#someone has to or else these kids would come home with full mops

[dark-elf-writes]

Was once again thinking about Fawn Spots (surprising I know) and I was trying to figure out what Harry would do with his hair because there’s no way he would leave it as it was with Alex and Andy as parents (he wants to be like them at first and then later with his hair so different than what is expected it makes differentiating ‘Harry Cyprin’ and Harry Potter’ easier at least for him. It’s more of a mask he wears like the ones his parents wear to deal with the gods, someone who isn’t him but he can’t be if he wants.) and I was thinking about having him grow out his hair but didn’t want it to be too similar to Andy when I realized what the infinitely funnier option for all parties was.

The JD haircut.

Or at least a version of it with the side that’s not shaved being a little longer (past the shoulders) and the bangs having the usual Potter messiness to it.

This has the added bonuses of Harry trying to figure out how to get his hair cut at Hogwarts before he is of Hogsmead age (a trial that lands him, somehow, in the seventh year boy’s dorm, the only place they could agree on since Harry couldnt use the girls side like she normally operated out of and she was not dealing with the mess eleven year old boys made when left mostly unattended, with the head girl wielding a pair of scissors and a wand with terrifying amounts of skill); everyone else doing a double take seeing the baby punk next to his incredibly well put together parents who look like they sleep in office wear; and, of course, Alex being left with the crippling knowledge that if and when JD finds out about this they will never let Alex live down the fact that their child through no interference of JD’s became a mini me to the Jersey Devil.

[jerek]

tww wrathion thoughts

pre-legion (and honestly pre-8.3 in bfa) there were a lot of takes centered around wrathion's vision for the future of azeroth. it was a lot of 'he predicted this' and 'he prepared us for this' and 'why isn't he here for this.'

And they were all valid points, of course!! Especially in Legion, because our first indication that Legion was going to happen was HIS vision of a future demonic invasion back in Mists of Pandaria.

But I was thinking about what content he DOES appear in post-MoP, and there's a bit of a worrying trend.

Wrathion tries to protect Azeroth during Cata. We never see anyone question the necessity of dispatching black dragons at this time (not even Fahrad, who barely offers resistance without the influence of the Old Gods.) By the standards of Azeroth's people, he succeeds.

In Mists of Pandaria, Wrathion tries to protect Azeroth...

And by the standards of Azeroth's people, fails.

Varian jumps off a fel reaver into a horde of demons and rushes headlong with an alpha_roar.mp3 into his own death. RIP 37 year old minor I can't believe Wrathion would do this. High king indeed.

Consider Wrathion's cameo in Admiral Taylor's garrison log. Admiral Taylor starts a garrison in Spires of Arak during WoD, and by day 12 Wrathion turns up and gets put under house arrest.

On day 15, a shipment of resources arrives as a gift from Wrathion, who also warns Taylor about the local creepy warlock Ephial. Taylor "doesn't trust either of them."

On day 27, Taylor returns from a trip to the Ring of Blood to find that Ephial's taken over his garrison, and loses his life trying to take it back.

So Wrathion, in Warlords of Draenor, as a fugitive from the Alliance, is still trying to protect the people who drew guns on sight of him at day 12.

The standards drop lower in BfA (Chromie also treats him with imo unnecessary suspicion during the Deaths of Chromie scenario in Legion but that's pretty minor) with Anduin punching him on sight.

"My father is dead because of you."

My brother in the Light your father is dead because he has been waiting for a chance to give up his crown since Jaina dragged him kicking and screaming back from the arena.

But seriously. This is really rich coming from someone whose only political move while at a semi-comparable age was 'I think kids should read more.' Anduin never tried to change the world at that age because he had people who cared enough to tell him it wasn't his job. He might still be waiting around for a uwu thick dwarf dommy gf if he didn't get such a high off lording his 13 years of life experience and political education over Wrathion's head.

Everyone else is born gay: for Anduin, it really is a symptom of sexual dysfunction. Just think: not even Wrathion could keep him away from Garrosh.

Back to illustrating the trend. What else does Wrathion do in BfA?

Well, we find him having brewed an anti-Old God potion. We also find him eager to apologize for past mistakes, take accountability, and in his own words, 'let his actions speak for him.'

When we enter Ny'alotha, it's Wrathion who guards our sanity.

So far, Wrathion's underlying motivations have always been the defense of Azeroth. Whether he succeeds or fails, his ends remain the same.

Now: what about Dragonflight?

"The legacy of my flight." "I will save what matters most to mine." "Claiming the Obsidian Citadel."

Granted, he does mention "defending all of the Dragon Isles."

But where's his passion for Azeroth? Do we really believe Wrathion would be 'at home' cooped up in a citadel full of people he's never met before, with smog choking the sky and blotting out all the stars? Do we really think Wrathion has more of a familial bond with Ebyssian, let alone Sabellian, than with Left and Right?

The ultimate insult to any character (ask Garrosh fans) is to revoke their identity for the sake of someone else's story.

Khaz Algar is going to be full of Titan secrets and lost peoples.

And, unfortunately, I'm not confident that Wrathion will be there... because I'm not confident they'll give him screentime without a chance to 'humble' him.

Where's the runestone enthusiast? Where's the mogu historian? Where's the master weaponsmith, the enchanter who imbued those legendary cloaks? Is he entirely eclipsed by the fugitive?

I want him to see the sun-gem in Hallowfall. I want to hear him laugh. I want to hear him stumble over words he didn't mean to say aloud. When Blizzard says he's arrogant, and he only cares about himself, they forget how many people genuinely loved him before Anduin swung that fist.

[xrphansrevival]

[ GAZE ] for Q (as Hue)

Quix is not a fan of being bested, no matter if it's from his peers or someone with more experience. Even before Wammy's House, Quix found himself striving to be better than the rest. After all, he is a hafu, and he wouldn't let anyone look down on him.

Wammy's House was different from the start. Though located in Winchester, England, the orphanage was not only filled with white kids with silver spoons. It had diversity. Quix didn't have to worry about being 'the mixed kid' anymore. Now he just had to show his skills and play his cards right.

Creating Whisper was fun in itself. Back at home, partially because of his best friend, Quix was one to keep tabs on rumors in the school. He's moved on to something bigger. Wammy's House and all the inhabitants are full of secrets.

Especially Hue.

That damned rat of a professor.

The only person that knows his little secret, the fact that he is the boy behind Whisper, is Hue. Quix let his guard down once, and one time was enough to make him act much more cautiously around the newest professor. That doesn't mean he didn't brainstorm ways to get under Hue's skin, to taunt him, to try to make him slip up. Quix likes a fair battle. If Hue has dirt on him, Quix will either keep digging or create something to use.

For a while, Hue banned Quix from the art rooms. It was to cast away any suspicion that the two could be in cahoots. The 'spray paint' was returned. The floor was mopped. Then there was silence. Sometimes Fie would beg Quix to come with him, to watch how much better he's gotten with art. Sometimes Xanax or Meden would ask him to tag along. All rejections...

Well, how could Quix reject a crying Fie? Blondie has a way of getting what he wants, too.

There's a silent understanding, when Quix walks into the room, that he is unwelcome. Quix holds up his hands to signify that, no, he doesn't have anything worthwhile on him, and no, this IS just an innocent meeting. Fie loves art. Quix is here for the ride.

That is, until midway through a drawing, Fie bursts into tears again. Fie is extremely self conscious about his art, being that he can't get a grasp on living subjects. He can do architectural drawings just fine, but even still life art is difficult for him. He rips up the paper and shouts something about using the bathroom.

Hue tells him to quiet down, but when he looks up from the paperwork on his desk, it's just Quix. Luckily for him, Fie always picks a far away table, ensuring that no one could possibly judge him other than the professor.

There's a dark look in Quix's eyes when his [ GAZE ] meets Hue's. He half lid's his eyes and gives a slight tilt of the head. Quietly, he spreads his legs and leans back ever so slightly. It's a look that Backup Hue knows all too well. Quix is trying to seduce the professor.

'You little shit,' Hue thinks to himself, but the stare he gives betrays nothing but contempt. He does not feed into the bait.

A moment passes before Quix drops the look. He has no interest in pursuing the tactic if it won't work. Quix will not chase.

Whatever. Quix turns his attention to a piece of wood he was working on carving. Fie comes back soon enough, and Hue scolds him for being a disruption. Quix looks up, and Hue is much closer now.

He lets out a snort of a laugh. "You're such a try hard, teach."

Hue plucks the carving knife right out of Quix's hand, along with the chunk of wood. "Get out. Did you forget you're not welcome here?"

"Pssh. Whatever."

Fie pouts as he watches Quix leave. "Hey, no! You're here for me!"

Fie doesn't see that Hue's eyes are locked on something else.

Quix is a bad little boy.

[tteokdoroki]

— “FIX UP, TAKE CARE.” + IZUKU MIDORIYA.

author’s note(s): hey besties, ive had this on the brain for a little bit and since we awn midoriya brain rot i thought why not? please enjoy ily

warning(s): smut, MDNI 18+, car sex, tummy bulges, breeding!kink, slight pregnancy!kink, milf fucking and mechanic!izuku, fem!reader.

mechanic!izuku fixes up your car real nice when you break down on the freeway— it’s the least he could do for a pretty thing such as yourself. he asks you a few things, a lot of things, as he works on whats under the hood— tinkering away while you scrape together the last of your cash to pay him.

you’re a teacher, you’ve got kids, newly divorced and were on the way home from grocery shopping so late at night— oh you poor pretty thing.

“‘m sorry,” you say defeated, tears written across galaxy eyes as you hold such a little amount of cash out to him and fuck if your pouty little face doesn’t make deku’s heart ache and his cock twitch between baggy, greasy denim. “this is all i have on me at the moment, i wish there was a better way to repay you.” emerald eyes can’t help but fall to the way you bite your lower lip, twitching with nervousness and rubbing your thighs together to seek warmth in the cold night air.

when deku looks up, only a few crystalline tears have landed on your baby fat cheeks and only then does he realise he’s fucked. that he’s realised how much he wants to make you cry. “don’t worry about it babydoll, i can think of a few ways we can cover it, whaddya say?” he hums, closing in on you like a fox on a lamb, his large hand brushing over your cheek with oil slicked hands, sweetly. and then you give him that gorgeous fucking smile and that’s how he knows he’s got to ruin you for everyone else.

so now you’re pressed up against back seat of your own car, dress flipped up over fleshy thighs thats spread as wide as they can go while izuku pounds into your cunt like nobody’s business. you’re so fucking tight, squeezing the dear life out of his sticky cock, so much so that it makes a lewd, dirty squelching sound every time his hips pull back from between your legs. “gee baby, the way you’re suckin me in, how long’s it been since you got fucked open like this?” midoriya coos, the hand he uses to steady himself on your (now steamy) car window coming down to brush the tears from your lashes, “has nobody been takin’ care of you baby? you’re such a good mommy, must be lookin’ our for so many people...someone outta look after you too right?��

your eyes gloss over at the pattern of his thrusts, in and out, in and out— prodding at your g-spot and cockhead dragging along your silky gummy walls. and then you’re gasping out for air when he pushes your legs up over your shoulders in the cramped space of your car, dick hitting deeper and jus brushing your cervix— so good, just like that.

“y-yes,” babbling lazily, you look to izuku with needy crossed eyes and a tongue that flops out against your puffy strawberry lips. “need s’mone to take care of me— wanna be looked af’ta,”

fuck, aren’t you the cutest little thing ever. his brain is fuzzy, not a thought in his head except for breeding you like you deserve, brain becoming murky as you moan and whimper and cry out for the mechanic like a prayer. izuku’s weighty cock aches inside of you, pressing up against all your sensitive spots while he eases it further into you— if you weren’t so tight he wouldn’t have to pull out so much , but your pretty little cunt is just crying to be stretched open, juices making a sloppy mess of his balls heavy with cum.

your back arches prettily for him, hips lifting off the seats and leaving a dark patch from where your syrupy pussy has stained the leather. the sight makes izuku’s breath hitch, fingers dropping between your bodies to draw smooth circles over your clit— getting you to leak more for him. “you want me to take care of you babydoll?” deku pants, eyes rolling from the feeling of your gooey slit beneath the pass of his fingers. you clamp down as he explores you, sensitive from the new touch and if his self control weren’t any better, he would have emptied inside you right then and there. “how ‘bout i breed this sweet hole of yours, make you a mommy— oh fuck, get you all pregnant ‘n look after you... fix your car, buy your groceries, you’d never have to worry about an’otha thing ever again baby,”

his words are broken up by harsh thrusts into your fluttering heat— he’s so close, you are too, dumbly drinking up everything he says. you plead for the life izuku conjured up in the middle of his sex haze and dig your nails deep into his freckled shoulders. who was he to ruin that dream for you? you were so touch starved and needy, you’d have to call him a villain for not pumping you full of his seed.

“i want it,” you simper, eyes screwing shut as tears sting down your cheeks and ruin your simple makeup. you’re so gorgeous when you’re ruined, a sweet little mommy begging for the basics. “give it to me,”

“yeah, don’chu worry little thing, ‘m gonna give it to you, all of it,” izuku thumbs over your stretch marks, the faded scars on your lower tummy while his cock bulges inside of you— evidence of your labour to bring children into the world. it’s the thought of you being swollen with his own kids that tips him over, warmth spilling into your welcoming walls as his cock pulses with release. you follow with a shout, creaming so much that you force his dick out of your wetness— twitching and drooling so bad you don’t even realise.

a mop of green hair falls lip at your neck, deku pushing his length through your slick folds, head prodding at your clit to draw out your high as you black at out— sticky sounds mingling with your pants and heaves. “that’s it sweet girl, look so good cummin’ on this cock, did so good for me,” he praises you, pressing kisses to your tear stained cheeks and neck.

you whisper little thank you’s as deku pulls out and cleans you up nice enough to send you back to your kids, his heart aches at your pained whimper when your bodies part but it gives him time to admire your raw, leaky cunt as he does. you thank him again when he tells you how to keep your car running properly. you’re so precious, hiding your face from him when you’re standing outside the vehicle again, as if you weren’t begging to be bred inside of it while it shook from the sex.

“come down to my shop, whenever you need this thing fixed, kay?” deku hums, using a forefinger to tilt your head up to his. “or whenever you need someone to take care of you, i’d love to take you on a date sometime.”

your body flushes with heat and you nod eagerly, scribbling your number down fast and telling the mechanic to call you after eight pm, the kids will be asleep by then. izuku parts from you with a sloppy slot of his mouth against yours, he promises to call— he wouldn’t mind fixing up ‘n taking care of a sweet thing like you.

[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.

[troubatrain]

the times with a little secret...

two blurbs following want you to want me

read the rest here!

You were late.

Historically, as someone who got their period at the same time every month, it was concerning. You counted on your fingers, taking yourself back to a time Matthew was awfully convincing and you slipped up. You were sitting out of the same dock you kissed him for the first time on, Matthew’s stupid smirk and overgrown curls were really all it took to make you forget all about the fact that you weren’t using protection. You sigh, holding back tears and running your hands down your face.

Matthew wanted to be a father, but talking a bunch of shit when he was in a sappy mood and actually having a baby were two very different things. You’d been together for two years, and in that time you’d grown up together, but children just seemed like something you weren’t ready for yet. He had so much to work for still, and so did you.

And when you finally got that test, the little pink plus sign broke you. You were pregnant, and you were all alone in Chicago while Matthew got a few things ready before he headed to Calgary for the season. Matthew would call soon, just like he always did on his ride home from the rink.

Matthew knew something was wrong, just by the first crack in your voice when he answered. You’d been crying and he was going to figure out why. He scratched his face, eyes staring at the road in front of him while a part of him debated how quickly he could get to Chicago, “You alright pretty girl?”

“Yeah, everything’s just, fuck, fine,” You say, wiping away your tears and knocking that test to the floor. You weren’t convincing by any means, and Matthew saw through every facade you had, “I’m fine, really I just, uh got to go-”

Matthew opened his mouth to protest, push you a little hard to tell him what’s going on but before he had a chance you hung up the phone. He hit his steering wheel, frustrated that you weren’t telling him the truth when that was the promise you both made. He wondered if he’d done something wrong, but for once in his life Matthew really thought he was innocent.

So he drove the four hours.

It took him a little longer than expected, but Matthew knew what he had to do. He turned his car in the opposite direction of your house, heading up to Chicago without a second thought. It was seven by the time he’d gotten there, opening the door to an empty apartment and a pit in his stomach he couldn’t quite explain. He searched the place, looking for something to point him in the right direction as to why you were acting so weird on the phone.

You went running, you didn’t know what else to do so you just ran. If you kept going you wouldn’t have to face the reality that there was a person growing inside of you and your entire life was going to change. It didn’t stop your mind from racing, thinking about having to tell Matthew and how you were going to tell your families. He wouldn’t leave, you were almost sure of it, but what if he did? It was all you could think about when you walked back into your place, your eyes catching a familiar tuft of curls in the living room.

Matthew was standing there, the entire apartment filled up with bouquets of flowers because he couldn’t pick just one. He was happy, eyes brimming with tears when he finally saw you because this was going to be a moment he never forgets, “Hi.”

“Hi,” You breathe out, feet planted to the floor because you just couldn’t process this fast enough.

“I knew something was up, and then I found the test in the bathroom,” Matthew explains, stepping across to the room to stand in front of you. His hands were on your cheeks, his thumbs gently grazing over the skin, “I didn’t think it was possible to love you more, but babe, I think I do.”

“I’m really scared,” You whisper, letting Matthew wipe away your tears.

“I’m sure you are,” Matthew hums, pressing his lips to your forehead. You found out alone, Matthew was miles away and he knew you were probably freaking out, “I’m here now, we’re together, and it’s going to be okay.”

You smile at his optimism, the way no matter what Matthew would tell you that he would always be there and he’d go to the ends of the earth to fix whatever made you upset, “You sound so sure about this-”

“You’re the best teammate I’ve ever had,” Matthew was sure of himself when he said it, “And I don’t want to do this life thing with anyone else.”

“We’re having a baby,” You nod, Matthew’s hands falling to your stomach and resting there gently, “I’m happy you’re on my team.”

“I’m happy too, captain,” Matthew winks, playing into that same silly joke he always made about how he was just along for the ride, “Can we keep it a secret for now? Just our little family?”

Our little family. The words felt so right when you heard them from Matthew, your arms wrapping around his waist so you could press your head against his chest.

“Brady’s going to give you so much shit for knocking me up.”

“Oh I know, it’s going to be brutal, but worth every second Mama.”

***

Daddy’s hiding something from you.

You stop, turning your attention to your three year old who was sitting at the kitchen island playing with a Cheerio that was in his bowl. Max talked a lot for his age, and it came with a bad habit of repeating his father’s colorful language. Another thing was Matthew couldn’t sneak anything past you because of Max, who was just as nosey as you were, and Max ratted out his father every chance he had.

“What’s daddy hiding from me?” You ask, watching the way Max turned his attention to something else because he was in cahoots with his father and swore he wouldn’t tell a soul, “Maxy-”

“No, daddy told me not to tell you, not even for chocolate,” Max crosses his arms, standing his ground as much as a toddler could, “He said, hide this until I tell you Maxy, but don’t tell mommy.”

You furrow your brows, turning your head and wondering what the fuck your son was hiding that you hadn’t found yet. Your attention turned to the sound of your front door opening, Matthew barreling in post practice with a smile on his face like he wasn’t turning your son into a stealth liar and it would end up biting you both in the ass when he got older. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, sneaking behind Max and kissing him too. The two of them looked like twins, the same mop of curls on their heads while Max’s dimpled smile appeared the biggest when he was with his dad. His nineteen chain hung around his neck, Matthew’s gift to his son because you both wore it and he hoped Max would too. He was Matthew’s carbon copy, down to his ability to sneak things past you and cause chaos.

“Max was just telling me you’re hiding something from me,” You smirk, leaning against the counter and looking at Matthew, “Care to explain?”

“Dude,” Matthew scoffs, looking at Max, “I thought we agreed this was a no telling mommy deal?”

“Like when we get ice cream after my skating lessons?” Max asks, turning his head to his father. Matthew threw his head back, sighing at the fact that you definitely weren’t going to say yes now.

“I knew you weren’t hitting traffic every week,” You sigh, giving Matthew a look, “No bribes for hockey, we talked about this.”

And you did. Sometime before Max was born you both had a lengthy conversation about the whole sports thing. One professional athlete for a parent would be a lot for a kid, let alone two, and you both promised you wouldn’t push your own agendas too hard. Did you cheer a little louder at Max’s soccer games? Maybe. But, at least you didn’t bribe him with ice cream on the way home.

“Hey buddy, remember that thing I told you to hide? Can you get it?” Matthew ignores your lecture, knowing fully he wasn’t listening anyways because Max was made to skate. Matthew helped him down, smiling at the toddler who was bound for the playroom you put off cleaning, that’s why you didn’t find it.

