding the light out to Steve, who leaned into it and inhaled a cherry onto his own cigarette. Eddie lifted his thumb from the cheap lighter, letting the flame die off, and tossed it onto his desk near the stereo. The pack of cigarettes was soon to follow. He took a deep inhale of the smoke and sighed it out. “Hmm,” he hummed, impressed. “I guess there is something to the smoking after sex trope. Tastes better than usual.” He held the cigarette out in front of him, examining it.

Steve chuckled, vaguely coughing on the smoke. “Is that why you wanted to?”

“At least partially, yeah.” He smiled at Steve and fell back onto his bed, holding the cigarette between his teeth as he smoked it hands-free.

Steve looked down at Eddie as he smoked his own. “It does taste better, doesn’t it?” He smirked, receiving one from Eddie in return.

Eddie gazed up at him and put an arm under his head as a pillow, taking an extra deep drag and removing the cigarette from his mouth as he heavily sighed the smoke from his lungs and stared at the ceiling. “I’m guessing you want to act like this never happened.”

Steve winced. It was obvious that it bothered Eddie, but he just wasn’t comfortable with others knowing. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely.

Eddie shrugged and took another hit before responding. “I figured as much.” He wasn’t able to meet Steve’s eyes. He knew it was going to happen, but it didn’t lessen the sting by all that much.

A soft smile spread across Steve’s face. He rested the cigarette on the edge of the ashtray on Eddie’s end table and turned to face him. He gently ran his fingers up Eddie’s chest, getting him to tense and take a deeper inhale than he intended. “Is being my little secret such a bad thing?”

Eddie’s laugh was accompanied by a plume of smoke from his mouth. “Does that mean you don’t want this to be the last?”

“I didn’t want Valentine’s to be our last, so of course I don’t want this to be, either.” He gently gripped the forearm of the hand that was holding Eddie’s cigarette and leaned into a kiss. He sighed when he felt Eddie’s hand slide into his hair and his tongue into his mouth. The flavor of tobacco overpowered that of the cum, but it was still vaguely present.

When Steve pulled away, Eddie huffed a small laugh and glanced anywhere but Steve’s face, knowing for a fact that he was blushing. “Still got my number?”

“Uh huh,” Steve acknowledged, smirking at Eddie’s shy expression.

Eddie swallowed and glanced back up at him. “Then you know where to find me.”

“I’ll be sure to use it.” He pet Eddie’s hair and pressed their lips together again.

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[stwolfhardimaginez]

~ in which heather o’reily moves to nueva york from California After a series of unfortunate events. Tw: violence, swearing, angst, nsfw, sexual assault and or talks of it, also age gap!

The sound of my pen tapping against my notebook, grounded me as i zoned out all the other chatter in the classroom, waiting for the professor to get here. I shamefully eavesdropped in on hearing the two girls with curly blonde hair and baby pink bows tied into their half up- half down hair styles.

I looked down at my watch, 7:45AM. When did they have the time to do their hair? I barely made it here on time.

I overheard their conversation, "I purposely failed just to see his face again, i wished at 11:11 last night he'll make eye contact with me." I overheard one of the girls say as the other giggled, "Dania, you're bad.. to do all that." She laughed in her valley girl accent.

I laughed to myself, I heard the door shut as i heard heavy footsteps quickly pass me as a tall man, probably bout 6'9 walked to the front of the classroom, wearing tight black dress pants with a baby blue dress shirt tucked in, he turned around so he was facing us, the first couple buttons not buttoned, his dark curly chest hair peeking out. He had gold chains dangling down his neck, i took a note of it. I don't blame the girls for how attractive he was.

He was like a Greek god that just came right out of a Greek mythology book, I thought to myself.

My eyes scanned up to travel over his olive skinned face, his curly hair framed his face, his brown eyes scanning the classroom, lastly making eye contact with me, my heartbeat speeding up.

"Good morning, I am Miguel O'Hara, you will address me as Mr. O'Hara. I will be your professor for the duration of this course. A few things to start off with, I don't want any slackers in my class, You are expected to be here on time, ready to learn. This is Academic Biochem not Kindergarten. You guys are all adults anyway." He trailed off, he had a very strong rich Mexican accent that every word he said, the accent dropped off the words.. it was making me feel things. Outrageous things.

"Questions?" He continued, as i blinked, not daring to put my hand up, zoning out as i thought about anything other than this.

The bell ringing made all the students get up like the classroom was on fire, i took my time, putting my belongings in my bag. I walked up to his desk that was in the left side of the classroom, wiping my sweaty palms on my skirt, hoping he wouldn't notice.

"Hi, I'm Heather O'Reily, i was just wondering if you offer tutor sessions?" I ask as he blinks at me, walking closer to me. "Are you not confident in passing this class?" He asked bluntly. Taking me by surprise. He was attractive but an asshole, the worst combo.

"I-I am, just wanna be sure. You know." I said as he looked down at me with hooded eyes. "You sure? You don't seem to confident in that answer." He said as i took a deep breath.

"It's a yes or no question, if you don't offer it, just say that." I said rolling my eyes, losing my temper "Forget it anyway." I finished as I turned away and stormed out of the classroom. Part of me embarrassed i walked up to him and even asked him that, i felt my face got hot from the embarrassment.

A new town, new school and making new friends was fine to me but a dickhead professor was not what I wanted in my cards.

In my own thoughts i didn't even wanna think about seeing his smug face tomorrow, it bothered me how attracted I was to him, a pretty face but an ugly personality.

As I walked out of the classroom, I walked straight to the main office, in an attempt to switch to a different Academic Bio Chem class without him.

"I'm very sorry but you are not able to switch out, all other classes are full... you'll have to wait." The lady wearing big red framed glasses over her eyes said, i huffed. "Alright.. Thanks for your time," I mumbled.

I left the office as I kept my eyes down on my shoes as I made it out of the learning hall.. on my way to my apartment ~ I just moved to Nueva York from California.. it was very different from what I was used to.. but sudden changes turn to having to adapt to whatever you can, specially your mother dying and the next step is finding a place to live. I wanted a new start and always thought about living here, something always attracted me to here, so i impulsively packed up all my stuff, flew over and went to an animal shelter and bought a cat... to keep me sane when all else fails :,) .

Walking down the sidewalk as I left, I thought about how rude and dismissive Mr O'Hara was to me, I just wanted extra help and he was so ignorant... no wonder all the girls-

I heard a loud car drive by me than screech on their brakes, it was a black bmw matte paint job covered over it. That must've been expensive, they backed up. Why are they backing up? Great I'm gonna be kidnapped.

The driver is now right beside me as I try not to look and keep walking.. "You must be cold," I heard the familiar voice of Mr. O'Hara.

Just great.

[thelostrainbowthenovel]

TLR Fashion Posts: Meredith Alagona

Here is another fashion post I wanted to make, this time focusing on Meredith! I have honestly been wanting to make one of these for her for a while too, since I always had a general idea of her style but never explored it that much, besides changing it when I updated her character a while ago. This was one was particularly a fun challenge to try and look up inspiration references for, and I hope you enjoy! :3

(Her brother's: Brooke)

================================================

Meredith's style for a majority of her life was very classy and modest, not showing too much skin or drawing unwanted attention to herself. She dressed this way mainly because she had to under her mother's household and Mareas' culture, and for a long time she did not dare experiment with her style or dressing in ways that would have people making disapproving remarks of. Though, after she turned 18 and was given a little more freedom, she has been having fun exploring more of a relaxing, comfy and slightly revealing style. Has a lot of off-the-shoulder-style tops, ranging in length and sleeve-length, though she particularly likes cropped ones that can show off her navel piercing and lower-back tattoo. A few sleeve-less tops and short-shorts for warmer weather, flowy and baggy pants often in matching sets with her tops, more fitted pants when spending a fun night out, long flowing skirts that open up a little or have slits on the sides, shorter sarong-wrap skirts, strappy and revealing maxi-dresses, long cardigans, lace bralette tops, front-tie shirts, strappy halter tank-tops, short flowy sundresses, loose and comfy capris, and just basically anything that gives off a "fun day at the beach" aesthetic. She still dresses more conservatively when in council meetings or spending time with her family at home, but when she gets the chance to by herself or when out-and-about, she just likes to feel comfy and cute with her clothes. Has a decent-size shoe collection, which mostly consist of open-toe and sparkly silver wedges or short heels, but she does have an array of other sandals too for when going to the beach or just to wear casually around the palace.

For colors, she sticks mainly with a cool and neutral pallate. Blue makes up most of her clothes, with her preferring more lighter and pastel shades, but she does have a few pieces in dark blue. Also has a lot of pieces in silver or gray, with her preferring lighter, silver-gray or light bluish-gray shades. For other colors, she has some clothes in lighter turquoise, teal, or green-blue shades, and never anything in pure black or warmer hues. As white is the primary color for important royal events or other ceremonies in her kingdom(with secondary colors kept to a minimum and not the focus), she has a lot of pieces and formal gowns in that color, but in her casual wear she likes to keep it as only an accent color. As a royal, a lot of her clothes have been designed with and by the palace designers so they are of high-quality and material, but she enjoys going shopping for her clothes in her casual outfits, so a lot of them have been bought from stores around Aquarin as well. Most of her clothes are solid-color, but she does like stripes, oceans, or other beach-motifs for her casual clothes, and does like skirts and dresses that have ombre effects to them.

For accessories, she does tend to wear a few of them at once, but for the most part she will only add them on for royal or other formal events. They are all either plain silver or diamonds, but she does have quite a few with blue or turquoise gems. Long, drop necklaces, simple, dangly earrings often in a water droplet shape, simple silver bracelets, and rings, ranging from simple silver or diamond ones, but her engagement ring is a little more extravagant. Has a few ear piercings but usually wears simple diamond studs aside from her dangly earrings, but also likes dangly jewelry for her navel piercing. Usually has some sort of hair accessory on, which most of the time is water-drop tiaras, decorative and fancy hairbands, or one wide-brim sunhat for days at the boardwalk or beach. Some of her oldest accessories include black and brown tie bracelets or anklets, that she made with her brother Brooke when they were younger, done with blue and green beads and seashells that they collected at the beach during vacations.

For her hair, it is naturally wavy and very long, as she does like to have more of it to style. She wears it in a ponytail on a daily basis, but she will wear it down or in messy twin braids on her days off, and she does like styling it in fancy, braided updos for royal or formal events, sometimes styling her bangs back and out of her face depending on the occasion. She does also enjoy wearing makeup, but she keeps it light on a daily basis. Her usually look consists of mascara, light or pastel eyeshadows, and lip-gloss in light pink or red, but she will go for more fancy or glam looks for those royal/formal events. Enjoys having her nails done and loves going with her brother to the salon to get theirs done together, with her preferring to keep hers short and painted with bright blue shades or fun ocean designs. Not super big into wearing perfume, but she does have some fragrance mists in light, tropical scents.

- Some inspirations:

[whimsical-roasting]

I hung out with an elderly friend today... An old man who reminds me of loneliness and connection at the same time. I made some excuse to show up at his house - a small one on an acreage - tiramisu and lamington in hand. "Just thought sharing was caring, and I was in the area," I justified. "'M just cooking dinner, love, come up," he responded. I mentally counted my luck; it was the first time I had been invited upstairs. I think I'm at an age where I keep looking for subtle intimacy, eyes desperately searching all interactions like a game of Where's Waldo. The intimacy of being known and knowing. I pocket those moments and pray this jacket has no holes.

"If you complain about the mess, you're cleaning it," he joked. I chuckled a little louder than usual, making sure he heard me. I wonder how much he can understand me at times... We're both fluent in English, but I think my style of speech is faster than his…my 'American' accent feels oddly present. I feel the words coat my tongue like honey - thick and sweet, but thick. His eyes always search my face after I speak, as though his mind is trying to catch the words floating up into the air between us. I've settled for listening. And laughing. I muster my warmest giggles and use the muscles in my face to mime expressions that I hope convey what my words would have. 

My eyes jumped from one spot to another as I stepped in. Frog knickknacks on the counter, dog food, papers, coats of dust and cobwebs, a microwave next to the fridge, cut-up broccoli for the dinner I had interrupted, photo frames, and more frogs. "Awh, should've kept your shoes on. Your socks'll get wrecked." My eyes dropped to the floor, bringing out a smile. "Nothing a wash can't fix." But part of me hopes it doesn’t. Part of me hopes these white socks remember the dust of a house being lived in long after we've forgotten. It's a cluttered home, but I love it. He calls it junk; I call it loved. There's dust on so many untouched things; I wonder if their history haunts him. The look on his face as he tells me about all these items, confirms it does. History haunts us all, I guess. The lamp on the floor by the dining table reminds me of being 8 years old. I remember burning my fingers on the glass panels of a similar lamp. They stopped making models like those years ago. 

"My wife loved frogs," he confessed. That explained all the green antiques I spotted around. "My mum loves turtles," I offered him. The intimacy of being known and knowing. I find out he has a vintage crystal trinket set from some castle in England. Old photos show me that mutton chops were his preference of beard back in the day. His basement houses a pile of used chequebooks from 1960 and a hand-painted chest from the war. "What's your favourite animal?" I asked, eager to imagine a different species lining the corners of his home. Regardless of his answer, my eyes spotted some free space on his fridge, and I think to myself, 'an owl magnet would go there nicely.'

At times, I question my heart. I berate its desire for love and connection. I think how stupid it is to find every interaction so meaningful you could cry at how humans were meant to be around one another... I wonder if others can see the glow in my chest when we talk. I wonder if that glow passes to them once I've left. I'm sure it'll fade out til we need to fill our cups again, but I hope that old man's house glows a little. I hope there's a soft glow lingering around the spots that haunt him. I hope it lingers by the sink and the armchairs. I hope it follows him this winter. Or at least until I find an owl magnet and another excuse to visit.

[vintagestarlight]

Tis The Season

Summary: John helps you decorate the house for Christmas

Pairing: John Price x wife!reader

Word Count:

Warnings: none just fluff :)

A/n: here is my first ever fic for our man John Price! I really hope you enjoy this :) if you have any requests please send them my way I love writing for these boys! As always be aware of typos! Feedback is always appreciated :)

John fiddled with the lock on his front door, juggling his duffel bag and the bouquet of flowers he had gotten for you. He slid the key into the lock and heard it click before stepping inside and locking the door behind him. John toed off his shoes knowing you don't like shoes on in the house. He tossed his keys into the bowl by the front door and his duffel bag made a thump as he dropped it by his shoes. He heard soft Christmas music drifting throughout the home you shared and he smiled to himself.

"Love?" He asked, noticing boxes sitting around his living room and his kitchen bar counter. The boxes had labels that read things like "Christmas lights" and "tree ornaments". "Darlin' I'm home," he called out. He heard a thump coming above him and heard you grunting and he made his way to the attic, seeing the ladder down. He saw your face appear over the side and smile down. "John! You weren't supposed to be home yet!" You said. "Yeah I got done early wanted to come home and surprise you," he said, his thick accent rumbling in his chest. "Did you move the boxes down the ladder by yourself?" He asked.

"Yeah I wanted to get it done before you got here. You weren't supposed to be here for another couple of hours Bear," she said and John caught himself smiling at the little term of endearment you had for him. "Okay well I can help you I don't want you to hurt yourself," John said. "No babe it's okay. Why don't you go shower? I've already laid some fresh clothes on the bed for you," you said, coming down the ladder. "Thank you for the flowers they're beautiful," you added, giving him a peck on the cheek before taking them to put them in a vase. He noticed you were wearing his shirt and boxers and smiled, remembering when he was trying to find that shirt before he left.

John stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped securely around his waist. He noticed the fresh clothes his wife had laid out for him and his heart clenched. Even though it was something so small that people would normally not notice, it meant a lot to him. The fact she had even thought ahead to lay clothes out for him made him love you even more. He slipped on the gray t shirt and gray sweat pants before drying his hair. He made his way to the attic once more and saw you struggling to get the tree down from the attic.

John came up behind you and caged you in his arms as he grabbed onto the tree. You inhaled his sandalwood body wash and for a minute you swayed. "Let's get this tree down dove," he said, his lips dangerously close to your ear. You and John walked down the ladder and finally got the large Christmas tree to the ground. "Is there anything else up there?" He asked. "Just a few more boxes," you said. John went back up the ladder to get the boxes that were still left. "Most of that stuff is for outside Bear," you said, taking a pair of scissors to cut open the box the Christmas tree was kept in. "Can you put up the lights and decorations for outside? There's not much," you said, looking over at your husband. "Yes, ma'am," he said, giving you a kiss on your head and started to move the respective boxes outside.

Half an hour later John had the light and front yard decorated and went back inside the house. He stopped in his tracks when he saw you. You were focused on fluffing the tree and strategically placing different ornaments on the tree. The fireplace crackled, making the house smell pleasant and warm. You almost seemed to glow in the firelight and he almost lost his breath. Your hair cascaded down your back and his clothes had never looked better on someone. He couldn't believe he ended up with someone as perfect as you.

With all the death and terrible things he's sees everyday, it's hard to believe something so wholesome and wonderful ever found it's way into his life. The first few years you two had been dating he didn't believe you would actually stay. Mission after mission he expected to come back to a cold and empty house; a note on the kitchen table saying you couldn't do this anymore and you couldn't wait for him even though you reassured him you weren't going anywhere. But year after year you stayed and he still couldn't believe it. You noticed him in your peripheral and looked over at him and gave him the most wonderful smile; like he was the most important thing in your life and he didn't think he could fall further in love with you but that smile proved him wrong. "What's wrong Bear?" You asked.

"Nothing love," he said with a smile. "Do you want to help me with the tree?" You asked. "Can't think of anything I'd rather do instead," John said. He walked over and grabbed a couple ornaments to lay on a branch. "John?" "Hmm?" John hummed. "Since we don't have any plans for Christmas except with each other," you started. "Yeah?" John said, glancing over at you. "Why don't we invite the rest of your team?" You suggested. "I don't know love I like using my leave to be rid of them," He joked.

"Oh come on John!" You begged. "It's not like we don't have the space and it would be nice to have some company for the holidays," You said, securing an ornament onto a branch. "And besides, I know you joke about wanting to not be around them but I know you care about them," You added. John sighed and picked up another ornament before looking over at you. "This is something you really want?" He asked and you nodded vigorously.

"Okay then I'll get in touch with them tomorrow," he relented. John knew he could never say no to you; you truly had him wrapped around your finger. You squealed and threw your arms around his neck. "Thank you Bear!" You smiled. "You really are an amazing woman love," John said, planting a kiss on your lips. "Now let's get that star ontop of the tree," he said, giving you the star and picking you up by your waist. "I love you John Price," you said once you square on your feet. "I love you too y/n Price,"

[honeysucklewriting]

hi!! could you write some fluffy soap? maybe how he is with y/n after he comes back from work after being away for a while :,) thank you! ily ❤️

Just how much I missed you.

A/N:I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you all think,love Honey

⚠️18+. This post contains acts of sexual nature viewer discretion is advised ⚠️

You had just gotten home, keys in the bowl by the door and shoes stacked neatly on rack, it was odd you hadn’t heard from John all day when he usually at least sends you an “I love you” text just to let you know he’s alive, looking at your phone which you had left open on his message which read “I love you” to which was quickly responded with an “I love you more” which lead to an onslaught of playful bickering about who loves who more and how much and a picture of John smiling next to Simon who held his usual stoic eyes behind his mask. You picked up the phone as you sat on the couch to at least try and numb your mind after the day at work you had.

He was basically vibrating as soon as the wheels of the plane hit the tarmac, he was in a rush to get his things together and high tail it to his car just to make it home to you, he hadn’t told you he was coming home earlier than he originally told you and he decided to keep radio silent on that information wanting to surprise you so you could stay up if he knew he was getting home late.

“He usually would have texted me by now Maeve I’m trying not to panic” you said phone cradled between your ear and shoulder as you took the ingredients you needed for dinner out of the refrigerator.

“Don’t work yourself into a tizzy last I heard Simon said they were safe,” Her best friend said showing no sign of a reason to get upset as you set to making the food you set your eyes on

“Yeah when was this?” You huffed jokingly

“Like three days ago” she said, sounding very distracted while you cut the vegetables.

“Hey listen we really need to have a girls night again soon hit up a club or just go for drinks” as Maeve talked you zoned out only humming responses. It took only milliseconds for you too hear the door handle to shake making your ears perk up

“Maeve Maeve shush real quick,” you whispered as she immediately went quiet letting you hear the door handle shake more violently

“Let me call you back” you stated hanging up and putting the phone on the breakfast bar. His job wasn’t the easiest,it wasn't a 9-5 office job, it was a job that put a target on not only his head but in turn yours, so he taught you how to defend yourself and defend yourself well.

“Deep breaths, deep breaths” you chanted in your head like a holy matra listening intently on who could be on the other side,and then you heard keys and the only other person who had keys was John,but you couldn’t be sure and so you held your breath and waited for the door to open,and it felt like eternity for the door to open getting ready to launch at the intruder

“Aye lass, you home?” you heard that all familiar accent through the quiet home.

“Johnathan MacTavish dont you ever fucking scare me like that again.”you hollered letting the knife slip from your hands and forgetting you were surrounded by your neighbors who were probably trying to relax just like you previously were.

“Sorry sorry” he kept saying as you laid hits to his bicep.

“I could’ve killed you” you said looking at the knife on the floor

“Wouldn’t have let ya” he chuckled, dropping his bag and taking you in his arm enveloping you in the biggest hug that was only reserved for his homecomings, as you returned the hug you buried your face into his chest inhaling the cigar smoke and cologne.

“Wait, I thought you weren’t supposed to be home for another six months, why didn’t you tell me you were on your way home? I was so worried you were gone”You said as you felt tears prick your eyes only making you bury your face deeper into his chest

“Wanted to surprise you” was all he said as he stared at you like you weren’t real which made you look up

“Well you’re here and you’re safe so kiss me like you missed me big man” you grinned as you saw his lips curl into the biggest shit eating grin

“With pleasure” was all he said as he wiped the stray tears and set out on a mission to claim your lips.

It didn't take long for things to escalate which ended up him picking you up by the back of the thighs and leading the both of you to the shared bedroom.