“You’re not off the hook for the ice cream, why are you looking at me like that?” You stop, remembering the way Matthew looked at you in your apartment filled with flowers after he found out you were pregnant. It was the same look, blue eyes soft and full of admiration, “Matty-”

“I know we did this a little backwards, and I wanted to wait until your parents were in town to celebrate, but Max has got a mouth like yours,” Matthew starts stepping over to you and putting his hands on your cheeks, “But that’s my point, I love that Max is just like you because you’re the best person I’ve ever met in life. You’re the most amazing mother to our son, and I couldn’t be more grateful for the way you handle parenthood with more grace than I could ever have. And to me, god, you were everything I ever wanted when we were kids Y/N, you know that? You still are, and you’re always going to be. I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to watch you shine, and take you home at the end of the night. I told my mom I’d marry you one day, I’m hoping you’ll give me the chance.”

By the time Matthew had finished his speech, in the middle of your kitchen in Calgary while Max’s cereal was thrown across the counter, your son had come back with a velvet box in his hand. He handed it to Matthew, climbing on Matthew’s leg because he had no clue while his father was down on one knee, but you knew, “Go ahead little dude, you can ask her now.”

“Mommy, will you marry daddy?” Max asks, giving you the very best smile your three year old could come up with. You could tell they practiced this, only solidifying the million reasons why you’d say yes.

“Yes,” You nod, covering your mouth while tears were brimming your eyes. You look at your two boys, who both looked at you like you put the sun in the sky just for them. Matthew let Max down, pressing a kiss to your lips like he wasn’t in the room.

“I love you,” Matthew breathes, pressing one more peck to your lips, “Wifey sounds good doesn’t it?”

“It does,” You hum, admiring the ring Matthew slipped on your left hand he left vacant for a little too long. Life was hectic for you, but he was tired of waiting for the right time when he knew he had the right girl the entire time. You pressed one more kiss to Matthew’s lips, hearing a protest from the little boy below you.

“Ew, that’s gross.”

“One day you’re gonna like a girl this much and Uncle Brady and I are going to make fun of you for it Maxy.”

[fakeloveaskblog]

(Hi, me again. The comment about Virgil’s thing being longer then the rest of them make me realise it’s been exactly a month since I put in an ask for him. I’m going to rectify that now.)

I’m going to make a Tupperware full of spaghetti bolognaise appear in Virgil’s fridge with a sticky note attached to it, that’s folded over so it can’t be accidentally read but has to be unfolded first. It says “Hope you are having a nice time.” He should probably know who sent it, although, wouldn’t it be hilarious with him running around madly trying to figure out who and how someone would put it in his fridge.

I tried to keep the note vague enough that even if his mum reads it she would probably just assume Virgil was given it by a friendly neighbour or something. Although she has seen me before I gave my word to stop the supernatural stuff while she was visiting and while this technically counts as ghostly interference I did try to keep it subtle. Unless Dot happens to be looking in the fridge when the Tupperware appeared she should be none the wiser.

Glow Eyes

Right around the time the pot of spaghetti bolognese appeared in the fridge Virgil got home from work. He kicked his shoes off and rubbed his tired eyes while stumbling into the apartment. The stench of mold and cigarette ash hit him.

"Ma?" He called out.

"Just finishing some dishes honey" Dot replied from the kitchen.

The kitchen sink that had been overfilled with dirty dishes had been reduced to just a cup or two. Even though Virgil was much taller than Dot by now he still leant his forehead against her arm like a little kid.

"You didn't have to clean ma"

"It's nothing sweetie! How are you going to clean up this place if you don't even have the space to get yourself a hardy meal!" She jokingly poked at his rib "Look at you! You're nothing but skin and bone!"

"You say that like literally every time you see me"

"Well then it must have some truth to it! Did you tell your therapist you haven't been able to clean lately?"

"It was a lot to go through in an hour. I think I maybe mentioned it. I'll mention it next time for sure ma"

"I think there are social workers who clean apartments for those in ne-"

"I don't wanna bother them. there are people who need it more" Virgil interrupted.

Dot put away the last cup and dish brush "If you say so honey. I'm feeling for a walk right about now. Want to come with? It's not everyday I'm in the big city!"

Virgil gave his best exhausted sigh "Woooorkkk. Tiiirreeed. Bleegh"

"Right" She patted his cheek "Well rest up honey I'll be back in an hour or so"

Soon enough Dot had left and the apartment went back to being eerily quiet. Virgil made an attempt at cleaning. He picked up some trash from the couch he was using as a bed while she was staying over. He even thought about getting a mop out. He did actually wipe the kitchen top and table down so the cigarette ash wouldn't keep darkening the wood.

It was something and he thought he deserved a break after it. He opened the fridge and found the meal you had left for him. He read the sticky note before looking around but no one beside him was in the room.

"Wow I wonder who could have left this" He muttered out sarcastically "Could it be the glowing creature who won't leave me alone. Hmm. Truly a mystery for the ages"

He grabbed the tupperware and a fork before going out to the balcony. The balcony had a lone plastic chair on it and a just as plastic table. Before eating any of your delicious food though he lit a cigarette and watched as the smoke rose up into the warming spring air.

Each year that went by it felt more and more pathetic to smoke. He wondered if he would become one of those 65 year old men smoking between breaks at work and he shuddered. He wondered if he would ever change.

"I'm just gonna assume you're here somewhere you little freak" He suddenly said "Or else I'm just rambling to the wind I guess. My ma is leaving in a few days just so you know. I guess I like appreciate you not going all ghost invasion on her or whatever. She was just here to make sure I went to my therapy session anyway. Which I have and-"

He leant back in the chair and took a long drag from the cigarette. He rubbed his eyes and dragged his fingers through his short hair.

"It feels so fucking weird that I feel all fucked up when I tell someone how I hurt Remy. That's now how it's supposed to work y'know?" He let the ash crumble down into the ash cup on the table "I've only had one session so far so my psych isn't sure 'bout it yet but she's talking about either getting me on anxiety meds or into some sort of anger management or a mix of both...which I'm not against I guess...if it helps I guess...."

He put out the cigarette and took a bite of the pasta bolognese. His eyes lit up a little from how delicious it was but obviously he didn't say anything.

"She also said" He continued with pasta still in his mouth "The psych I mean. She said it sounded like I had been 'codependent' or whatever for so long I couldn't take being lonely and she suggested I'd get like an animal? Not like a service animal 'cause those are expensive as hell my guy...just like a little dude to keep me company...I dunno...I'm not really good at taking care of myself and I'm too anxious to leave my home often...I dunno"

He took another bite of the paste before turning to where he had imagined you were sitting.

"You think I'd be good with a pet? Like honestly? Fuck which pet would I even want?"

[sithsecrets]

five intimate moments | din djarin x reader

A chronicle of five moments that shaped the Mandalorian’s relationship with his one and only crew member.

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3.5 k words

Mentions: illness, hallucinations induced by a high fever, minor injury to the reader character, NO SMUT!

(This is my first attempt at a Mando fic so please have mercy!!!)

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1.

When the Mandalorian says he wants to hire you as his first and only crew member, you’re taken aback to say the least. Your first impulse is to laugh and tell him that his joke is very funny, because what else could an offer like that be from a man like him? He’s entirely self-sufficient from the look of things, and it’s not like he doesn’t have the credits to buy services from others when he needs them. But one long look into the darkness of that visor tells you at once that what Mando’s said is no jest, tells you that he’s serious.

He tells you that he’ll cut you in ten percent if you help him out a little bit. It’s standard stuff, really, just ship repairs, navigation, and taking care of the baby. You’ve learned a lot under Peli over the last several years, you’ve definitely sat in the pilot’s chair a time or two, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a soft spot for Mando’s weird little baby— so why not? Working for him would get you off this planet, and it would be a change of pace for sure.

Doubt sets in the night before you’re set to go off with the Mandalorian, though Peli waves your feelings off pretty readily.

“You’re being stupid,” she tells you bluntly. “He’s a Mandalorian. Just do as you’re told, help him with the kid, and let him keep to himself if he wants to. Everything’ll be fine.”

Peli’s words are of some comfort, though anxiety is still fluttering in your gut the next morning. You say your goodbyes to your mentor and the droids, and then you’re flying off in the Razor Crest on the way to somewhere.

The first day is strange as you try to pick your way around your new home, and you spend much of your time feeling as though you’re snooping around in someone else’s space. The Mandalorian is just as quiet as you thought he’d be, clanging around in his armor doing this and that while you try to make yourself busy. You run out of tasks quickly, however, and it makes you skin itch to sit idle like this.

You watch for nearly an hour as Mando fiddles with the mechanics in one of his arm guards, cursing under his breath through the modulator as he picks at this and that. You think you know what the problem is, but you’re not sure you’re brave enough to tell him that. Finally, though, you can’t let him struggle anymore.

“Let me see,” you declare, cringing as you realize your tone was more commanding than you’d meant for it to be. But Mando says nothing to this, letting you take hold of his arm without uttering so much as a sound. Just as you thought, there’s an issue farther up the guard, one he’d overlooked. A little soldering here, a change of wires there, and then the thing’s good as new again.

“Thank you,” the Mandalorian says, and you can feel his eyes on you through the visor.

“It’s what you hired me for.” You laugh nervously then, suddenly shy under the attention. “Gotta show you I’m not completely useless somehow, right?”

The Mandalorian stands, headed for the ladder on the other side of the room.

“Don’t call yourself useless.”

This is said without so much as a glance over his shoulder, and you find yourself rushing to explain for no apparent reason.

“I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did.” The Mandalorian pauses with one foot on the first rung, finally turning to look at you now. “You’re not useless.”

 2.

The Razor Crest’s interior, in the grand tradition of spaces owned and maintained by single men, is in desperate need of a tune-up. There’s a bit of clutter here and there, and the walls and surfaces and well, everything else could do with a good scrubbing. It’s a big project to say the least, but you think you can tackle it given enough time and supplies.

The perfect window for such an undertaking opens up just a few days after the idea strikes you. Mando’s got another assignment, and it’s brought you to a relatively safe planet nearer to the Outer Core. He’ll be gone a few days, or so he says, and you know already that the market in town will be the perfect place to get what you need.

You set about your task the same day the Mandalorian leaves to set about his, the baby secured to your chest in a makeshift sling. It’s a good thing you brought him, too, because his charm helps you score several bargains along the way.

Organizing everything takes almost a whole day by itself, but after that, the cleaning is easy. You scrub and dust and mop until everything sparkles, and then it’s time to do laundry and see if you can make some functioning garments out of the scraps you find in Mando’s small closet. The clothes he wears aren’t rags by any means, but a little patching here and mending there gives him two more shirts and another pair of pants to work with.

It takes two more days for Mando to come home after you’re done, and he notes the changes immediately. He stops dead in the little hall between the main hull and the place where he keeps his carbonite-contained quarries, looking to the left and then to the right very slowly. You can’t tell if he likes what you’ve done at first, his expression obscured by that damn helmet like it always is.

“I didn’t touch your weapons,” you declare, holding up your hands as if to ward off whatever anger Mando’s about to level at you. But he doesn’t get upset, doesn’t cuss or ask you what the hell your were thinking, so you think it’s safe to go on.

“I scrubbed the whole interior, organized some of the stuff you had laying around, and made myself a better place to sleep.”

You gesture to the pallet you’ve made for yourself on the floor, proud of how you’ve managed to tuck it out of the way. That was the problem with your old spot— Mando had to step around you a lot, and it was becoming impractical. This new space comfortable, too, plush thanks to some cushions and blankets you managed to score in the market. You even have pillows now, but this is something you delight in privately.

The Mandalorian stands silently before you, and you prattle on, showing him this and that.

“I got the baby a couple of outfits to wear, one for colder weather and one for warmer weather. I mended some of your old clothes and washed everything that was here, so that’s done.” You shut the door to the little wardrobe and go to Mando’s bunk, pushing the button so he can see inside. “The woman that sells upholstered goods in the market really liked the Child, so she gave me a great deal. I managed to get you a decent mattress, or something close to it, and a couple of new pillows. She fixed up your old quilt for me too, so I hope it’s warmer now…”

You trail off, words escaping you under the intensity of Mando’s gaze. He’s staring you down properly now, the visor trained right on your face.

“Why did you do all of this?” he asks, gesturing to his bunk, the wardrobe. The thought crosses your mind that perhaps you should have asked before you messed with his things, his sleeping space, and a wave of something not unlike embarrassment sweeps over you.

“I— Mando, I’m sorry, I should have—”

But the Mandalorian still isn’t cross, cutting you off before you can finish apologizing. “Don’t apologize for anything. This is… This is…” He stares at his bed for a long moment, searching for his words. “Thank you.”

Something about the way he says it makes your stomach flutter, though you can’t decide if that’s good or bad.

 3.

The cough is innocuous enough when it starts, just a tickle in the back of your throat that comes on one afternoon. You brush it off as allergies, even telling Mando you’re fine when he asks about it that night.

Two days later, you’re bedridden.

Mando insists you’re absolutely burning up even as you shiver and shake beneath a virtual mountain of blankets, so cold that you think you’ll never be warm again. He forces you to sip on broth and water, though it all settles like sludge in your stomach. It must be bad, whatever you have— you must look bad— because the Mandalorian’s façade is slipping. He’s having full-blown conversations with the baby now, asking the little green infant if he thinks it’s a good idea to cut this hunt short, if he thinks you can be left alone for even just a few hours while he collects the last quarry. And though your body is aching, though you can practically feel the fever cooking your brain at this point, you tell him to finish the job. He made an agreement, and you know it’ll kill Mando not to honor it— you’ll be fine by yourself.

The two of you touch down on some planet in the Outer Rim, and then Mando’s practically running out of the ship. He promises to be back within the day, the sincerity in his voice managing to pierce the haze clouding your mind, and the ache in your bones makes you hope he means it.

Sometime later, you begin to hear a voice coming from the ‘fresher, one that taunts and teases you. It speaks nonsense on and off, but the clearer messages are frightening nonetheless. The voice says that Mando’s not coming back, that he’s left you here forever. Why else would he have taken the baby, hm? He doesn’t care for you, he’s not going to help you.

“Yes, he is,” you retort weakly, becoming more and more upset with each passing hour as this faceless thing continues to fill your head with words and threats. Somewhere in the very back of your fever-addled brain, you know that none of this is real, that all of this is a fever dream. But still, you weep and twist in your bed, scared that the Mandalorian really has abandoned you.

True to his word, though, Mando’s back in record time. You cry out for him the minute you hear footsteps inside the ship, and even the quarry grows quiet at the sound of your voice. Things are hazy after that, but you know that Mando comes to you after just a few minutes, promising over and over again that you’ll be better soon.

You and the Mandalorian and the baby fly somewhere together, this much you know, and Mando comes to sit on the floor with you once the Crest is in hyperspace.

“We’ll be there soon,” he tells you, voice tense and nervous through the modulator. He shushes you when you become upset all over again, emotions stirred by more taunting from the voice in the ‘fresher.

“Make it stop,” you cry, so very weak, “please make it stop. It’s so mean, Mando.”

“Hey, hey,” the Mandalorian cuts, pressing a gloved hand to your forehead. “Nothing can hurt you while I’m here, I won’t let it. I’ll stay right here until we get you to a doctor, I promise.”

And that’s enough to calm you for a few hours, it’s enough to help you fall asleep. You only wake again when you feel arms around your body, when the plushness of your mattress is no longer underneath you.

“Come on,” Mando says, talking to himself as much as he’s talking to you. “The medic will fix this. He’ll fix this, and everything will be fine.”

The medic the Mandalorian takes you to does fix this, but things are touch and go for a few hours there. Your fever breaks in just a couple of hours, thank the Maker, but you’re still very weak from being so sick for so long. You spend two days confined to a medbay bed before you’re deemed well enough to be discharged, and even then, it takes about a week before you’re truly feeling like yourself again.

It’s not until much later that you realize Mando never left your bedside once, and not for the first time do you find yourself wondering what something like that means coming from a man like him.

4.

Mando’s been gone nearly two weeks, and the baby’s beginning to lose it just the slightest bit. He doesn’t talk, of course, not in a way you can understand, but you know he misses his father. If the Child isn’t in a sour mood, he cries, and you’ve caught him playing in Mando’s clothes more than once. It’s stressful, taking care of the baby when he’s like this, but you understand how he feels. You feel strange and almost embarrassed to admit it, but you miss the Mandalorian too. The rational part of you knows it would be best to chalk it up to proximity, but you know in your heart that it’s a little more than that. But just because you know this doesn’t mean you accept it, and you tamp down the feeling at every turn, focusing instead on getting the Child through this rough period.

At the sixteen-day mark, the baby refuses to sleep in his pram entirely, insisting instead that Mando’s bunk will do much better. And you would be fine with that, all things considered, if he wasn’t insistent that you climb in there with him as well.

“Bug, I know you want Mando to come home, and I know you like sleeping with me when he’s not here, but I’m not getting in there with you.”

The baby makes a most discontent noise, pulling on your fingers so hard that he tumbles back onto Mando’s mattress when he lets go. You tell him once again that you won’t be invading his father’s space like that, and then the Child is crying, sobbing so hard his little shoulders shake beneath his baggy outfit. I’m too tired for this, you think to yourself, and you finally give the baby what he wants.

“Alright, alright,” you acquiesce, climbing up into the bunk with a sigh. “But we’re not telling him about this.”

The Child is soothed at once, snuggling down beside you in Mando’s blankets as if he was never upset in the first place. You lie beside him in the dark, eyes already growing heavy as you breathe in the scent of the covers around you, the scent of the pillow beneath your head. All at once, you realize that this is what Mando probably smells like under all the armor and the weapons. Something about that only serves to make this whole thing feel even more like a violation, but you force that thought out of your mind.

At some point, you do drift off, only the be woken hours later by the feeling of a hand on your ankle. And there the Mandalorian is, standing before you in the flesh (and beskar) after all those days away.

“You’re in my bed,” he says to you, though there’s no edge to the words. It’s a simple statement of fact, a plain observation.

“We missed you,” is all you have to say in explanation, though it takes you about three seconds too long to realize which pronoun you chose to throw out in the front there. Now properly awake, you go to cover the mistake, but Mando cuts you off as he is so wont to do.

“I missed you too,” he says slowly, voice dropping almost to a whisper. “Both of you.”

5.

You realize that Nevarro may not be as safe as you thought about three seconds after a man with a vibroblade demands you hand over all the credits you have. You try to flee on impulse, your mind focused on protecting the baby—

Right up until the man catches your shirt, using the natural momentum of the action to propel you right into his clenched fist. Searing hot pain blooms behind your eye, spreading across the entire side of your face and into your nose. You’re completely stunned, unable to so much as form a coherent thought as your attacker moves to hit you again.

It’s like everything happens in slow-motion after that. One minute, your assailant is bearing down on you with murder in his eyes— the next, he’s grimacing, falling to the ground with thud. Two voices urge you to follow them now, and there are hands on your shoulders, your back. You’re so disoriented that it takes you a moment to realize that there are two fucking Mandalorians in your face, but when you do, the urge to fight back leaves you immediately.

Neither Mando is your Mandalorian, but you follow them anyway. They usher you into a tunnel system beneath the city, telling you to turn this way and that, and you do as they say without question. For some reason, they know you— they know your name, and they certainly know the baby because they ask about him the moment the lot of you are concealed. About a thousand questions swim around in your mind as you follow the Mandalorians deeper and deeper into the tunnels, but you aren’t given a chance to ask a single one.

Finally, you’re allowed to stop in a smith of some sort, coming to stand before a Mandalorian woman sheathed in maroon and gold. She regards you for a long moment, pausing over her work to take in the sight of your face, the way you clutch the baby protectively against your chest.

“Fetch him,” is all that she says, speaking to one of your saviors, and they turn and leave without a word.

A period of time elapses before you hear movement in the hall, though you can’t be sure how long. What you are sure of, though, is that you hear Mando’s voice drawing near, and the wave of relief that washes over you is almost overwhelming. You’re safe here, of course— anyone would be, surrounded by this many Mandalorians— but… but they’re not him.

“What happened?”

It’s the first thing Mando says to you, picking up the pace once he lays eyes on your injuries. You’re taken aback by how he crowds you, how he lets his gloved hands linger on your cheek.

“She was attacked by a chakaar,” says the Armorer, speaking from workspace. “He will not be bothering anyone again, though.”

Mando is satisfied by this, thanking his brothers and sisters for protecting you and his child. You thank them as well, though it’s hard to tell if the sentiment lands with the Mandalorians. The Armorer is the only one who responds at all, saying, “You are our brother’s cyar’ika,” she explains, confusing you with a word you don’t recognize, “we as his brothers and sisters must protect you. This is the Way.”

“The is the Way,” intones the group, and then you’re being ushered from the room, tucked under Mando— your Mando’s— arm.

The walk back to the ship is a quiet one, though the Child coos happily. He seems largely unaffected by all of this, even dozing off in his pram as though he’s had an uneventful afternoon. You’re glad he’s asleep, knowing it’ll give you and Mando some time to talk. You want to ask him about what the Armorer said, what that word meant. Mando’s cyar… cyar’ika? Is that what she’d called you?

But you don’t get the chance to speak a word, because Mando crushes you against him the moment you get the baby settled. His arms are strong around your back, the sensation of being held by him effectively knocking the air from your lungs. When he finally lets you go, every question you had stuffed in your mind is gone.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” the Mandalorian says to you, sounding more distraught than you ever thought possible. You shake your head at that— how could he possibly have known?

“I’m fine, Mando,” you press. “Don’t worry about my face, it’s—”

“I should have been there.”

The both of you just look at one another after that, and the Mandalorian doesn’t flinch away when you lay your hand on the side of his helmet. You know at once that everything is different now, but you need to hear it just to be sure.

“That woman—”

“The Armorer,” Mando corrects.

“The Armorer,” you begin again, speaking slowly and deliberately. “What did she mean when she said what she said about me? What is a cyar… cyar’ika?”

Mando’s hand comes up, and his glove is cool on your uninjured cheek.

“’Beloved,’” he says softly, “’cyar’ika’ means ‘beloved.’”

You think your heart’s going to beat right out of your chest, but you force yourself not to be calm.

“If you’re going to call me your cyar’ika,” you whisper, afraid you’ll shout if you don’t, “then what should I call you?”

“Din. You can call me Din.”

[gryffindorcls]

The Surprise Guest

Hello, lovely readers!

A few months ago I was asked to write a piece for the @mlpandemicreliefzine​. It was such a fun project to be a part of, and now that it's been out for a while, I am happy to share with you the fluffy Marichat one-shot I wrote for the zine.

Happy reading!

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SUMMARY: One Friday night, Chat Noir accidentally barges in on a "girl's night" sleepover happening in Marinette's room. After being encouraged to stay, Chat joins the group in a game of truth or dare during which Marinette reveals the name of the boy she loves.

LENGTH: 2972 words

AO3 FANFICTION

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RAP RAP RAP

Marinette’s heart stopped.

“Is someone knocking on a window?” Alya pushed herself off the ground and padded across the room.

“N-no! I...uhh...it’s probably just the wind!” Marinette sprang out of her seat and tried to pull Alya back to the circle of girls sitting in the middle of the floor. “Don’t worry about it! Mario Kart is waiting for us!”

RAP RAP RAP

“There it is again!” Alya stood on her tiptoes and peered out the window next to Marinette’s desk. “That’s funny I could have sworn-”

The hatch above the lofted bed swung open with a bang. All heads turned towards the sound as a mop of blond hair poked through the opening.

“Princess, are you in here? Are you okay? I was knocking, and I didn’t see...oops.” Chat Noir’s eyes scanned the room. “Hello, ladies.”

“Oh, look!” Alya locked eyes with Marinette and gestured towards the hatch. “The wind has a face.”

Marinette groaned and buried her face in her hands. “This can’t be happening.”

“Oh, but it is, and I can’t wait to hear you explain your way out of this one.”

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“Really? Because to me, it looks like one of Paris’s heroes is asking to come in, and judging by his cute little nickname for you, I’m guessing that this isn’t the first time he’s paid you a visit. How am I doing so far, Princess Marinette?”

“Unfortunately, you’re doing pretty well.”

Chat ducked behind the lip of the opening. “Did I come at a bad time?”

Marinette pinched the bridge of her nose. “I told you that I was busy today.”

“I forgot.”

“Obviously.”

“If he’s here, does that mean there’s an Akuma?” Rose smashed her hands against her cheeks. “Is it after one of us?”

Chat shook his head. “No Akuma tonight. Everyone is safe.”

“If there’s no Akuma, then why are you here?” Alix narrowed her eyes. “Are you two dating or something?”

“No!” Marinette raised her hands in front of her. “It’s nothing like that. He just visits sometimes.”

“Yup!” Chat chimed in, “Every Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday night!”

“Not helping!” Marinette hissed at the boy through gritted teeth.

He sunk further behind the ledge. “Sorry.”

“You have scheduled visits!” Alya chuckled and placed a hand on Marinette’s shoulder. “Girl, I expect details.”

Chat cleared his throat. “Should I just leave the snacks and go?”

“Aha!” Alix exclaimed, pointing towards the hatch. “He brought snacks. They’re totally dating.”

“We’re not dating!” Marinette stamped her foot on the ground. “We’re just friends. I swear!”

“I don’t know. My brother always brings his girlfriend food, and he’s always talking about how in love with her he is.”

“Chat is my friend.”

Alya crossed her arms. “And tell us, how did you manage to become friends with him?”

Marinette looked at Chat, and after finding the silent look of approval in his eyes, she swallowed and took a steadying breath. “One night I was really upset, so I decided to sit out on the balcony. I may have started crying, and that’s when Chat found me. He told me he was also feeling down, so we talked for a few hours. He checked up on me the next day, and that’s when we realized that we enjoyed hanging out with each other.”

“Did you invite him to hang out with us tonight?” Mylene asked, cocking her head to the side.

Marinette sighed. “No, I did not.”

“You know, I should just go.” Chat tossed a canvas bag overflowing with snacks onto Marinette’s bed. “I’ll see you on Sunday, Princess.”

The unspoken sadness behind his words sent a pang through Marinette’s heart. “No, stay. It’s fine. Besides, I think Alya would kill me if I told you to go home before she had the chance to grill you at some point tonight.”

“You know it.” Alya chuckled and shot a finger gun in Chat’s direction.

“Wait.” He peeked the rest of his head over the ledge. “Really? I can come in?”

“Yup, and we were just about to play Mario Kart.” Marinette watched as Chat hopped onto her bed and scrambled down the ladder. “Did you want to play with us?”

“Do I?” He vibrated with excitement as she handed him a controller. “Is this what normally happens at sleepovers?”

“Have you never been to one?”

“No. I’ve only ever seen them on television and in movies, but those people are always doing each other’s hair and playing Truth or Dare.”

Alix’s eyes lit up. “Ooo, yes! We should play Truth or Dare.”

“No!” Marinette switched on her computer and loaded the game. “We are not playing Truth or Dare.”

“Ugh, lame!”

“We are playing Mario Kart, and then we are watching a movie.”

“I don’t know, Marinette. Playing Truth or Dare with a superhero sounds kind of fun.” Alya shot her a grin.

Marinette glared at her. “Video Games. Movie. Bed. That’s it.”

“You know,” Chat interjected, “I’ve never played Truth or Dare either.”

“Of course you haven’t.”

“It could be fun.”

“But you know what would be even more fun?” Marinette leaned in and flicked Chat’s bell. “Kicking your butt at Mario Kart...again.”

He chuckled. “That’s some big talk coming from someone who’s about to get crushed.”

“So says the boy who loses every time he’s played against me.”

“Oh, it’s on, Princess.”

“Jeez, if you two lovebirds are done flirting, some of us are ready to actually start playing,” Alix huffed, flopping onto the floor.

“For the last time, we are not dating.” Marinette crossed her arms and looked at Chat. “Right?”

“Yeah, we’re not.” She could have sworn that she saw his eyes dim when he spoke his confirmation, but surely it was just a trick of the light.

“See!” She said triumphantly. “We’re just friends.”

“Could have fooled me!” Alix held her stomach and laughed. “I’m just kidding. Anyway, are we playing or not?”

“Yes.” Marinette pressed start on her controller. “We are.”

As the first race began, she settled herself next to Chat Noir, accidentally brushing her knee against his. Her heart sank when she felt his body stiffen under her touch. Usually, Chat had no problem getting close to her. More often than not, they found themselves wrapped around each other under piles of blankets.

She couldn’t help but wonder if she’d done something wrong. Maybe he was upset that she’d said no Truth or Dare. Maybe she was too harsh. Maybe she should have said yes. After all, it was his first sleepover, and playing Truth or Dare wouldn’t be out of the ordinary.

Despite the internal debate that raged through her mind throughout the gaming session, Marinette came first in almost every race. After her eleventh win, she leaned over and rested her head on Chat’s shoulder.

“Better luck next time, kitty.” She looked up only to see him quickly turn his head away.

He must really be upset with her.

Alix slammed her controller onto the ground. “Ugh, can we do something else now? I’m getting bored.”

Alya rolled her eyes. “Are you sure you’re not just getting tired of losing?”

“Actually, I also wouldn’t mind doing something else.” Rose set down her controller and smiled. “Marinette, didn’t you say that we were going to watch a movie tonight?”

“A movie would be cool,” Juleka mumbled under her breath.

Marinette looked at Chat Noir. “Well, I’ve been thinking about it, and I thought that maybe we could play Truth or Dare...as long as we’re careful, that is! We’d have to promise to not ask Chat anything that could reveal his identity.”

Alix threw a celebratory fist into the air. “Yes!”

“Are you sure, girl?” Alya furrowed her brows. “You seemed pretty against it before.”

She nodded. “I’m sure. Besides, I think our surprise guest really wants to play. What kind of hostess would I be if I denied him the full sleepover experience?”

He met her gaze. His mouth rounded into a small “o” as a dusting of pink peeked out from underneath his mask.

“Are you okay?” Marinette asked tentatively.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. I would love to play!”

The rest of the group excitedly agreed and reformed a circle in the middle of the floor. The first few rounds filled the room with laughter as Mylene did the worm and Alya showed off her best Nino impression.

Once the giggles died down after watching Alix's reaction to putting ice cubes down her shirt, Alya adjusted her glasses and smirked. “Alright, it’s your turn, Marinette. Truth or dare?”

The last thing Marinette needed was for someone to dare her to kiss Chat Noir. “Truth.”

Alix rubbed her hands together. “First truth of the night. Let’s make it a good one.”

A wave of regret washed over her. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes! Who do you have a crush on right now?”

“I guess I should have seen that one coming.”

A pang shot through Marinette’s chest. She lowered her head and swallowed the heartbreak that threatened to resurface.

It had only been three months since she’d made the choice to move on from Adrien, and the wound still felt fresh. She’d done her best to bury the feelings she had for him, but her heart always circled back to the selfless boy who shines brighter than the sun.

However, she learned that as long as she didn’t actively think about Adrien, the hole inside her heart wasn’t as noticeable. Chat’s visits had really helped take her mind off of everything, but now it looked like it was time to face her feelings head-on.

“Oh, I know!” Chat blurted out, “It’s Luka!”

“No, it’s not.” Juleka’s hands covered her mouth while she spoke. “Marinette turned him down when he asked her out.”

“Wait, really?” He turned to Marinette. “Isn’t he the boy you’re in love with?”

Alya shook her head. “No, they had a connection, but I think we all know who really captured her heart.”

“Who?”

“You mean you really don’t know? She never told you?”

Hot tears welled in the corners of Marinette’s eyes. “I’m trying to move on.”

“Do you still love him?” Rose asked quietly, "Because it's okay if you do. Feelings like that don't just disappear overnight." “Yeah, but it doesn’t matter now. He’s with someone else. I lost my chance.” The words tasted bitter on her lips.

“No, you didn’t.” Juleka shook her head. “Don’t tell anyone, but I saw Luka kissing Kagami last weekend.”

A collective gasp filled the room as Marinette’s head shot up. “Are you serious?”

“Mmhmm, he doesn’t know that I know, but she comes over a lot.”

Alya nudged Marinette’s arm. “I think you just got your second chance.”

“But he and Kagami were so close!” Marinette grabbed her pigtails. “I could have sworn that they were dating.”

“You know, I don’t remember him ever saying that they were dating.”

“I guess I just assumed. I thought I saw them kiss.”

“I don’t think they did. I know he didn’t tell Nino that he kissed her, and those two pretty much know everything about each other.”

Chat held up his hands. “I’m sorry, who are we talking about right now?”

“It’s a boy from our class. You might know him. He was in that fragrance ad that seems to be on every billboard in the city.” Alya pointed to the class picture hanging on Marinette’s wall. “His name is Adrien.”

“Hold on.” The intensity in his eyes startled Marinette. “You have a crush on Adrien Agreste?”

“Um, yeah?” She shrugged. “I thought he was dating Kagami, so I tried to make my feelings go away. It didn’t really work.”

“But why?” His voice had dropped to a whisper. “Why him?”

Marinette thought back to her encounter with Adrien in the rain–the day love became more than just a word in the dictionary. “I accused him of something when we first met, but instead of getting angry and brushing me off, he reached out to me and asked to be friends. Is he one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen in my entire life? Yes, without a doubt. But it was his kindness and selflessness that made me fall for him.”

“You really love him, don’t you?”

“With all my heart.”

“Is that why you were crying that night on the balcony?”

“Yes, but you made me feel a lot better. Thank you for that.”

Chat pushed himself off the ground and began pacing around the room. “I...he made you cry! You’re so sweet and kind, and he hurt you. How are you not mad at him?”

She reached up and grabbed Chat’s hand as he passed in front of her. “It’s not his fault! I never had the courage to tell him, so he doesn’t know. He’s a wonderful person.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

“Chat…”

“He broke your heart, Marinette.”

She shook her head. “No, if we’re being honest, I kind of broke my own heart. I never told him how I felt.”

He took a deep breath. “You should tell him.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“What if I’m not the one for him? He deserves to be happy!”

“I have a hunch that things will work out pretty well if you tell him.”

“Look, it’s not that I haven’t tried before.” Marinette buried her face in her hands. “But all of those attempts ended in disaster. How would this time be any different?”

“Easy.” Alix pointed to the cell phone on Marinette’s desk. “I dare you to text him.”

Marinette crossed her arms. “Nice try, but it’s not my turn right now. It’s Chat’s.”

“Fine. Truth or dare, Chat Noir?”

He plopped down on the ground. “Dare.”

“Excellent.” Alix grabbed the phone and handed it to Chat. “I dare you to help Marinette send a text to Adrien.”

“No!” Marinette snatched her phone out of his hands and held it against her chest. “Why?”

“Because it’ll be hilarious.”

"But it's my phone!"

"And it's his dare."

Marinette grabbed Alya’s arm. “Help.”

“No can do, girl.” She shook her head. “Alix is right. He got dared.”

With a sigh, Marinette reluctantly handed her phone over to Chat. “Please don’t do anything too embarrassing.”

“Trust me, Princess. I’ll make sure you get that date.” He took the phone and got to work.

“You may have to spell it out for him. Adrien’s a great guy, but he’s a little dense in the love department sometimes.” Alix’s laugh rang through the room.

Chat glared at her. “Rude.”

“If you knew him, you’d agree.”

“Unfortunately, I have a feeling that you’re right. Rude, but right.”

Marinette didn’t know if she should scream or run away. “Please don’t tell him that I like him in a text. That should be something I tell him to his face.”

Chat ran his fingers through his hair. “I know. All I did was write out a message asking him to meet up with you in the park tomorrow.”

“Did you already send it?”

“Yup.”

“I...but...what if he’s not free?”

“Oh, he’s free.”

“How do you know?”

“Uhhhh.” Chat scratched the back of his head. “I read somewhere that his father is out of town for the next week. I guess I just assumed that Adrien had nothing on his schedule.”

Marinette did her best not to hyperventilate. “Okay, yeah...this is great. Goog...I mean doog...I mean...oh, no, I’m stuttering again! It’s been weeks since I’ve done that. I’m going to make a complete fool out of myself tomorrow!”

“No, you’re not.” Chat rested a hand on her shoulder.

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re amazing, Marinette, and he’d be crazy to not like you back.”

His smile melted away her fears and calmed the restless beating of her heart. It was amazing how safe he always made her feel, both in and out of the mask. Marinette knew she was lucky to have him as her partner and her friend.

“I know everyone didn’t get a turn to go, but I really don’t think we can top that round.” Alya walked over to Marinette’s computer. “How about we watch that movie now?”

“Works for me!” Marinette leaned against Chat. “Want to sit next to each other?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

While Marinette set up the movie, her guests made a cozy nest of blankets and pillows on the floor.

When she was finished, she took a seat next to Chat. She soon found herself wrapped in his arms with her face against his chest.

Although sitting like this had become a regular occurrence between them, tonight felt different. Instead of the loose hold she was accustomed to, Chat held her as if she’d slip away if he let go. To her surprise, she really enjoyed the change.

As the movie droned on, the steady beating of Chat’s heart relaxed every fiber of her being. Reflexively, she reached her arms around him, snuggled closer to his side, and reveled in his warmth.

All too soon, Marinette gave into the heaviness of her eyelids. Still vaguely aware of the world around her, the whispers of an oncoming dream beckoned her further into the depths of her subconscious.

She felt a gentle pressure against the crown of her head before a hazy voice etched its words onto her heart. “You make me happy every single day. You always have, and now it’s my turn to make you happy. You’re the perfect girl for me.”

And for the first time in months, Marinette was at peace.

“I can’t wait for tomorrow, Princess.”

That night, she had the sweetest of dreams, and the next morning, she woke up with Adrien’s response in her notifications.

[lovingllix]

[10:34pm]

the work story! sorry i didn’t post it yesterday, i fell asleep. but yeah, here’s the events of saturday night for you all!

-

finally. after an exhausting six hour shift at the restaurant, you’re home. you take your shoes off at the door and catch a glimpse of minho lying on the sofa with his phone lighting up his face.

“hey, i was getting worried about you. you’re over an hour late getting home; were you busy?” he shuts off his phone and sits up, patting the spot beside him for you to sit.

“not exactly,” you sigh. “someone was really rude to me when i was cleaning off a table. you know i was supposed to host tonight, but jisoo and i decided to switch so she ended up hosting and i wait assisted. so-“

“hold on, what’s wait assisting again? i know you told me before but i don’t remember.” he turns to face you, taking your hand in his to let you know you have his full attention.

“basically just running food to tables and cleaning off tables when people get up. so i’m doing that tonight instead of jisoo. everything was going smoothly until like 7:30ish. i was cleaning a table outside and some lady at the next table was like ‘i thought jisoo was wait assisting.’ so then i told her we switched before we opened. super easy explanation right?”

minho nods.

“wrong. yoona, that table’s waitress, comes out and the lady asks again why jisoo wasn’t wait assisting. she tells her again and we start telling her how good jisoo does up front on weekends and i tell her that i get a little overwhelmed and anxious on the weekends when it’s busy. guess what this bitch says to me!”

“oh god.”

“she’s like ‘well if you have anxiety you really shouldn’t be working in a restaurant in the first place,’ like what the fuck? why would you say that to someone? wow thanks that really makes me feel good about myself. so i walk away and she continues to talk shit. so then i’m telling my coworkers about what she said and jisoo comes up and is like ‘you know that’s my mom, right?’ and im just like...uh no i did not know that was your mom, she was really rude though. so yoona goes out and tells them straight up she’s not waiting on them anymore if they’re gonna be talking about our employees like that. so they leave and leave no tip on their $100 check.”

minho’s face morphs into shock, his eyebrows furrowing and jaw dropping open.

“that’s terrible, baby, why would she say something like that to you? to anyone, really. do i need to find her and tell her off?”

you let out a chuckle at his antics. he’s always so protective.

“no, but if she comes in again i may just spill food on her on purpose. then jisoo got pissed at both yoona and me for getting offended at what her mom said. like i’m sorry was i supposed to just laugh it off like it’s okay? she was already pissed that i was wait assisting even though i told her i would host if she wanted me to. so y’know what? she can wait assist all she wants next week because i’m off. we’re going on vacation since you have time off as well and i want to spend time with you.”

minho laughs, pulling you into his chest. he smells like cinnamon and faintly of your perfume. he’d been wrapped up in one of your blankets, for sure. before you know it, you’re both lying together on the couch, hands intertwined. minho loves playing with your fingers, just holding your hand in his, seeing how well they fit together. he runs his hand up and down your side, occasionally sliding under your t-shirt ‘accidentally.’

“anything else interesting happen tonight? why were you so late getting off?” he asks, hoping your night went better after the incident.

“shit.”

“hm?” he looks down at you through his lower lashes, a cute double chin forming with his silly face. he still looks just as handsome as always.

“shit. some guy blew up the bathroom. he’d been in there for a while, left, then when we went in to to the bathroom cleanup, you know siyeon, the one who has the cats?”

minho nods again, remembering when he and siyeon met at the restaurant and talked for about ten minutes about their cats.

“she goes into the men’s room to put the trash can back in the stall. she comes out absolutely gagging saying how terrible it is in there. we don’t believe her, so i go back in with her to check it out and there is shit everywhere. all over the toilet, the floor, minho it was on the walls.”

this time, his face is a mix of shock and pure disgust.