“John dinner”

“Can wait” he said lowly as he lead an attack of love bites behind your ear all the way down your neck

“Get rid of this” he all but growled as he tugged on the hem of your shirt.

“Yes sir” you said breathlessly as he distanced himself enough for you to pull the top over your head and threw it blindly in the dark room, not missing a beat John picked up in the exact same spot he left off trailing kisses and love bites down the valley of your breast making sure to pay close attention to your already harden nipples,the action leaving you squirming, breath shallow and heavy as you tried desperately to get the burly Scott to leave and continue his mission to which he did,and as he reached the waistband of your sweats he stopped looking up to you with hooded eyes

“Allow me” he said running his hands under your legs, squeezing your ass as he passes only to grip the back of your sweat pants pulling them down to your ankles looking like a kid in a candy store when he saw his favourite pair of underwear rushing to kick the sweats of to the edge of the bed

“For me?” He whistled smirking as he kissed his way down your abdomen only to take the front of the waistband into his mouth which made your back arch involuntarily giving him access to grab your ass as he slid them down

“Johnny don’t play with me” you seethed as you gripped the sheets with such force your knuckles turned white

“No lass I never play with my food” he said diving straight for your pussy like a man starved, the action had you seeing stars and had your hips bucking in the air so hard John had to snake his arms under your legs to keep you held down, as he licked your clit you couldn’t help but let out a small whimper of his name which set him in the right direction and he set to alternating between small kitten lick and sucking which wound the coil in your abdomen tighter.

“Johnny if you keep this up I’m gonna cum” you moaned gripping at the dishevelled mohawk

“That’s the whole point” he said before bringing his full attention back to your pussy, he might as well been called aquaman because the way he stayed in place was astonishing

“But I want you” you squealed as he added a finger

“We have all night to make me cum doll let me show you how much I’ve missed you”he said sliding a finger in and in that moment you felt the coil snap and you saw what looked like static as you came and by the time you came down from the high you saw something glistening on johns chin

“Did I?” You panted

“Just squirt? aye lass you did” he said with a shit eating grin as he pulled his shirt over his head and stood up unbuckling his pants which made you smirk it’s my turn you thought as you got up off the bed with wobbly legs john reached out to catch you as you were about to trip over your own feet pulling you close to him, feeling his cock through his boxers.

“Let me show you just how much I missed you doll” you said pushing him on the bed with a sinister smile on your face.

[winchester-girl67]

Don’t Say A Word (Part 3)

Summary: The reader puts up a fight when she's driven to a second location and discovers some details about her captors.

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,318

Warnings: language, angst, mistaken identity, kidnapping, drugged!reader (chloroform), restrained reader, reader held against her will, scary situation, mild violence, mentions of theft/criminal activities, scared!reader

A/N: How much bad luck can one person have...

_____

You didn't know how long you were out for, but coming to felt awful and your teeth tasted like metal against your tongue. Like you'd been sucking on a mouthful of old pennies. Nausea and dizziness kept you from sitting up, as well as something binding that bit into your wrists behind your back.

"I told you he'd lead us right to her." You heard the voice of a man say, coming from the front of the SUV.

"What do you want, a cookie?... She might not be the belle of the ball, but this skirt should run a pretty hefty ransom, don’t you think?" Another voice with an accent added, forcing you to realize that there were two kidnappers.

If you weren't counting Dean.

"Yeah, maybe. I dunno... Something isn't sitting right with me about this one."

"I'm telling you, they'll pay up as soon as we-"

"That's not what I'm saying. It isn't too late, we can drop her off right here." The first voice said again, almost as if he was bargaining.

"You worry too much, you know that, Mason. That bodyguard of hers didn’t even notice when you snatched her up. So take the win." You determined the accent was decidedly British.

It was a long drive and you were starting to feel less like vomiting and more anxious by the minute. You hoped Dean would come looking for you and find you missing, but it was more likely he’d think you’d just run off on him and brush it off. He didn’t seem all that bright, so you figured that’s probably what happened and you were on your own from here on out, as always. And you needed to form a plan, fast.

It was easier to escape on route, that’s something that you'd heard before, right? But was it too late when you got to your final destination? You guessed you were about to find out when the SUV slowed and you heard the sound of a heavy door sliding outside. Next thing you knew it was bright as day and the engine cut out, both men promptly exiting the vehicle with a slam of their doors.

“I’ll get the spoiled brat.” Said the man with the accent, circling around to the trunk and you wiggled in place to aim your feet at the door so you could kick at him when he did open it. “Fuck!” The man grunted when the heel of your shoe caught him in the thigh, not quite high enough and he yanked your ankle until you fell out onto the hard concrete floor.

You winced when your shoulder connected with the ground and glanced around, noticing you were in some sort of warehouse. Harsh fluorescent lights casting the shorter man’s shadow over you, though you could tell he was wearing a ski mask as well.

“What happened?” The taller man, who you assumed was Mason, questioned as he came around the otherside of the SUV.

“She kicked me!” The man shook out his leg and rubbed the spot you'd hit.

“Huh, this one’s ballsy. I like that.” Mason chuckled, watching as you rolled over like a turtle and tried to get back on your feet with your wrists still tied.

“Did you get the dosage wrong? She was supposed to be out still.”

“Can’t trust celebrity weights online, I guess. They’re never right.” Mason shrugged, bending over you and grabbing ahold of your arm.

He pulled you upright with a single tug and through no effort of your own. You realized this guy was ridiculously strong, probably stronger than Dean, though that was debatable. Dean had muscle mass where Mason had leverage.

“Just double the dose next time.” The man tsked.

"Y-you drugged me?" You questioned with wide eyes, your voice wavering slightly.

"It's just Chloroform, it's safe-" Mason started, but you cut him off.

“Safe my ass. You better let me go, my bodyguard will be here any minute.” You threatened.

They clearly thought you were Auburn too and you cringed at how ridiculous your life was becoming. They couldn’t be fans of hers, at least not part of the cult following because they would’ve recognized her or the fact that you weren’t her. It was obvious these guys were a part of that crime ring that were abducting celebrities just for the ransom money and you needed them to believe they had the right girl. If you wanted any chance of getting out of there.

“Actually, I don’t think he’s going to be a problem. Didn’t strike me as the sharpest tool in the shed.” Mason stated as if he knew the guy almost as well as you did.

Though, you wondered how honest he was being based off how nervous he seemed to be in the conversation in the SUV earlier. Unless... it wasn’t the thought of Dean catching up to us that was making him nervous.

Even if Dean wanted to find you though, he couldn’t. How could he? You didn't have a phone on you that he maybe could possibly track, if he had those skills. And it happened so fast you doubt he knew what even happened to you. But still you rather see his constipated, scowling face than face these two masked wonders. It was a funny thought, wishing you had your original kidnapper back.

"Let's get her upstairs and call the boss." Said the other man who grabbed you roughly, dragging you along with him as you struggled in his grasp.

There were a bunch of luxury cars parked in the warehouse near the SUV, every one without a license plate and a plastic tent set up not far away, covered in dried spray paint of various colours. The shorter of the two men forcibly directed your gaze the other way when he caught you looking. Obviously, whatever was going on, wasn't on the up-and-up and he didn't want you knowing more than you already did. That was a good sign though, you thought, maybe they'd let you go eventually.

The next thing you knew, you were being hauled up a set of stairs by your hair, nearly tearing the strands from the roots and shoved face first into a room on the second floor of the warehouse. You wriggled on the ground with your wrists still tied behind your back, the plastic zip ties cutting into your skin as you tried to push yourself up against the wall and into a seated position.

The man made no attempt to help, watching you with dark eyes hidden behind his ski mask. He held up a finger, pointing at you as if to order you not to move again and giving you a hard stare before exiting the room and leaving you altogether. And you were left there for a long time, until your bladder felt the need to release and you squeezed your knees together.

You had tried a few things to get loose, none of which worked since you couldn't find the right angle to snap the zip ties against your back. Your wrists were sticky with blood now as the ties cut into your skin from all the twisting you'd done and you eventually settled into hiding. Feeling sore and defeated as you shuffled underneath the desk at the far end of the room.

It wasn't long after that, that you heard the door unlock, squeaking open on rusted hinges as you pressed further back into the wooden desk. You sniffled and you heard a huff as the sound of a single set of boots walked around the side of the desk, the taller of the two men kneeling down in front the opening before you. He tried to tug at your ankle to get you out from under the desk, but you resisted and pulled your foot back, hiding your face in your knees.

"Y/N?"

_________________________

A/N: Read part 4 here

_________________________ 
 Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278​ @laycblack​ @thoughts-and-funnies​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @crustycheeks​

Forever SPN: @hobby27​

Don't Say A Word: @lacilou​ @mlovesstories​ @spn730015​ @hunni-bunny​ @ria132love​ @fmstafford @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @houseforwhores​ @siospins2​ @globetrotter28​ @nt-multi-fandom​ @maggiegirl17​ 

[jakekiszkaenthusiast]

roses

warnings: SMUT, murderer jake, mentions of stalking, possessive behaviour, jake is crazy, but also so is y/n sooo, knife play, blood, graphic content.

word count: almost 5k!

author’s note: idfk what happened to me, but this story has consumed my every waking hour until i finally got it written down so pls i hope u enjoy crazy murder jake. stab stab.

“reports say four, possibly five bodies have been found within the city limits. police have yet to figure out what the roses left at the scene of the crime mean, but they believe it has something to do with the-“

god. four, maybe five murders, all within a month. it was enough to make your skin crawl. the mere thought of some knife-wielding madman running around the city, waiting around dark corners to jump out and end your life was terrifying. no one wanted to go out anymore. no one could comfortably walk around, not without a careful eye cast over their shoulder.

she dropped the tv remote onto the coffee table, her hand falling to her sides. the absence of the glaring screen plunged the room into near darkness, and she felt her eyes strain at the reduced visibility. she couldn’t bear to listen to the horrifying news any longer, nor could she cope with the anxious tightness creeping up into her throat. a few steadying breaths neglected to ease the tension in her chest.

striking a match, she lit the white candles adorning her bookshelf, melted down to various heights from years of previous use. the wicks barely caught fire, but they eventually flickered to life, crackling and filling the room with a warm glow.

the wooden floorboards of her old home creak above her. she didn’t take notice, though. noises like that were par for the course with a house like this. it was part of why she chose to live there- she loved the quiet, almost romantic atmosphere. she felt proud of how she had decorated the place, filled with earth tones and gold accents.

she knelt down to flick through some records, not sure exactly what she was looking for; she really just wanted something to fill the quiet, stop the loud screaming of her mind.

another creak sounded from the upper floor, and this time it made her ears perk up. it sounded heavier now, as though there really was a weight pressing down on the wood.

she felt goosepimples cover her skin, the hair on her neck standing to attention. while the old house was noisy, it wasn’t possible for a sound like that to appear without a second person making it so. smoothing the fabric of her satin dress, she pressed her hands against her skin. she hoped the warmth of her hands would soothe the chill that had overtaken her.

she managed to stop her thoughts before they began to race, closing her eyes for a brief second. her mind was playing tricks on her. she always had an overactive imagination- most likely encouraged by the miserable state of affairs in the city.

the very moment she resumes her browsing, she hears another noise. unmistakably a footstep. sitting back on her heels, she stared up at the ceiling, feeling stupid for momentarily believing she could see through the layers of wood and plaster and carpet, all the way up to whatever was disturbing her peace.

her knees protested as she clambered to her feet, pulling down the skirt of her slip as she went. she padded across the room to enter the hallway. it was so dark in here, she couldn’t make out the shape of anything. not that that was an issue- she knew this house like the back of her hand, and deftly avoided the discarded shoe she knew was by the stairs.

hopping up to the first step, she held onto the banister with a clammy hand. she was, honestly, scared. she was sure it was nothing, but fear had poisoned her mind. her body screamed at her to turn away, go back downstairs and turn the tv back on- drown out the noises and then sleep on the couch with a blanket over her face, like a small child who saw a shadow in the corner of their room.

but she kept climbing, despite her childish desire to hide with her fingers in her ears.

a sharp, metallic sound came from the top of the stairs. her head shot up to find an unexpected light, and a face staring back at her. the figure was holding a lighter to illuminate the darkened stairwell.

“hello, pet.”

the deep, gravelly voice sends a shiver down her spine. it was familiar, but she didn’t know why. all she knew was that she needed to run. now.

her feet carried her faster than her brain could process, aware she was knocking carefully framed photos off the wall. her blood had ran ice cold, and tears of panic were already brimming in her eyes.

almost tripping over the shoe she had stupidly left out earlier this morning, she flew into the living room again, checking behind her shoulder to find the figure hot on her heels. her throat felt like it was clenching shut.

a strong hand grappled at her hair, yanking until she cried out and her body fell limp. unknown arms supported her weight, and she scratched at them with her nails, digging in with a primal ferocity until a grunt came from behind her.

“the more you struggle, the more it’s going to hurt. give in to me- just relax.” lips pressed to the shell of her ear, fanning hot air over her face.

“get the fuck off me!” she screamed out.

the arms spun her around to finally reveal the face of her attacker. her eyes bugged out of her head, and it felt like the air had been sucked from her lungs.

it was jake.

jake? why the fuck is jake skulking around her house? her longtime friend, originally meeting in high school, was stood in her house. they honestly hadn’t spoken in months- he had pulled away with no explanation.

he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her back and squeezing her tightly. her arms were awkwardly pressed between their chests, hands clenched into fists. she didn’t know what to do. her body was completely frozen, mouth agape with pure terror and confusion.

“i was waiting for you, pet.” he purred into her ear.

his arms loosened around her shoulders, allowing her to pull away from him. she got to take in his face and found herself screaming before she could clamp her mouth shut.

he was covered in blood. his face was splattered with it, smeared across the hollows of his cheeks. she fought to get away from the sight but failed, choosing to squeeze her eyes shut, subsequently forcing hot tears to spill over her cheeks.

“don’t be scared, sweet. it’s only me.”

“blood, wh- why do you have blood on you? get off me, please, jake.” she pleaded and whimpered.

“what- don’t you like it?”

“jake, get off me.”

his eyes flashed with something she couldn’t name. his lips curled into a manic smile, teeth glinting in the dim candlelight.

“don’t you think i’m cute? don’t you love me like this?”

“what the fuck is wrong with you? is this some sort of sick joke?” she asked, searching his eyes for any hesitation.

jake shook his head, long hair brushing against her cheek. he stepped their still intertwined bodies backwards until she felt her back hit the wall, a short gasp falling from her mouth.

“no joke. i’ve been watching you for a little while now. you’re pretty watching tv.” he hurried out.

“what do you mean? have you- have you been stalking me?”

“i wouldn’t call it stalking, pet. just observing. did you see my roses?”

“roses, what roses?”

he raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for her to connect the loose clues he was putting out for her.

the roses. at the crime scene. did he put them there, just for her? her mind was being pulled in a million directions, so confused and terrified and something else she didn’t want to name. the information was too much for her to handle.

jake was a murderer- a serial killer.

“the roses…oh my god jake, what have you done?” tears were flowing freely from her eyes now, voice strangled with emotion.

“what have i done? i did this for you. i did this all for you.”

he brushed his fingers against her cheekbone, so gently she could barely feel it. there was a glimmer of adoration in his sunken eyes, like touching her was the only thing he was meant to do.

“how long have you been stalking me?”

“i told you, it’s not stalking.”

“jake, shut the fuck up and answer the question.”

his face hardened into a scowl, the dark bruises under his eyes and the lines of his cheekbones jutting out sharply turning him into something close to a corpse.

he grabbed her chin tightly, squeezing so hard she cried out. her head smacked against the wall behind her and her eyes squeezed shut, the dull ache radiating through her skull.

“it’ll do you good to remember that i have the power here.”

the air left her lungs and her eyes widened, effectively silenced. his grip on her chin lessened, and he moved over to hold her cheek softly.

“i’ve been in love with you for years, pet.” his eyes fell to her lips, a smile gracing his. it seemed his sudden outburst of anger was gone.

“we’ve known each other for so long. why did you…i’m so-what is happening?”

“it’s a lot, baby. i know. but now you know it all. no more secrets. we can be together now.” he petted at her hair, smoothing the wild frizz down.

she found herself at a loss for words. how could her sweet, quiet jake be capable of something so heinous?

her sweet jake, who she had equally been in love with for years. the one who played guitar for her until she fell asleep. the one who knew her coffee order by heart. the one who smiled at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. her jake.

everything crashed on to her all at once. pure adrenaline was coursing through her veins, and she felt nauseous. fear and guilt were tearing at the knots in her stomach, feeling completely responsible for everything he had done. the entire city was terrified, because of jake- because of her.

“i love you, pet. i did it all for you.” he repeated. the hand against her cheek trailed down her jaw, moving to circle around her throat loosely.

why did that make her feel warm? warm with endearment, no- with lust. what was wrong with her?

he did awful things. but it was for her. she didn’t understand exactly why, or even the logical thought (or lack thereof) behind it, but it made her feel special.

why, she didn’t know, but there was suddenly a heat between her legs. maybe it was the way he was pressed up against her, hard and straining in his pants. maybe it was the dark look in his eyes. maybe it was because she really, really needed to check into a psych ward.

she crashed her lips to his before she knew what she was doing. she obviously took him by surprise by the way his hand faltered, but he quickly took over. he grabbed her legs and pulled them around his waist, shifting her up the wall to get better leverage.

he immediately pressed his hips to her core, letting her gasp into his mouth at the sudden pressure. using her open mouth as an opportunity to force his tongue between her lips, jake moaned loudly.

her hands took hold of his hair, pulling his face harder to hers. she wanted to taste him for the rest of her life, wanted to be trapped in this embrace until one of them dropped dead. she mused to herself that if one of them died, it would be her and probably at his hand.

the mere thought of him lording his power over her to possibly hurt her excited her, a low moan tearing through her throat.

“excited, pet?”

she nodded vigorously, panting against his mouth. her arms wrapped around his neck and she pulled him closer to her, whining when he presses his hard length against her once more.

“you don’t even know the half of the shit i wanna do to you. god, i wanna fuck you so hard you cry.”

“can you hurt me, jake? please?” she begged, pulling at his bloodstained shirt.

something like a growl came from behind his lips, and he laughed. he laughed so hard he threw his head back, still holding her tightly to him.

“are you fucking laughing at me?”

he kept laughing, bordering on maniacal. she slammed her hands against his chest in anger. she felt humiliated by her request.

“don’t be an asshole! do you even want me to fuck you, or are you just gonna go back to watching me sleep like some sad loser?”

the smile dropped from his face, his grip on her legs tightening to painful levels. she immediately regretted her words, but it was too late now.

“oh, you’re fucking in for it now.”

with a vicious snarl, he picked her up effortlessly, walking her to the kitchen counter. he wiped the various glasses and plates she was planning on putting away earlier off the marble countertop. a mighty crash makes her gasp, looking at the floor to observe the mess of smashed glass and china with a moan.

jake shoved her onto the counter, roughly pulling the straps of her dress down and lowering his mouth to meet her nipple, sucking and licking. he pulled the hardened bud between his teeth, rolling his tongue against it.

letting go of her nipple, he licked a line from her sternum to her neck, biting at her jaw until teeth marks dented the taut skin.

“god, you taste better than i imagined.” he groaned.

completely at jake’s mercy, she mewled into the air, holding the back of his head in order to pull him impossibly closer. she captured his lips once more, drinking in the intoxicatingly soft skin of his mouth. he reached into his back pocket for something, though she chose not to pay close attention to him. her mind was filled with a lustful, red-hued smog and frankly, she had no clue what was happening.

jake disconnected their mouths to push her back onto the counter. her skin felt aflame against the cold marble, and she cried out at the sensation. a hand brushed against her thighs, travelling higher and pulling the soft fabric of her dress with it, until it was bunched up around her midriff. she let her legs fall completely open for him, showing him how wet she was through the thin lace of her underwear.

he dropped his head to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh; to which she closed her eyes in response, sighing contentedly.

he continued to kiss up and down her thighs, taking turns between each leg, making sure to brush his nose against the lacey underwear in a tantalising, electrifying move every time he switched sides.

while his mouth sent zaps of electricity through her, the sting of ice-cold metal touching her stomach made her jolt up slightly. she lifted her head to find the source of the uncomfortable feeling, revealing an ornate pocket knife laying against her skin.

it was silver, victorian-era at a guess. decorative swirls and lines were etched into the blade, while the profile of a woman, imprinted into the metal- almost like a coin- lay regally at the end of the handle. there was writing in the center, but she couldn’t read it at her odd angle.

she gently pressed the pad of her finger to the metal, tracing over the carved rose laced into the very tip of the blade.

“beautiful, isn’t it?” he whispered, eyes watching her fingers toy with the knife, assessing how sharp the edge of the blade was. a sharp flash of pain makes her gasp, and she smiles at the excitement of it all.

“did you use this on your victims? y’know, when you..did you?” she tried desperately to keep her smile at bay, ashamed at her mild delight at such a taboo thing.

“no. i just used kitchen knives with them, whatever i could find. none of them were special enough to deserve this one. it’s got your name on it, see? it’s just for you.”

he held it up for her to read her own name, scored into the otherwise perfect silver. her cheeks flushed with enamoured flattery, reaching out to softly press his nose and make him breathe a short laugh.

“are you gonna use it on me?” she whispered.

“i thought you’d never ask. fuck, i wanna mark you up, make you bleed and cry- want you to know you’re mine and only mine.”

whimpers left her mouth involuntarily at the mere idea of him using his knife, using his skilled fingers to make her body squirm and writhe, claiming her as his forever with pink and white scars everywhere.

“do it, then. make me yours forever. i want your name on me, i want it so bad.” she pleaded, picking up his hand and wrapping it around the knife. he took a more solid hold around the metal, flexing his knuckles and angling the smooth, sharp edge against the column of her throat.

jake dragged the knife down, pressing it into the skin between her breasts, leaving scratches not dissimilar to that of a cat’s claws. he traced her ribs, digging in between the bones, breathing heavily when she lets a strangled moan pass her parted lips.

finally travelling past her navel, he applied the tiniest amount of pressure to the feather-soft skin of her stomach, running it down to dip next to the hipbone. he watched for her reaction with a quiet smile upon his lips.