“tell me you’re kidding.”

you shake your head, laughing.

“i swear to god, minho. it was everywhere. how does that even happen? like if your ass is on the toilet how the fuck do you get shit on the walls?”

you both tumble into a fit of laughter, tears running down your faces.

“...and then siyeon, siyeon had to go clean it up! she had to mop the fucking walls, babe, i swear! she had on like three masks! we all promised her she never ever has to do bathrooms ever again!”

minho clutches his stomach and sighs in pain. you haven’t laughed this hard in forever.

“poor siyeon, you guys didn’t even help her? heartless!”

that night, you fall asleep on the couch. you’ll definitely have a crick in your neck, but it doesn’t matter. you’re with the love of your life, your best friend.

maybe tomorrow will be better.

[mommymooze]

Dreaming of a Different Day

Reader, Fe3h Characters, Modern AU

Blood, gore, fighting, dead bodies, homework, sweating

7986 words

Working night shift at a gas station isn’t the most glorious job, but it helps pay the bills while you are trying to complete your degree at college. Determined to graduate without getting buried under an insurmountable amount of student debt, you work two jobs, sometimes three, even if it means taking 10 years to get a 4 year degree. Scoring a job in building maintenance for the college certainly helps with getting reduced fees on classes and books. Between two current jobs and classes or study time, there isn’t much time to sleep. Sometimes you volunteer your body as a lab rat for some of the studies done at the university, if you can work them in to your hectic schedule. This time they want to study your brain while you sleep. Getting paid to sleep? Sign me up!

Filling your 32oz. thermal bucket with coffee, you head out to catch a bus to campus. You have about an hour to study before you make it to the appointment at the psychology building.

An alarm sounds on your phone, time to pack up to make it to your appointment on time. Stashing your laptop and books into your backpack you head up the stairs to the third floor. Opening the door, you see a sleepy looking green haired student gathering forms together and stapling them into packets, placing them into manila folders.

“I’m here for the 8:00am appointment.” You announce.

He hands you a folder and a pen, telling you to fill out the paperwork and return them to him when complete.

You fill out the forms completely and honestly. Your sleep schedule is hell, you sleep when you can, mostly during daylight hours. You don’t recall any of your dreams or nightmares. No drinking or drugs. No sense in lying on these forms, they’ll find out if you’re trying to say something to please them or force yourself into their study group. Forms complete, you place them on the front desk as the young man nods.

Returning to your table you pull out your laptop and begin working on homework. You notice someone is standing in front of you.

A tall young woman with short blonde hair smiles at you, asking you to follow her. You grab your things, she leads you to a small room with a bed and several different machines, some on tables, some freestanding.

She tells you to change into a hospital gown, tie in the front because they need to attach some wires for monitoring. Most of the wires are attached to your head. She tells you the liquid they use to have it stick to your head is easily washed out of your hair. Once you are fully wired, she leaves and comes back with the fluffiest, warmest blanket you have ever felt and wraps it around you leading you to the bed. She asks if you want a sleep mask to block out the light and you do. The hum of the machines, the darkness and the fluffy warm blanket are enough to get you to fall asleep quite quickly.

A soft alarm goes off and you hear the voice of the green haired man asking you what you remember. You stay still, thinking. You recall walking down a corridor, speaking with other people. They are dressed differently. Maybe wearing a school uniform? You were carrying a book headed to…you can’t remember. It is strange, why suddenly have a dream here of all places? Taking the mask from your eyes you look to see him writing. He finishes his notes and leaves muttering a soft “Thank you.”

The wires are removed, you are told to change back into your regular clothes. They will message you if you will be chosen for further study. Handing you an envelope full of cash you head out the door, just in time to make it to your class.

Classes done for the day. You are mopping the floors of the student housing building 3. Yet another party to clean up after. Sure, you could notify the RA’s and make the other students do it, but they would make more mess and take too long. It is easier to simply clean it up yourself. Giving the floor a final mop, you shriek as someone steps behind you and taps on your shoulder.

“Hey, sorry we made so much mess for you.” A handsome male with dark hair, darker skin and brilliant green eyes smiles at you.

“No prob. No mess, no job, right?” You answer. They always show up when the work is about done.

“Can I interest you in some cake? We have some left.” He gestures with his hand open towards you.

“Nope. Smelled it too long cleaning it from floor vents.” You keep swiping the mop back and forth, then dunking it in your soapy bucket, squeezing it out and slapping it back on the floor.

Claude attempts to introduce himself. “Claude Riegan, Senior, Political Science.”

You answer in a monotone voice, “I am the janitor.“

“Hah.” He forces a laugh. “I’ve seen you in the halls here and there. You’re a student as well.”

You shrug, going to the closet to dump out your bucket. “Gotta run. Bldg 2 calls.”

He smiles and waves, you sort of wave back.

Work complete you head back to the smaller than an efficiency apartment you rent. Hotplate, and microwave for cooking, it has a half bath so you wash in a plastic tub. One small room for everything, no closets. Everything you own is in labeled tubs. No windows, but there is a door that locks.

You work on homework until your brain is fried. Collapsing on your bed you set an alarm, plug in your phone and laptop and sleep for a few hours before you have to get up for work tonight at the gas station.

Making it to class 5 minutes early you haul your bucket of coffee with a straw in it to your seat. Did you see that Claude guy in the halls? He likes yellow shirts. Both times you saw him in that color.

Today you listen to the lecture while looking around the room. Most of the time you take notes but you know this particular subject well. There’s a guy with light green hair and glasses to the right. Why does he look familiar? Have you seen him in a class before? You recognize the emo guy in front with a brown haired girl always huddled together. Oh no. The horrendous heartbreaker is here. Who doesn’t know about him? How many messes of his have you cleaned up because he’s dumped a girl and she resorted to violence and damaged school property? At least 100. You had no idea he was in your class. You lift up a book to block his direct view of your face. Perhaps you can remain nonexistent to him.

The professor ends the lesson. You note the work to be turned in, due date, assigned reading. Just as you’re about to finish tossing everything into your bag, you get a text. The psych guys want you for another sleep study. You tell them you can daytime sleep Tues or Thurs or Fri til 5. Great. They take all 3.

Cool. You may actually have some free cash for a few weeks. Maybe you can splurge on new shoes.

Monday night at the gas station is quiet. They usually are. Coffee keeps you coherent enough to make correct change and clean things properly. You have enough time to get home, clean up and hit the psy lab by 6am. They are to wake you 2 so you can make your class in plenty of time.

Mercie is the girl that wires you up to the machines. She hands you the sleep mask and fluffy blanket. It doesn’t take you long to go to sleep having come off your caffeine high a couple hours ago.

The alarm goes off and you bolt upright to a seated position in the bed, gasping for breath.

“Tell me quickly.” The green haired man encourages you to speak.

“I was fighting for my life. There was a battle. It was primitive. There were swords and long spears and huge axes with blades bigger than your head. A woman had fire coming from her fingers killing a man. I could smell his flesh burning. I stabbed bad people with my spear. I had to help my friends. We were fighting…um…a gang? thieves? They were hurting people nearby. My friend was hit by a spear and I killed the guy that hit him. Then I was…touching my friend’s stab wound. Light came from my fingers and I watched the hole in his side close up.” You sat there, staring at your hands. They were your hands but no longer covered in blood. You were grimacing as hard as you were in the dream, concentrating on your hands. But they did not glow.

“What else? What about the land?” His disinterested voice demands more.

“It was in a wild undeveloped area. No buildings. Just trees and rocks and bushes. We were fighting our way up a hill. Some of us going up one side, some going the other. I could hear them fighting on the other side of the hill. We were going to meet at the top. I couldn’t wait to see the leader, I kept looking for her blue hair. I knew she was the best fighter ever and would do everything to keep us safe.”

“Anything else?” His last follow up question.

“It’s faded a lot now. So much blood everywhere. The smells, they were awful. Metal banging on metal was so loud.”

He stands and stretches. “Thank you.” He says as he closes the door behind him.

You get dressed and grab your stuff heading for your afternoon class. Why are you suddenly dreaming? You don’t remember dreaming much before since you were a kid. This was a nightmare. You didn’t drink anything. You had slept over 7 hours, that’s the longest you’ve slept in…months? If the nightmares keep up, you’re not sure this is worth the extra cash.

After class you head home. You don’t feel as exhausted as you normally do, so you work ahead on a class or two. Most of the time homework can be done while you’re at the gas station counter.

Class in the morning is boring. Only a few more weeks to suffer before you get a break. Heading home you lay in your bed. You want to sleep. You really, really do. But now you’re afraid if you close your eyes, will the dreams continue? You grab your accounting book and start reading. You wake up with your alarm going off so you can get ready to head to work tonight. You do not dream, not even a about spreadsheets.

Work is uneventful. Mostly the same people coming in to buy the same things. Taking deliveries of different foods and replacing the purchased items on the shelves. Completing homework as time allows. Finally, it is time to clock out as the next shift comes in to deal with the daytime crowd.

You hit the bus, get to your room, swap out what you don’t need with what you do, toss your backpack on and head out to the Psych lab. You’re wired up and under the blanket. You feel a bit anxious about sleeping, however it is totally dark and the humming of the machines soon overtakes your thoughts and you fall asleep.

You awaken to hear the same guy as before asking you to talk.

Not opening your eyes you go through what happened.” There was a battle but not a real battle. Everyone is fighting but you aren’t really trying to kill each other. The weapons are fake. The magic is real but not seriously real. It reminds me of watching football practice. Each team wore their colors and are trying to beat up the others. The yellow team wins and everyone goes to a party. The blue haired leader lady said I had done a great job. She asks me to have tea and wants to talk about joining her house. Is she leading a fraternity? I woke up as I was helping clean up the mess after the party.”

“Tell me where this happened.” He asks.

“Well, the battle was on a big open field. There was a hill that someone could pull a lever and fire stuff at others. Scattered clumps of trees here and there, where some people would hide. It was a long walk to get to the field there. When walking I spoke with a grayish haired guy that would talk about stories he read about knights and do gooders. Oh, and on a big hill were three people with bright green hair. A man, woman and a younger shorter girl. They were watching. But they did not go to the party after. The party was in the dining area back at the school.”

You’re dressed, your hair feels sticky, so you put on a baseball cap with the university logo on it and head to your janitorial job. Mind numbing floor sweeping, mopping, and emptying trashcans fills your night. You are glad you had a good sleep at the psych lab, because it’s a short night tonight after getting off at 3am and having a class again at 8am the next day, you make it, like any other college student.

Grabbing something awful to eat after class, you head back to the third floor in the psych building for the last sleep of this week.

You wake up completely and totally freaked out. What a nightmare. Walking forever in the rain until you are soaked through, your skin all cold and wrinkly, and now you go into the creepy tower with the rest of the Blue Lions. You’re on the blue team. An older woman is the teacher, you wish you had the blue haired lady, she was so awesome.

Everyone creeps around and around going up higher in the tower while bad guys are firing arrows and popping out of hidden spaces. You remember using magic. You concentrated and this circle with marks on it appeared in your vision and next thing you know you shot lightning out of your fingers at a monster. A horrifying monster. It used to be a mean ugly guy but he changed and got big and evil looking, like a T-rex heavy on the claws and teeth. Everyone is fighting for their lives.

The worse part is one of them was his brother and had to get something back for his family. There was so much blood. Everyone was freaked out, especially the guy that killed his brother. It was horrible. By the time you finished talking to Linny, you were shaking and holding yourself. He just kept saying it was only a dream and told you that you would be fine.

You head to classes trying to best to concentrate.

Normally the job of polishing floors is nice. The machine does all of the work, you just change out the heads to clean then polish. The hallways here lead to rooms that have been reset for a large Art show presenting the student’s works. Many of the students are in your way, hauling in stands and setting up displays of their work. You keep looking down, studying the polishing machine. You can’t look at most of the artwork it, reminds you of the monsters you’ve dreamed of, or swords, or there is blood everywhere. What happened to fields of flowers? Paint a bowl of fruit or something bland.

You clock out at 3 am, head back to your room and crash burying yourself under a ton of blankets. One class today then you don’t have to be back to the university until 6pm. You need to hide in your bed. You are mentally exhausted. You need to sleep, so you down some cold medicine and it knocks you out.

Sleep is not kind. You aren’t in the lab, you are in the safety of your own bed. The dreams, okay, nightmares continue. Some girl is missing. Everyone is trying to find her. The Blue Lions leave to find some item and fight monsters, when you come back they found her, some other gal that was missing, and a creepy skeleton looking guy on a horse fought them in the basement. Ugh. You remember that head someone had on a stand in the art class, with the red glowing eyes. At least before you woke up you remember having tea with the blue haired professor and you agreed to join her group. She also gives you nice flowers for your birthday. You wake up just after tea was over.

You’ve never dreamed before. What the hell. You aren’t getting paid to dream at home. You don’t want this. What can of worms have they opened on you? You want your regular dreamless close your eyes, sleep, open them and go again. Not running miles and chasing horrible things and stabbing stuff and getting hurt and bleeding.

After class this morning the library is your destination today. Gotta get some references and info for a class. You stop by a quicky mart on the way. Need coffee. You’re not one of those fancy coffee kids, just creamer and go. You could care less what mountain they grew the coffee on as long as it is caffeine and keeping you awake.

Filling your cup with the elixir of consciousness, you see a girl with purple hair having problems with the whipped cream function of the expensive coffee and creamer dispenser.

You walk up to her. “Hey Bernie, want me to help?”

“Sure.” The girl says still punching buttons.

You fiddle with the machine knowing how temperamental they can be and get plenty of whip cream on top of her coffee.

She looks at me to say thank you, drops her books and screams. “Who are you? I don’t even know you!”

You shove a lid on her cup and put it in her hands. “Take your coffee.” Picking up her books, you stuff them in her arms. You head for the checkout. Your brain is confused too. You don’t know her, but she’s in the dreams and it’s her, Bernadetta.

Heading to the library you pull out your laptop and begin working on a project for class. You keep your head down, concentrate you keep telling yourself, but pieces of the dreams creep up on you every time you try to focus. Writing a few sentences, you click on an arrow on your laptop screen. You remember Bernie shooting arrows and she’s an amazing archer along with Ignatz. They love to paint. You wonder what it would look like if they did something together.

Concentrate. Fingers on the keyboard. The page is filling with text, the project is coming along. You need to find another book for reference. Signing into the library website you search for its location. You find the book and take it back to your seat. Flipping through it you find the section you want. Inside there is a postit note:

“Don’t bother with this. It’s wrong. See…” It lists a book you passed on, thinking this would be better. Perhaps the mysterious postit writer has been through this class and is saving everyone else from the same headaches. Nice. You get up and trade out books. This one does have exactly what you are looking for and your project speeds forward. You flip through the book once you’re finished with its contents and surprise! Another postit. “Bonus: Check out…”

You are enraptured, of course you go to find the next book. It is even better than the last one. The section related to your task has a note. “BTW, don’t quote that last book, Prof hates it. Do this instead. The curious get the rewards!” OMG. This is the greatest stuff. But the game is over, no more notes, you even check behind the last one. It did keep you entertained and focused though, a great help or you may have never finished this.

Saving everything and backing it up onto the cloud you have enough time to toss your stuff into the employee lockers and get your janitorial getup on. Baseball cap and earbuds in, it’s time for 8 hours of cleaning up after everyone else.

Building 3 is the party hub of the campus. At least they cleaned up some of the party decor, floor vents contain no cake, but they still leave a mess. You have to wash down the walls.

About 1:30am a dark haired guy with a ponytail comes in all frazzled asking if I’ve seen a red headed guy passed out somewhere. Nope. We both check the balcony and there he is out on a plastic chair. It is heartbreaker Sylvain.

You ask for help picking him up to get him to a standing position. You tell his buddy to hold him still. Throwing your right shoulder into his crotch you grab his left arm and throw it over your opposite shoulder. Sylvain is now up over your shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

His buddy gets the door and elevator for you. When the door opens there is a wheelchair close by and you dump Sylvain into it.

“How’d you know how to do that?” His friend asks.

“I’ve carried him before.” You answer as you help wheel Sylvain to the car. You help pour him into the front seat and reach over the seatbelt to his friend.

“Good luck. He’s your problem now.” You mutter as you turn around and head back to work.

At least this time he wasn’t bleeding you think. Wait. You’ve carried Sylvain before, during a fight. To get him to safety. That was Felix who came to get him. When you carried him, you were in leather gear and had more muscles. It reminds you of highschool wrestling. You did that for a few years. It felt so right doing that, but this college doesn’t have women’s wrestling, so you left it behind. It was how you got the job in janitorial because you are a female that can lift and move heavy weights, doing it the right way and not getting hurt.

Finishing your shift it is early Sunday morning. You go home, sleep, and dream.

You’re playing chess with Hubert. You’re beating him and he is pissed. He threatens you with cheating, distracting him, etc. You laugh at him. He’s always threatening someone or something.

Byleth comes in and ends the game. You head to a war meeting with the rest of the Black Eagles Strike force. Now that Byleth has returned Edelgard wants to recapture the great bridge at Myrddin.

After the meeting you head out to the training area for magic users. Warming up with a few Thunder spells, you work through Thoron then Bolting. The magic flowing through you feels amazing, you are one with the forces of nature.

You can feel the cold flowing from your fingertips as you cast blizzard at a target. Casting Fimbulvetr you watch as a solid ice grows around and surrounds the target.

Taking a few cleansing breaths, you then cast sagittae, the arrows breaking chunks of ice off of the target. Agnea’s Arrow finally strikes the ice, causing bright flames releasing steam into the area. The ice and target are obliterated.

You feel a good exhaustion come over you. Practice complete, you head to your quarters to complete additional research for some spells you have been working on.

The next moment you are on the bridge, fighting Alliance fighters and a few former classmates. Byleth has you stationed further away from the students, your goal is to take out a number of heavily armored ground troops and clear the way to Judith, leader of the enemy forces. Your fingers spark with electricity as your favorite spells are prepared. You remind yourself to keep your jubilant shrieks to yourself, in the last battle Hubert chastised you for frightening Bernadetta.

You wake up in your bed. This time you are not revulsed by the fighting. It felt thrilling. That scares you more than when you were upset and afraid. Things are so different in this dream. Byleth is a woman. But you’ve seen them before as a man. You know Edelgard was your enemy before, but this time you practically worship the ground she walks on. You remembered the singular focus you had in the dream. Nothing to distract you from your goal. You would forgo sleep, train well into the night.

Why were you playing chess with Hubert? Oh. He had tricked you, saying that chess is training of the mind to think more strategically. You thought he was trying to keep you out of the training grounds for a while. He’s always playing mother hen over everyone, sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong.

Sitting up in your bed you shake your head. That was not part of the dream. It felt more like a memory. Are these dreams making you delusional now? You would like to get off this mental merry-go-round.

The next two weeks are filled with working nights, classes or sleeping during the day. Your bank account is getting fat. Your brain is not doing so well. Things from your dreams hit you during the day. Stopping at the cafeteria of the college, you look down at your tray of obviously poor choices. Mercedes voice is in your ear, suggesting that you eat more vegetables. You swear you can hear Manuela tell you to put the pie back on the shelf and get brussels sprouts, dark greens are much healthier for you.

You wear hoodies to class now that the weather is getting a bit colder. Tying the hood around your face to block your peripheral vision helps you concentrate on where you are going. Otherwise you feel like you recognize so many people.

Yesterday, while in the cafeteria you ate your oatmeal with extra raisins and apples, less sugar, thank you Marianne, when you heard a male voice over the rest of the throng. You knew it was Ferdinand. He was being boastful and incredibly proud of his stance on the subject, as a noble should be. It had to be him. Gulping down your food you grab your carton of 2% milk and head out the door to take the long way around to class.

Being a lab rat for the psy group seems to be getting easier. It is like you slip into an alternate universe in the past. Everyone there has the right names and faces, while here in the future, most of them don’t know themselves as you do.

Linny gets lazy about writing down everything. He simply records everything on a laptop and someone else can transcribe it. He sits in his chair, folds his arms and drifts off to sleep to the sound of your voice telling of your dreams.

It is getting harder to keep your accounts of what happens in the dreams simple. You know everyone’s names, the weapons, the enemies, the spells. You feel the need to translate them into something that relates to modern equivalents. You are also trying to be careful about revealing just how deep you are into these…are they just dreams? Memories? Recollections?

Finishing your recitation of the dream, Linhardt is asleep again. Linny!! It’s Linny now. You poke him in the ribs where you know he is ticklish, he quickly wakes and demands that you stop. You ask him to unhook the wires so you can head out. Taking your envelope, you head out to the ATM, deposit the cash then get ready for work.

Noting the amount of posters on the walls for the party in Student housing building 3, Claude is going to have a huge mess for you to clean up. Finishing work on the admin building you head over to whatever disaster awaits you after the party.