“more.” she demanded, gripping his wrist and pressing it harder until the dull sensation blossomed into a sharp, persistent sting.

he chuckled darkly, obeying her wishes and pushing the blade into her skin- not too deep, but enough to bring small drops of blood forth.

“you like that? you want me to make you bleed?”

she moaned out in response, bucking her hips to dig the knife in harder. he growled, gritting his teeth at the wanton display.

his hands gained confidence and he lifted the knife, eyes bright with unbridled exhilaration. he dug it in, focusing intently on his work.

gasping at the ache, she watched him slowly score his initials onto her. more beads of crimson escaped from the wound, dark in contrast to her ghostly pale stomach.

jake admired his artwork, brushing a finger over the raw skin and smearing the perfect drips of red until the area was a mess.

“all mine.” he murmured against her fingers, which had found his mouth.

she thumbed his bottom lip, dipping it past the skin and onto his hot, wet tongue. he gently sucked, looking up at her through his eyelashes. jake pulled away first, dropping his head to suck wet kisses across her chest, swirling circles with his tongue over the pink scratches he had left earlier.

“jake, i need more. please, i need you.” she whined, growing impatient with his languid pace.

“really, angel? where do you need me most?”

she took both of his hands, holding one against her throat, and pulling the other to graze at her soaked underwear. his fingertips pressed into the sides of her neck, flexing and squeezing as if it was a reflex, like the singular function for the limb was to choke her. like his entire body was moulded with the pure intention of serving her.

“i see. do you need my fingers inside of you? do you need me to make you cum, until you’re screaming for mercy?”

her mouth gaped, barely able to hold a fully-formed thought. his finger circled her clit through the fabric, causing her to twitch up into his hand. the hand around her throat squeezed harder, this time neglecting to let go- a delicious burn in her lungs making her a little lightheaded. his lips brushed her ear.

“i like when they scream.” his low voice rumbled deep in his chest.

his fingers pushed her underwear away and slipped deep inside of her with ease. she had been quietly dripping for him for what felt like hours now, a feverish fire enveloping her, tingling and burning inside of her.

“you’re fucking drenched, pet. god, i can’t wait to have my cock deep inside you. i bet you’re a good fuck- just a little whore who only wants one thing, aren’t you?”

“fuck, fuck. keep going, harder jake, please.” she rasped out, pulling ragged breaths through her teeth.

she could already feel the coil in her stomach threatening to snap, feeling as though she could cum at any moment. her hips lifted off the counter to meet his fingers in tandem.

she was doing a relatively good job at keeping herself composed, moaning with her lips clamped shut to at least try to keep a hold on herself. when he crouches down to connect his mouth with her clit, her resolve falters immediately.

he sucks, swirling his tongue in tight circles until she’s bucking herself against his mouth with no inhibitions. she feels her orgasm fast approaching and she lets it wash over her in a white, blinding light behind her eyes. she screams jake’s name into the air, babbling incoherent sentences laced with words of thanks, pleading and curses.

when she finally comes down from her high, her eyes flit over to regard jake. he had moved away from her and further into the room, watching her while she collected herself. even from across the room, she could see how hard he was. the tight jeans she always loved to see him wear were doing nothing but emphasise his arousal, pressing against the uncomfortable denim, the clear outline of him drawing her in.

as if she was in a trance, she slumped off of the counter and straight onto the floor, eyes never leaving his evident hard-on. she slowly crawled over to his spot next to the couch, unable to care if it made her look like a cock-hungry, depraved whore.

it would only be the truth, after all.

she sat back on her feet and looked up at him, catching his eye and fluttering her eyelashes.

“is there something you need, pet?”

“can i please suck your cock, jake?” she kept her voice light, in attempts to hide how desperately she needed him in her mouth.

he took hold of her hair, scraping it into a makeshift ponytail. he used it to pull her head further than it could really go, the strain in her neck muscles crying out.

“do you think you deserve it?”

before she could answer that yes, she deserved it and yes, she would be good, and sit still while he used her mouth as he so pleased, he used his grip on her hair to shake her head no. his lips pulled down into a faux frown, tilting his head and leaning closer to her face.

“that’s just too bad. i bet you’d make an excellent fuck toy, just for me. that perfect little throat could finally do what it’s supposed to do.” he tutted.

“please, please- i want to suck it, i need to do it. please, jake. let me suck your cock.” she pleaded, her words tumbling out of her mouth and over each other, stumbling and stuttering with unsuppressed speed.

“god, you are filthy. begging to suck my cock when you should be terrified of me. you do realise, i could kill you at any moment? i’ve got the knife right here to do it. wouldn’t that be so…exciting?”

he had taken the knife back after marking her, and he now twirled it around his long fingers, before stroking her cheek with the sharp edge. he didn’t actually apply any pressure, but she still shivered.

“you would never hurt me, jake. you love me. i love you…please.” she dug her fingers under the line of his jeans, quietly undoing his belt buckle as she talked.

“you really love me, huh? my pretty girl loves me? you’re so good, so perfect. i can’t believe you belong to me, pet. you know why i call you that- pet? because i own you. every fucking inch of you. i own your soul, and you’re mine to do with as i please.” he spoke freely, still stroking her with his knife. as he rambled on with his words of possession, she slipped his cock out of his pants, brushing her thumb over his leaking tip to collect his precum.

“don’t think i don’t know what you’re doing, pet. you really are just desperate to have me in your mouth, aren’t you? well go on then, let’s see how eager you are to make me cum.”

jake guided her mouth to him, forcing her down the entirety of his length in one fluid movement. she choked, but quickly relaxed her throat. he gripped her hair with both hands, his hips beginning a brutal pace- he groaned loudly, head tipped back as he fucked into her throat.

one of her hands slipped down between her legs, rubbing wildly at her clit, verging on the edge of orgasm already. tears began to prick her eyes, his relentless thrusting causing her vision to blur. the sounds escaping his mouth were pure sin- gasping and moaning and whispering words of filth to her: sweet music to her ears.

his grip on her hair was bordering on painful, holding her still to best use her the way he needed, chasing his orgasm with a primal speed.

suddenly, he pulled her off him. barely allowing her to gasp with a string of spit falling down her chin, jake took both sides of her face in his firm hands and forced her up to her feet, moving her backwards until the backs of her knees hit her velvet couch.

her beloved sapphire blue couch. she found herself pressed over the back of her most favourite piece of furniture, jake’s hand pushing the side of her face into the cushions she always took care to fluff up when she was cleaning. a strangled scream escapes her when he nudges his hard cock deep into her, filling her completely to the brim with absolutely zero warning.

jake’s hand snake arounds her to grip at her throat, choking her from behind while he savagely pumped into her, thrusting at such an angle all she could bare to do was mumble incoherent, whining sounds. the fingers of his other hand found home inside her mouth, shoving them past her lips and earning the reward of her teeth clamping down on them.

his grunts and deep breaths never faltered, lacing between his words to create something beautiful. she thought that if these were the last sounds she ever heard, she wouldn’t be so upset that her time was ending.

she knew this was the beginning of the end of the world as they knew it for them both, this entire situation. neither of them could be without the other now- while she didn’t fear him, she knew he would find her if she ever tried to leave, but that was never going to happen. she was addicted to him. she knew she would never find any better than him, nor did she want to try to do so. he was it for her. her forever.

her forever pounded into her with such force she could hear the feet of her couch dragging against the wooden floor, likely to leave permanent scratches for her to remember in the future. he was losing resilience now, thrusts becoming sloppy as he reached his peak. she let herself topple over the edge with him, feeling her eyes roll back involuntarily.

he stilled his hips when he finally finished, hands holding her hair again like a jockey tugging on the reins of a horse. his lips were on the shell of her ear, hot air escaping from his nose.

“take my cum, keep it right there inside you. how long have you been waiting for me to fill you up like this, hmm? you’re such a perfect hole for my cock, such a perfect girl.” his words make her shiver, the way he delivered them directly to her ear weakening her knees.

the weight of his body on hers crushed her, forcing all the air out of her lungs, but she didn’t mind. she’d rather suffocate than tell him to move.

coming down from the adrenaline rush was unsettling, but not by the secrets divulged in the room surrounding her. she felt something blooming deep within her chest, a kind of excitement she wasn’t sure what to do with.

they lay side by side on the rug in the middle of the room, naked but warmed by the other. the silence was comforting, like the peace after a storm. she felt the excitement filling her body, reaching the very tips of her fingers and setting her face aflame, a pink hue dusting the tops of her cheeks.

“jake?”

“mm?”

“we gotta buy more roses.”

[heyitssmiller]

I’ll Be Seeing You

A Wolfstar/Coops WW2 AU.

Hey, y'all!! This is a collab with the wonderful @fruitcoops ! It's part of the Rendezvous with Destiny universe, although you don't need to read that one first! There are a few nods to that story in here, but that's it. This has been such a joy to write, and I hope y'all like it as much as we LOVED writing it! Happy reading! <3

Character credit to @lumosinlove

CWs: WW2 AU (no violence or graphic details, but it is the premise of the fic), food/drink

ao3 link

May 6, 1941

The streets felt too empty, Remus noted with a twitch of his nose as he headed down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets and rucksack slung casually over his shoulder. He forced himself to keep a steady, leisurely pace. One foot and then the other. His fancy shoes were silent on the cobblestones - they were artfully battered to fit his look, but still nicer than anything he could have bought for himself at home.

They weren’t his, though. Not really. Just like the rucksack with no less than eighteen hidden pockets wasn’t his, nor were his high-waisted pants. Not even his wristwatch - silver, with a camera in the winding mechanism - had come from a real manufacturer.

Remus passed under a cracked streetlamp and forced himself to breathe normally. Paris was full of eyes. The key to making them slide right over him lay in being just visible enough to forget.

He walked for another ten minutes, marking each turn against the mental map in his head until he could slip off the main roads into an alley, where broken sandbags spilled their contents onto the rough cobblestones and made Remus’ soft footsteps crunch in time to the jolting of his pulse. He would need to find an alternate route, next time. Something quieter.

He had been given a name for his contact and nothing else–no height, no hair color, no eye color, no clothing, not even a gender. Just Padfoot. He supposed he could look for someone with a camera, but that wasn’t exactly rare on such a lovely summer day. Remus could only hope random civilians didn’t make a habit of taking shortcuts through half-ruined alleyways.

He leaned against the nearest solid wall, pulled a book from his messenger bag, and settled in to wait.

–

Sirius watched from his spot at the table as people began to trickle in, one by one. Celeste, supplied with cheese and crackers she undoubtedly got from the underground market. Logan, with a quiet, reserved smile and silent steps - he was perfect for this, a life in the shadows. Nadeau, still nursing a long, deep gash on his face from a mission gone wrong but holding his head high. LeBlanc, Lavolie, and finally Pascal bringing up the rear and locking the door behind him.

“Sirius?” he prompted.

“Ten minutes.” Enough time to finish my coffee , he added internally with no small amount of gratitude. Anxiety had kept him up all night, and with his shift at the café, there was no time to nap. Beneath the table, his knee measured the same rhythm as his rapid pulse. Everyone else had been running missions for months and yet he was the one to get stuck with the only long-term OSS connection.

No pressure.

Lavolie rapped his knuckles on the table as he passed. “You should head out soon,” he advised, heedless to Sirius’ glare as he mopped up a few drops of espresso that had spilled. The only Canadian and fluent English-speaker among them, he was their short-term OSS expert, but his accented French already put him at too much risk for extended missions as the German agents grew more suspicious each day. “It’s always better to be early in case you get lost.”

“I was raised here, I won’t get lost,” Sirius muttered.

“Up, kid.”

Sirius caught Nadeau’s wink when he grudgingly stood and returned his cup to the counter; taking off his coffee-stained apron felt like shedding one guise for another. One movement was all it took for him to lose the protection of a friendly young worker out for a supply run and transformed him into just another civilian. That was what he had to be, of course–unrecognizable. Untrackable. Anonymous to the point where even his name disappeared. The cache of Resistance personnel in the café was rare, to say the least. He was lucky to have found them when he did.

Celeste tucked a napkin-wrapped piece of shortbread into his coat pocket when he turned to leave. “Mais, non–”

“In case you get hungry,” she interrupted, shooing him toward the door.

If it weren’t for the clear worry tightening the corners of her eyes and mouth, Sirius would have protested more. As it was, he bent obediently for a kiss to each cheek. “Merci, maman.”

She made the same little ‘tch’ sound as always when he called her that, but her anxious grip eased on the countertop and she kissed his forehead as well. “Be home before blackout.”

“I will.” Promises had been hard to make, lately, and harder to keep. But Sirius had faith in that one as he left the café - it was only his first mission, after all. A simple trade. Minerva had said it should take five minutes at most when she dropped off the thick packet of new information. He didn’t know what the packet contained, just that he was supposed to meet an OSS agent and deliver it. That was probably for the best - the ignorance, that is. The better kept their secrets, the higher their chances of being successful.

And making it out of this alive.

It was always a gamble, being involved in something of this nature - especially at this scale - yet Sirius knew there was nowhere he’d rather be. He thought of his parents, his brother, off in hiding somewhere even he didn't know, and knew he’d be going insane if he were there. Sure, his parents were insufferable, miserable people, but the boredom… that would do Sirius in, no question about it. No, he was much happier here - not in the middle of the action (thank god) but behind the scenes, slyly moving chess pieces when the opponent’s back was turned.

That and the destruction of their railways, trucks, and roads.

Sirius loved that there wasn’t a fine line between the types of missions they did - it was a full-fledged crater. Subtlety or explosions, those were usually his two options. He tended to like the explosions better, if he was being truthful. They were relatively straight-forward: get in, blow something up, get the hell out. And yet here he was, anchored down to a long-term mission that involved more stealth and finesse than anything else. It was something he wasn’t used to, between his brief stint in the French army (before the invasion, before Dunkirk) and his experience in the demolition side of the Resistance. He wondered why it was him instead of Logan, who thrived in the secrecy. What the hell was Logan doing that was so important, so time-consuming that they’d chosen Sirius, of all people, to fill in?

It was fine. He’d deal with it. He signed up for this, after all. And it gave him a purpose, a way he could help his country, his people. He wanted to see them free again. What better reason to fight was there?

It didn't take him long to reach his destination, with the shortcuts and back alleys he took. Besides a general location, though, he wasn't sure who exactly he was looking for. Moony was the name he’d been told, but nothing else. There was a code in place, of course, to make sure he found the right person - something casual enough to be a simple conversation starter, but that required a specific answer to confirm that they were the right person. Luckily, they were meeting in an alley far off the beaten path, so it wouldn’t be too hard.

Sure enough, there was one solitary figure at their rendezvous spot, his back propped against the old brick wall, a book held daintily in a thin, long-fingered hand. A figure that was almost striking in its… plainness. Brown hair styled in the most generic fashion, off-white button down - older, the cuffs tattered - that was a few sizes too big, scuffed shoes, boring slacks. Sirius supposed it was a good thing, being so unremarkable. Eyes probably flitted right over him and on to the next person in a crowd. That was a good thing, for a spy.

Sirius approached the man with caution (hopefully not too obvious, god this was why he was such a bad spy - he overthought everything) and caught just a glint of his gaze as he watched Sirius out of the corner of his eye before casually returning to his book. Sirius cleared his throat, then quickly tried to hide his grimace. Smooth.

“Lousy weather we’re having, huh?” he asked.

The man closed his book with a quiet snap and looked over at him with barely-concealed amusement. “Maybe it’ll shape up,” he replied, and Sirius’ shoulders relaxed a fraction. This must be Moony, then. Clear, amber eyes crinkled up at the edges, and all previous thoughts Sirius had about this man’s plainness went straight out the window. Those eyes… they sure were something.

“You’re new to this whole espionage thing, aren’t you?” Moony queried, his bottom lip trapped under one canine as he fought back a smile.

Sirius huffed in annoyance, crossing his arms over his chest in a petulant sign of defiance. “No.”

“You’ll get the hang of it, Padfoot. Maybe start by not inconspicuously clearing your throat when you meet your informant.”

“Yeah, I bet this is fucking hilarious to you, mister master spy .” Sirius bantered back, earning a quiet puff of what could’ve been either laughter or exasperation - Sirius couldn’t really tell which. He reached for the envelope tucked into the inside pocket of his thin jacket. He handed it over quickly, and Moony nimbly transferred it to his satchel, movements smooth and precise, like he’d done this thousands of times before. He probably had, the bastard.

“We’ll be in contact.” Moony’s words were definitive, confident, and clearly the end of their conversation. Minerva had said it would be a quick meeting, but Sirius hadn’t thought it would be this quick.

Moony continued, “Take care getting home, Padfoot.” And then he was gone, turning the corner and disappearing from view.

Sirius stared after him, at a bit of a loss for words, only realizing he should’ve said his own goodbye when he noticed his mouth was gaping open, eyes still stuck on the place where Moony had disappeared.

_

August 30, 1941

“You need to slow down.”

“I can’t. Paris needs me.”

“You can’t help her behind bars, mon fils.”

Sirius turned back to the jammed coffee machine, hiding his scowl from Dumo’s view. He had no doubt the older man would pick up on it anyway. “You say that as if you’re not running the whole operation.”

“That’s different.” A heavy hand brushed his shoulder; Sirius let Dumo pull him around, but didn’t meet his eyes. He couldn’t stand any more concern. This argument had been going on long enough to weather him down to bare bones. “Sirius, look at me.”

“I don’t understand why you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset. I’m worried.”

“I don’t need your worry,” Sirius snapped, lowering his voice as the floorboards creaked overhead. “We all have to do our part–”

“All I’m asking is that you take more care. This isn’t some railroad explosion.”

He shook his head. Dumo had been running their pie-slice of the greater Parisian Resistance for…Sirius didn’t even know how long. Long enough to know that there was life-or-death risk in every mission. The new laws may have made Resistance work punishable by death, but that didn’t mean the occupiers wouldn’t have shot him on sight during any of his other transfer meetings if they suspected something.

“I’m being careful,” he finally said, setting a dish towel aside. They would need to do laundry again soon. Maybe he could sneak the bag away before Celeste got to it–her hands were cracked and dry enough from work already. “As careful as I can be.”

The look on Dumo’s face told Sirius he didn’t really believe it, but neither of them were in the mood to argue further. Fighting took up so much of their lives already - they didn’t need it at home, as well. Too many had already started to go missing. Sirius wanted to believe things would be better soon–they all did, that was the whole point of the network–but he could feel the others’ faith fading as Germany’s stranglehold on their beloved city grew tighter. He wouldn’t fail them. He would fight and bleed and die if that’s what it took to fill his home with the life that had been stolen from it.

“I care about you very much, Sirius.” The quiet, somber confession brought Sirius back from his musings and he forced himself to look up. Dumo’s forehead was creased with worry; the twinkle of kindly mischief in his eye had dulled. Guilt soaked in, like the coffee spill he’d just cleaned up with his towel. He looked down at it instead of having to deal with the agonizing reality of being cared for in the middle of a war. There were so many ways he could hurt them, even if it wasn’t intentional.

“I know,” he sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to go out and not come back.”

“I don’t, either.”

Dumo’s broad hand was gentle on his arm. Sirius figured that was a move most good fathers pulled when their kids were stubborn and stupid, not that he had any experience with it. “I don’t know what you’re doing out there,” Dumo said, moving away to arrange the clean mugs on their shelf. “I don’t know who this ‘Moony’ is, and I don’t want to. I just need you to promise you’ll keep your head and listen to your heart.”

Sirius twisted his espresso-smudged apron for a moment, then reached out and touched Dumo’s wrist. His worry sat on his face like letters on a page, and Sirius felt his heart ache at the thought that he was the one who put it there. “You have my word.”

—

November 30, 1941

Sirius hated the total, resolute darkness of the nightly blackouts, but he had to admit that there were some advantages. For one, the stars. He had never seen them this bright before, but especially not in Paris of all places. Logan said you could see them pretty well from the countryside where his family lived, but Sirius had never been there himself. But this… this was the picture of beauty in dark times. Not that his camera would capture it, of course, but Sirius didn’t mind too much. There was something about the mind’s eye, keeping things in his head to look back on rather than printing them out onto sleek pages. It was special - something only he would see.

Another thing about the blackouts was the silence. Before the war, it was like someone was always out and about in the city - kids laughing, cars and bikes racing down the streets, vendors selling their goods in the square. But now, with the curfew in place and enemies allowed to prowl freely in the streets, it was quiet as a ghost town. It didn’t feel real - like a single loose cobblestone, a quiet whisper of fabric, would break the illusion.

How he wished for the illusion to break.

Moony was right where he was supposed to be, blending into the shadows of a cranny Sirius remembered hiding in when he was a kid. He would’ve missed the agent completely if he hadn’t been actively looking for him. But there he was, as promised.

Sirius stepped up beside him, only hoping he blended in as well as Moony did. It was harder to find his pictures in darkness like this, but he managed after rummaging around in his bag for an embarrassing amount of time. Six months on the job, and he still managed to bungle the small stuff. At least he could blame it on the cold.

“Here,” he dared to whisper as he handed the photos he’d taken over, clumsy fingers brushing against Moony’s as he tried to find him better in the dark.

Moony didn’t reply; he didn't look at the photos, either (not that he could’ve seen them very well). He just slid the stack of them into a hidden pocket in his coat and nodded firmly. “Thanks.”

Sirius watched him - noted the too-tense set to his shoulders and the tight muscles in his jaw, his honey eyes, too closed off and worried - and couldn’t help but linger, even though he knew he should be moving on. Neither of them were safe here.

Although to be fair, neither of them were safe anywhere, not with what they were doing, the secrets they were keeping.

He itched to do something, though - to find some sort of buoy in this aimless, restless sea. To linger when he shouldn’t. To reach out and make a connection with someone, one that wasn’t built on lies or deceptions.

“Moony!” he hissed, even as the agent was walking away. Moony stopped, turning to look at him curiously over his shoulder, eyes reflecting the moonlight above, shining in a way that was entirely unfair.

How fitting.

“Tell me something,” Sirius blurted, not quite sure where he was going but rolling with it anyway. At Moony’s shuttered, wary expression, Sirius rushed to continue. “Nothing important, don’t worry. It’s just… I get a little lonely, sometimes, and I’m guessing you do too. It’d be nice to have a friend, don’t you think?”

Moony didn’t answer at first, but he also didn’t turn around and leave, so Sirius took that as a win. He regarded Sirius with that warm yet detached gaze and continued to linger.

“What would you like to know?” he finally asked, and Sirius smiled wolfishly at him.

A game was afoot, and anyone who knew Sirius knew how much he loved those.

“A secret for a secret. I’ll tell you something about me and vice versa - it doesn’t have to be important, I know that’s not ideal for spies, but something to help us get to know each other. For example: I am seriously allergic to shellfish.”

Moony laughed, quiet and billowing in the still night air. ”Really?”

Sirius nodded, unreasonably eager to keep the conversation going, to hear that laugh again. His stomach kicked at Moony’s quiet smile and he twisted the strap of his new bag in his hands. “My parents were hosting a fancy dinner one evening when I was… six? Seven? Anyways, they served shellfish, I took one bite , and the next thing I knew my face looked like a balloon.”

Moony laughed again; Sirius took it as a reward.

“Alright. Let’s see…” Moony seemed to ponder it for a few seconds. He finally settled on a simple, “I love to read.”

Sirius wanted more, so much more.

“Yeah? What’s your favorite author?”

But Moony just smiled - a coy, secretive riddle that Sirius wanted so badly to solve. “That’s a secret for another time, Padfoot. Have a good night.”

And with that he walked away, leaving Sirius standing there with a goofy grin on his face and a foreign feeling stirring in his chest.

March 2, 1942

Remus found himself in Paris earlier than he was used to for their next meet-up. They were switching up their designated times and locations, to keep from being predictable and raising suspicion. Remus couldn’t say he minded. The city looked different in the light, without the blackouts and the deserted streets - more alive, more like a city instead of a movie backdrop. He passed people with their own lives to live, their own stories to tell, and he was infinitely fascinated by it. Even though they were in the same place, living through the same events, their stories were so different from his own. Remus found himself wondering about the woman he passed on the street as he approached their meeting place, pace brisk but nonchalant. He entered the Luxembourg Gardens, found their park bench, and sat down with his book, more than content to finish a chapter or two while he waited.

As it turned out, he didn't have to wait long. He’d barely finished ten pages by the time Padfoot was sliding into place on the bench next to him with a friendly smile.

“Hey, stranger,” he greeted, making Remus laugh quietly.

“Hi,” he replied, taking his ‘bookmark’ and handing it to Padfoot. “Here’s the address you wanted.”

The Resistance would find supplies from the OSS there. It wasn’t much, but it was what they were able to provide while staying under the radar. Padfoot, in turn, passed him what looked like a gift bag or present. Remus hadn’t noticed it until then, and he laughed at the bright colors and clashing tissue paper.

“For me? You shouldn’t have.”

Padfoot just grinned unapologetically. “Happy birthday, Moony dearest. Go ahead and open it.”

It wasn’t his birthday (although it was admittedly close) and he certainly wasn’t Padfoot’s dearest, but he allowed the ruse due to the public nature of this meeting.

Remus gave him an exasperated but undeniably fond side-eye and removed the tissue paper. Inside were the photographs Padfoot had taken and, to Remus’ surprise, a book. He picked it up delicately and inspected the cover.

“You, uh, you said you like to read. Last time we swapped secrets, that is. And I don’t have any new books - those are kind of hard to come by these days, you know? - but this was always one of my favorites growing up. So…” Padfoot’s rambling tapered off, foot tapping away nervously. It was beyond endearing, like the man himself.

“The Three Musketeers,” Remus read aloud, tracing the gold lettering on the cover. “A French classic.”

Padfoot nodded enthusiastically. “Oui.”

Remus smiled, bright and real, at the gesture. He’d read the book before, but never in the original French. He was excited at the thought of seeing the differences in translations. “Thank you.”

He wasn’t sure what else to say, really. The thoughtfulness had surprised him. Not only had this stranger listened to him, but he’d done something with the knowledge - something selfless and (seemingly) just for Remus. No angle, no ulterior motive. He was just being nice. It was hard to find these days.

Maybe Remus could consider him more than just an informant - a means to an end, as callous as that sounded. Maybe he wasn't such a stranger anymore.

“Secret for a secret?” Remus was the first to ask this time, and it was worth it for the way Padfoot’s face brightened a little. He really was beautiful when he smiled; hard lines softened, blue-gray eyes shone, and sometimes - if Remus was lucky enough - the world seemed to brighten right along with him.

Remus leaned in closer, partly to make Padfoot think his secret was going to be something of extreme importance, partly because he simply couldn’t help himself. He stretched out the silence, the anticipation, before whispering seriously, “My favorite pastry is a plain buttered croissant.”

Padfoot jerked back to look him in the eyes, hesitated as he parsed out if Remus was serious or not, then burst into delighted laughter. “No way.”

Remus kept his eyes trained on him, unable to look anywhere else, and shrugged. “I’m a fan of the classics.”

“The boring classics, maybe.”

“Aren’t you French? I thought you guys loved croissants.”

Padfoot spluttered indignantly. Remus grinned at the havoc he was causing.

“There are so many other pastries to love, though! And your favorite is a plain croissant?”

“With butter.”

“Oh, so sorry. We can’t forget about that, now can we?”

Remus laughed, nudging Padfoot’s shoulder with his own. This… this was the closest he’d come to having a friend in a long time. Between the job and the trust issues that came with it, he’d become lonelier than he thought he could be. In all honesty, being a reclusive scholar had always appealed to him before. Now he wasn't so sure. There were things in life, things that only companionship could bring, that were worth the harrowing nature of socialization. Sitting there on a lonely park bench with a newfound friend, sharing laughs and goofy quips, Remus found clarity in the thought. He broke himself from his thoughts and turned to look at Padfoot again. “Your turn, pastry aficionado.”

That warm smile turned softer, pensive as he thought of a good secret to tell.

“I used to love photography.”

Used to. Past tense.

Padfoot looked out at the sun setting over the gardens, strangely at peace with his words. Remus waited for him to continue, watching golden rays strike the side of his face, his dark hair.

“The first thing I bought with my own money, not what my parents had given me, was that camera. I’d go out after school, get lost in the city, and take pictures of everything I saw - beautiful things, things I thought were worthy enough to capture with my lens, to immortalize in glossy pages.” He sighed then, a tragic one not of defeat, exactly, but acceptance. It was almost worse. “Now I look through my camera at tanks and battle formations and anti-aircraft and I wonder if I’ll ever find something worth capturing again.”

Remus frowned in thought, unsure of how to proceed. What could he possibly say to that? Padfoot had lived through battles and occupation and had seen things Remus never even wanted to imagine. He’d witnessed the ransacking of his home, the despair and hopelessness of his people. It must be hard to see any light at the end of that tunnel.

“You will,” Remus said, forcing all the confidence he had into the words. “It’s what we’re fighting for, isn’t it?”

He just hoped there was some beauty to be found after all this was said and done.

–

May 6, 1942

“Happy anniversary.”

Sirius was smiling before he even looked away from the river, brows rising as Moony gave his arm another gentle nudge and he took the half-sandwich, split perfectly down the middle. Precise, but caring. Just like the man himself. “Anniversary?”

“The sixth of May.” Moony took a bite of his sandwich and chewed for a moment, watching the water rush beneath the Pont Neuf. “One year. 52 meetings. I thought it called for a bit of celebration.”

“Thank you,” Sirius said softly. One year of knowing Moony, and it felt like forever already. He had had such big dreams of action and adventure when he first joined the Resistance. Those dreams had changed for the better.

It may have just been the sunset casting pastels over them both, but he could have sworn Moony’s cheeks tinted pink when he faced the river again. “No problem. There’s a great little café a few streets down. They had coffee, too, but I forgot my thermos.”

“Really?” Sirius frowned. There were a few places he could think of off the top of his head, but none worth writing home about. None that gave Dumo any real competition. “What’s it called?”

But Sirius knew what he was going to say the second his teeth sank into perfectly-toasted bread. “Café Dumais. Cute place.”

“Mmm,” he managed, torn between howling laughter and a screech of horror. Miracle of miracles, he choked both back - Moony appeared not to notice as enjoyed Celeste’s perfect ham and cheese melt. “Oui, I’ve been there a few times.”

“They have perfect croissants.”

Moony’s quirk of a smile sent a fluttery feeling through Sirius’ stomach. “Perfect for you, then,” he said, much quieter than he intended. Moony held his gaze. A beat of silence passed, and suddenly the single stone’s worth of space between them didn’t seem very far at all.

–

October 25, 1942

Remus kept a careful eye on Padfoot as he flicked through picture after picture. His broad shoulders were slumped, shoes scuffed and dusty, the front of his shirt striped with wrinkles where he had obviously tried to iron it in a rush. “They’re not very good this week,” Padfoot murmured.

“They’re excellent,” Remus said, his voice quiet despite the bustling city around them. Padfoot kept staring at the ground with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Your pictures always are.”

“No, not–” Padfoot broke off with a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s bad out there. It’s getting worse. I’m sorry, I’m just frustrated.”

Remus swallowed; for once, he was lost for words in every language. “It will get better,” he said at last. “We have to keep believing that, even when everyone else doesn’t. You, and me, and everyone else working to fix it every day. Did you hear we got a new codebreaker?”

That earned him a huffed laugh. “Yeah.”

“Whoever he is, we’ve broken twice our usual number in the past week, and he’s only getting faster.” Lily had lost her mind when she saw the count of successfully broken codes from their station–the letter she scribbled out to Remus had lacked all of her usual careful lettering and been a mess of exclamation points, capital letters, and elation he could feel from thousands of miles away.

He loved Paris, but some days he missed his best friend more than anything.

Padfoot shook his head. Some of his familiar confidence returned, straightening his shoulders. “You’re right. I’m being pessimistic. I–”

He faltered again, biting back the next words with a twitch of his nose. Remus folded the envelope flap down again, hugging both it and his messenger bag close to his chest. He was growing to love the thing after so long with it as his only constant companion. A car drove past with a brash honk, but Padfoot didn’t so much as flinch. Remus took one step forward, then a tentative second. “Pads?”

Padfoot shook his head again, then ran a hand through his hair and looked up. His expression was unreadable as it flickered over Remus. “I got a letter from my brother,” he said. “It put me in a funk. I've been a bad contact this week, and I hope you can forgive me.”

Remus bit the inside of his lip, then reached out and touched Padfoot’s arm until their eyes met. “There’s nothing to forgive. I hope you and your brother can figure it out, whatever it is.”

His heart lurched at the tired smile he received in response. Even with shadows under his eyes, Padfoot lit the whole alley with a simple tilt of his lips. “We’ll try.”

January 9, 1942

“Regulus!”

Regulus cursed under his breath. “One moment, maman!”

“Dinner is on the table!”

Her screeching voice nearly drowned out the next word and he gritted his teeth, daring to turn the dial up by a single degree. Two more sentences. Two more and you’ve got it. His pencil scratched against the last blank centimeter available.

“Regulus Arcturus!”

“Coming, maman!” God, he was so close. The German was fuzzy and staticky, but he could already understand it better than his first official assignment only a handful of weeks prior. Footsteps echoed in the staircase and Regulus’ throat seized as he jotted down the last two words and spun the dial in one desperate lunge.

The door to his bedroom slammed open. His mother’s cheeks were red with barely-contained annoyance. “Downstairs,” she ordered, as if he was still five years old. “Your radio program can wait.”

“Yes, maman.” He kept his face carefully neutral despite the hammering of his heart and slipped the papers inside his desk. Stay calm. Stay cool.

“What are you doing?” she snapped, nearly drawing a flinch from him.

“Writing a letter to Evan,” he lied. Lying was always easy, especially to his parents. Sirius was the only one who had ever been able to see through him, but he was long gone.

“While listening to the radio?”

“It helps me think,” he answered innocently.

His mother sniffed. “Get downstairs immediately. This behavior will not be tolerated, and if it happens again, you’ll never see that lump of wires again.”

Regulus lowered his eyes in an effort to appear chastised. Anger flared hot in his chest. He didn’t know what they had done to hide his existence from the government to allow them to escape, but he did know that Sirius was still stuck in Paris, fighting like he always did–furious and capable and so full of bullheaded stubbornness it was bound to get him killed.

It had taken Regulus weeks to dig up the translation books in the attic and even longer to get in contact with the Resistance, and through them, the American intelligence agency. His parents could hide newspapers and silence dinner conversation about the war all they liked, but they didn’t control the airwaves. They didn’t control Regulus’ letters, and they didn’t control his mind.

The German codes were growing easier to crack by the day, and he had all the time in the world.

_

April 17, 1943

Padfoot was quiet the next time Remus saw him; not the peaceful, calm quiet, no - this was energy and anger and frustration too big, too monumentous to be anything but silent. It was the eye of the hurricane, it was a lion in crouch mere seconds before pouncing.

Remus flitted between watching him cautiously and thumbing through the pictures and codes he’d handed over, observing and planning out his best method of approach. He’d stay quiet, for now. If Sirius wanted to talk about whatever was bothering him, he’d speak up in his own time.

As it turned out, he didn’t need to wait long. Padfoot was as impatient with getting his feelings off his chest as he was for change in France.

“They’re shipping us out,” he spat, pure vitriol venom. “Thousands of us, off to Germany to work in their fucking factories.”

Remus knew this, but he figured it wouldn’t make matters better if he said it out loud. He stood still, calculating while Padfoot paced, back and forth, back and forth with sharp, angry turns.

Padfoot’s boot connected with the nearest wall with a dull thud and Remus winced in sympathy, watching his pale knuckles flex. “Is there anything you can do about it?” he asked calmly, even as his pulse pounded in his throat. Lots of Resistance members were fleeing the denser cities and hiding in the forests and mountains, hoping to avoid the orders. Remus couldn’t help but hope Padfoot would tamp down his pride and do the same. They could find a different rendezvous, somewhere far away from enemy outposts. As long as he stayed out of Germany, Remus didn’t much care where they met.

Losing Padfoot would make his job even more difficult, if he was allowed to keep it at all. A new contact would force his defensive walls back up; he would have to keep a much closer eye on them, build a new rapport, remind them to place thin sheafs of paper between each photograph so the ink didn’t bleed, lose his one solid contact in northern France–

He would lose Padfoot. Remus exhaled through his nose to dispel the pressure in his chest. He could rationalize til the cows came home, but it seemed his big stupid embarrassing feelings didn’t care about rationality anymore. Not when it came to the man taking his anger out on a broken sandbag like it had personally wronged him.

With a final kick to the battered burlap, Padfoot turned to Remus with a face like a thundercloud. “What happens if I go?”

Remus blinked. He hadn’t expected that. “Well, my best guess is that you’d end up in–”

“Not that,” Padfoot interrupted, waving a hand in frustration. “What happens to this? To us?”

We both end up miserable. “You’ll be assigned a replacement. I’ll probably get a new location, as well.”

“And you’re alright with that?”

Remus sighed and closed his eyes. “Why would I be alright with that?”

“You seem awfully fucking calm about the whole situation,” Padfoot snapped. Remus flinched back on instinct - they had never spoken to each other like that, not once over the two years of budding friendship. When he opened his eyes again, Padfoot’s ears were red and his mouth was tight at the corners.

“It’s not up to me,” he said simply. “None of this is. It doesn’t matter how well we get along, Padfoot, or how well we work together. My job is to transport this information, no matter who it comes from.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Padfoot’s jaw ticked. His hands balled into fists. Remus had never paid much attention to how tall Padfoot was, but when he squared his shoulders and drew himself up to his full height, those two inches of difference may as well have been two feet. “Excuse me?”

Remus arched a brow, keeping his expression passive. “What?”

“Your job is to protect the people of France,” Padfoot seethed, getting right up in Remus’ space until Remus could feel the heat of his body. “Your job is to make sure their sacrifices are not in vain, no matter what the cost is to you. You might be able to take those photographs back to your office and fall asleep knowing your family is safe, but the rest of us–”

“I haven’t seen my family in almost four years, so don’t you dare talk to me about sacrifice like I don’t know what it means.” Remus kept his voice low and precise despite the urge to scream it in Padfoot’s face. He could feel his pulse in his stomach, in his lungs, in his teeth. All those emotions he'd buried for so long were now bubbling over, raw and angry and, for the first time in years, unfiltered. “I’ve slept in more trains than beds so my baby brother, who was six when I last saw him, doesn’t get caught up in a war he didn’t ask for and my parents don’t bring me home in a box. If I make a single mistake, a single ripple in anyone’s plans, they could die and I wouldn’t even know.”

Padfoot faltered. Blood roared in Remus’ ears as he held unyielding eye contact. “I…”

“I’m sorry this war is on your doorstep, Pads.” His next inhale trembled as he tried to bring each breath back to a steady pattern. You need to calm the fuck down, Lupin. “I’m sorry your family is in the direct path and that your people are dying through no fault of their own. But don’t try and act like nobody else is lifting a finger to help. We’re all doing the best we can to keep the people we love out of danger.”

He watched the fire in Padfoot’s eyes dim, standing firm until the lightning-charged tension eased and he stepped back. “I’m sorry.” Every word sounded like it had been forced out. “I didn’t know.”

“You’re not supposed to.” His superior officers would kill him if they ever found out about his slip-up. Maybe literally. He turned back to the photographs, flicking through until he found where he had left off. Losing his temper was a rookie mistake, not something for the captain of his division. Stupid. Four years of perfection could be ruined in an instant.

“What’s his name?”

“Whose?”

“Your little brother.” Remus bit the inside of his cheek. Tanks, tanks, more tanks, railroad supplies… Padfoot sighed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t–”

“Julian.”

A beat of silence fell over their little alley, broken only by the rustling of thin paper. “What?”

“My little brother. Julian. His tenth birthday is today.” Remus hoped the white-hot stab of pain through his heart wasn’t as visible as it had felt all day. He glanced up briefly. “You asked.”

A faint smile tilted Padfoot’s mouth. “Mine is Regulus. He’s 19.”

“Joined the Resistance yet?”

Remus regretted asking the second the words left his mouth - Padfoot’s nose crinkled, as if he had smelled something particularly unpleasant. “Ah, no. My parents took him and left for their country house as soon as the German threats began.”

He paused, a crystal-clear picture of an anti-aircraft gun poised delicately between his fingers. “They didn’t take you?”

“Even if they wanted to, I wouldn’t have let them.” Padfoot crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall. The set of his jaw was stubborn, but Remus could see the quiet hurt in every shadow. “My place is here. I could never forgive myself if I stood by while others fought a war for me.”

“Safety isn’t shameful.”

“Cowardice is.” Padfoot looked to him for a moment with an unreadable expression. “There is honor in protecting children and seeking refuge from violence, but they didn’t leave because they wanted to protect Regulus, Moony. They left because they think war is beneath them. That it’s not their battle. I love my country too much to run for those reasons.”

Remus ducked his head back down to hide his wry smile. “How patriotic.”

“I prefer the term ‘courageous’.” He could hear the amusement in Padfoot’s voice, and a pebble came skipping over to bump the front of his shoe. “‘Brave’, perhaps. ‘Noble’, if you’re feeling particularly kind.”

He kicked the pebble back and Padfoot’s grin finally broke through, bright as the stars just beginning to peek out above them. “How about ‘reckless’? I think ‘reckless’ sums you up pretty well.”

–

September 15, 1943

It had been six days since Moony’s mistake, and Sirius still didn’t know how to fix it. The letter was written in broken, attempted French–adorable, really–and rambled on for a page and a half about the most mundane parts of life.

Re: , the letter began, though there was no followup. Sirius had been wondering about that since the first time he read it. RE: …what? RE: Your last letter? RE: My birthday present?

I miss you. Mom and dad and I to go to the school fair the next week. The garden –misspelled with a ‘g’ instead of a ‘j’-- is growing well. Mom is happy. My birthday kite was stuck in a tree the week last but dad helped me get it back. We should fly it together in the summer.

The letter continued, on and on, in the slanted letters of someone clearly trying their best to make their handwriting look tidy. Someone who was trying even harder to make their French as coherent as possible despite the struggle. Sirius guessed the author long before he reached the sign-off.

I miss you, it repeated. Be safe. Come home soon. Thank you for the French chocolate.

Love,

Jules

The last line was written in English. There was no envelope with an address, no name to identify Moony, but Sirius still felt as if he had been given a keyhole peek into the real life of his most trusted friend. He called his ten-year-old brother ‘Jules’ instead of ‘Julian’. They flew kites together. Moony’s mother had a garden.

It felt illegal for Sirius to know those things, but he treasured them close all the same.

He stayed mostly quiet for their meeting that night, and judging by Moony’s worried glances, it did not go unnoticed. The letter weighed him down the way he assumed a ring sat heavy in the pocket of a soon-to-be fiancé. Every time he tried to do more than hum a response, his chest constricted so hard it hurt.

Moony gave him one last look before slipping the packet into his bag. “Alright,” he began. “Okay, well, have a good–”

“Moony.”

Caramel eyes went wide. “Oh, god, what happened?”

Sirius took a deep breath through his nose, then let it out through his mouth. His hands shook where he had shoved them in his pockets. “First of all, I’m sorry.”

Moony’s concern became terror faster than Sirius could blink; he closed the flap of his messenger bag and began to back away. “Padfoot, what did you do?”

“No!” Sirius blurted, rocking his weight forward until Moony flinched back and he stopped himself. “No, no, it’s - you’re not in danger, I promise. I just wanted you to know that I read it, but only twice, and I’m so sorry because that’s private and I shouldn’t have opened it in the first place.”

“I don’t understand,” Moony said slowly, his eyes still darting toward shadowy corners of the alley.

Fuck. Okay. Sirius wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. “Please don’t be angry.”

“Padfoot, what did you do?”

He took the letter out with great care, keeping his other hand up in a gesture of peace. “It was mixed in with the pictures last week,” he confessed.

Moony stared at the small paper for a long moment before he finally took it, their fingers brushing. “I thought…I thought I lost this.” His gaze flickered back to Sirius and the fear returned. “You read it?”

And I hate myself for it. “Yes.”

“So you know.” Moony’s face crumpled as he smoothed his thumb over the middle seam that had been folded and refolded with great care. “Fuck, you know everything.”

Sirius was only sidetracked for a moment by the surprise of Moony swearing before shaking his head. “I don’t know much at all. There was no envelope. I took no pictures. It doesn’t even have your name.”