The common area and meeting room used for the event are not the worst you have seen. They even bagged up most of their trash. Hauling in a huge plastic dumpster on wheels, you load up the bags to make room to maneuver. Wiping down the tables and chairs you stack and move them to make mopping easier.

“Hey, hope things are better this time, Janitor.” Claude announces as he walks into the room.

“It’s nice. Thanks.” You mumble, surprised that he is here.

“I know we left a huge mess before, so I put Hilda in charge of cleanup.” He has that smirky grin on his face. It’s funny how some things never change. He’s still handsome too.

“I bet she was pissed that you’re making her work.” You say without thinking.

“She was.” Claude nods. “You know her?”

“I..uh..know some people in common.” You answer, wiping a table harder. Claude has always been intensely curious and you are now on his radar. Great.

“You look familiar. I can’t recall where I know you from.” Claude’s voice trails off as he puts his hand to his chin and thinks.

“I have pretty common looks. One head, two eyes with bags under them from lack of sleep. Same as most students.”

Claude sits cross-legged on one of the not too dirty tables, making himself at home. He is staring at you, his chin resting on his fist.

You finish the tables and chairs, except for the table that is occupied and sweep the largest chunks from the floor.

“Please tell me you are not majoring in sanitation or building maintenance.” Claude finally speaks.

“I thought you fell asleep.” You shake the broom onto the building pile of crumbs and debris. You answer him, “No.”

“Too simply dressed to be arts. Rocket scientist?” Claude asks, raising an eyebrow. “You hang out in the science and mathematics buildings.”

“Allergic to RP-1.” You answer, sweeping the crud into a dustpan and heading to the janitorial closet for a mop and bucket. As you emerge with your tools, Claude is in the hallway waiting for you.

“Thank you for an engrossing and in depth conversation.” He yawns and stretches his arms. “Next time don’t talk my ear off.”

Giving a happy sigh of relief you finish cleaning and reassembling the room into its standard configuration. Finishing for the night you grab a shower and head home for a nap and a homework filled day.

Sunday night at the gas station starts off with the normal routine. Delivery trucks unloading overpriced snacks, little old ladies holding up the line while they dig out exact change from their purse, kids dumping sodas on the floor. Past midnight the customers are few and far between. The door sounds and you look up from your bookwork. Some guy with messy red hair starts to come in, turns around and yells at whoever is in the car parked outside in the handicapped spot.

He turns around and faces you. First, you see the gun in his hands. Second, you look at his face and see Miklan.

“Hands up, Bitch. Listen or you are fucking dead.” He snarls, waving the gun.

You put your hands in the air alongside your head. A gunshot rings out, you hear the bullet hit the wall behind you, just over your head.

Miklan snickers, “Yup, loaded. Open the fucking cash register then get back.” He orders.

You open the till then push your back into the cigarettes displayed behind you. He climbs on the counter, reaching in the drawer, looking to grab the cash, but still pointing the gun at you. You keep your hands up, moving them in familiar positions as you softly mouth the words.

An incredibly bright flash of light goes off in front of you combined with a near deafening boom. Miklan’s body flies in the air, landing on his back on the floor. The entire store goes dark. The car outside flashes its lights, then backs up, crashing into a gas pump and speeds off.

You grab your cell phone out of your bag, thrilled when the screen lights up. Calling 911, they say they are on the way. In minutes police, a fire truck and ambulance arrive. They let you grab your belongings and take you outside away from the building under a nearby streetlight. You see camera flashes coming from the building as the ambulance hauls a stretcher inside. An officer speaks with you for a while, telling you to relax and saying a lot of nothing. They frequently ask if you are okay. Your voice shakes and you are visibly trembling from the experience.

After almost an hour they make you lock up the building (minus one Miklan) and take you to the station for questioning. You call your employer while riding in the car. They will handle the store, they are happy you are alive. Take off the rest of the week with full pay.

At the police station you tell them what happened. He came in, shot the gun, you opened the drawer and while he was taking the money something electrical must have happened because there was an electric flash and the whole building went dark. You try to describe the car that was parked outside. You never got a look at the driver.

The police thank you for your cooperation, giving you a cup of coffee, a Danish, and a ride home. You head up the stairs to your apartment and unlock the door. Turning on the light you notice an unmarked envelope on the floor. Nervously you open it. Inside is a slip of paper that says:

“We need to talk. -B.”

You fall onto your bed. You know the handwriting. Its them. Byleth is here, now. There is nothing else on the paper. No phone number. You have no idea what to do next. The only thing you can think of doing is wait. Since it is 3am, you may as well try to sleep. For seeing a dead body for the first time in this life, you are more relaxed about it than you feel you should be.

You wake up to your phone announcing a text message. You sit up and see you have 3 unread messages from an unknown number. You take a deep breath.

[8:00] Hey

[8:05] Wake up

[8:07] Wakey, wakey

I’m up. [8:07]

[8:08] Blue Prius outside, get in and take a ride

Every alarm in your head is going off telling you that this is a bad idea.

Give me a couple minutes to get ready. [8:08]

Stepping outside there is the Prius. As you arrive you open the door to see a huge man hunched over the wheel. He is so large part of him is in your seat. You close the door as you wonder how he got into the car in the first place. You move his elbow away to put on your seatbelt.

“Heya pal.” He says.

“Balthus?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“The one and only.” He smirks and hits the gas so hard you fly back in your seat.

He takes you downtown. You are glued to the seast, white knuckled, hanging on to the door handle as he drives like a maniac. You can’t say anything because your heart is in your throat. He suddenly stops in front of a large, unmarked brick building with a 16 above the door.

“Go on ahead, it’s going to take me a while to get out of here. Elevator is through the doors, fourth floor.” Balthus grunts as he opens the door and begins to unfold himself to get out of the tiny car.

As you step up to the door you hear it unlock. Going inside there is no doorman, no security, simply a hallway that leads to the elevator. Punching the up button, you wait. Checking your phone there are no new texts. The doors open and you go inside, hitting the 4thfloor button. You are shaking with excitement, nervousness, dread and who knows what else. As the doors open, they reveal an elegant and very tasteful office setting. Behind a high counter you can’t recognize the person sitting there until they stand up and smile widely at you, holding out his hand.

“Hi. Just call me Gavin. I’m sure you know me as-“

“Gatekeeper!” You gasp and laugh, shaking his hand warmly.

He hits a button on the desk and a voice on the intercom responds, “Okay.”

The door on the other side of the room clicks and opens.

“You can head on in now.” Gavin gestures to the slightly open door.

You walk to the other side of the reception desk and the door is open to a richly wood paneled hallway. The door on the other end of this hall opens as you approach. You pull the door the rest of the way open, stepping in to see Byleth sitting in a large comfortable office chair and Yuri partially seated on the top of the desk on the opposite side.

“Welcome to the fold.” Yuri holds his arms out wide.

You rush over to give him a huge hug, like you would any dear friend. Because he was? Is? You’re not sure, but you hug him anyway.

“I’m sure you have many questions.” Byleth folds his hands on his desk and looks at you, waiting for your response.

“I don’t get a hug?” You ask, holding your arms out.

Byleth stands and steps around the desk and hugs you, then looks down at you. “I apologize. I am not certain what you know and what you remember.”

“A lot. This is going to take a while.” You answer. “Can we drop the formal setting and sit somewhere comfy? With you behind the desk it’s like we’re back in school.”

“I’ll get us some coffee.” Yuri offers. “Cream only, right?”

“Yup.” You chime as Byleth leads you to an overstuffed corner couch in front of large windows that offer a great view of the city. You take a seat at one end and take your coffee, placing it on the end table next to you. Yuri and Byleth sit beside each other on the other end.

“So you two are together this time?” You ask.

“Yeah.” Yuri smiles as he takes Byleth’s hand in his own.

“Awesome. My favorite.” You nod.

“Just how much do you remember?” Yuri asks, tilting his head.

“I remember fighting alongside each of the houses. If I was not in the house when Byleth led them, they recruited me. Byleth was a male once, a female twice. Three times altogether.” You begin, then frown. “Strange. None of them are like the history books.

Yuri and Byleth look at each other for what seemed like a long time. Yuri bends over and hits a button on the telephone on the table.

“Gavin, order lunch to be brought in and make reservations for dinner. Cancel any remaining appointments for today. Thanks”

“Okay. Start from the beginning. Let’s say Blue Lions. What is your first memory with them?”

“I was staying at an inn, Remire Village. I just made it to the dining area and was stuffing my face full of food when Jeralt comes in all pissed off because these kids show up and they’re in trouble.” You begin. They let you keep talking. Yuri tents his fingers at times, mostly sits back sipping his coffee.

Byleth is spellbound as you begin. He stares into your face like he is reliving your memories with you. Well, they did live them with you. They were your best friend.

You tell them of the battle with Miklan, finding Flayn, Remire, the fall of Jeralt, the defeat of Solon, the battle of Garreg Mach, the five years of being without Byleth, reuniting for the Millennium festival, Dimitri’s madness, the battle at the bridge and Dedue’s return, the nightmare that was Gronder, Merceus and Enbarr.

You then go silent. You look at Yuri and Byleth. You grimace for a moment.

“BylethmarriedDimitri.” You cough into your hand. “I don’t remember much after that.”

Byleth sits back on the couch. “Fascinating.”

“You never told me that-“ Yuri begins to say until Byleth gives him a look that obviously says now is not the time for this.

A beep sounds from the telephone.

“Time for lunch.” Byleth says as he stands up.

You leave through a different door and are led to a dining room. The food smells delicious.

Over lunch you begin your questioning. “Okay, so was this all real? I know you merged with Sothis and everything, convenient to leave that out of the history books, but this actually happened? It’s not just dreams. I began to remember while dreaming, then it moved on to remembering while I was awake. The memories flooded my brain like a tidal wave.”

“Yes. It was real. It did happen. Several times.” Byleth answers you without hesitation.

“You kept reliving that part of your life over and over until you arrived at the best solution? That is fucking amazing. Hawking would've loved it.” You shake your head in near disbelief. “You were the archbishop, but the church isn’t around any more. I guess you just let that go away on its own. What are you doing now?”

Yuri comments about how well the meat is spiced and that they should order this dish again. You interpret this as new subject time.

“There was no mention of dragons or Agarthans in the history books. Did that happen?” You ask quietly.

Byleth nods, “Yes. It did. It was a fantastic combined effort to take them down. We agreed it was best left unwritten.”

The food is quite delicious. You try to think of more pleasant things to talk or ask about, your head spinning with this revelation before you.

“Who else remembers?”

“Just you.” Yuri answers.

“You gotta be shitting me.” Your jaw drops nearly to the table.

“Only you.” Byleth nods.

“Is anyone else supposed to remember?” You’re happy about these two, but you also hoped to speak to a few others. Reminisce about old times? Something like that.

Yuri explains, “Well, in the past we tried a few times, reincarnation is a thing actually. Most of you appear close to the same time. We had tried different ways of bringing through their memories. The problem was that when some remembered they mentally crashed. Now with counseling and medications being as advanced as they are we thought we would try again.”

“So then I volunteer to be a lab rat and something clicked…” Your voice drifts off as you recall the early dreams. .

Yuri continues, “When we read the reports of your dreams we were very excited. What we weren’t’ prepared for is how quickly it awoke the memories in you. We had no idea how you would respond.”

“You are a secretive creature, keeping mostly to yourself.” Byleth nods.

“We’ve been spying on you here and there.” Yuri grins. “You are so damn boring. Anyway, hiring you at the university made it easier to eavesdrop on your conversations.”

“What about the gas station incident.” You have a puzzled look on your face.

“That was all you.” Byleth shakes his head. “We had no idea that you could retain so much knowledge that you could actually cast spells. Crests have pretty much faded from existence. There are probably a few flickers here and there but nothing manifesting.”

You head back to the comfy couch, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. “So what now?”

“Well you can go on with your best life. You can work with us. What do you want to do?” Byleth shrugs. “We want to give your soul some closure. Maybe to be able to move on? Not like some creepy ghost or anything.”

Yuri winks, “Hey what about your love life? Do you remember much about it?”

You scrunch your face remembering what a mess it was. “Yes, I do. Ugh. I fell for Claude but had no chance because of supersexy female Byleth. I chased after Felix who was a good friend, but he was in love with Sylvain for forever. Then omg, can’t believe I am saying this, Hubert, and well, he was all over Ferdinand.”

They both look at you with a slight frown.

“I don’t know what order Byleth went through the different houses. I never remembered from one experience to the next. Now that I remember them all, I can certainly see what I didn’t before. A whole lot of ‘love is blind’ going on. Wanting something so much you can’t see the signs blocking your way.”

“How about now?” Yuri has that sly look about him. What a gossip.

“Working two jobs trying to pay for college and not be buried in debt, I have not dated. Ever.” You shrug. “It isn’t fair to someone else, we would have almost no time together. I work nights 7 days a week then school and homework. There is no time to breathe or eat, much less look for love.”

“Well, Byleth is unavailable.” Yuri moves a bit closer to him to assert his ownership. “You know Claude is quite curious about you, ‘Janitor’.” He taunts.

You roll your eyes. “What part of my life don’t you spy on?”

The three of you talk about fond memories, precious victories, even recalling a few of the tragic events.

“So you’ve poked a hole in my brain and all of my memories are out. What would you like to see me do? Wow. I feel like I just dropped a card into the Advice Box.” You laugh.

Byleth, who loved to answer these, sits up. “You should finish your degree and get your Masters.”

“Masters?” You groan, “I am dying right now, you want more? Degree, Masters, required internships and I’m already behind not being able to take things on full boat. I’ll be graduating when I’m 40.”

“Well, there’s a scholarship you may be interested in.” Yuri has his sneaky sneak face on. “You qualify of course. Pays for your schooling, housing, and monthly stipend. Funded by the Eisner foundation. Very private lot they are. More of a don’t call us, we’ll call you kind of group.”

You fall back onto the couch in shock. “W-why are you doing this?” trying to choke back tears.

“The usual.” He drawls. “Finally being able to catch up with old friends. Thank them for everything they’ve done. We would not be here without you. Hoping maybe you want to hang out with us. Maybe awaken a few others?”

“This is all beyond belief.” You shake your head. “If you asked me six months ago that I would be here with you two, talking over past lives. Wow. Do Seteth and Flayn come and visit?”

“They’re around.” Yuri gestures just vaguely enough to let you know yes, but that is not readily available information at this time.

“You are not planning on forming a vigilante superhero group or something weird like that are you?” You frown.

Yuri pouts. “You don’t want to be Lightning Lady or the silver bolt?”

“No.” you answer resolutely. “Masks freak me out these days. You should’ve seen some of the stuff in the art show. Made the Death Knight look like a fairy princess.”

Byleth stands. “We deserve a great dinner, care to join us at Dedue’s?”

“He’s here? Cooking? You bet!” You realize this is the beginning of something amazing.

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch61: Part Of The Journey Is The End.

Intro: Steve embarks on his final mission as Captain America, and as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end…

Warnings: “Language!”  Smut (NSFW) no under 18s.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: So here it is, the last chapter before the epilogue. I rewrote a chunk of this too, but nothing has changed in the overall timeline. Thank you to all of you who have read and invested in this story, Katie means a hell of a lot to me. But don’t fear, their story isn’t quite over. And we’ll check in with the Rogers family as they grow over the years.

@angrybirdcr​ thank you for coming on this ride with me!!!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 60

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

“Are you out of your goddamned mind?” Bucky looked at Steve, not quite able to process what he had said. “You’re gonna pull a stupid ass stunt like that, and you’re not even gonna tell your wife?”

“Buck…” “You know, you’ve always been a dumbass ass Steve but this,” Bucky turned round shaking his head before he spun back, pointing his finger at his friend, “this is something else. She’s fuckin’ pregnant! You already have kids!” “What, you think I don’t know that?” Steve blazed at him. “I’m doing it because of that, because losing her, I can’t do it Buck, I just can’t.” “Then why are you not telling her?” Bucky shook his head at him. “If you actually believe that it will mean less heartache in the long run, tell her.” “I can’t.” Steve shook his head. “She’d try to stop me and…” “Damned straight she would because it’s a fucking stupid idea!”

Steve shook his head. “This is my chance, a chance to be who I’m meant to be, who I want to be, and I can’t let it pass me by.”

Bucky looked at him. Steve’s face was set, he knew that look well. There was no talking the stubborn little punk out of this. He simply shook his head and looked down at the ground. “I want no part of this.”

“Bucky…” “I mean it Steve.” Buck looked at him. “What you’re planning on doing is one thing but to not tell your dame?” He shook his head again. “She has a right to know. She deserves that at least.” With a final look over his shoulder Bucky turned and grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair, before heading down the hall.

“Bucky?” Katie frowned as she saw the look on his face. She’d heard his and Steve’s raised voices but hadn’t caught much of the conversation, but from the looks of it they’d had a pretty big argument. “You ok?”

“Yeah, just, he told me about his plans.” Bucky said, “For the shield.” He recovered quickly, which wasn’t a complete lie.

“Oh, and you don’t agree?” She asked, almost curiously.

“Yeah, I do I just,” he shook his head, “I need to take a walk, this is a bit much you know.”

She nodded and smiled. “I know how you feel, wanna take Lucky?” she asked, smiling. Bucky had a fondness for the dog which he tried to hide, but failed miserably. Bucky’s mouth curled up at one side and he nodded.

“Yeah I can take him, only as a favour, you know, so that you and that punk don’t have to.”

Katie grinned and unhooked the leash from the coat-peg by the door. Wordlessly Bucky took it, clipped it onto the dog’s collar and headed out of the door.

He headed down the drive and onto the quiet road, not quite sure where he was going, not that it mattered. He just needed to calm down. The conversation had started off pretty positively. Steve explained that he was retiring, handing down the shield and Bucky had braced himself for the question. He didn’t want the shield. If he was needed, he would fight, like a good soldier, but he didn’t want to. So when Steve explained that he was passing it to Sam after talking it over with Katie, Bucky had let out a huge breath of relief.

“Seems my girl was right.” Steve smiled as Bucky looked at him. “You don’t want it.”

“I’ve had enough Steve.” Bucky sighed. “I mean, I’d take it if I had to but…”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Buck.” Steve said, hand on his shoulder giving it a squeeze, “not anymore.” Bucky smiled and looked down at his feet, his eyes misting over. He hastily blinked back the tears and then looked back at his friend, lip curling into a smirk. “You gonna give Seagull half a shield?”

“No.” Steve bit his lip “I have a, a plan, some way to get another one. But it means I’ll be going back. Back and staying.” Then the stupid prick had explained his plan and Bucky had gotten mad. He had everything he ever dreamed of right in front of him. A gorgeous wife, two kids and another on the way, a comfortable life, stability, a home, and now he was about to leave it all.  And Bucky was fuming because he knew, that once again, he’d be picking up the pieces and mopping up after Steven dumbass Rogers.

****

Back at home Steve was sat at the kitchen table, head in his hands, running over the conversation in his head. He could count on one hand the amount of times he and Bucky had fought like that, and he didn’t like it. Part of him wished he hadn’t told him but he had to, he had to make him understand why he was doing what he was doing, so that at least someone knew and could explain when and if needed. Steve hadn’t expected him to react favourably but not to the extent he had done. And the thing was, Steve knew he was right. Katie had a right to know, but he couldn’t tell her and watch her beg him not to do it. He could never say no to her. “What’s up with Bucky?” Katie asked as she walked into the kitchen. Steve looked up, hands sliding down his face and gave her a soft smile.

“I just told him about the shield and my plans to take the stones back.” “You’re taking the stones?” She asked quietly, sitting next to him.

He nodded.

“Why?” Steve sighed. “In all honesty, Doll, I can’t explain. I just feel like this is something I need to do, to close the end on the loop maybe. One last mission.”

She looked down at the table, taking a deep breath, her hand falling to her stomach. She had known deep down this was coming.

“When?”

“As soon as Bruce has the machine running. He said yesterday it wouldn’t take too long, but, I’m not sure.”

She didn’t reply, instead she looked down at her hands which were resting on her stomach.

“It’ll be okay.” Steve said to her softly, tipping her face up to look at him. “It’ll all work out.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not scared.” She whispered, looking up at him, green eyes full of tears. “I can’t lose you, Steve.”

“I promise it’ll be okay.” He assured her again as he reached out and gave her a hug, laying his cheek against the crown of her head, closing his eyes and just relishing her warmth and closeness.

**** The tension between Steve and Bucky continued for two weeks. It was palpable and noticeable to everyone in the house, bar Jamie that is as at least they tried to avoid sniping and bitching at each other in his presence.