“It–” Moony faltered. He was silent for close to a minute before he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I fucked this whole thing up. You know where I’m from now. We can’t be contacts anymore.”

“I don’t!” Sirius’ heart lurched. “I don’t, I swear –”

“You know I’m not French.”

“I knew that already!” he said desperately. Moony’s eyebrows disappeared under his floppy hair. “I mean, come on, you don’t work for the Resistance and you speak textbook French. That letter told me nothing we haven’t already shared.”

The fear became sadness, and oh, it was so much worse. “You have to tell them,” Moony murmured. “I compromised myself.”

Sirius knew that. Sirius had read the rules inside and out, had measured every second of his life by them. By those rules, Sirius had to report Moony to the Resistance and find a new contact whose anonymity was firmly in place. A complete and utter stranger who could carry the cargo with smoke and mirrors to the OSS headquarters.

“I won’t.”

Moony looked up from the letter. “What?”

“I won’t,” Sirius said again. His pulse kicked like a faulty engine. “I won’t do it. Your secrets are always safe with me. Nobody will know about this.”

Moony stared at him for a long, long moment, lit only by moonlight in the darkened city. Sirius did not look away. “Ik hou van je.”

Sirius frowned. “I’m sorry?”

Moony sniffled, though his eyes were dry. A small smile tilted his lips. “Thank you, Padfoot. I’ll see you next week.”

April 5, 1944

Through the miracle of scheduling, they had spent the new year together. Remus had missed the end of the office party, but he couldn’t bring himself to be upset about it - the memory of sitting by the Seine with Padfoot while cheers went up around the city replayed in his best dreams throughout the bitter tail of winter.

It was spring, now, and the small flowers growing in the cracks of the cobblestones were beginning to bloom. Notre Dame’s rose window shone in the sun and cast a rainbow over the plaza. Remus was not very religious, but he could understand why so many people believed in a higher power when they saw that kind of display.

“Morning, Padfoot.” He offered a smile and half a croissant as he approached; Padfoot took it happily. He seemed especially partial to the pastries from Café Dumais, and Remus couldn’t blame him - not only were the shopkeeper’s kids adorable, the food was absolutely fantastic even with ration restrictions. “Nice day for breakfast, isn’t it?”

Padfoot hummed around a mouthful of buttery dough. “It’ll rain later.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm.”

“Good to know.” Remus took his own croissant out and raised it in a ‘cheers’ motion before following him to the riverbank and digging in. Their morning meetings were rare, but certainly his favorites. There was no better way to start the day than with his friend of close to three years. Had it really been that long? “The city needs a wash, anyway.”

Padfoot laughed, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I know you love it here, or else that would be a serious offense.”

“I’ll try to be more careful.” And then there was this development, the… whatever they were calling it. Not quite flirting, but not simple friendly banter, either. Remus didn’t know when it started. He just knew he never wanted it to end. They ate in silence, shoulders brushing, Padfoot’s legs swinging absently over the edge of the bulkhead.

“Alright,” Padfoot said at last, brushing the remnants of his croissant off his hands, then stretching his arms high over his head. Remus pointedly did not look at the thin sliver of his waist that was revealed as his shirt slid up. “Secrets. You go first.”

“Oh, god,” Remus laughed. His stomach gave a little thrill as he licked the last of the butter from his thumb and forefinger, then looked out over the water. They hadn’t played this game in nearly two months; he’d have to think of something good. “In the summer, my dad and I catch fish for dinner every Saturday.”

“From a river?”

“That’s a secret for another time.” Padfoot scowled playfully; Remus loved every bit of it. “Your turn.”

“I’ve never been fishing.”

“Never?”

“Not once.”

“I guess I’ll just have to take you sometime, then.”

The words hung between them, suspended in a moment of unsure hope, before Padfoot smiled. His eyes were the same color as the stormclouds gathering on the horizon–Remus couldn’t have looked away if he wanted to. “I guess you will. Tell me another?”

Remus didn’t even have to think before he answered. “Kocham cię.”

Padfoot scrunched his nose up and kicked him lightly. “Cheater. I can’t understand. Saying it in another language doesn’t count.”

It does if I mean it.

_

April 22, 1944

It was only a matter of time until one of their rendezvous went wrong.

Logically, Sirius knew this. He’d been living under occupation for four years now; he knew the dangers, the risks. But he had been naively hoping they’d manage to escape them for just a little longer. There were whispers going around about an Allied invasion and liberation of France - no one knew the when or where, obviously, but they were all wishing that it would be soon… that if they could stick it out for just a little longer, they’d be free again before summer. But the months were unfailingly ticking by, the weather was getting warmer, and they were still in the same position - not quite a standstill, but progress was painfully slow.

It had started off as a normal enough meet-up: Moony was always early, Sirius always a minute or two late. Sirius would get to witness that sharp, crooked smile and smile back at the agent, excitement and intrigue and the adrenaline rush that came with these meetings thrumming in his veins.

But then the script got flipped on them. That was the problem with having a routine - you got too used to the monotony (as ironic as that sounded for a Resistance member and an OSS agent), you ignored small signs that should’ve been glaringly obvious, you got sloppy. And it could get you killed.

Not even five minutes after Sirius had found Moony in their designated Parisian alleyway, they heard voices too close for comfort and too late after curfew to just be a civilian.

If they were discovered…

Sirius thought of the photographs and codes now in Moony’s jacket pocket and fear crashed into him like a tidal wave against an already-battered shoreline. Their cypher was pretty hard to break, Sirius was fairly sure of that, but there was still too much information there in the pages. And, to make matters worse, Moony was the one who had them. Even though they were constantly in some degree of danger (and Sirius didn’t even know the extent of Moony’s job outside of their information trade-offs) the thought of him getting caught, getting taken - no. Not on his watch, not if he could help it.

He could just barely identify the language being spoken as German before Moony was grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him farther back into the alleyway, where they were better shrouded by shadows and hidden from the scant sliver of moonlight. The blackout was in their favor this time. He pressed in closer against Moony, protectively stationed between him and the alley entrance, chest to heaving chest, warmth and comfort in the late night chill, barely daring to breathe as the voices got louder, closer.

Moony was shaking just a bit, his heart a galloping echo of Sirius’ own. It was all Sirius could feel. The rush of his own blood in his ears was all he could hear. He knew he needed to breathe, to center himself and calm the fuck down, but his lungs refused to obey, trapping him between one breath and the next.

That was when the tapping started.

Soft, light taps of Moony’s finger against the back of his wrist, varying in pressure and rhythm. Sirius willed himself to breathe - in and out, nice and deep and steady - as he focused on the tap tap tap and tried to find a pattern.

Two uniformed figures appeared at the end of the alleyway.

Sirius figured out the pattern. Morse code.

..  . -..  ---  …-  .

I love…

He held his breath, his heart pounding in such a fierce, wild way that Moony could undoubtedly feel it in the pulsepoint of his wrist, the place where their chests were pressed against each other.

I love…

The tapping stopped.

The figures disappeared into the night, voices melting into the eerie, chilling quiet.

Moony dropped his wrist, then shoved his hands deep into his own pockets, leaving only the phantom of his touch in his wake.

Sirius was left reeling, lost without a tether, mind racing.

I love what? What was the end of that statement?

Could it possibly, unbelievably have been I love you?

Moony cleared his throat awkwardly, shoulders hunched, shoe scraping against the street. “No time for secrets tonight, I’m afraid. We need to get out of here.”

Sirius wanted to shake his head, to beg Moony to stop and explain - explain what the tapping meant, what the undecipherable but decidedly fond looks he gave Sirius meant, what all of it meant.

You love what, Moony?

Moony gave him one last look and a half-twist of his lips - almost a smile, but not the one Sirius was used to, not the one he pictured whenever he thought of the agent. It was wrong, and Sirius didn't know the first thing about fixing it.

“Stay safe,” Moony said briefly, then he was gone.

Sirius pressed his back against the rough brick of the wall and exhaled shakily.

That unfinished code would haunt Sirius for the rest of time, it seemed.

..  . -..  ---  …-  .

I love…

Sirius tapped it himself, directly over the ghost of Moony’s code.

He couldn’t find it in himself to finish the phrase, either.

_

June 6, 1944

Sirius sat on the couch, leg bouncing in an indiscernible rhythm, while Celeste reread the same page of her novel and Dumo kept pushing aside the curtain to check the pitch-black street. They all glanced at the clock when it chimed the hour.

It marked twenty-four hours since they’d last heard from Logan.

Like all of them, he’d been sent on a mission to assist in the Allied invasion of Normandy (finally, finally they were getting the help they’d needed for the last four fucking years). They’d been blowing up more railways, sabotaging ammunition depots, neutralizing roads as best they could.

And now they’d all made it home, all except for one.

Celeste’s worn handkerchief lay next to the register, where she had abandoned it two hours earlier after scrubbing the countertop until it squeaked for an excuse to watch the window. The floorboards overhead creaked - that would be Adele, tiptoeing down the hall in her nightgown while the others slept on to wait by the top of the stairs. Sirius had memorized all their pattering footsteps ages ago. One was still missing.

Dumo’s coffee cup clinked against the saucer and all three of them flinched. He murmured an apology, though his hand trembled when he laid it in his lap again. Newspapers caught the wind gathering outside and rushed over the cobblestones like rats on the run. Otherwise, it was calm. Terribly so. Sirius wanted thunder and lightning and skies split right down the middle, or else he was afraid he might just do it himself.

“Coffee?” Celeste’s voice broke at the end and she cleared her throat, vanishing into the back room before they could answer. Sirius didn’t think he could find his voice with a flashlight and a lure, but it would have been nice to try.

He glanced into his cup - only sludge remained. He should have been shaky from all the caffeine he had consumed over the past day. Dumo’s throat bobbed when Sirius folded his forearms on the table and rested his chin on top. “He’s not at the direct front, you know. Many kilometers from the fighting.”

Sirius hummed noncommittally. The radio announcer’s voice had wobbled as he relayed the news. So much fear. So much death.

“Logan is smart,” Dumo said after a long moment. “He would not go into danger without reason.”

Sirius thought of the younger man and his hot-headed tendencies and decided to keep his mouth shut.

He couldn’t do this anymore, though. The sitting and the silence and the waiting. So he got up, stretched his tensed, coiled tight muscles, and began gathering his things. Pictures, codes, camera. Dumo and Celeste were watching him silently, worriedly, and Sirius sighed, hating that he was adding to the worry.

“I’ve got a meet-up with the OSS. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

Promises. Those were risky to make during wartime. It was something he couldn’t help, though - not with the Dumais family, not after they’d taken him in, provided for him, become the kind of family to him that he’d always wanted to have. He didn't want them worrying over him, but he didn’t want to set them up for heartbreak either. It was a fine line to walk, and Sirius still wasn’t sure he was doing it correctly.

He pressed a kiss to Celeste’s cheek in farewell and left out the front door. Quiet, assured steps led him to their designated meeting spot, where Moony was waiting for him, just like always. Sirius couldn’t help but feel relieved as he saw him. There was something about him that made everything calm; their surroundings faded, fuzzy like his camera lens out of focus.

Focus. He needed to focus.

“How would you go about finding a missing person?” he asked as soon as he was in earshot, not wasting a second.

Moony blinked in surprise. “Um-”

“He left last night for a mission and no one’s heard from him since. And with everything that’s been going on today, we’re worried-”

“Padfoot-”

“Sirius,” he corrected quietly, desperately, seeking any reassurance he could find. It was a risk, he knew, but it was Moony. Trusting him had yet to be a bad decision. “It’s Sirius.”

“Sirius,” Moony echoed and, with a pang, Sirius realized he had been right. Hearing Moony say his name, all soft and gentle and with intent, was exactly the balm he was looking for. The tension he’d been holding in his shoulders eased, his chest expanded in his first full breath in far too long. Moony seemed to notice (he seemed to notice everything) and grabbed Sirius’ arm in support.

Sirius felt it like a brand, burning hot and fierce, marking him permanently.

“It’s chaos out there, you know that right?” Moony’s voice was as gentle as his touch. “He probably just hasn’t had a chance to reach out.”

“He’s not usually late.”

“He’s not usually dealing with the side effects of an Allied invasion, either.” Moony argued wryly, arched eyebrow a teasing counterpoint. “I think we can cut him some slack.”

“I guess-”

A warm, encouraging smile that Sirius wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about for the foreseeable future. “The stress isn’t worth it when you don’t have the full picture.”

Sirius mulled over the words, then looked back up at Moony, an idea forming in his head. “Do you have the full picture?”

Moony instantly shut down. His eyes became guarded, his hand let go of Sirius and pulled back as if he was the one burned. “Padfoot-”

“Obviously you don’t have to tell me everything. I get that. But he was headed north, towards Calais. If you know anything-”

“Stop.”

“There’s some railways out there. If you know anything, Moony, please -”

“Sirius,” Moony took Sirius' face in his hands, a quick, sudden movement that brought his warm and calloused skin against the rough shadow of Sirius’ beard coming in. "I would but I can't." His voice was pained but firm, unyielding. “I can’t. And I need you to respect that, ok? You can’t be asking me things like that.”

Sirius nodded sadly, leaning into Moony’s hands, selfishly letting him take some of his weight, just for a moment. He was tired - so tired. “Sorry.”

Moony pulled away, to Sirius’ dismay. He wanted those hands on him, he wanted to be closer.

“You’re worried. I understand.” Moony said with a commiserating shrug before changing the subject. “You got pictures for me?”

Sirius had completely forgotten the reason they were meeting up. These visits were starting to feel less and less like a job. They were a break now, a respite from the outside world and a sense of comfort in a newfound friend. Sirius cherished these days - the excitement leading up to seeing him again, the conversations, the secrets shared, the way they’d shape his very dreams that night.

No, it definitely wasn't just a job anymore.

He rummaged in his bag for the pictures and codes and handed them over. Moony’s fingers brushed against his own as he took them, flipped through them. Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets.

Moony slipped the pictures into his own bag quietly, then looked almost timidly at Sirius. “Well, since you’ve already given me a pretty big secret for today, I guess it’s my turn, huh?”

Like always, Sirius perked up at the promise of learning something new about him. He leaned forward, anticipating whatever was coming next with a funny kick of his heart.

Moony smiled and uttered one single word into the air between them.

“Remus.”

Sirius had to think about it for a second before things clicked into place.

Oh.

“Oh.”

Moony - Remus - laughed as he turned to leave. “Have a good night, Sirius. Jag älskar dig,” he called over his shoulder, and then he was gone.

Sirius watched him go, with not a clue as to what those last words meant, but a smile tugging at his lips and affection in his eyes.

“Night… Remus.”

_

June 22, 1944

Sirius had gotten used to false alarms regarding Remus.

He saw him in the slope of a customer’s shoulders, the crooked smile of a child running down the street, the whiskey eyes of the old woman leaving the church Sirius passed every day on his way to work. Sirius saw fragments of him everywhere, but never the full picture. After D Day, their meetings had become a bit more sporadic as they rushed to get other things done to help the Allied invasion - they were spread so thin as it was, and they needed the Allies to reclaim France; they couldn’t afford to falter now. So Sirius was out of Paris often, finding the best courses for the Allies to take, marking German outposts on his maps, getting back into sabotage. And Sirius was grateful for the change in direction, of course he was, but he also found himself missing the man more than he thought possible. So every time he saw a flash of him - sloped shoulders, crooked smile, whiskey eyes - he stopped in his tracks and did a double-take, only to move on in disappointment.

He was a ghost that Sirius couldn’t seem to stop chasing.

That was probably why Sirius almost missed the agent when he actually saw him, used to false alarms as he was. He was walking on the opposite side of the street, satchel slung over his shoulder (Sirius wondered what secrets were stashed inside), the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to compensate for the summer heat (forearms, merde ). Their eyes met - a spark of recognition, that smile , and then Remus was crossing the street in long, unhurried strides, more relaxed than Sirius had ever seen him. He supposed that made sense, though - it was the first time they’d seen each other since liberation. That was a lot of stress off their shoulders. He was probably the most relaxed Remus had seen him, too. It was a good look on him, Sirius had to admit.

Remus came to stand in front of him, his freckles more numerous and darker from the summer sun, and he looked up at Sirius through his lashes, eyes shimmering as the light hit them. Sirius usually witnessed him in the cover of night, melding into the shadows, beautiful in the glow of the moonlight. But he belonged in the summertime, born to shine in the sun’s rays, no longer hidden. “Hello,” he said, sounding a little breathless.

Oh, Sirius had missed him.

“Hi,” he replied, gravitating towards Remus’ light like a sunflower.

Remus seemed to be waiting for him to continue (he was in no way prepared to say anything else, at least not coherently) but then he blurted, “Where are you headed?”

Sirius had genuinely forgotten. “Oh. Um, just headed to a friend’s place.” Logan had come back from his June 6 mission pining and introspective and broody, and had stayed that way for days now. Sirius was going to get him to talk about it, hopefully. He was pretty sure it would help him. If Logan didn’t want to talk… well, they could sit in companionable silence, Sirius supposed. Maybe listen to the radio, or something. He was fairly sure Logan had some liquor stashed away somewhere…

“What about you?” Sirius finally remembered to ask, choosing to ignore Remus’ teasingly quirked eyebrow. “Or is that classified information?”

Remus just laughed brightly. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he joked with a wink, then continued, “I’m off to find a present for my friends - they’re soon-to-be parents. Not quite sure what to get them, though, so I’m just wandering until something strikes up some inspiration.”

“Ah,” Sirius mused, thinking about his own friends that were expecting and the toys he’d made by hand for the kid. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there. Shopping district is that way, though.”

Remus obviously knew that, Sirius realized with a cringe. He’d been living in Paris for years now, god why did he say that-

Remus smiled anyways. “I’ll head that way next, then.”

He was so… so sweet. Sirius didn’t know what to do with it half of the time. He loved it, though - he loved how gentle and kind Remus still was, even after everything. He’d come to rely on it, after all these years of sharing intel with him. He loved how Remus calmed him seemingly effortlessly; all it took was a smile or a gentle reassurance, a light-hearted joke or a knowing look and Sirius felt infinitely better than before. Remus’ friendship was a balm, soothing wounds from his family and the war, some that he hadn’t even known about.

Sirius wasn’t exactly sure where he’d be without Remus.

He also wasn’t sure what he brought to the table. Remus had helped him so much, but Sirius… well, he didn’t feel like he’d done the same for Remus at all. He wasn’t sure how to make it up to him, if he could make it up to him. That scared him a little. But he figured it was the little things, right? Eventually they’d add up.

“Maybe go for something that’s not for a newborn?” he suggested with a shrug. “They’ll probably be stocked up on newborn stuff, but not for a toddler. Toys, toddler clothes, those kinds of things.”

Remus nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a really good idea, Pads. Thanks.”

Pads.

Sirius didn’t think he was going to swoon, but it was kind of up in the air at the moment.

“Yeah,” he said with a bit of a dreamy edge to his voice, getting a little lost in those eyes. He didn’t know how long he stood there, just admiring, fighting the urge to reach out and hold, to lean in closer, to cross that demarcation between friends and something more -

“I… I should probably go.” Remus’ voice jostled Sirius out of his thoughts. “But I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Sirius took a quick step back, remembering where he was all at once. The blinders came off, the rest of their surroundings came back into view, unfocused but there. Remus was still looking at him with something like longing in his eyes, and Sirius took that as a good omen.

“See you around,” he echoed finally. Maybe somewhere more quiet, where they were alone and he could pick up that earlier train of thought.

He found himself tapping again, after Remus had waved goodbye and turned around towards the shopping district - that same, repetitive code from months gone by.

..  . -..  ---  …-  .

I love…

This time, for the first time, Sirius finished the message.

_

August 28, 1944

For the first time in two months, there was a knock at Remus’ office door. It took him a moment to get over his surprise before calling a tentative, “come in?”

Dorcas popped her head in, already grinning. “Heya, Moonpie.”

“Jesus,” Remus muttered. “What?”

“Hello, Dorcas, it’s good to see you, too. How’s life? How’s work? We should get lunch, it’s been too long,” she said in a terrible imitation of his voice. “Oh, I’m doing well. Work’s a bitch. I got a papercut on my tongue, but there were fresh green beans at the market.”

“Hello, Dorcas,” he relented, setting aside his paperwork. “I’m sorry about your tongue. Congrats on the beans. What do you want?”

She stuck her tongue out, but was unable to keep her smile down for long. “The Weasel wants you in his office, and he’s got a friend. Sounds important, too.”

Remus grimaced. “If I die in there, you can have my paperweights.”

With a dramatic raise of her brows and a final pat to the doorframe, she vanished back into the hallway.

The brisk click-clack of her shoes faded into the background noise of Paris headquarters and Remus flexed his fingers, wincing when his joints cracked - typewriters were certainly quicker than hand-writing his weekly reports, but fuck if they didn’t start to hurt after a while. He stood, straightened his tie and double-checked his tucked shirt, then headed down the labyrinth of halls.

Joining the OSS was possibly the best decision Remus ever made, not just because it allowed him to miss the draft by less than six months but because it had opened up doors he never even knew existed. It gave him friends, connections, the thrill of travel, and better job security than any other career - he literally could not be fired due to the sensitive contents of his memory. The OSS valued his brain over any sort of brawn, an invaluable perk for a gangly 18-year-old with a war looming over his head. He had not regretted it once in five years.

Remus tried not to think about what would have happened in a different world.

He waved to his coworkers as he wandered down the long stretch of frosted office windows–Peter his lunch buddy, Benjy the archivist, Marlene the co-head of the translation department–and let his hands rest comfortably in his pockets. He would have to be all official in Arthur’s office, but among the people he commiserated with over drinks not two nights prior, he could just be Remus.

Not Moony. Not Mr. Lupin. Just Remus. A whole person, not a ghost slipping between shadows with lives in his messenger bag.

Arthur’s door was closed when he arrived; he heard his own quick knock echo off the walls inside and murmuring fell into silence. “Come in, Lupin.”

Remus paused, his hand halfway to the knob. He had never heard Arthur sound like that. The hair at the back of his neck prickled, and he schooled his posture into the picture of calm before stepping inside. “Good afternoon, sir.”

A tall, unfamiliar man stood to Arthur’s left. Remus waited with his eyes trained on the wall above Arthur’s desk, and let his peripheral vision do the work.

Khaki cotton, service pistol at his waist. Army.

Pins on his right collar point. General.

Files under the arm. Bad news.

Remus was suddenly glad he had remembered to tuck his shirt in before arriving.

The general arched a brow. “You’re Captain Remus Lupin, head of the linguistics division?”

“That’s correct, sir.” He carefully kept down a grimace at the formal address and the building ache in his back from standing at attention. Both had been trained out of him years ago - any sort of stiffness was a one-way ticket to blowing an operation sky-high.

“At ease.” Thank God. “Your file says you’ve been stationed in Paris for 2 years.”

“That’s correct, sir.”

“Do you like it here?”

I love it, especially one part. “Yes, sir, I think I could have done a lot worse for myself.”

The general snorted a laugh. “Weasley warned me half his staff were smart-asses.”

Remus swallowed, his throat desert-dry. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“It’s alright, officer.”

Arthur took the offered files from the general and opened the folder. “Well, I’ll just cut straight to it,” he said, looking up. “You get to go home, Lupin.”

Remus’ train of thought stuttered to a screeching, agonizing halt before tipping off the rails entirely.

Fired. Had he been fired? The OSS didn’t fire people, not unless they majorly fucked up and managed to survive the mistake, and Remus–

Remus did not make mistakes. Ever. Full stop. He was far too careful for that.

So it had to be about Sirius.

He kept his face neutral, his stance perfect, his hands folded despite the buckle of his suspenders digging into his wrist. “Can I ask why, sir?”

“Paris is free. Your services here are no longer required, and the rest of your team has been posted to smaller assignments.” Arthur sifted through the papers, then pulled one out so Remus could see, turning a warm smile on him. The words were a blur of ink. “This is a list of your missions in Paris. You have completed more than double the amount of successful drops and collections as any of your coworkers and shown remarkable flexibility in day trips to the surrounding area. We thought you could use a break.”

You get to go home, Lupin. Not a threat. A gift. It had been three weeks since the last letter from his family, and five months since he saw a recent picture of them. Nearly four years since he saw their faces. “Thank you, sir,” Remus managed as his hands began to tremble behind his back.

You get to go home, Lupin. The house would still be blue with white trim. The grass would be cut with his father’s meticulous care.

“Are you alright, son?” the general asked.

Remus blinked. The paper came into focus, full of acronyms and tally marks and the proof that he did his job better than anyone could have asked for. He cleared his throat and straightened again. Keep it perfect until they promise to let you go. “I am, sir, thank you. Thank you, Colonel Weasley.”

“You’ll be on-call until the war ends,” Arthur warned, though his eyes crinkled at the corners. “You’re one of our best, and my superiors want you to live in New York for easy access. You’ll still be bound to the OSS code of conduct.”

The momentary high dissipated; Remus couldn’t quite keep his disbelief out of his voice. “New York?”

“You’re supposed to be there by October 5th,” Arthur said. A twinkle lit in his eye as he slipped the papers back into their folder and tapped it on the table. “But you leave in two days for Wisconsin.”

“Thank you.” There was the promise he had been looking for. He kept his expression calm, his stance solid, even as his heart threatened to pound right out of his chest with anticipation.

Arthur gave him a curt nod. “It’s the least we can do. We’ll be in touch. You’re dismissed.”

Remus didn’t remember walking back down the polished hallway, past the smiling faces of his coworkers that turned to worry when he didn’t respond. It was as if he blinked and he was back at his desk, hands spread over his half-finished report for the week. The last one he would have to write for… for however long. Forever.

He found himself staring at the small frame on his desk, where two pictures had been carefully folded to fit side-by-side–the first held the photograph he had brought when he first left home for Maryland, showing his parents and a six-year-old Jules beaming at the camera. The second had arrived in a letter for his most recent birthday. Jules’ front teeth had grown in and his mother’s hair was longer. Remus blew out an unsteady breath as the frame blurred.

72 hours, and he would be home for real.

He tilted his face toward the pristine white ceiling to blink back his tears, then returned to his report. Just because he was being shipped out didn’t mean he could trip at the finish line. “Successful information transfer on August the 17th, 1944,” he muttered as he typed, choking down the urge to throw all of his stuff in a rucksack and sprint for the nearest airport. “Contact name, Padfoot–”

And he stopped cold, his fingertips still hovering over the keys.

Sirius.

Remus covered his mouth with both hands and leaned on his desk. He had two days left in Paris, not nearly long enough to pull strings and find Sirius. Arthur liked him, but not enough to authorize a pointless mission in the wake of liberation.

You get to go home, Lupin.

But he had already found home. A little bit of it, at least, built by his own hands with the only consistent person in his life. Sirius was fire and stubbornness and eyes like a silver-blue lake in winter. He had a heart bigger than the city he fought to preserve and a mind more brilliant than anyone gave him credit for and–

And Remus was going back to America. And Remus had lost him in the crowd, vanished into smoke and mirrors just like he was supposed to. They weren’t even supposed to be people to each other and had become so much more.

He didn’t want to imagine a world without Sirius in it. So much beauty would be lost without him and his photographs, capturing breaths and moments and the smallest blip of time in a perfect frame. Remus loved it, just as he loved Sirius, just as he loved the cool autumn wind back home. He had been a fool to think he could keep any of it when the war seemed determined to leech joy from the very ground.

His hands shook as he got to his feet and hurried down the hallway, brushing past a very confused Peter who attempted a ‘hello’. The bathroom door was nothing more than a haze of dark wood when Remus fumbled it open–he spared only a moment to make sure he was alone before entering the last stall, locking it behind him, and clamping a hand over his mouth as silent sobs cracked him right in half.

–

September 1, 1944

Sirius gathered the leftover saucers and wiped the window tables where the Thursday regulars sat, like he always did before heading out. Business had skyrocketed since liberation–Adele had started working the register the week before, but he knew the Dumais were considering hiring more help.

The clock struck 11:30 when he stepped outside and let the wind roll over him. Parisians liked their late coffee. They liked it even more when celebrations carried deep into the small hours and joy-fueled adrenaline began to fade.

Sirius had walked the path so many times it had become its own kind of landmark; he kept his head on an unconscious swivel, scanned left-right-left-back for any shadows peeling away from alley walls. There would be none (never again, as long as he drew breath), but the habit was hard to kill.

Sirius arrived at their spot at midnight on the dot. Sand crunched under his shoes. The distant clock tower hummed a low reminder. He stood in the dark, hands in his pockets, and waited. He had a much more important message than pictures to deliver, one that made Sirius’ stomach flip if he thought too much about it. It was time to finish the code aloud. Three years was a long time to watch someone so incandescently lovely and bury his affection.

So he waited.

And he waited.

Sirius was not a patient man, but he remained in the alley for a full hour before unease began to drip along his edges. Remus was punctual, precise, professional - he had never kept Sirius waiting longer than five minutes before, and only because his train ran late.

Sirius’ heart leaped when a new set of footsteps echoed off the walls in front of him and a dark figure in a trenchcoat began their steady approach. Finally, he thought, breathless with relief. “I was–”

The words died in his throat when the figure entered the flickering lamplight and gave Sirius a confused up-and-down look. “Who are you?” the man asked. His voice was harsh, his French dripping with an American accent, so unlike Remus’ calm baritone that rolled like the sea.

Sirius blinked and choked back the initial burst of fear. “Lousy weather we’re having, huh?” he asked instead, falling back into the code phrase he had not used since his and Remus’ second meeting.

The American’s suspicion eased by a degree. “Maybe it’ll shape up,” he replied, and took Sirius’ hand for a firm shake. “Roscoe.”

“Padfoot.” Roscoe gave him a nod before opening his coat and drawing an unfamiliar package out. Sirius frowned. That wasn’t how the exchange worked. He took pictures, wrote Remus love letters disguised as notes on the thin separation papers, and then admired him in the moonlight for as long as it took for those clever eyes to make sure everything was in order. He shifted his weight to the side. “Is there a problem?”

“Hmm?” Roscoe glanced up from his bag of trinkets. “No, why?”

Sirius swallowed hard, and gripped the strap of his messenger bag as tight as his hands would allow. Now or never. Get it over with. The fear made every word molasses-thick in his throat. “Is Moony alright?”

“Yeah, probably. Didn’t see him in the obits.”

He was so casual about it. So damned flippant about something that made Sirius’ whole torso clench just to imagine. It was equal parts hurtful and infuriating. “Then where is he?”

Roscoe shrugged one shoulder, oblivious. “How should I know?”

“He’s my contact.”

“And he got reassigned,” Roscoe said in slow, clumsy French, as if he was speaking to a child. Sirius glowered down at him and was pleased to see a flicker of unease in his eyes.

“What do you mean, reassigned?”

“Paris is free. His services were no longer required here, and I doubt yours are, either. Check with your front office for new orders. I heard they’re letting a lot of civilians out.”

Sirius bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and exhaled through his nose. No fistfights. “Well, can you find him for me?”

Roscoe sighed heavily. “Even if I knew how, I wouldn’t. I’m not blowing his cover because you wanted to say ‘hello’. The OSS is a little more organized than your resistance.”

“Excuse you,” Sirius said coldly. The leather strap of his bag creaked under the force of his grip.

“Look, Padfoot, I’ve got a job to do.” Roscoe brandished a fine white cloth at him with an exasperated look before crouching. “This whole place has to be cleared of any evidence of you two by dawn. The OSS doesn’t need your pictures and it would be best if you just went back home. Moony’s not coming back.”

It took several seconds before Sirius registered the pounding in his ears as his own pulse. The August air was cloying and sticky, but he had never felt so cold. “What do you mean?”

“My French isn’t that bad,” Roscoe grumbled.

“What do you mean?” Sirius repeated. “I have the codes for R–for Moony to take back.”

Roscoe muttered something in English under his breath before turning to Sirius, though he didn’t rise. “I already told you he’s been reassigned. My best guess is Switzerland or Austria or, hell, somewhere else in France. I don’t know. They’re putting us all over. But you can bet he won’t be back here before the war’s over, and if I were him, I wouldn’t come back at all.”

It had become very difficult to swallow, suddenly. A fine tremor skittered down Sirius’ back and through his legs; he gave a single abrupt nod before turning on his heel. The corner of his mouth stung with salt and he swiped it away with the back of his hand, squaring his shoulders.

Reassigned, Roscoe had said. Gone. Switzerland, Austria, France. Moony’s never coming back–

Sirius paused halfway down the sidewalk to let out a shaky breath, and with it, a few wisps of his shattered heart. “Shit,” he whispered to the empty street, plaintive and pathetic. “Shit.”

He hadn’t even thought to take one picture. He hadn’t even thought to say goodbye.

February 14, 1945

New York was… fine. Closer to home than Paris, and certainly warmer than Wisconsin in winter. His government-funded house on the outskirts of Brooklyn was about as exciting as plain toast - Remus had never found the time or motivation to repaint, leaving the walls a regulation beige. The most exciting home renovation project he had managed was ripping out the bathroom carpet that had been laid down by a madman with a staple gun.

Snow fell outside his bedroom window, cold and crisp and white. If he let his vision blur, he could pretend he was looking into his parents’ backyard. At least then he wouldn’t be quite so alone.

Perhaps he was being dramatic. The house was great, one story with enough space to personalize, not that he had put more than his few framed photos up. His entire life had been packed into a single duffel and rucksack for half a decade, after all. There was a big front window to look out at the quaint suburban neighborhood; the people across the street brought him homemade cookies and a roast his first week there, and passing out candy to the mob of tiny trick-or-treaters had been the highlight of Remus’ autumn.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t make an effort to build a life, either - New York City was full of activity and possibility, and only a short distance away. He had favorite restaurants and coffee shops already (though none compared to Café Dumais), regular haunts and a growing list of museums to visit on a rainy day.

Hell, he had even found a friend in the man a little younger than himself who ran a bookshop in a quiet corner of Manhattan. While his taste in books was excellent, he seemed just as lonely, aching just as bad for someone far away, if the small shrine containing a wallet photo of another young man and a map of France marked by a careful hand was anything to go by. When Remus had asked, the shop’s owner had simply shrugged and said my boys by way of explanation. The wistfulness is his expression was more of a comfort than Remus could ever say. His chocolate-colored cat had a penchant for napping in Remus’ lap as well, which wasn’t half-bad when he and the shop’s owner swapped book recommendations for hours on end.

He just wished he had someone to share it with.

Someone tall enough to get a pitcher down from the cupboards without a stepstool, someone to help him fill the house with trinkets and pictures, someone to introduce to his bookstore friend, someone who would dance with him in the living room to an old French record they both knew the words to. Someone whose voice replayed in Remus’ dreams and made him ache when he woke.

He sighed, and dragged himself out of bed to pad across the chilly floors. Only one robe hung on the pair of hooks on his bedroom door; he shrugged it on to fight off the cold and wandered into the kitchen, switching the radio on for background noise. The coffee pot burbled and hissed as he pulled down one of three chipped mugs, two of which were housewarming gifts from Lily and James. In private, Remus had laughed a little at the irony of his best friend getting to keep her French boyfriend without ever stepping foot outside the country. Perks of office work, he supposed. She never had to fade in and out of existence. She could be bold, fiery, wonderful Lily and hold tight to what she loved.

His coffee finished at the same time his toast popped. Butter on one side, jam on the other, a towel over his arm to prevent sticky fingers. Remus loved to cook, but it seemed like overkill to get a whole breakfast going when it was just him.

He stopped in the doorway to his office with a sigh. The papers had begun leaking out into the family room, and unfortunately no magical cleaning elf had appeared overnight to sort out the mess Remus made during his all-nighters when he couldn’t sleep. He would tell himself he would rest as soon as he found a name, an address, a picture, but always woke groggy and sore on the floor, empty-handed.

Remus tiptoed over the semi-legally acquired, half-organized filing boxes and stacks of paperwork to flip his daily calendar.

The bright red heart that stared back at him was a slap in the face.

He flipped the page back down to the 13th, set his breakfast on the desk, and knelt to resume his search through endless piles of paperwork for a single clue that would bring him home.

–

June 1, 1945

Dumo was judging him.

Not in a bad way, granted. It was just the way he watched everyone, noticed everything. He had this… sixth sense for upset people. Being the fixer he was, he could pick out people struggling in a crowd of thousands and somehow know exactly what to say, what to do to help. It was a bit like magic. Sometimes Sirius wondered if he’d always been like that, or if it was something he’d learned by being a parent, a husband, a leader. Or maybe he’d just learned by being here, in this shop, watching the idiosyncrasies of his customers.

Nevertheless, Sirius didn’t really want to talk about what was bothering him. Dumo probably already knew, anyway.

It had been months since Remus disappeared. Sirius had lost count of how many, which he found odd. He felt like he remembered every questioning, anxious day in vivid, excruciating detail, but remembering just how many days had passed was elusive to him. It was a strange limbo, trapped between then and now. Which was ridiculous.

But Sirius knew his emotions, he watched Logan and his weekly café visits for a soldier who probably wasn’t going to show up, he got his hopes up when he thought he saw Remus right there, just outside the café, waiting for him, and he understood that love was a wild, sentient thing that sometimes couldn’t be controlled or willed into submission. Sometimes it was best to just sit back and let it run its course.

It was a slow day - probably due to the weather. Rain was coming down in sheets, soaking the streets and making them glisten. Most people were staying indoors, or running to their destinations under umbrellas or newspapers or anything they could find, not stopping for a coffee or pastry today. The café had only served a handful of customers during Sirius’ shift, including a woman who was still seated by the window watching the rain. She sipped at her coffee idly, bright red lipstick leaving a residue on the rim of her cup.

Sirius wiped down a table (again) and looked for anything to keep him occupied. He smiled at Logan as he joined them, hair messy as if he’d been running his hands through it - a distracted tic Sirius knew he had. He didn’t have a shift that day, but Sirius suspected he was just bored. Lonely. Transitioning from Resistance member to run-of-the-mill café employee was a bit of an adjustment for all of them; they leaned on each other to get through it, sometimes leaving coded messages to decode or little “missions” to complete - who could find Katie’s lost teddy bear first (a classic rescue mission, which Sirius proudly won), who could make the best pancakes (Dumo, to no one’s surprise), who could steal the little ceramic deer on the mantle without Celeste knowing (no one won that one, Celeste was much too attached to that little deer). It helped with the repetition of their days now. And it was a fun way to keep up their skills. There was no danger to any of it, no risk. Sirius loved their games.

That was why, when the woman with the red, red lipstick left and Sirius went to clear the table, he didn’t even bat an eye when he saw a tiny, inked note on the table. He was a bit impressed that Logan had managed to slip it under the plate without the woman noticing, but people always seemed to have a habit of underestimating Logan. He figured he was just next on a very, very long list.

“Dumo,” he called, spinning on his heel to face the two of them, note lifted with a teasing flutter. “I bet my slice of pie tonight that I can solve this before you do.”

Logan scowled at him. “Why can’t I play?”

Sirius blinked, brow furrowing as he looked at the note again. “Because you’re the one who wrote it?”

“I didn’t.”

“Dumo?” Sirius asked, thinking maybe the older man had left the note there when he’d served the woman her coffee. But he just shook his head, as clueless as the rest of them.

Sirius stared down at the paper, a new puzzle to solve. There was something about the code that looked familiar… but he knew it was one he hadn’t seen in…

Sirius dove for the chair closest to him, digging out a pen and his old, tattered book of cyphers from back during the war, and feverishly getting to work. He let his heart race in a way he hadn’t in months, stringing together letters to form words, sentences, until he finished. The paper shook in his hand as he inspected it.

“I’ve got to go,” he blurted out, jumping to his feet again. “Logan, can you - I’ve got to go.”

“I’ll cover your shift,” Logan confirmed. Then, “Where are you going?”

Sirius was already halfway out the door. “I’m going to find the love of my life!”

Come and find me where we first met, the note had said. Nothing more, nothing less. But Sirius knew who it was from. He stepped out into the pouring rain, the chill refreshing in the summer afternoon - an extra shock to his system.

He took off running.

Faster, faster, his heart pounded with the tempo of his footfalls, echoing the splashes of rainwater he left in his wake. Around a corner, zipping past a cart full of flowers, narrowly dodging a woman with a dog, he ran. Down one alley to the next, where he skidded to a halt and stared.

There was a lone man standing stock-still in the rain, umbrella hiding the top half of his face - but Sirius could see his side profile, his lips curled into that lopsided smile he knew from all those months ago.

Remus knew he was there - how could he not? Sirius wasn’t exactly quiet in his haste. But he approached slowly now, in such a stark contrast to his pulse, wet hair plastered to his forehead and rivulets of rainwater tracking down his face. He stopped in front of Remus, the toes of their shoes touching, and raised a hand to tilt the umbrella up, unobscuring his vision.

Whiskey eyes, chocolate freckles, and caramel curls.

“Lousy weather we’re having, huh?” Sirius asked, breathless and barely over a whisper.

Remus beamed up at him, eyes sparkling in recognition at the phrase. “Maybe it’ll shape up,” he replied, and all Sirius could do was cradle his face in his hands and kiss him, deep and fierce and attentive, just like he’d always wanted to. Remus’ head tilted up sweetly to compensate for their height difference and he kissed Sirius back, moving the umbrella so that it covered them both. It was sweet and passionate and - well, wet, with the rainwater and all.

Sirius thought it was perfect.

With rain pattering lightly on the umbrella over their heads, he blinked his eyes open when Remus pulled back, absolutely in love with the sight that greeted him.

Well, shit.

What was there to be afraid of now? Remus wasn’t going to leave, not after finding him again, not so soon. Plus there was no way Remus didn’t have some semblance of feelings for him, not after a kiss like that.

“I think I love you,” he breathed, pushing a curl away from Remus’ temple tenderly, letting his hand linger. The resulting smile was everything.

“I’ve told you I love you in… three languages so far,” Remus recalled, laughing at Sirius’ stunned face. “Plus morse code.”

“I thought I’d imagined that one,” Sirius admitted, thinking back on that meeting. “And I thought the others were compliments or goodbyes, based on the circumstances.”

Remus nuzzled into his hand, then pressed a quick kiss to his palm. “I thought it was too soon,” he confessed. “Or too risky. And then I got reassigned and…”

And.

They both knew the rest.

“Can you tell me now?” Sirius finally asked, right as the rain started to soften. “In a language I actually know?”

Remus laughed, sunshine peeking through the storm clouds. “I love you.”

And Sirius kissed him again, smile against smile, as his heart directly opposed the falling raindrops and soared.

_

June 2, 1945– 8:15 am

The world was settling. Paris was better than he left it. The morning was calm and bright. Sirius was beautiful.

He had found peace in sleep, sharp cheekbones softening under the sunlight coming through the window and jaw slack with each heavy breath. His hair was longer than before; it spilled over his forehead in loose waves and just brushed the tips of his ears, still mussed from the night before.

They hadn’t bothered with a shower once they were sated and the moon was high overhead. The thought of separating for even a moment had been absolutely out of the question, so they had laid together, as close as they could get, until sleep came for them both.

Remus sighed and tucked a piece of Sirius’ hair behind his ear. He was even in love with the way his nose whistled with each exhale. Really, it was starting to get ridiculous.

He had started searching the second he landed in New York - the janitor of the Manhattan headquarters had to boot him out of the building that first night, luggage and all. Colonel Weasley could mark him as ‘reserve duty’ on paper, but that didn’t mean Remus was ready to shed his spy mantle just yet. He was the best of his division; it seemed a shame to let it all go to the wayside so fast.

It had taken months, but he did it. Sirius - Sirius Black, age 23, resident of Paris, France, Resistance photographer - existed. He was alive, too, as far as the reports could tell. The few photographs of him tucked into a folder stopped Remus’ heart when he first saw them, kneeling on his office floor and losing hope, and every time after that he had to put them behind the other pages so he didn’t get distracted just looking at that picturesque face.

But those long nights and exhausted days and ink stained fingertips had led him right back to Paris, in the end. They let him kiss Sirius breathless in the rain and take him to bed after three years of silent pining, and they let him wake in the mid-morning light to watch his face twitch with a dream.

Remus was never going to let him go again.