“What the fuck did they argue about?” Sam whispered to Katie at lunch on the fifteenth day of their feud, watching as the two men were moving stiffly round one another in the kitchen. “Surely he can’t be that pissed Steve’s intending on taking the stone’s back.” “I dunno.” Katie shrugged, taking a deep breath. “But I can’t keep going like this, it’s driving me insane.” “Do we need to stage an intervention?” Sam quipped, watching as Bucky moved to pour himself some coffee, Steve backing out of the way, not looking at him. “Or maybe they just need to have a fight, get it out of their system.” Katie cocked her head to one side and eyed up the two men. She wasn’t blind, and whilst she found Steve utterly and ridiculously attractive, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t think Bucky was handsome as well, not to mention his physique. Steve was bigger and broader than Bucky who was an inch or so shorter and a little more wiry but that was hardly surprising. Steve was built for fighting, for force, for war…Bucky on the other hand was built for agility and speed, for being an assassin who could operate in the shadows, but he was no less of a match for Steve, in fact he was the only man she’d ever seen hold his own against her husband in a toe to toe fight.  As she watched Steve reach into the cupboard for some bread, his jaw was clenching slightly, his cheek twitching from the angry nerve and she suddenly felt the heat pooling between her legs.

Fucking hormones.

“You know, I think that’s a great idea.” She grinned, turning to Sam. “Naked mud fighting, winner takes all, including me.” Sam spluttered out his coke, choking slightly before he threw his head back in a roar of laughter. The two super soldiers paused what they were doing and turned to face the pair of them. Katie was sat in a seat, grinning as she sipped her glass of apple juice whilst Sam was struggling to regain his composure.

“What’s so funny?” Bucky demanded.

“You two acting like a pair of school kids who have fallen out over who gets the first slice of pie.” Katie looked at him then to Steve. “Grow up.” “Me grow up?” Steve looked at her, frowning

“Yes, Steven,” her face now stern as she glared at the pair of them, “I don’t give a shit what you’ve been arguing about, and I don’t even want to know, but this stops, right now otherwise you’re gonna get the full brunt of one of my tantrums. And I’m pregnant and hormonal so it ain’t gonna be pretty.” Bucky couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at the look of utter horror on Steve’s face. To be fair he’d only experienced her temper once when she had forced him and Sam to share a room in Germany. And he had to admit she’d been pretty scary. He rolled his eyes and looked at his friend, taking a deep breath.

“I still think you’re being a dumbass.” He sighed softly “But what else is new huh? Least I ain’t having to punch Tommy Leipschitz this time. Jesus he was a big son of a bitch.” “That was one time.” Steve groaned, “And I told you, I…” “Had him on the ropes.” Katie and Bucky said at the same time as Steve let out a groan and hung his head.

Katie watched as the two men exchanged a look before she glanced at her watch, giving a start “Stevie we need to go, we’ll be late for Dr Kellet…” she stood up. “Oh, shit, yeah…” he nodded, draining his mug.

Katie headed off to get her jacket and he clapped Bucky on the shoulder as his friend gave him a questioning look. “Twelve week scan.” Bucky nodded, his lips clamped together. He wanted to ask the stupid bastard how he was continuing to act so normal, as if he wasn’t planning on doing something utterly ridiculous, but he bit it down. It wasn’t worth stressing Katie out. Plus, despite himself, he loved the guy like a brother. If this was what he truly wanted to do, no matter who stupid it was, then…

“Make sure you bring back a copy of the photo.” Sam smiled as he walked past “Uncle Sammy wants to see his future godson or daughter.”

Steve smiled, they’d not discussed the roles of godparents in any detail with anyone but each other. They’d already decided though, Katie wanted Jennifer, Brooke’s mom, to be one as the two were very close, and it was a given Sam and Bucky would get the roles of godparents too.  But as he thought, he had an idea.

“Honey,” he said, following her, “hey, I’ve just had a thought…” “Did it hurt?” she teased as he opened the door for her. He rolled his eyes.

“Why don’t we ask Jennifer and Brooke over tonight? I thought maybe we could ask them all to be godparents.”

She smiled. “You trying to get round Bucky?”

“No.” he shook his head, honestly. “Just thought it would be nice.” He opened the car door for her and she smiled and leaned up to give him a peck on the cheek.

“I think it’s a great idea. We can drop by the coffee shop on the way home.”

**** “Well, everything seems absolutely fine.” Dr Kellet beamed and Katie let out the breath she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding. “Nothing to worry about, baby is growing exactly how he or she should.”

Katie turned to Steve who gave her a smile as he gently pressed a kiss to her hand where it was held in his.

“Can you tell what it is yet?” Katie looked at Dr Kellet and the woman gave a little frown.

“Well, if you believe the nub theory I can, but there’s no scientific proof behind it so I wouldn’t like to say.”

“The nub theory?” Steve frowned.

“Yes, some people believe that you can predict the sex based on the angle of the genital tube.” Dr Kellet says. “Also known as the angle of the dangle.”

At that Katie gave a snort and Steve let out a low sigh, shaking his head at her childishness.

“There are some theories, that before the genitals are formed there’s a bump or nub called the genital tubercle.” The Doctor pointed to the relevant point on the screen. “So, here, you can see it’s lying flat so some would believe that means it’s a girl, but honestly, it’s way too early to tell. You’re just gonna have to wait till the twenty week mark to be sure.”

“So no rushing out and buying a load of pink baby things?” Katie looked at her and the woman shook her head.

“I wouldn’t. Sometimes the theory is right, sometimes it’s wrong, so it really is just guess work.” The woman leaned over and wiped the ultrasound jelly off Katie’s stomach before she discarded the paper towel into the waste and smiled. “I’ll get you a copy of the scan photo and then I’ll see you in about eight weeks.”

Scan photo safely in Katie’s purse they headed out of the hospital, hand in hand, Steve opening the car door for his wife before he headed round to the driver’s side, setting off into the summer sun.

“You know, if it is a girl, then I want to name her after Natasha.” Katie spoke softly, looking out of the car window before she turned to Steve. He stole a glance at her, smiling.

“Yeah?”

“One of her names anyway.” Her hand rest on her stomach. “Don’t suppose you have any thoughts?” “Well, we kinda used our quote of boy’s names on Jamie.” He took a deep breath, “Although I do like the name Henry.”

“Henry.” Katie chewed the name over, smiling. “Yeah, that’s cute. And for a girl?”

“If it’s a girl then I’d like to name her after my mom.”

“Sarah Natasha?” Katie asked, smiling softly, but Steve shook his head as he stopped at the lights.

“No.” He turned to face her. “I know this sounds stupid but, well, Sarah Rogers, it was her name and I’m not sure I want there to be another one, you know, and there’s nothing we can really shorten Sarah to either so…”

Katie smiled and lay her hand on his knee. “Okay, so we got Sarah Natasha as middle names for a girl and Henry as a potential for a boy…”

“Well, it’s a start I suppose, more than we had with Jamie.” Steve smiled.

“More than you had with Jamie.” She looked at him. “I knew from the start I wanted the name James.”

Steve took a deep breath, before he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her lips. “I love you, you know that right?” His hand gently strayed to her belly. “All of you.” “Of course I do.” She frowned a little. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just wanted to tell you.” He gave her a smile before he set off again down the street.

It wasn’t long before they reached Jennifer’s shop and they walked in, the woman beaming as she saw them. They took a seat and it wasn’t long before she walked over with their usual order, and Katie handed her the scan photo.

“Oh my god look!” Jennifer gushed. Katie smiled at Steve who leaned back sipping his coffee, simply watching before his phone started to ring. Excusing himself he stood up.

“Bruce?”

“It’s ready.” The man stated simply “The tunnel.” “Already?” Steve gulped. Despite the fact it had already taken slightly longer than predicted, it was still too soon.  He wasn’t ready to leave, it wasn’t enough time.

“Yeah.” Bruce replied, “But there’s no rush, I mean another few days won’t hurt.” “No.” Steve shook his head, glancing over at Katie who was still talking to Jennifer, the two women laughing and giggling, now joined by Emmy and Brooke who had turned up after school. “Let’s get it over with. Tomorrow morning?”

“Alright, let me know what time and I’ll meet you at the compound. Well, what’s left of it that is. We can set up on the hill.”

“Sure, see you then.” Steve replied. Biting his lip he placed his phone back into his pocket and made his way back to the table.

“Everything ok?” Katie asked.

“Yeah, just Bruce.” He said, giving her a look. She took a deep breath and nodded, understanding.

“Listen,” she turned her attention back to Jennifer as Brooke took the scan photo from Emmy and grinned. “Why don’t you come for dinner tonight? You can meet Sam and Bucky, properly I mean.”

“Erm,” Jennifer looked at Brooke “You got any plans?” “None that can’t be cancelled for Mrs R’s cooking!” Brooke grinned and Jennifer rolled her eyes.

“I swear to God that’s all I get every time you feed her.” she said and Katie grinned.

“Bring your dad too if you like?” Katie smiled. Brooke’s grandfather, a slight man called John, had been one of the Vanished that had returned.

“Oh he’s on a date.” Jennifer grinned. “Some woman he met at one of the support groups Steve has been running for the returned.”

“See mom, even Grand-poppy is dating.” Brooke looked at Jennifer, raising her eyebrows. “You need to get yourself out there.” “Are you sure you’re okay?” Katie looked at Steve as Jennifer groaned at Brooke. He was in his own world.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” He fixed what he hoped was a believable smile on his face before he looked at his watch. “We best get going, pick Jamie up from nursery.”

**** Katie knew Steve was lying. She could read him like a book, after all those years of being together it wasn’t hard for her to spot when something was bothering him. And later that evening he finally gave in and told her, Bucky and Sam about Bruce’s call and the fact the tunnel was ready for him to take the stones back.

And that he was going to do that sooner rather than later. Much sooner.

“Tomorrow?” Katie looked down, her eyes misting over.

Steve nodded and reached out for his wife’s hand over the table. “I want to get it over and done with.”

Taking a deep breath she looked up at him, her head reeling. “I know but I thought we’d have more time, to prepare. I mean-“

“Don’t, Sweetheart.” Steve sighed. “This is the reason I didn’t tell you sooner, because it would just make you worry.” “Oh, well, now I’m not worried at all.” She replied, sarcastically, folding her arms.

Before Steve could say anything else, the security alarm sounded telling them someone was at the gate.

“I’ll go.” Bucky stood up as Katie pressed the button on her phone to open the entrance to the drive taking the opportunity to escape, the conversation was taking a turn and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his mouth shut.

“Hey Mr Barnes!” Brooke smiled as he opened the door.

“It’s Bucky, kid.” He gruffed. “How many times do I gotta tell ya. Mr Barnes was my dad.”

“Whatever.” She passed him and Jennifer sighed.

“Sorry, she’s,” she shook her head laughing, “actually I don’t know what she is.”

But Bucky wasn’t listening, he was too busy taking in the red-head in front of him. He’d never met the woman before, granted he’d seen her in a photo that Katie had in the smaller den, one of the pair of them on a night out but, well, it didn’t do her justice. Her hair was set in loose curls, her eyes were a vivid green and her smile lit up her face. He coughed a little and shook himself out of his stupor and smiled, stepping back.

“I’m Jennifer.” She offered,

“Yeah, I know, I mean, ” he scratched his head, “Katie’s spoken about you. All good things, of course.” he added.

She gave him a small quirk of her lips and stepped past him as he closed the door. Mentally telling himself to get a grip, Bucky followed her into the kitchen.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Steve pleaded as Sam stood up and headed to the fridge after shooting Steve one more glance which made it clear he thought he was an idiot.

Katie simply shook her head. “You know what, there’s no point arguing with you so whatever.” She stood up, wiping at her tears. She had so much she wanted to say, to tell him he was an idiot, but she didn’t have the energy. He would do it anyway, and she’d be stood there for those horrible moments he was gone wondering if he was going to make it back, or if she’d lose someone else.

“Hi!” Jennifer’s smile faltering as she noticed Katie wipe her eyes “You okay?”

“Hormones…” Katie waved her hands dismissively as Bucky shot Steve another glare. He returned it with one of his own, shaking his head as Katie introduced Jennifer to Sam and set about making sure everyone was comfortable, playing the expert hostess.

Somehow she made it through dinner although she had no idea how. She had no alternative, she didn’t want Emmy or Jamie to pick up on the fact something was wrong.  As planned, they’d asked the Sam, Bucky and Jennifer to be god parents and they’d all accepted, happily. The food was good, the conversation was happy and filled with laughter at times but when the guests had gone and Jamie was in bed and the dishes were cleared away, Katie excused herself and headed upstairs for a shower.

“Is mom okay?” Emmy watched her leave. Bucky gave a snort.

“She’s just tired.” Steve ignored him. “It’s been a long day. Look, I’m gonna call it a night. Don’t stay up too late, another hour tops. You have school in the morning.” “Okay, Dad.”

He dropped a kiss to her head. “Love you.” His breath caught in his throat before he headed upstairs. He made his way into Jamie’s room, tucking the covers up around his son’s chin and simply looked at him. There, for the first time ever he could see what Katie meant when she said he looked like him. The sudden realisation made the tears spring into Steve’s eyes which he hastily wipe. He dropped a kiss to Jamie’s soft blonde hair.

“Love you, son.” And with that he headed into their bedroom.

Katie was already in bed, the lights off. He stripped off his clothes and settled in behind her, his hands wrapping around her from behind.

“Baby, please, don’t be mad.” He said softly, his hand laying over her stomach as he kissed her neck.

She turned to look at him, tears trickling down her cheek. “I’m not mad Steve, I’m fucking petrified that I’m gonna lose you too.” “It’ll work out.” Steve replied, weakly, unable to think of anything else he could utter.

“You keep saying that, but how do you know?”

Steve stayed silent, wiping her tears with his thumbs before, with a surge, she leaned forward and kissed him, her hands reaching up to tangle in his hair and he gave a soft moan, relishing her touch, knowing full well she was trying to distract herself. And he was more than happy to oblige.

She rolled over onto her back, his hand straying up the side of the t-shirt she was wearing, fingers squeezing at her hips, the hips he could draw from memory.

“You best come back to me.” She whispered, her voice cracking slightly.

“Doll,” Steve choked out, shaking his head, his words dying in his throat as he kissed her furiously once more and she moaned softly into his mouth as her hands moved down his back, nails scratching slightly on his skin. They broke apart long enough for him to remove her shirt and his mouth trailed down her jaw to her neck, across her collar bone as he took his time, his affections continuing all over her body, committing every god damned line, curve, blemish and scar further into his memory.

When neither of them could take it anymore, he rolled over, bringing her with him, straddling him. She locked eyes with him and moved, her hand giving him a few strokes before she sank down, taking him in, both letting out a groan. Steve held her hips as she moved, finding her rhythm as she worked him, her head tipping back as she moved slowly. He wanted to see her, be face to face, so he sat up, drawing a soft cry from her lips at the change of angle. His hands moved from her hips, to her ass, then to her back as his mouth gently moved to her neck, hitting that spot he knew so well, then down to her breasts, nipping and sucking at them each in turn.

“Stevie,” she muttered, a soft, low keen of his name and he groaned a little louder. His name, the name she used, said in such away, it almost broke his heart when he thought about what he was about to do.

“Look at me,” he stammered gently, his nose nudging hers and her green eyes locked onto his, “I love you, Doll, so much.” “I love you too.” She stuttered, before her mouth fell open in that exquisite way it did and she let out a soft whimper as she came, tightening around him, collapsing forward, her head burying into the crook of his shoulder and neck. He wasn’t far behind, a few more thrusts upwards and the fireworks in his stomach exploded as he released inside her with a groan.

They stayed still, gathering their breath as he cradled her close, trying to stop the tears that were now threatening to pour down his face as for the first time since he had made his decision, he started to doubt whether or not he was strong enough to go through with it. *****

Late the next morning, up on the hill by the ruins of the compound the small group gathered around the Quantum Tunnel. Steve, clad in his uniform, checked the stones were all in the case, as Bruce calibrated the controls and spoke to him.

“Now, remember, you have to return the stones to the exact moment we got them. Or you’re gonna open up a bunch of nasty alternative realities.”

“Don’t worry, Bruce. Clip all the branches.” Steve nodded, closing the case.

“You know, I tried. When I had the gauntlet, the stones, I really tried to bring her back” Bruce sighed softly, looking at Steve. “I miss them, man.”

“We all do.” Katie swallowed, watching the pair of them as Steve gave Bruce a small smile.

“You know, if you want, I can come with you.” Sam tried again as Steve walked towards the tunnel.

“You’re a good man, Sam.” Steve smiled at him, sincerely. “This one’s on me, though.”

He took a deep breath and walked over to Bucky, who was watching him.

“Don’t do anything stupid ‘till I get back.” Steve quipped, and despite himself, Bucky looked away a smile playing on his face.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” He said back, quietly as he swallowed.

Steve stepped forward to give him a hug.

“You’re gonna miss us buddy.” Bucky said quietly and Steve stepped back, looking at his friend

“It’s gonna be okay, Buck.” He assured him with a nod. Then he turned to his wife who was stood watching. His gorgeous girl, her eyes shining as she stepped forward into his arms.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice cracking, “come back or I’ll never forgive you.” Steve couldn’t speak, he simply couldn’t find the words. Instead, he kissed her, long, soft, the familiar feeling of her lips on his was both heaven and hell at the same time. Eventually he pulled away, gave her one last smile before he stepped up onto the platform, the Quantum Suit forming around him.

“How long is this gonna take?” Sam asked as Katie moved over to where Bucky was, the soldier gently placing his arm around her, giving her a squeeze.

“For him? As long as he needs. For us? Five seconds.” Bruce said.

As long as he needs…the words echoed in Steve’s mind as he bent down with a shaky breath and picked up Mjolnir, the hammer having been bequeathed to him by Thor to return.  

“Ready, Cap?”

Steve nodded again, although he was anything but. “Alright. We’ll meet you back here, okay?”

“You bet.” He nodded, and it wasn’t technically a lie. He stole a look at Katie one last time as the helmet formed around his head.

“Going quantum. Three, two, one.“

Steve closed his eyes as he disappeared into the Quantum portal.

Bucky felt Katie stiffen besides him and his arm tightened around her as Bruce tapped away at the keyboard again.

“And returning in, five, four, three, two, one– “

Katie watched with bated breath, but Steve didn’t reappear.

“Where is he?” She managed to breathe out, looking at Bruce, stepping forward slightly.

“I don’t know. He blew right by his time stamp. He should be here.” Bruce shook his head, his voice earnest.

Katie felt sick, the entire world around her swam and she looked down at her feet, the earth was spinning below them.

“Well, get him back.” Sam instructed as Katie began to reel.

“Something’s gone wrong. It had to have done.” She swallowed. “Bruce, fix it, please!”

“I’m trying. “Bruce replied, but as he tapped at the buttons something suddenly clicked in Katie’s mind and a horrible realisation crashed over her, sinking o the depth of her stomach like a brick. She spun to see Bucky was watching her, his face wracked with guilt as he turned away from the pad.  

Absolutely nothing had gone wrong, quite the opposite in fact. This was Steve’s plan all along. He’d done this on purpose.

Sam’s demands at Bruce to bring Steve back, and the scientist protests that he was trying raged through the clearing but Katie wasn’t listening. Her eyes remained locked on Bucky’s as she stepped forward, grabbing his shoulder.

“You knew…” She looked at him, accusingly and Bucky swallowed, guilt wracking his system as he sighed, looking at his feet.

“I’m sorry, I tried to talk him out of it.” “He’s, he’s really gone back?” Katie whispered, her voice cracking.

Bucky took a deep breath and nodded.

“No he wouldn’t do that.” Katie shook her head, desperately. “Not to the kids…tell me he wouldn’t!” Her hands grasped at Bucky’s jacket, desperately, as she looked up at him, tears coursing down her cheeks. “Please…Bucky, tell me this-”

“Wait! I’m…we got something!”

Bruce’s voice cut loudly across Katie’s demands and both her and Bucky turned to see him punching a few more buttons on the console. Before their eyes, the machine whirred to life again, and a man suddenly appeared in the middle of the platform, the shield on his arm giving away his identity. Steve’s Quantum Suit peeled away to leave him stood in his blue, red and white and Katie instantly noticed his hair was longer than she had ever seen it, there were more lines on his handsome face, and he once more had a full beard. She let go of Bucky and turned to look at her husband for a moment, mouth hanging open in shock, tears still falling as he gave her a small and weary, yet relieved smile.