He traced the shell of Sirius’ ear with his thumb and let his head rest heavy on their shared pillow. For once, he could just watch. There was no trade of contraband; no goal to excuse their meeting. Remus thought he could handle a quiet existence for once.

Never let me go, Sirius had whispered to him as they left their wet clothes in a heap and tangled each other in the bedsheets, shivering from the rain and the sudden release of years’ worth of suppressed emotion. Remus, he had said, and the sound that escaped him when Sirius’ voice curled around his name like an embrace after so long nearly broke him. Remus, don’t ever let me go.

I won’t. He had not hesitated. Not while Sirius was real and warm and there, right in his arms. Not if you keep me, too.

He hadn’t bothered setting up the little room when he arrived in Paris beyond dropping off his bag–Dorcas had been waiting for his message at their favorite lunch spot with a gleam in her eye, a ring on her finger with M&D engraved in the band, and a kiss for his cheek that left a waxy red lipstick print behind. Missed you, Moonpie.

He had missed her, too. More than he cared to admit.

There was no alarm clock on the nightstand and Remus’ wristwatch was… somewhere, likely in the mess of his clothing where it lay on the floor. He had no idea how long they had spent in bed. Long enough to learn every inch of each other and still have room for more. Long enough to make a dent in the bone-deep yearning to touch that had been plaguing them for a thousand days.

Sirius hadn’t even brought a coat when he ran after Remus. That was stupid, you’re going to get yourself sick, Remus had said into his lips as he practically ripped the buttons of Sirius’ shirt in his haste to get it off.

I’m stupid for you had been the breathless reply before there were hands on his belt and everything went hazy.

Sirius inhaled slowly, his legs stretching all the way out until their feet brushed, and Remus came back to the present to watch the realization wash over him in real time. Sirius was smiling before he even opened his eyes.

“Bonjour.”

Remus’ heart seized. “God, I love your morning voice.”

The sleepy smile vanished in half a second. Sirius tucked his arms under the pillow and sat up to look at him properly, lips parted in befuddlement. “What was that?”

Remus frowned. “What was what?”

“You’ve never spoken English to me.”

“I–” He cut himself off with a laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of Sirius’ shock. When he thought about it, though, it was true. They had never spoken anything but French, aside from the occasional ‘I love you’ in whatever language he was sure Sirius wouldn’t know. If Sirius suddenly started speaking Swedish to him, he supposed he would be just as surprised. “Sorry, I’m tired–”

“No, no, no, it’s good,” Sirius said hurriedly, settling back down and shuffling right into Remus’ space until their faces were mere inches apart. His eyes were bright and clear, like summer clouds. A warm hand wove with Remus’ own and squeezed; his heart gave a kick and he kissed Sirius’ nose, just because he could. “Say it again.”

Remus smiled. “I love your–”

“In English.”

“I love your morning voice,” he repeated, then reached out to trail his fingers over Sirius’ stubbly jaw. “Better?”

A soft, dopey smile made his eyes sparkle. “You love my voice?”

Always. “Especially in the morning.”

Sirius’ grin grew. “Why?”

“It’s sweet,” Remus mused, rolling over until Sirius was on his back below him. Two strong arms wound around his waist without hesitation and Remus melted a little, but covered it up by kissing each peak and plane of Sirius’ face as he spoke, pressing every word into his skin. “It’s all rough. You sound happy. Nobody else gets to hear it.” His lips feathered the hinge of Sirius’ jaw and made him sigh. “It’s hot.”

“Re-mus,” Sirius groaned, and Remus grinned into his skin as he was hugged close to Sirius’ sleep-warm body. “Do not say that.”

“Why not?” he teased.

“I have to go to work.”

“What time?”

Sirius dragged him down further and buried his face in the crook of Remus’ neck with a huff. “9 o’clock.”

“Mmm, you’ve definitely missed it by now.” Did he have any clue what time it was? Absolutely not. Was he willing to lie like he was paid for it to keep Sirius cuddly and warm and fucking adorable in bed with him for the rest of their lives?

Well, obviously. And not too long ago, he did get paid for it.

“Hey.” Sirius’ voice was raspy, sending a waterfall of shivers down Remus’ spine. “I love you.”

God. Remus closed his eyes and rested their temples together, breathing in everything about that moment. He wanted to keep it like one of Sirius’ pictures - a perfect snapshot of a perfect morning. “Mon amour,” he said into Sirius’ wayward curls, and felt his chest cave slightly. “In every language.”

He was very glad they had decided not to rinse off the night before. The salt of Sirius’ skin was better than anything he had imagined on those long, lonely nights.

–

“Why do you like it so much when I speak English?”

Sirius ran his hand over Remus’ shoulder blade, silently memorizing the feel of him, bare and warm and a little damp from the shower they dragged out until the water ran ice-cold. They were half-lying on each other again, though they had swapped out the sheets for a clean set in the closet. Remus’ weight on him was as familiar as if they had been sleeping next to one another for years already.

Sirius sighed, and cupped Remus’ cheek in his hand. He could do that, now. Touch him. Hold him. Reach out and not fear Remus shying away. “It’s how you speak to the people that know you best,” he said after a moment. Amber eyes were hooded with drowsy bliss, but entirely focused on him. He would do whatever it took to wake up to that expression every morning of every day to come. “Your family. Your friends. The people you grew up with. It’s your voice, not your French voice.”

Remus’ voice pitched up when he spoke French; not much, but enough that Sirius was coming to adore the low rolls of his American voice with each new word. It meant Remus felt safe and comfortable with him. The careful walls he had constructed could come down a bit. Remus blinked slowly, then nuzzled into Sirius’ palm. “You’d like my family. They’d like you, too.”

“Would they?” A giddy firework exploded in Sirius’ abdomen.

“Mhmm. I told them about you.”

“What did you tell them, mon coeur?”

Remus’ cheeks went pink at the nickname–even pinker than they had been before their shower, when Sirius had him flat on his back. He made another little humming noise. “Told them about my French friend in Paris, who was allergic to shellfish and knew the best places for contraband chocolate. Told them you were kind, and smart, and capable, and brave…”

“Careful, I’m starting to think you have a crush on me.”

“Because I do,” Remus murmured in English, and leaned in to kiss him again.

Sirius had dated before, but none of them had ever been like Remus. He would kiss Remus for days if he had the chance. Could talk with him for hours and never get bored. He wanted to hold Remus’ hand and introduce him to his family and take showers with him every morning - the feeling of Remus washing his hair had blown his mind and weakened his knees - and a million other things that used to seem so mundane. They had had enough action for one lifetime, in his opinion. They were tired. He wanted to rest with Remus.

Speaking of…

Sirius glanced out the window and had to stifle a laugh. Remus was an excellent liar, but after so many years with a window facing the rising sun, Sirius knew where it was supposed to be when he needed to drag himself out of bed and go downstairs to open the café. “Remus.”

He got a happy sigh in response.

“I have to go to work.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

Remus cracked an eye open and glared at him. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” Sirius laughed. “Don’t you have things to do, too?”

“I’m on reserve,” Remus said around a groan as he stretched, wrapping both arms and a leg around Sirius. “Means I don’t have to do shit until they call me. And they won’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m very good at disappearing.”

Sirius’ heart stuttered. It was meant as a joke, but Remus had disappeared enough for his liking. It had seemed so easy for him to just go - there had been no warning, no goodbye, no note. Not even a phone call. Logan lingered at the same table every week, but Sirius had watched the phone and searched the crowds just as often. Sometimes he imagined he saw honey curls among the sea of hats or a mischievous, crooked smile, and it shattered him a little every time he was wrong. For a good three months in the middle, once the shock and fear had worn off, Sirius had almost convinced himself Remus did it on purpose. Perhaps he had scared him off. Perhaps Sirius was nothing more than a contact to him, after all.

“Sirius?”

He glanced up. “Ouais?”

Some of the contentment had faded from Remus’ face. “Lost you for a second.”

Lost you for months. Sirius kissed his forehead, right where worry had creased his golden skin so many times. “Don’t disappear on me.”

Remus made a soft, punched-out sound and pulled him impossibly closer. “Oh, no, that’s not what I meant–”

“I know,” Sirius assured him. “I know. But still.”

“Never again.” Remus’ long, slender fingers cradled the back of his neck and pulled him down, not to kiss, just to hold. “I never stopped looking for you, Sirius. You were in my dreams day and night.”

“I know.” He allowed himself a full 60 seconds of being held so tight it was hard to breathe before brushing a hand through Remus’ softly curling hair. “I really do have to go to work.” Remus groaned again, louder, and shoved his face into the pillow. “I do! Dumo is going to think I went crazy, or got hit by a car, or something.”

“You didn’t tell him where you went?” Remus hesitated for a moment, then peeked out at him. “Also, who’s Dumo?”

“No, and my…” Sirius faltered. How to begin? “Dad? Boss? My dad, who is also my boss and my landlord and the owner of the café. Adoptive dad, at least.”

“Got it.” Remus didn’t sound like he got it at all, but it was the thought that counted. “You really have to go?”

“I’ll be back by two.” If I can talk Logan into covering for me. Sirius scoffed internally. He would make Logan cover for him, whether he liked it or not. There was not a force in the world that would make him leave Remus alone in a bed for more than a few hours.

“I’ll be here.” A few beats of quiet passed before Remus shifted out of their embrace and took Sirius’ face in his hands. His expression held nothing but honesty and–and a little bit of love. “I’ll be here.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Remus kissed each of his cheeks. “Kocham cię, jag älskar dig, ik hou van je…”

–

June 2, 1945– 1:37 pm

Sirius opened the door and nearly walked right back out again for fear he had stepped into a dream. He settled for leaning on the doorframe instead, stunned into silence save for a soft “oh” that came from somewhere beyond him. Somewhere deeper.

Bacon–not real bacon, of course, probably just very lean meat from probably a pig - sizzled in a pan on the stove, next to two small eggs. Two slices of toast sat on a chipped plate, next to the knob of butter he had been rationing for a month. The whole place smelled better than heaven. It smelled like home.

Then again, that might just have been Remus. Remus, in a frayed flannel robe with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows and a t-shirt over his boxers and a spoon of unknown use stuck between his lips that were still a little red from their morning activities. Remus, whose bedhead looked so utterly ridiculous that Sirius wanted to bury his hands in it and kiss him stupid.

He had only ever seen Remus perfectly professional and put-together before, aside from the previous night, when the moon had been the only thing to illuminate his face with pleasure scribbled across it by a heavy hand. Sirius ached with how badly he needed to see that rumpled gentleness every day of his fucking life.

So he dropped his bag with a thud and kicked his shoes off blindly and caught Remus’ face between his palms, ignoring his surprised noise to pull the spoon away and do exactly what he had been wanting to do since his heartbeat first stuttered. Remus tasted like the morning. He smelled like maybe-bacon and sleep with a hint of the minty shampoo Sirius had worked into his hair after their roll in the sheets.

Remus kissed back just as fervently–perhaps they were getting carried away for so early in the day - and Sirius finally had to drag himself back to rest their foreheads together. “I missed you.”

The spoon clinked as Remus set it in his mug and Sirius suddenly, desperately wanted to know what Remus mixed in with his coffee he needed to know everything – “I told you I’d stay. Also, I made…very, very late breakfast.”

Sirius let out something like a laugh, something like a huff, and wrapped Remus up in his arms. Cold hands untucked his shirt after a moment’s hesitation and came to rest at his lower back; he couldn’t even bring himself to flinch at the temperature difference. “Say it American.”

It was Remus’ turn to laugh, a little husky, before he repeated himself in English. Sirius closed his eyes at the unfamiliar syllables. The hills and valleys of Remus’ voice, the voice the people that really knew him loved.

“Say the last word again,” he requested.

Remus’ thumbs pressed into the divots of his back. “Breakfast.”

“So sharp,” Sirius tsked, drawing another – another! - laugh from him. "Petit-déjeuner. Much more elegant."

“Little lunch.”

“Who’s Madison?” The name felt strange to say. Sirius had met about eight dozen ‘Marie’s and ‘Pierre’s and ‘Jean-Luc’s, but never a ‘Madison’. It even felt like an American name. Remus made a questioning noise. “Your shirt.”

“My– oh.” The last word came out on a snort. “Oh, no, that’s where I’m from.”

Sirius frowned and leaned back to look. Madison, stretching right across Remus’ chest, with a handful of other English words half-hidden by the robe. “You have your mother’s name on a shirt?”

“My city,” Remus corrected, still laughing. His nose scrunched with it and Sirius kissed that, too. “Madison, Wisconsin. I’ll take you there sometime.”

Remus had had a pristine French accent every second Sirius had known him. But the second the words Madison, Wisconsin rolled off his tongue, Sirius recoiled. “What the hell did your mouth just do?”

“My accent?” Remus sounded even more amused than he looked as he tugged Sirius closer by the hem of his shirt. “It’s better, now. I used to call it ‘Sconsin. My dad still does.”

“'Sconsin,” Sirius mimicked.

“You have to say the ‘n’ at the end!”

“I don’t know how!”

Remus’ rounded nose brushed his own, then pressed into the dimple of Sirius’ cheek accompanied by a kiss that made butterflies fill his stomach. “I’ll teach you,” he said in quiet, perfect French that rumbled in his chest. He was solid in Sirius’ arms, warm against his front. His curls tickled Sirius’ nose when he bent to kiss them, and he felt Remus sigh. “We have all the time in the world, and nowhere else to be.”

Oh, but they had thousands of places to be - the park Sirius and Logan took the Dumais children to on Sunday afternoons, the huge, sprawling library he knew Remus would love to get lost in, all the places that had become bare, vulnerable pieces that made Sirius who he was, he wanted Remus to see it all. The good, the bad, everything in between. He wanted to be known, even though it was more terrifying than he could put into words. But, at the same time, there was no one else Sirius trusted more to guard those secrets.

They had time, though, like Remus said. Sirius could show him those places and more, adding new ones to the repertoire because they were special to them, together, as a unit. He wondered what hidden Parisian gems they’d uncover together.

Sirius stayed close, even though it was hot in the kitchen. Kisses were pressed to Remus’ face, a gentle squeeze to his hips. “Secret for a secret?” he asked, delighting in the way Remus laughed, quiet and close and sweet.

“I thought that tradition ended when the war did.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Remus landed a kiss of his own onto Sirius’ collarbone, making him melt more than the heat wafting from the stove. “Go ahead, then.”

“I never thought I’d get to have something like this.” It wasn’t sad, or self-deprecating, just honest and straightforward. Between his parents and the war, the secrets and the hiding and the uncertainty of it all, Sirius had tried his best not to think about it. Why dream of something if it wasn’t meant to be? “I’m glad I do, though. I’m glad you’re here, with me.”

Remus pulled back just far enough to meet Sirius’ gaze, bright and warm and loving and everything Sirius had let himself dream about, once in a blue moon. ”I’m glad I’m here, too.” His hands were making small circles at the small of Sirius’ back, around the dimples there, then farther up under his shirt. Sirius let himself get lost, for just a second, before looking away with an embarrassed laugh.

“Ok, your turn to tell a secret; don’t make me be emotionally vulnerable all by myself.”

Remus pressed his smile against Sirius’ cheek, and god, it was everything. “Yeah, yeah, alright.” He seemed to stall for a second, hesitation in the shape of his frame, the way he held his breath and then let it all out in a quiet rush. “Sharing secrets is… hard for me. Guess that makes sense with the whole, y’know, being a spy thing. Goes against all my training. It’s not as hard with you, though. And I know most of my secrets for a secret-” he laughed a little at the phrase, how it got jumbled up in his mouth, “they haven’t been very deep or meaningful or anything like that - and I’m gonna work on that, I am - but it’s always been… easy, with you. Sharing things. It’s a lot harder to be scared when you’re… you, with that excitement to actually know me, and that big heart, and those soulful eyes-”

Sirius grinned. “Soulful, huh?”

“Shut up, I’m trying to be profound here.”

Sirius laughed, heart swelling, but quieted back down to let Remus continue, soulful eyes watching him adoringly. He was toying with the bottom seam of Sirius’ shirt now, for something to distract himself. Sirius found it strangely endearing, even as he pleated the material between his fingers and left a crease on the shirt he’d just ironed that morning. “I guess… feeling safe is hard for me. I’m sure it is for you, too. But you - you’re safe. I feel safe when I’m with you.”

And fuck, what was Sirius supposed to say to that? Thank you? That didn’t even begin to encompass the rush of emotions currently wreaking havoc on his heart. He simply pulled Remus closer, letting him feel the galloping cadence of his heartbeat, and breathed. Tucking his head, he tried to get closer, closer, he still wasn’t close enough. He finally settled on, “It’s kind of insane how much I love you,” the words a breathless rush, an awed whisper. Remus choked on a noise in the back of his throat, nuzzling into Sirius’ shirt.

“I love you, too.”

They stood like that for a while, food getting cold, and just enjoyed the closeness, the mundane intimacy they’d been desiring for so long now. Breakfast could wait just a little longer.

_

June 4, 1945

Pascal liked to think he had a sixth sense to detect upset people. It came in handy with his children the most (by birth or by acquisition), as well as the many café regulars who looked as if they needed a little extra boost to get through the day. A free cookie usually did the trick - an extra dash of sugar, or a splash of chocolate in their espresso to brighten their view.

None of those tricks had worked in the wake of Sirius and Logan’s obvious heartache, though. Logan’s wistful staring and silent afternoons at the table by the window hurt to watch after a while; Sirius, bless his heart, was about as subtle as a tank when Minerva delivered the news that his OSS meetups were no longer necessary. Again and again, Pascal wished he could fix their hollow hope with a touch of sweetness.

The beginning of the end of the dark times began with Sirius’ return to the café in the same clothes as the day before, when he had thrown himself into the pouring rain and remained radio silent for more than twelve hours. His radiant smile lifted the heavy stormcloud that had been hovering over their home. There was no more constant downturn to his mouth; no more searching the mail for a note that would never come. Something in him that the war had jarred loose had settled once more.

Pascal was not surprised when Sirius took the next day off - presumably to spend with the still-nameless ‘love of his life’ - and even less surprised when Sirius came shuffling up to him the day after that with anxiety pinching every inch of his face.

“Should I change into something nicer?” he asked mildly as Sirius slowly tortured the edge of his apron between two fingers.

“What? Why?”

“I should make a good impression on your lover, shouldn’t I?”

Sirius froze mid-fidget. Honestly, it was a miracle he had survived as a spy. “I - well–”

“I understand. Coffee stains aren’t usually good for first meetings.”

“Dumo,” he managed, sounding rather strangled.

“What?” Christ, it was fun to tease his sons again. “This is the first date you’ve brought home. I want to do it right.”

The bright red coloring Sirius’ cheeks spread to his ears and he smacked Pascal on the arm with a spare towel. “Stop, it’s not funny!”

“On the contrary, it’s very funny,” Pascal chuckled. “But I’ll leave you be. Where are we meeting?”

“Here.”

Oh. “Oh?”

“Out–” Sirius jerked his head toward the window, where the regular flood of Parisians in the early afternoon milled past. “Outside.”

Pascal squinted, but couldn’t pick out anyone truly exceptional. Everyone seemed either busy or bored - there were a few lovely ladies here and there on their way to work, but nobody he would clock as ‘waiting for their boyfriend to come back’. Then again, if this was who he thought it was, they would be well-versed in blending into a crowd.

“Well, then,” he said, untying his own apron and smoothing his shirt. “After you.”

But Sirius stopped him just before they stepped around the cashier’s counter with a hand on his chest. “Pascal.” He raised his eyebrows at the unease shadowing Sirius’ face. “Pascal, I want you to know that I don’t want this to change anything. And - Dumo, I have never been as happy as I am now. This makes me happy. You’ve become a father to me and it was the greatest gift of my life, so please take this with an open mind.”

Pascal softened, taking Sirius by the hands. They trembled in his own. “I would never judge you for what makes you this happy, mon fils. Your heart is what matters most.”

He only caught a second of Sirius’ face crumpling before he was engulfed in a hug, one he fiercely returned before patting his son on the back and releasing him with a kiss to each cheek. “I’m nervous,” Sirius muttered as they headed for the door.

“I can tell,” Pascal snorted. “One step at a time.”

The sudden noise and chaos of the street made him wrinkle his nose; he had grown too used to the gentle ambience of the café and allowed Sirius to make a path for them through the bustling crowd while he adjusted. Despite his careful casing of each person that passed, he couldn’t place a single one who stood out.

A young woman in a flowered hat - brushed past without a word.

A brunette with shoulder-length curls - frowned when they continued onward.

A tall blonde in a red coat - Sirius ignored her up-and-down look over him, or perhaps didn’t even notice.

Pascal couldn’t help his quiet frustration. What good was a life of spy work when he couldn’t pick out his own son’s lover in a small crowd? It was like Sirius was trying to–

Ah.

Well.

In hindsight, he felt a little stupid for missing him. A single touch from Sirius’ hand, and the young man seemed to materialize next to the postbox despite obviously standing there for several minutes beforehand. His face was mild and freckled, his shoulders broad beneath a light jacket. Sandy hair fell over his forehead, not obscuring his vision but enough to soften the sharpness of his amber eyes. Sirius’ earlier concern made sudden sense.

“Bonjour,” the man said in perfect French. One side of his mouth tilted up higher than the other when he smiled.

“Sirius,” Pascal admonished, though Sirius couldn’t seem to take his eyes off his lover. “An American? Really?”

Sirius shrugged one shoulder, poorly hiding a grin. “C’est la vie.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Moony.”

Moony took the offered hand with a firm grip; Pascal liked him more with each passing moment. “Remus Lupin.” The name came with a mellow American accent before Moony switched back. “And the pleasure is mine, Monsieur Dumais. You make truly excellent coffee.”

“I–” Good Lord. “You’ve come in before, haven’t you?”

Impish mischief flickered over Moony’s – Remus ’ - expression for a millisecond. “Your wife’s sandwiches made for a much-needed dinner many times. If it wasn’t for my job, I would have been here more often.”

Pascal couldn’t recall the last time someone had so thoroughly rendered him speechless. Age seven, perhaps. Maybe eight. He let out a bark of laughter and shook Remus’ hand once more before glancing to Sirius. “I like him.”

“You can’t have him,” Sirius warned, though the corners of his eyes crinkled with the force of his smile. He seemed almost shy as he touched the small of Remus’ back, gesturing toward the café. “Come in, we’ll sit and talk. The street is too busy.”

“Aren’t you busy?”

“We have a back room,” Pascal assured him. “My wife is more than capable of running the front herself, though she’ll want to meet you as well.”

“We can let Adele handle it. She’s capable,” Sirius joked, shepherding them both toward the door with a kind of lightness Pascal wanted to bottle for a rainy day. He had never seen his oldest son look so calm - the fire in his heart had cooled to warm embers, settling a gentle glow over his skin. He watched Sirius’ thumb slide over the fine bones of Remus’ wrist and down to his knobbly knuckles, and in that moment he knew exactly what was coming.

Or rather, what was going.

The handful of customers in the shop hardly batted an eyelash when they entered again and made a beeline for the back room; Pascal caught Celeste’s eye and nodded when she tilted her head toward Remus. A fine blush lit her face like cherry blossoms as she bit down a beaming smile, then bent to Adele’s level and murmured to her for a moment.

“Please, sit,” he said to Remus with a wave of his hand while Sirius closed the door behind them for privacy. “I must say, it’s so good to see you here. I hated seeing my sons pine.”

“Your–” Remus faltered, turning to Sirius as he sat. “I thought your parents left Paris?”

“Pascal took me in.” There was so much patience in Sirius’ voice. So much peace. He was a very different man than the boy burning with righteous fury Pascal had brought into his home all those years ago. Sirius glanced at him with half a smile. “He’s been a better father to me than I can ever say.”

“And you have been a better son than I could have asked for,” Pascal added, watching Sirius’ throat bob. “Which is why I am very glad he has you.”

“I’m lucky to have him,” Remus said honestly. “I was only given a few days’ notice before I was sent back to America and I didn’t know where to find Sirius. I never meant to cause your family pain.”

“I never thought you did.” Pascal reached across the table and patted the back of his hand, then folded both of his own and turned to Sirius with an arched brow. “But that’s not why we’re here, is it?”

Sirius frowned. “What do you mean? I wanted to introduce you to Remus.”

“Sirius.” Pascal gave him a look, and Sirius shifted in his seat. “It’s alright.”

Remus placed a hand on Sirius’ thigh. “I already told you, it’s okay if you don’t come–”

“Let him speak,” Pascal interrupted gently. “Sirius, it’s alright.”

“I–” He exhaled, lacing Remus’ fingers with his own as he kept his eyes firmly on the table.

“It’s alright,” Pascal repeated again, softer.

“Paris is free.” Sirius swallowed hard. He ran a hand through his hair and looked to the side, where spare aprons hung neatly on their hooks. “Paris is free, and Regulus still hasn’t contacted me, and - Pascal, I waited for so long.”

“I know.”

“You’ll have Logan,” he continued. “The café is doing well, and you can give my room to a new hire. Or Logan, his apartment is completely gone.”

Pascal raised his eyebrows. That was news. “His–”

But Sirius wasn’t done. “I’ll come visit.” It was forceful, a sudden gust of wind in the beginnings of a storm. He fixed his eyes on Pascal, and in his gaze was the same spark he had seen when Sirius first arrived on his doorstep. I know you work with the Resistance, he had said then. And I will help. It appeared he had found a new purpose in the calm man still holding his hand. “I will, I promise. This is not goodbye. This is something I have to do.”

God above, Pascal was so proud. “Okay.”

“I can’t let him go again.” There was a tightness in Sirius’ voice; the ghost of something passed over Remus’ face and he looked away. Their last goodbye had been so abrupt–by the way Remus leaned into Sirius even as they sat, the way they couldn’t seem to part more than a few feet, Pascal could guess it had been a harrowing experience for both.

He couldn’t stand another cycle of Sirius’ aching glances out the window for the whisper of a second chance. “Are you following your heart?”

“Yes,” Sirius answered without hesitation.

“Then why would I ever stop you?”

His face crumpled at that, silver eyes turning bright and lip trembling. “I – shit , I knew I was going to cry, and I still have to talk to Celeste–”

Pascal stood and held his arms out; Sirius fell into them in the span of a breath. “I’m so proud of you, mon fils,” he managed through the emotion clogging his throat. “This is the right choice.”

“But I’ll miss you.”

“You’re going to visit, yes?” Pascal gave him one last squeeze before stepping back and taking Sirius by the shoulders as he wiped his face dry and took a few shaky breaths. “You want this?”

“Yes.”

“You’re happy with Remus?”

“So happy.”

“Then go, and live your life, and don’t you dare feel bad for going when we’ll be right where you left us. Come home and bring stories with you.”

Sirius hugged him again after that, then dragged Remus over to join them despite his vibrant blush and slight awkwardness shuffling into the embrace. The door opened just as they parted and Celeste made a soft sound when she saw Sirius’ face. “Oh, mon cher.”

“I’m going to America with Remus,” Sirius said, more solid than before. She gave him a significant look. “Oh! Oh, right, yes, this is Remus. My boyfriend.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Remus,” she laughed, shaking his hand. “Am I correct in assuming you’re the mysterious Moony?”

“I was,” Remus confirmed with a grin. “I take it you figured that out early?”

She winked. “Our Sirius is not known for subtlety.”

“I was a spy,” Sirius noted, winding an arm around Remus’ waist. “For several years, in fact. A good one.”

Remus reached up and touched his cheek gently, where dark stubble was just beginning to appear. He looked at Sirius with such gentleness, such devotion. Pascal remembered watching Celeste with those same soft eyes the day she laughed in the sun and it lit her up like a star on Earth. After everything he had fought for, Sirius deserved to be loved like that. “Definitely my favorite.”

–

September 4, 1945

It was over, really and truly. The death, the pain, the terror of the unknown–after six long years, they could be done. There was so much left to rebuild in the aftershocks, but for now, people were cheering and crying in the streets as fireworks sparkled overhead. They could breathe, and not fear that each exhale would be their last.

“Mon cœur?”

Remus set the newspaper next to the small stack of correspondence from Regulus as Sirius entered the room, soft music following behind him. “Hey,” he said, leaning back for a kiss. “Lunch?”

“Mhmm. I got your… pichet? Water holder thing.”

Remus smiled into the kiss. Since arriving in New York, Sirius had been bound and determined to polish up his English. Said he wouldn’t visit Remus’ family without knowing more than a few greetings, though the nervousness on his face told a slightly different story. It was alright. There was no rush, and Remus was only too happy to help. “Merci beaucoup, mon amour.”

“Quel est le mot?”

“Pitcher.”

Sirius hummed. “Close enough. Sounds the same. Viens avec moi.”

Remus let himself be guided through the house by the hand, but rather than going into the kitchen as he had assumed, Sirius caught him around the waist in the living room and pulled him close. They kissed, chaste and light, before Sirius began to sway in place to the hum of the record player.

“Sing for me,” he murmured, his accent thick and sweet like honey.

“Was it the spell of Paris or the April dawn?” Remus sang softly as he nudged their noses together and kissed Sirius again. He still missed Paris–they both did. He missed the people and the food and the way he could drown himself in another language. He missed breakfast by the Seine, Sirius pressed so close to him that he could feel his warmth. But it was time for a fresh start.

“I love your voice.”

“I love how you dance.”

Sirius grinned as Remus dipped him. “Quite a pair, oui?”

“Oui,” he agreed, and drew him in close once more.

There was so much light, with Sirius. Ease. Repainting the house took them less than a week. Clearing out the evidence of Remus’ desperate search - abandoned in his haste to get to Paris - had taken a day. He was fairly sure Sirius had taken a picture of it before they cleaned up, though he hadn’t asked. There were more important things to talk about.

They spent the first day in bed, exhausted from jetlag and still absorbing their new reality. Remus had tentatively asked whether Sirius wanted to start out with a city apartment before they moved in together and was silenced with a thorough kiss before he got the fourth word out. That was answer enough - they had begun unloading Sirius’ meager belongings that same day.

Sirius had always been a joy, a haven, a companion to share the load Remus broke his back on every day. He was the only person Remus could trust to catch him when he stumbled or slipped - he was the only person Remus could rest with. Rest, and not think about the crushing responsibility he was tasked with. Nothing could touch him in Sirius’ arms.

As they danced in the living room, lit by the sun through gauzy curtains that had once seemed so heavy, Remus could scarcely believe he had been such a wreck mere months ago. He remembered the way he used to feel, as if the mystery of Sirius was a physical wound in his chest. It was soothed by the balm of his smile.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he continued, carrying the tune just above a murmur. “In every lovely summer's day.”

“Quel est le mot?” Sirius asked, sweeping him in a small circle.

“Which one?”

“Lovely?”

Remus closed his eyes at the long ‘o’ of Sirius’ sweeping accent. “Joli. Charmant? One of those.”

“Like you.”

He scoffed, moving closer to hide the blush creeping up his face in Sirius’ neck. “Romantic,” he teased, tickling Sirius’ side lightly before sliding his hand around to the small of his back. “You are the lovely one.”

“Hmm, maybe.” Sirius led them around the room again, spinning and rocking at complete odds with the rhythm as Remus laughed and followed his steps as best he could. And when they reached the end of the song, Sirius let go of his hand so abruptly Remus stumbled, hurrying into their bedroom.

“Hey!” Remus called, a little breathless. “Where’d you go?”

Sirius reappeared a moment later with his camera in hand. “Viens ici,” he panted, dropping a sloppy kiss to Remus’ cheek as if they were back in the Coney Island photo booths.

“I - what–” But Remus’ confusion was cut short when Sirius held the camera at arms’ length and pointed the lens back toward them.

“Sourire,” Sirius whispered with a playful nibble of Remus’ jaw, startling a laugh out of him. The shutter clicked. Their perfect moment froze.

It would be another week until they got the photo. Another week until they saw Sirius’ broad grin next to Remus mid-laugh, both clearly flushed from dancing even in black-and-white against a blurred gray background. It would be eight days until it was framed and hung with care on their bedroom wall. Something beautiful. Something permanent. And at the bottom, next to Sirius’ signature (written after much pestering from Remus), sat a small caption in looping script: I’ll Be Seeing You.

[noodyl-blasstal]

Ugh there's too many options from the prompt list that I want to choose!! D:

Okay, how about 10 with... Taako and Lucretia?

“I’m actually not into art at all, me and my friends just started going to art exhibitions as an excuse to dress fancy and eat our weight in cheese cubes but. I'm staring at this piece and feeling something stir in my cold dark soul and I could have played it off as an ironic joke if you didn’t catch me having emotions about your art”

Prompt from @juicywritinghoard Prompts for Fun and Profit which can be found by clicking here.  (Still taking requests if you have them!)

Look, when I tell you I had so much fun writing this, I truly mean it. Thank you so much for the request!

______________

Lucretia whooped as Magnus ran down the street. It wasn’t often that she was willing to let him piggyback her, but her feet were already sore from her ridiculous fancy shoes and they hadn’t even convened for Cheese Heist 5: A Good Day to Eat Cheese yet. Dav and Kravitz had texted to say they were nearly there so they definitely needed to pick up the pace.

“On Magnus, on!” Lucretia shouted, glancing at her map app. This was a well practiced system, shoulder taps kept him on track. He jogged faster and guwaffed, loud and happy. Lucretia would never get over how much joy he took from lugging people about.

As they approached the venue for tonight’s art show, Lucretia tapped Magnus on the head to slow him to a stop. She dropped as gracefully as possible to the floor.

“Okay, fancy bitches disguise time. Want me to do your tie?” Lucretia fussed with her skirt until it hung properly, and reached up to make sure Magnus could pass muster too. He grumbled, but even agreed to keep his jacket on for the first thirty minutes. That was about the best they could hope for, cheese was a great motivator.

Once he had tucked his tie Magnus offered his arm to her. “M’lady.”

“Magnus!” Lucretia glared hard.

“I’m sorry, it was funny in my head.” He shrugged, and Lucretia rolled her eyes, taking his elbow, and turning the final corner to the McElroy Institute. She fought the impulse to wave too uproariously at the fellow heisters, instead nodding her head as they approached.

“Captain Davenport, The Right Honourable Kravitz, so wonderful to see you both!” Lucretia gave a tight smile - her best impression of the ones she’d witnessed all too often since they started attending these events.

“Flavia! How have you been? So splendid to see you here!” Kravitz was inexplicably English tonight and Lucretia couldn’t control the loud snort she emitted on hearing his accent.

“Wait, hold up, what’s my thing?” Asked Magnus in a low voice. “Dav gets to be a pilot, Krav’s apparently British now, Lucretia you’ve got your whole sommelier situation, I want a thing!”

“You’ve just got to let it happen Magnus, it’ll come to you in time, don’t rush it.” Davenport sounded so earnest that Lucretia couldn’t help another tiny snort. She loved these dinguses.

The four of them swept into the gallery as a unit. With each heist they become more comfortable. The heists had started because Kravitz and Davenport's complaints about not getting to wear their fancy boy suits enough had coincided with an advert for an art gallery opening. Art stuff with fancy people? They could go wild. Once he understood the cheese aspect, Magnus was sold too. He had one suit and a variety of sleeveless shirts, but a quick mission to the charity shop left him with a serviceable outfit. Lucretia hadn’t been excited about the fancy duds, she had plenty of those for work, and trying to keep those things steamed was a pain, but it was a treat to be 'off duty'. The sommelier bit had stemmed from annoyance initially - a man wouldn’t shut up about his extensive knowledge of wine, so she decided to just make up any old bullshit and see if he noticed. Before long, he was talking about how he could definitely also taste leather, and swilling his wine so aggressively that he spilled it on himself because she told him he needed to really shake it to release the tannins. The bit was too good to immediately retire, so from then on Lucretia was Flavia Arbuckle: Sommelier Extraordinaire.

“Okay, it’s nearly go time…” She kept her voice low and glanced around quickly. Satisfied that the coast was clear, “…hands in!”

They all quickly placed their hands together and chanted the obligatory: “3, 2, 1, cheese heist!”

Tonight had the feeling of a good one. Cheese Heist 2: Cheese Harder had taught them that the type of exhibition they chose was important. Minimal speeches, a large and varied guest list, and a location far enough away that they were unlikely to run into too many people they knew were key. The main skill was working the crowd just enough that they weren’t constantly by the buffet while remaining close enough to notice whenever the most choice snacks were refreshed. Magnus started bringing the bags for Cheese Heist 3: Cheese Heist with a Vengeance, they’d managed to grab enough between them that it kept them in cheese for another two weeks. The McElroy institute was the fanciest place they’d hit so far, but they were professionals and a fancy place meant fancy food. In fact, the poster had specifically talked about the buffet and tickets were free, so they hadn't thought twice.

Lucretia gave the boys one last smile and disappeared into the crowd, already searching for the buffet table. She didn’t have to look for long - the table acted as a centrepiece standing in the middle of the atrium and spanning a large chunk of the wide hall. At first she hesitated, the charcuterie displayed so beautifully that she was worried it was one of the installations, but other guests were already digging in without reverence so she sidled closer to check out her marks. There was a vintage cheddar she could see the salt crystals in, manchego, burrata, butterkäse, and a soft looking goat’s cheese too! So far, so good. This was much better than the usual cubes, and there were accompaniments too. She scanned over the various crackers, cashews, grapes, apple slices, pomegranate, and gods honest fresh honeycomb. Dav was going to be pleased, they’d hit the jackpot tonight.

First plate filled, she cast her eyes around the atrium, no longer laser focused on the buffet. The table was the centrepiece, but various art instalments branched off from the main open space. The art would probably be as un-relatable as usual, but it didn't look like anyone else had branched off yet, so at least she could eat in private. Picking a random installation she strode forward, only to be scuppered by a hand grabbing her elbow and rudely spinning her round.

“Flavia! So nice to see you here!” The man said. Lucretia fought the impulse to tell him off for grabbing her, she couldn’t afford to draw attention to herself right now.

“Jenkins.” She forced her mouth to twitch up at the corner, that was about the closest to a smile he was getting.

“Did you enjoy the wine I recommended?” She asked, genuinely intrigued to see if he’d bothered to look for the Big Red Pecker she’d invented two Cheese Heists ago.

“Oh yes!” He replied without missing a beat. “You really could taste the rhubarb and smoke, just like you said. It was such an evocative pairing.” Jenkins nodded. Lucretia barely resisted the impulse to laugh.

“I’m so glad you liked it. Not many people can handle the texture.” She wondered exactly how far she could push him.

“Well, I could see how it would be challenging for some people, but I have a very advanced palette.” Jenkins looked insufferably smug. “I was actually going to ask if you’d like to share a bottle with me some…” He began.

“Oh no, I see my friend waving for me, I’m so sorry, I must go!” Lucretia interrupted, then walked quickly away before Jenkins could reply. She beelined towards a large group, passed through them, and then bobbed and weaved through a few more to be sure she was safe. It took her near to the entrance of an instalment labelled: ‘Tia’s Kitchen’ the description didn’t contain the usual waffle about the meaning of life and symbolism. It just read ‘My childhood - Taako Tacco’. No one else looked to be in here right now, so Lucretia walked in.

She sat down on the large and well worn wooden bench and started to work her way through the cheese feast. This stuff was really choice, she was glad Magnus had the bags. They needed to find out who organised this buffet and only hit up their events in future. Too soon, her plate was empty, she licked her finger and dabbed up as many crumbs as possible, then sighed contently and sat back. It was probably too soon to go back already, she'd have to kill some time. At least it was cosy in here. The room really did just look like a kitchen, although she wasn’t sure if that counted as art… well, not until she got closer. Instead of something from a showroom, this was a well worn kitchen. The wooden butcher’s block work surfaces were uneven and bore cuts and scrapes from what must have been years of use. The hob was scrubbed clean, but the lines in the metal from scouring brushes could be seen. The pans hanging above it were cast iron and well seasoned, slightly bashed out of shape, and clearly ancient. She ran a hand absently over the worktop and couldn’t help but think of Miss Myrtle’s kitchen, learning to make okra gumbo, grits, and hoppin’ John. This kitchen wasn’t flashy, some of the drawers were missing handles, and the utensils were warped and dented from years of tapping the sides of pans or being soaked too long. It wasn't clinical, not some perfect idealised thing, this kitchen was home. She sat back down on the bench and felt the wood underneath her hands, grounding herself there. She took her time and breathed deeply, picking up the faint spices laced into the fabric of the place, the linseed oil on the wood, and garlic from the woven dried bunch on the counter. The wave of wistfulness which washed over her was surprising - she hadn’t ever wanted to be a child again, it was bad enough the first time round, but just for a moment here, she wanted to be back in Miss Myrtle’s kitchen learning about her history and how to cook nutritious and cheap all at once.

“So this one put you to sleep?” A teasing voice asked. Lucretia snapped her eyes open, worried to have been found looking so out of sorts. “Oooooh, fuck, you’re crying.” A man with curly blonde hair, a sub nose, and warm brown skin approached her looking vaguely alarmed. He wore a blousey shirt, tight pants, and pirate boots. An outfit which Kravitz would definitely appreciate the drama of… and the man in it if she was any judge of these things.

“No!” She replied quickly. “I was just appreciating it.”

“No, I was just… appreciating it.” She sniffed loudly and looked away to blink a few times and ensure there were no remnants of emotion on her face.

“Right, you’re an all five sense kind of art appreciator. Got it. Sniff many paintings?” The man walked over and curled himself lazily onto the bench beside her.

Lucretia wasn’t entirely sure what to do with this, how did she even start to reply? He was talking again before she had time to formulate a response. “I don’t sniff art!” Lucretia realised that denial after such a delay was only going to make her sound more guilty.

“Wow, you really do sniff art.” The man looked overjoyed. “My brother in law would love you, he’s always doing weird shit.”

“That’s different” Lucretia wasn’t used to feeling on the back foot like this. She didn’t even enjoy art much, she certainly didn’t go around smelling it!!

“Art sniffer.” The man coughed out. Lucretia narrowed her eyes at him, but he innocently batted his back. “Just a cough.” He grinned. “So, you come to many of these things? How does it compare? I’m new to it.”

This felt like safer territory. Lucretia could easily waffle about this stuff, so she did. She talked about the other shows they’d been to recently, said some generic bullshit about them being esoteric and challenging, didn’t mention the cheese. The man nodded a lot.

“So what about this one? Is it challengingly esoteric, or esoterically challenging?” He asked.

Despite his teasing tone, it felt disingenuous to just say something generic about it.

“It’s warm.” Was the best descriptor she had.

He considered this for a moment, and nodded. “I like that. Warm. I’ll put it on the press packet.”

Lucretia’s brow furrowed in confusion, the man just smiled. “Taako, pleased to meet you.” He held out his hand.

“As in, you made this instalment, Taako?” Lucretia choked out.

“That’s chaboy!” He looked pleased with himself. “I’ve never seen anyone sniffing my stuff before, but there’s a first for everything. I also enjoyed watching you and the guy without sleeves go ham on the buffet. I put a lot of work into it. He definitely doesn’t seem the type to be here, he your boyfriend? You drag him along to eat cheese while you smelled the work?”

“Fuck off.” Lucretia replied, elegantly.

Taako raised an eyebrow.

She absolutely refused to have someone believe she was straight. “Look, we’re not into art, my friends and I, we just started going to art exhibitions as an excuse to dress fancy and eat our weight in cheese cubes.” She paused, then added. “But your art, your art did things to me, alright? Usually it’s all just weird bullshit, but this? Hot diggety shit, this is real.” Lucretia should probably have stopped talking a while ago… “… oh, and if you didn’t want it to be sniffed then you shouldn’t have added all the smells in.”

Taako laughed uproariously. “You come to these things to steal cheese?”

“We heist cheese, thank you very much.” Lucretia wasn’t sure why it sounded better that way, but it sounded better that way.

“Cheese heist…” Taako looked pensive.

“Okay. I need to meet your fellow co-conspirators? Everyone else at these things is dull as fuck and cha'boy is sick of it.” Taako got to his feet.

Lucretia considered it for a moment. It was probably unwise to reveal everything, especially to someone who was involved in the organisation and knew they weren't going to drop any money on the art. But they also definitely needed to get to know the man behind the cheese, she was certain the others would be just as enthusiastic about the spread. They'd understand. She nodded. “I’ll see if I can find them. I think you’ll like Kravitz… He’s English tonight.”