“Hey, Doll.” Katie couldn’t breathe. Shakily, she turned and walked up the steps onto the platform and simply stared at him through her tears. His eyes were full of their own, unshed, as his shaking hands fell to her waist and he took a quivering breath. “I missed you.” Steve’s voice trembled as his eyes roved her face. “How…how long?” She managed to stutter out, reaching up to cup his cheek with an unsteady hand. “Fifteen.” He swallowed. “Fifteen months?” Katie gasped “No, Doll. Years.” At that Katie’s teary eyes widened further. “I don’t…what? Fifteen years?” “It’s been hell without you.” Steve’s voice cracked, the tears now falling from his eyes and then he couldn’t stand it any longer. He pressed his lips to hers and kissed her, deeply before a soft sob from him made her pull away. “I don’t understand?” She sniffed, her head pressing to his. “Why?” “At Tony’s funeral I saw Pepper and it got me thinking about how much of her life she has left and,” he took a deep breath, “the thought of me being here, having to say goodbye to you thanks to this serum and then having another twenty years to go, it killed me.” “So you took the hit now?” Katie suddenly understood, her breathing deep, chest rising and falling deeply, as her trembling hands cupped his bearded jaw. He nodded. “I knew it would be easier knowing I had you to come back to. When I asked you to marry me, I said I wanted all my lasts to be with you.” Steve choked a little as his voice cracked, the words caught in his throat. “And I meant it. I wanna grow old with you, and now I can.” The last few words he spoke were swallowed up by his sobbing as he pressed his face into her hands which were still cupping his jaw, a tender, familiar touch, one he had been aching to feel for so fucking long. “We got the rest of our lives.” he managed to choke out between his convulsing gasps, as he pressed his forehead to hers. “Our forever.” “Stevie!” Her face crumpled as once more he pulled her to him, clutching her to his chest and he buried his face in her hair, both of them shaking as they clung to one another as if their lives depended on it.

And maybe, at that moment, it did. 

“Ok, back the fuck up!” Bruce broke the moment. “Sorry to intrude but…”

Steve let out a soft chuckle and he turned to him, his arms still round Katie, shield still strapped to his left. “Sorry guys,” he reached up to wipe his eyes, “it’s been a while. Fifteen years to be exact.”

Sam frowned. “Fifteen years? So did something go wrong, or did something go right?” He crossed his arms.

“You stayed back to counter your slower ageing.” Bruce spoke, his mouth dropping open as Steve stepped down from the platform, hand round Katie’s.

“Well, as much of it as I could.” Steve nodded as Bruce let out a snort.

“And you knew about this?” Sam demanded, looking at Bucky.

Bucky shrugged. 

“No wonder you wanted to go alone.” Sam shook his head, a small smile playing on his face. “Where did you go back to?”

“1955. Ten years after I went into the ice, thought it was enough time for me to be forgotten about.” Steve answered. “Plus, when I spoke to the Ancient One she advised that even though it was a parallel universe, it still wasn’t a good idea to be in a time where another version of Steve Rogers was walking about so…” “But how?” Bruce frowned. “She told me that every time we go back, it creates an alternate reality. How did you-“

“I kept the Time-Stone.” Steve answered. “She said it was foretold, and that as long as I did that, whether I took days, weeks, months or years I was still on the mission so to speak and that fifteen years would suffice. How she knew what I was thinking I’ve no idea but…” 

“So you hid? For fifteen years?” Katie looked at him and he gave her a small smile.

“First rule of hiding, don’t hide.” He licked his lips. “I went to your dad.”

“What?” Katie frowned and Steve took a deep breath.

“Yeah, he couldn’t believe it at first, but I finally convinced him I wasn’t HYDRA or a trick of his imagination and well, he helped me with a new identity and I found a place to stay in Minnesota. I got a job and just stayed off the radar until the time came to take the Time-Stone back. Then, I went back to a second after I left Bleeker Street the first time, and the Ancient One merely smiled and said that what I wanted would now come to pass, so I gave her the stone and came back.”

“So, does this mean that all that time, Dad knew you were alive?”

“No, the timeline reset after I returned the stone. I don’t understand it fully either but The Ancient One told me not to worry about it, apparently somethings are beyond the comprehension of the normal mind.” He smiled as Bruce gave a little scoff as he scratched at his chin.

“Must have been a lonely fifteen years.” Steve sighed. “It was hard, yeah, especially knowing what I did and not being able to do anything to stop it for because even if I did it would simply be reset, but the worst bit was being away from the kids,” he turned to Katie, “and you…”

He was welling up again, and Katie shook her head. “You’re an idiot.” She spluttered out between her tears, as the magnitude of just what he had done hit her. He had sacrificed fifteen years of his life so that they could spend their forever together. Because he loved her that much.

It was crazy, it was almost unbelievable, but it was him all over. A self-sacrificing idiot. Her idiot. Her soldier. Her love. 

“I see you brought something back.” Sam nodded to his shield.

“A gift from Howard, which reminds me.” Steve smiled releasing his wife and turning to Sam, pulling it from his arm. “Try it on.”

Sam frowned and looked over to Bucky who nodded, then Katie who smiled and laced her fingers through Steve’s. With a shaky hand, Sam slipped his arm through the straps.

“How does it feel?” Steve watched him, as he moved his arm up and down, feeling the weight of the Vibranium.

“Like it’s someone else’s.” Sam quipped, looking at him

“It isn’t.” Steve insisted. Sam looked down again, taking a deep breath. When he looked back up, Katie could see he was trying to hold back his tears.

“Thank you.” he said, softly “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s why it’s yours.” Steve smiled as he stepped forward and shook Sam’s hand, the most significant handshake he had ever given. The passing of a mantle. 

“Just so you know, birdbrain.” Bucky drawled almost lazily. “I’m not calling you Captain.”

*****

Steve’s reunion with the kids had been emotional. They’d explained to Emmy what he had done, and she’d hit him hard across the face and called him an idiot before she’d melted into his arms, crying. Jamie, however, well, they’d just told him Avengers stuff had made him grow a beard, and the innocence of youth meant he simply accepted it and stated he couldn’t wait until he was older so he could be an Avenger. A thought which scared the shit out of his parents.

It felt odd, but yet not, to Steve, finally being back with his family. It had been a hard fifteen years but he’d simply focussed on why he was doing it, and thrown himself into his life as ‘Steven O’Rourke’ working as an Art Teacher, departing to give back the time-stone the day before he knew his younger self would arrive back in 1970 to get the tesseract, knowing that everything on the timeline would simply span out the way it should.

Now, he was aching for his wife. Emotionally, it had been hell, and physical, well, fifteen years of jerking off had been, frankly, shit in comparison and their reunion didn’t disappoint. Not sure how long he was going to last, he’d made her come once with his fingers, once with his mouth and now, as he was thrusting into her, hands tangled with hers as he held then either side of her head he knew she was close again.

“Baby, I’m not sure,” he began to gasp and he moaned again as she rolled her hips upwards slightly.

She leaned her head forward, tilting her mouth to gently nip at his neck and whispered three words into his ear. “I got you.” They were words he had spoken to her so many times over the years, three words that told her he would always look after her and the sound of her saying them to him made him lose it.

“Fuck,” he said, his hips stuttering and as she arched into him further he heard her gasp his name again as she tightened around him and fell backwards against the pillow, her breathing deep, as he rode out his release. 

Her hands slid into his hair, her fingers brushing his longer hair back off his head as he pressed his forehead to hers, gently rubbing their noses together.

“You need a haircut.” She whispered and Steve laughed.

“You don’t like my seventies’ do?” he teased

“Yeah but,” she shrugged, “it’s old fashioned.” “So am I.” Steve grinned and she hit his chest gently before he rolled off her, falling to his side, facing her. After giving her another soft kiss she turned over, her back pressing to his chest and he scooted up behind her, hands falling to her stomach and they lay still for a while, as he buried his head into her neck. God he’d missed this. Missed her. The way she smelt, the way she felt…

“You can keep the beard though.” Katie murmured. “You’re not Captain America anymore, no need to murder it again.”

Steve laughed before he kissed her neck again and closed his eyes, his arms not once letting go of his precious, precious hold.

And for the first time in fifteen years Steve Rogers slept soundly.

**** Epilogue

 **Original Posting**

[ezrasarm]

Loving You Too Late

[ day 3 | angstaggedon masterlist ]

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Reader

Word count: 4.6K

Summary: You and Frankie have loved each other for a long time. You’re just a little out of synch.

Warnings: Angst, a tad bit of cheating (more like brief romantic overlap), language, main characters being idiots, oh and theres a funeral too

Credits: A massive thank you to @chaotic-noceur​ and @din-damn-djarin​ for beta reading and listening to me complain about how much of an idiot I am for deciding to write this! I don’t know that I would have finished it without your encouragement and now it’s the longest oneshot in my repertoire!

A/N: “Let’s write oneshots!” we said. “It’ll be fun!” we said. “Just connect the bullet points!” we said… 4.6K words later. Yeah we really have no self control at all do we?

You and Frankie had known one another pretty much all your lives. Your parents both had cottages on the same small lake where you would spend most of your summers. His place was just two doors down from your own so you knew who he was through community events and simply for being the “Morales Kid”. You hadn’t really gotten to know him until one summer when you applied for a job at the general store just across the lake. He was working stocking shelves the same year. You don’t think you’ll ever forget that first shift you shared together. You hadn’t seen him in a couple of years and you could hardly believe the name tag clipped to his shirt labelled “Frankie” when you first set eyes on him. He’d grown up a lot in the meantime. He was taller, his shoulders had broadened and he was more solidly built than the lanky little kid you’d known him as for so long. But the mop of wild chestnut curls on top of his head that he hid under a beat-up and salt-stained truckers cap assured you it was him. 

It was the boredom of day-long shifts in the near-empty store that made the two of you overcome your timid demeanours. It started with you offering him a soda on one of your lunch breaks. That turned into long conversations with one another when your boss was nowhere to be seen, sending goofy looks to each other over the shoulders of unsuspecting customers, and stealing the occasional ice cream from the freezer. Soon just hanging out at work turned into hanging out whenever you got the chance. You peering over his shoulder as he tinkered with boat motors he’d salvaged from the brink of death. Him timing you when you would swim lengths between the neighbour’s dock and your own. Before you knew it you were taking any excuse you could to spend time with one another, until it came to the point where you didn’t even need an excuse at all. Suddenly you and this shy kid with his feet on the ground and his head in the clouds were inseparable.

Of course, Frankie being Frankie didn’t realize what that clenching feeling that rose in his chest every time he set eyes on you was until it wasn’t there anymore. Summer had to come to an end at some point, and with it you two were reluctantly dragged away to your respective ends of the state to finish off school. The almost seven-hour drive between you complicated your usual hangout rituals but you took to calling one another whenever you got the chance. Frankie’s friends would tease him for it but he practically sprinted across the room whenever the phone rang. He had thick skin. He brushed them off when they would hoot or holler and make kissing sounds at the mention of your name. “She’s not my girlfriend.” He would remind them through an irritated roll of his eyes whenever they would ask about you. What he hadn’t realized was that the annoyance he felt towards them wasn’t because of their mocking tone or their rowdy demeanours but because a part of him wished you were.

It was a Friday night after you had ended your call with a heavy yawn and an apology that you had to go to sleep because you were up early that morning. A goofy smile lingered on his face as he flopped back into his bed, that infectious laugh of yours was still ringing in his ears when that feeling washed over him again. The same one that made his stomach flip when you would shoot him a grin from the checkout of the shop. The one that made his blood boil when his friends would joke at him for making you up. The one that made his heart break when the line went dead after you hung up. The one that made his palms sweat and his heart hammer against his ribcage at the mere thought of you. Suddenly it hit him like a freight train all at once. It was too obvious to deny any more. He was completely, absolutely and utterly head over heels for you.

But as school work ramped up and your agenda got fuller and fuller, your calls became fewer and farther in between. A quick ‘hello’, ‘what’s new?’, ‘nothing much’ and a ‘sorry, I gotta go’. There were a few times where he almost let it slip. The conversation would come to a lull and his eyes would fall to his feet. His hand would instinctively come to scratch the back of his neck as he readjusted his grip on the phone. He would even start the sentence. “Listen, uh” Then he’d shake the thought away. As desperate as he had grown to tell you how he felt he couldn’t bring himself to do it over the phone. He needed to see your face. He wanted to lock his gaze onto those beautiful eyes of yours and see your reaction. His skin crawled at the idea of the words tumbling out of his mouth only for you to go silent and that dreaded tone to ring through the line telling him you had hung up. He would tell you this summer, he promised himself. Just a few months. He could hang on that long. 

Which he did. He had a speech planned by the time he watched your car pull up the driveway to the small wooden cabin you called your home every summer. A smile broke across his face as he stood up from the doorstep where he had been waiting to greet you. You came barrelling out of the car the moment it came to a full stop, just about knocking him over with the force you collided to envelop him in a tight hug. 

“Why are you crying, you big baby?” He teased when you pulled away only for him to see your eyes were watery with unshed tears. 

“Because I missed you, you idiot!” You force out a laugh, whacking the visor on his cap lightly so it fell down in over his line of sight before wiping away the damp from around your temples with the heel of your palm.

Frankie’s heart is hammering in his chest when he parts his lips to speak again. He’s got the words on the tip of his tongue when a voice he doesn’t recognize emerges from behind you. “So you’re the famous Frankie I’ve heard so much about!” He feels the smile on his face drop the moment his eyes fall on the stranger in question who has now tucked his arm around your waist. “I’m Mike.” He says, an amiable smile on his face as he extends a free hand to shake. Frankie hesitates a moment, his confession from before still lodged in the back of his throat. He has to choke it down with a curt smile before he accepts the gesture. He’s not sure how long he stands there, politely nodding along to the conversation, his mind elsewhere as you make introductions he’s not ready to hear. You looked so happy together he can’t help but feel out of place. He’s not even sure what words he used to excuse himself as he retreats down the beaten dirt path that leads back to his place. 

He’d never felt his emotions flip on their head so fast he felt he might have vertigo. Yet here he was, his head spinning and the taste of bile bitter on his tongue. He felt like a fool. Wracking his brain for any sign you could’ve given him, any warning that would have told him to stop. Stop loving you as though that were a thing that was within his power to do. He’s got every phone call you had shared since you left playing on repeat in his head but he keeps coming up empty. You gave him nothing. That or he was too selfishly consumed in his own ardency for you that it hadn’t even occurred to him that you might already have your own… for someone else.

“Hey, where were you?” You asked him from where you’d perched yourself on the stretch of dock just in front of the boathouse. His boathouse. Your toes just barely skimmed the surface of the calm water sending ripples across the lake. It had been three days that you hadn’t seen him, a long stretch by your standards. At first, you had simply put it down to him being busy. Maintaining his parent’s property was no small feat and there was no one there to help him yet this season. But the longer you went without a sign of him the more worried you started to get. 

“Had to pick up gas for the boat.” He said, jostling the jerrycan in his grasp and you formed your mouth into an ‘o’ as you nodded in understanding.

“Did it strand you in the middle of the lake again?” You ask a smug grin pulling at the corner of your lip as you recall the time you saw him fruitlessly rowing the old fishing boat against the wind with only one ore and had to go out there and rescue him yourself.

“No,” He scolds you genially as he comes to sit next to you with a heavy sigh. “...not this time.” He adds, causing an affable chuckle, one that made his heart skip a beat in his chest, to escape you. It’s only when he catches himself staring at your up-quirked lips that he has to clear his throat. A pang of guilt that hasn’t quite become custom yet is nagging at the back of his mind as his gaze falls in front of him. 

“Where’s Mike?” He asks hesitantly, not entirely sure he wants an answer to that question yet.

“He left this morning.” You say. He hates that the sombre note to your voice actually gives him an ounce of hope for a moment. “He has to be back in town for work on Monday.”

“Ah, a city boy.” Frankie teases in an attempt to muffle his own disappointment and you jostle him with your shoulder chidingly.

“Hey, lay off.” You laugh softly before your tone shifts and those upturned corners of your mouth drop wistfully. “I thought you’d like him.” You said, quieter now as though you weren’t convinced you wanted him to hear it. 

He hated the way you looked up at him, your eyes blown wide with such expectation. He hated that his opinion mattered and that it wasn’t the one you wanted to hear. Because that was just it. Frankie did like him. Or at least he couldn’t bring himself to hate him. He should like him and yet the mere mention of ‘Mike’ made him want to punch a wall. He’d been hiding away this entire weekend because he could hardly stand the thought of looking you in the eye when he couldn’t tell you the one thing that had been playing in his mind on a loop for months. Yet here you were, forcing his hand and he couldn’t even be mad about it. He was just so desperate to be near you.

“I- yeah.” He clears his throat as his gaze falls to the water, and a pregnant pause fills the air. You purse your lips as it hits you that he’s less enthused about this introduction than you had hoped he would be. “Why didn’t you tell me about him?” He huffs out softly through an obviously feigned attempt at a smile. But the truth was you didn’t know. Or at least you didn’t want to know. You couldn’t figure out why but something in the back of your mind had told you it would hurt him. And with the look on his face as you tried to come up with a decent answer, he was beginning to prove you right. 

“I don’t know.”

You hadn’t intended for it to work out this way. But that just so happened to be the last conversation you had with him. You left for university and the next thing you heard, he had shipped out and joined the army. Perhaps it would have stung a little less had he been the one to tell you, but you had to hear it through your parents when you went home for mid-term break. Everything about the way you left things with him made you sick to your stomach. You had drifted apart from your fair share of friends over the years. It was never easy. It always hurts. But it had never hurt like this. It took you years to find out why.

“Whatever happened to you two?” Margaret, the next-door neighbour who lived just between your cottage and Frankie’s, asked, looking fondly at the scrapbook in her lap. “You were always so cute together.” She added, her voice warbling with what she excused as ‘age’. She had come over briefly to borrow something when you invited her in for a drink and she caught sight of the picture book on the coffee table.

“Who?” You asked, leaning over to take a look at the photo. “Oh, we weren’t… together.” You interjected, feeling childish for the way you avoided the implication that you and Frankie had ever been a couple at all costs. 

“Really?” She asked, leaning back to quirk an eyebrow at you skeptically. “Try telling him that.” She scoffed, plucking another photo from the binder. It was the two of you at the end of your dock. You were flaunting the tiny ass fish you had caught for the camera as though you had just caught that night’s dinner. But what grabbed your attention wasn’t the goofy look on your face, the ridiculous stance you had adopted, or the fish you were holding cautiously at an arm’s length. It was Frankie, his gaze set unflinchingly on you.

“Really, we were just… friends.” You try to explain, but you’re too distracted by the admiring look in his eyes and lopsided grin at his lips to sound entirely convinced by yourself. 

“All I know is that the way he is looking at you,” she says, prodding a shaky finger at the photograph, “is not how friends look at one another.” She concluded before dropping the subject altogether. 

Sure, it had crossed your mind from time to time. The idea of you and Frankie being together wasn’t all too outlandish. You could see how she might have been confused after all. You got along well, you spent a lot of time together, you cared about him deeply and dare you say you even loved him but- 

You loved him. 

The thought had implanted itself in your mind before you could even process it and suddenly you couldn’t believe what you were admitting. Staring down the snapshot of your former self now, all you could do was wonder why the hell you couldn’t have caught on sooner. Why you couldn’t have turned around in that moment, seen him and had it all snap into place before you managed to fuck it up so royally. Why...Why did you have to fuck it up? Your mind snapped back to the night before you left that summer. You hugged him and you could still feel the lurch in your chest, not unlike the one you were experiencing now, from when his grip on you lingered a few moments longer than usual. 

You were scared.

Scared because you had never done this before. You had never been in love or fallen out of it, and you had convinced yourself the only outcome was heartbreak. Scared because if things went south, you would lose not only the person you had ever loved like that but your best friend too and that was too high a price for you to pay. Scared because you didn’t want to hurt him just because you knew you were too afraid to take the leap. 

Turns out you managed to do that anyway. 

So now, as much as you wanted to- as much as your heart bled for you to march down to his place and bang on his front door until he was forced to open up, you knew you were too late. He was stationed god knows where with a whole new life of his own. You probably couldn’t even get a hold of him now if you tried. So you didn’t. Instead you cleared your throat, took a sip of water and asked Margaret if she had any big plans for the summer. 

You thought you had moved on. Which was why you weren’t looking for him when you attended the very same Margaret’s funeral six years later. You weren’t searching for him when you caught sight of a familiar silhouette a couple meters ahead of you and you certainly weren’t trying to grab his attention when you snatched that trucker’s cap off his head on your way into the church for the service. 

“Really? At a funeral? You’re wearing a suit.” You chided as he whipped around, his hand instinctively going to smooth down his hair as his eyes fell on you. He hesitated a moment, his mouth agape as he took you in. Your immediate assumption was that he didn’t want to see you, that perhaps time alone doesn’t heal all wounds and as much as you had hoped this would be easy, as much as you wished you could fall back into old habits as though nothing had happened, you were different people now. It had been twelve years after all. A wave of panic rose in your chest as you tried to fill the silence. “I didn’t think you owned one of those.” You joked. ‘Sure, tease him more. That’ll help’ you cursed yourself but you were relieved when a soft chuckle escaped him.

“No, I uh, I had to borrow it.” He huffed out. He was sure his cheeks were on fire with the heat that had flooded them all of a sudden. He froze the moment he laid eyes on you. He hadn’t done that in years and suddenly he felt himself being reduced to some teenage crush that made his heart stutter and his palms sweat. “Y- You look good.” He remarked, still feeling out of his element in the ill-fitting suit as he watched you, beautiful as ever, toying with the brim of his hat.

“So do you.” You said, biting back the smile that threatened to break across your face. This clearly wasn’t the place. You wound up sitting together for the rest of the ceremony, dropping by the reception for a moment to pay your respects, then inviting him for a drink at the bar just down the street so you could catch up properly. There was a moment’s pause where you thought he might turn you down. He probably had things to get back to in his limited time back in town and who were you to get in the way of that? But instead he shot you a classic Frankie smile, one you hadn’t seen in a long time, and you wound up reliving memories of summers passed in the dingy leather clad booth for hours.

It was as you emptied out into the parking lot. It was late and you both had places to be in the morning. Perhaps you’d had a bit too much to drink or maybe it was just that magnetic pull you always seemed to feel when you were around him. His head was thrown back in laughter over something you had said and his features, aged slightly from the time that had elapsed but still carrying those undefinably ‘Frankie’ qualities you had fallen in love with in the first place, had been outlined in the dull glow of the orange street light a couple meters away. For one glimmering moment you felt as though you had been handed a second chance. The one you had told yourself it wasn’t possible and that even if it were you were too late. But you had lived through that loss. The one that had paralyzed you with fear and self doubt for so long. You had suffered the aftermath and you had missed him so deeply you felt you were missing a part of yourself. And now he was standing right here in front of you. You weren’t about to let him slip through your fingers again.

“Frankie, I loved you.” You blurted out suddenly only to watch the smile that had been plastered to his face drop in the blink of an eye. ‘Well you sure had a funny way of showing it’ was his immediate thought but he was too stunned to get that out.

“You what?” He asked, not because your words hadn’t reached his ears but because he couldn’t seem to make sense of them. He had spent so long thinking you simply weren’t interested in him. That he wasn’t good enough or that he would always be playing second fiddle to someone else. Someone better suited for you, that you actually felt something for.

“I said I-” 

“No, I heard you.” He clarified but the clip to his tone and that look in his eye told you that you had overstepped. That you had just undone all the progress you’d made over the past couple hours. That this time you wouldn’t be able to rebuild the bridges you had just demolished so carelessly. How was it that he was always the one to suffer for your mistakes?

“Frankie I’m sorry, I never meant-” You didn’t even get to finish your sentence before his lips were firmly planted on your own, a hand splayed against the small of your back, pulling you in towards him. You had to grip his upper arm just to keep yourself from toppling over from the sheer momentum of it all. Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears and you were sure the alcohol in your veins wasn’t helping the way your head was spinning but something clicked in your mind. It felt so right being in his arms, so comfortable, safe and familiar like this was the only place you were ever meant to be. You had just about gotten over the shock of it all, your muscles relaxing and your hand coming to cradle the nape of his neck when as quickly as they had arrived his lips were gone. He hovered there a moment, his breath, still heavy with fervor, was fanning over your top lip and his eyes were screwed shut tight as though if he opened them you would have disappeared. He just needed a moment longer before the stage set collapsed. Just a second... but it was already too late.

“Fuck,” He muttered more to himself but it made you shift awkwardly on your feet anyways as he pulled away, straightening back up to his full height. You felt much smaller now as you looked up at him. “Fuck, we shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t have done that.” He stammered out suddenly, eyes pleading when all you wanted was for him to do it again.

“Frankie it’s fine, really, I-“ You went to explain, your fingertips reaching out to lace in his own but he flinched away the moment you made contact, his hand retracting as he stepped back to place some distance between you with a clearing of his throat.

“I should- I should go.” He gulped back, an apologetic look flashing over his features once more before he turned to walk away. You had to choke down the sting at the back of your throat, and bite back your quivering lip as you watched him leave. You weren’t quite sure what you had done wrong but any words in protest seem to catch on their way out. You felt powerless to anything but watch it all unfurl. 

You didn’t sleep that night, thoughts still reeling from the events of that evening. You tossed and turned until sunlight poured through your curtains and you were forced to give up. You weren’t ready to admit to yourself that that was it. That you had already screwed up your second chance, your final chance. Before you were even sure of what you were doing you had the number he had given you last night dialed into your phone, the tone ringing out a few too many times before you heard him finally pick up. “Hey, uh, it’s me. Listen, I just wanted to say that I know last-”

“Hello?” But the voice that came out from the other end of the line was not one that you recognized. It was a woman. You stopped dead in your tracks, your words lodging somewhere in the back of your throat.

“Sorry, I must have the wrong number. Is this Frankie Morales’ phone?” You stammered out, your words struggling to catch up with the thoughts spinning through your mind.

“No, this is the right number. He just stepped into the shower.” The mystery woman explained. “Can I take a message for you?”

“No thats- Can I ask who’s speaking?” You asked. You could already feel tears stinging at your eyes as the pieces started to fall into place. Why he pulled away, why he ran off and left you stunned in the parking lot of a small town bar after the best damn kiss of your entire life. The best damn kiss because it was with him...

“Jeanine,” She said and quite suddenly you felt like an idiot. You hadn’t even considered this outcome. That maybe your second chance wasn’t a chance at all. That you were foolish enough to think someone wouldn’t have smartened up and realized how remarkable he was before you.

“Jeanine…” You weren’t even aware you had repeated the name until it had slipped off your tongue, your voice weak and disbelieving. 

“His fiance.” She confirmed. You had to bite your knuckle to hold back the silent sob threatening to pry its way past your lips, white hot tears now breeching your waterline and streaming freely down your cheeks. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to dislike her. She was perfectly polite- probably perfect for him.  

“Right, of course.” You shake your head, attempting to get your breathing back under control before uttering your next words. You wanted to be mad at him for making you the other woman- for letting you become the other woman. For not telling you. But you couldn’t even manage that. It was your own doing. All you had done was rub salt in old wounds and now you were left with the searing evidence. “I’m sorry to bother you. I’ll- I’ll call back later.” You lie before hanging up. The line goes dead and the silence that surrounds you now is deafening as you slump back down onto your bed. 

And that was it. The end of something that never even began. You missed your chance. You were too late and now you were the one who would suffer for it. For knowing what his lips tasted like on your own, knowing the completeness you felt in his arms, and knowing you would never be able to feel it again.

[ angstageddon masterlist | Ezra’s arm masterlist ]

-- angstageddon taglist

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[cheeriecherry]

Space Between [Aizawa Shouta x F!Reader x Yamada Hizashi} [6/9]

EraserMic x Reader

Part 6/9

Warnings: none, a little fluff, some suggestive themes but nothing explicit

The next few days pass both quickly and slowly. Every time you look at the clock, mere minutes have passed since the last time, but when you spend your afternoons planning alongside other pros, it’s so fast-paced you can barely keep up.

Shouta and Hizashi made true on their words, calling in personal favours and putting together a capable team of trusted heroes. You supply them with as much information as you can, about Oracle’s visions as well as how Akuma works. By the end of the week, you’ve got an ambush plan in place.

You’ll be the one luring the villain out into the open, since you’re her prime target. You also know that she won’t show herself unless she has a clear getaway, so unfortunately the street where she attacks you has to stay open to the public. But with Shouta on standby in the vicinity, there shouldn’t be any casualties.

Hizashi and a couple others will be nearby, ready to add some extra hands to the fight if necessary, but if everything goes accordingly then Akuma should be in quirk-nullifying handcuffs in under a minute. Then she’ll be brought into custody, and she’ll be out of your life for good.

Still, you’re on edge. Akuma was well known in the underground for being clever and wily. There was always the possibility that something could go awry, in any way, shape, or form. For instance, if one of your team mates got caught in her tar, the whole plan would go to shit.

You sigh deeply and lean back in your deck chair, staring up at the afternoon sky. The closer you got to your supposed death, the more you felt like you were going to fall prey to it, like Oracle said people did. It felt like fate was swallowing you up, ready to consume you whole.

You have to want to come out of this, they’d said, but you were tired. So tired. Exhausted after years and years of horrific sights and fears. You knew you didn’t want to die, but…

“Is that the same thing as wanting to live…?” you ask yourself, not expecting an answer. Would not wanting to die be enough to free you from Akuma, should she catch you? Or was everything for naught, simply because you were having a hard time? What if all you were doing was walking straight into your own death?

You pinch your eyes shut when the sun becomes too bright to bear. Maybe you should have listened to Hizashi while you’d still had the chance; turned tail and run far away from Akuma, and kept running, and running, and running, and never stopping, never living, never slowing down. Ever.

“What is life without experiences,” you mumble, “if not sadness, if not laughter, if not love…”

Running would mean you’d be alive, but not living. Death meant you would be neither. But which was the worse choice, and for whom?

You just wished you had more time-

You pause, blinking your eyes open in surprise. I’m talking as if I know I’m going to die. Have I seriously condemned myself to this fate?

You frown. There’s hope. There has to be. Even if Akuma catches me, there’s hope…

Until there isn’t.

“Shut up,” you tell yourself, in an attempt to quell your cynical inner voice.

How do I fight without hope? Keep moving forward without hope?

Tears bud behind your eyelashes, though not from the brightness of the sky. You sniffle a little, trying to blink them away, but it’s mere seconds before they’re rolling down your cheeks in tidy little streams. Your body trembles with silent sobs, and you curl yourself tighter into a ball. When was the last time you’d even felt hope?

Hell, when was the last time you’d felt happy?

You let yourself cry for a few minutes, allowing your feelings to run their course and dissipate naturally, like your therapist had suggested you do. When your breathing begins to even out, and your thoughts begin to form again, you wipe your eyes.

When did I last feel hope?

“Coming home,” you whisper, “Seeing Shouta and Hizashi in the airport. Seeing them smile. Feeling safe in their arms. Sleeping a full night beside them, without any nightmares. Having them support me, and stand by me, no matter what.”

And imagining the future the three of us could have. Teaching, loving, living. Maybe getting married? Having a family?

It dawns on you then, a blinding revelation. If you found it hard to have hope and fight for yourself, then maybe you could do it for other people. For their hopes, their lives, their families. Protect them, and stay strong for them, until you found the strength to do it for yourself.

You’d survive, you decide. You’d come out of this for Shouta and Hizashi, for their love and their light, because you knew that with them you’d find hope, and a future, and all three of you were willing to fight for it.

----

Your boyfriends arrive home on schedule, to find the dinner table set and you bringing food out to it. Both of them watch you for a moment, taking note of the skip in your step and the smile on your face.

You greet them happily when you see them in the doorway, coming over to give them both a kiss. Shouta returns his gently, which Hizashi captures you in a hug and peppers smooches all over your cheek.

“Now this is a nice treat to come home to,” the blond says, finding a seat at the table. He at least has the manners to wait until everyone else is sitting before piling food onto his plate. “What’s the occasion, sweetheart?”

You shrug and shake your head, scooping a few things onto your own dish. “No occasion. I’m just...feeling good. Better than I have in a while, actually.”

Shouta gives you one of his rare smiles. “That’s good to hear,” he says, “what changed?”

“Dunno,” you reply. “Well, sort of. Something Oracle had said got me to think.”

“Oh?”

“‘If people don’t want to live, then fate will eat them right up’.”

“They said that?” Hizashi asks around a mouthful of dinner.

“I’m paraphrasing,” you tell him. “My point is… I have a lot of shit I need to deal with, a lot of baggage I need to unpack, and two weeks isn’t enough time to do that. So until I can find the means to be strong and hopeful for me, I’ve decided that I’m going to do it for you. To protect your futures, your lives, your hearts, all of it. Even if I don’t have hope now, I know that it’ll come back. I just need to work at it, and be patient.”

By the time you finish your little tangent, Hizashi’s eyes have gotten misty, and Shouta’s have an ill-hidden glint of pride. You reach out slowly towards them, and take one of their hands in both of yours.

“I love you both so much, you know? So much. I always have. And no one is going to take that away from me.”

----

You’re staring at the ceiling, the dark, dark ceiling, as the clock ticks past two. Shouta and HIzashi are laid on either side of you, wedging you comfortably between them. They’re both fast asleep, if their even breaths and quiet snores are anything to go by. Oh, how you envied them.

Instead, though, you’re awake. Very awake, counting the tiles above you for the fourth time. Your earlier pleasant mood has all but vanished, leaving you riddled with your more common anxiety and restlessness.

Careful not to wake your boyfriends, you shimmy out of bed and sneak into the living room, where you then slip outside onto the back deck.

Your intention was to find a cozy spot and watch the city lights in the sky for a while, but instead you find a familiar hooded figure hunkered down on one of the chairs, curled up tightly and looking extremely small.

You take a seat beside them, keeping your eyes trained on them while they catch their breath. Their shoulders are stiff, and their nails are biting into their palms from being curled into such tight fists. You know they wouldn’t have sought you out if they didn’t want to talk, but you still decide not to push them into conversation.

It takes a few minutes for them to speak, breaking the comfortable silence amassed between you.

“I keep seeing people dying,” they mumble, tucking their knees closer to their chest.

“That’s how your quirk works, isn’t it?”

They nod. “Yeah, but I mean specifically next week. Every time I warn someone, it seems like there’s two more visions that need sorting.”

“It sounds tiring,” you admit. “It must be exhausting having other people’s fates in your hands.”

Oracle sighs. They push their hood off and let it flop around their shoulders, finally letting you see their mop of dark hair. They haven’t got their usual mask on tonight either, and you’re sure that you can count a couple freckles splattered across tawny cheeks.

“It is,” they tell you, “not just the mental and emotional toll, but the physical, too. I have seizures every time I have a vision, y’know? I have medication that stops them, but...it also stops the visions.”

Your eyebrows rise into your hairline. You’re genuinely shocked that a quirk could have such an expensive side effect on someone, especially a literal kid. 

“Maybe you should take your medication-”

“Not until I have another way to help people!” Their tone is sharp, but they look abashed as soon as the words leave their mouth. “Sorry…”

“It’s fine, kid. I get it.” And you do. All throughout your life, you wanted nothing more than to do good and make a difference in people’s lives, no matter the personal cost. “But...it’s important to take care of yourself too, okay? Otherwise you’ll end up...well, like me.”

They pout at your words, and it looks like they want to make a sarcastic quip, but they decide against it and the two of you lull into silence. It lasts almost ten minutes this time, and for a minute you wonder if Oracle has fallen asleep.

But when you glance over at them, they’re staring at the dark cloudy sky.

“Is...is there any way you can move Akuma’s ambush to a more secluded area?” they ask, voice so quiet you can barely hear them. “Or close the street off?”

“I’m sorry, kid,” your shoulders fall and you cast your eyes downward. “If I could, I would. But this is the only time we know for certain where she’s gonna be. We can’t risk throwing that away. Not for my safety, not for the public’s safety.” Your voice is small and bitter when you utter your next words, “As much I hate to have that mentality, catching her now will save more people in the long run.”

You can feel Oracle’s annoyance bubbling off them, even from several feet away, and quite frankly you don’t blame them. It was an unfortunate way of thinking you’d had to adopt while you were undercover, to keep yourself from trying to save everyone. It was one of the most difficult things you’d ever had to learn, forcing yourself to put your mission and future lives ahead of the currently-suffering.

Every time you’d watched your superiors kill an innocent person, you’d silently promised them that they wouldn’t die for nothing. But it still drove you crazy.

“That’s a stupid way to think,” Oracle hisses.

“I know.”

“People matter. No matter how small their lives may seem, how insignificant, they matter.”

“I know.”

“So if you can’t change the ambush, then I want in on it. I know who I’m looking for. I can find them, and get them out of the area safely.”

You groan inwardly and let your head fall forward. “Kid, I can’t legally allow you to do that-”

“Y/N, please!”

“I said legally.”

They bite their tongue and quiet down, catching onto your plan quickly. You explain to them how the ambush is going to work, letting them know where everyone would be and what roles they’d all play. Oracle winces a little when they realize you’re basically the bait for the whole operation, but you assure them that you’re in good hands. You trust the people you’re working with, and you trust your boyfriends.

“Don’t wear your vigilante uniform either, you’ll be too easily spotted. But make sure you bring a mask in your pocket to protect your identity.”

They nod enthusiastically, hanging on your every word. You emphasize the fact that they need to stay out from underfoot, lest they interfere with the plan you’ve set in place. “And once all your visions are dealt with, you get out of there. You don’t stick around to try and help more people. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am!”

You roll your eyes at their childish demeanor, and silently wonder if you’ve made the right choice in letting them help, or if you’d just sentenced a kid to their demise.

A shiver wracks your body and draws you out of your thoughts, and you’re suddenly very aware that you’re only in thin shorts and a tank top.

“You should go inside,” Oracle says, standing up. “Wouldn’t want you getting sick. Besides, it’s almost three, and I have class at eight. I should go home before my dad scolds me.”

Your heart aches for them, for the stress they have bearing down on such young shoulders.

You stand up beside them, stretch, and shiver again. “What are you studying for?” you ask before they leave, hiding a smile when their face lights up.

“I’m gonna be an EMT!” they declare proudly. “I’ve always wanted to help people, even before I knew what to do with my quirk. I figured that since I work well under pressure, a high stress job would be suitable.”

You smile fondly at them, feeling some kind of almost-parental affection. “Keep working at it, then, and I’m sure you’ll get there. You’re a smart kid.”

They grin back at you with a cheeky expression. “The day that ‘Oracle’ disappears is the day you’d better watch out for me on the scene! I’ll be there, in the background.”

You bid your goodnights to each other after that, and you wait until they’re out of sight before walking back into the warmth of the house.

When you get in, you’re somehow unsurprised to find Shouta waiting for you on the couch. His expression and posture are both relaxed and neutral, but you can tell there’s something on his mind.

“How much did you hear?” you ask sheepishly.

“Enough,” he says. “You’re letting a vigilante help? Do you even know them?”

You take a seat beside him on the couch, falling sideways to cuddle up on his chest. He tosses an arm around your waist, pulling you closer and holding you safe.

“They’re the one who gave us this opportunity in the first place,” you chide, “without them, I’d be dead and you’d be getting a solemn phonecall about it. Besides, they would’ve shown up anyways. At least this way, they can stay out from under our feet.”

Shouta sighs deeply, a low rumble you feel against your body. His arm tightens around you ever so slightly, and you glance up at him.

“What’re you thinking about?” you wonder, reaching up to curl a few strands of his hair around your fingers.

“Oracle. They just...remind me a lot of my students, is all.”

“How so?”

“Young and naive, determined to the point of stupidity-” 

You snicker quietly.

“-but hopeful, and filled with potential. Granted they have a good guiding hand.”

You stretch up and lay a couple soft kisses along his jaw. “You’re students are lucky to have you,” you tell him honestly. “As am I.”

You lay there for a few more minutes, sharing idle thoughts and sweet kisses, simply enjoying each other’s company. You know he’s worried about the fight to come, about your survival, as well as the people caught in the crossfire. You know he’d never say any of it out loud, but you can feel it in the tension he carries.

Hoping to ease him a little, you deepen your kisses, moving your lips slowly and sensually, teasing him with the tip of your tongue. He makes a noise low in his throat, and before you know it he’s flipped your positions, caging you in beneath him.

You whine as he mouths along your jaw and throat, squirming a little against the weight of his body as his hands slip under your shirt to knead at your chest. His lips trail further and further downwards, and you eagerly press up against him, moving around so his thigh comes to rest between your legs. But just as you’re ready to fully submit to him, he pauses.

“The things I’d love to do to you,” he mutters, and pulls back. You make a noise of protest, wriggling a little to try and reestablish the delicious attention he’d been giving you.

He shushes you with a kiss.”Behave,” he tells you firmly, a thinly veiled order that only serves to spark your arousal. “You’re exhausted, Y/N. As much as I’d love to have my way with you, you can barely keep your eyes open.”

You hate to admit it in such circumstances, but you know he’s right. You feel heavy and hazy, and not just from his earlier ministrations.

He gives one last kiss to the crown of your head, and rolls off you, pulling you to your feet alongside him. You wander back to bed together, smiling when you find Hizashi still out cold, and slip quietly back under the covers.

You fade into sleep to the sound of soft goodnights.

----

You’re alone the next morning when you wake, as per usual. You vaguely recall your boyfriends kiss you good morning and then goodbye, but you had still been mostly asleep then.

You’re pretty certain you’d had some unsettling dreams, no different than usual, but it shocked you how quickly you’d gotten used to not having them. A couple good days in a row, and you were left quaking by the return of your nightmares.

There was the familiar imagery of your past, of course, it was something you dreamt of often. But alongside those thoughts were worries and fears of your future. At this point, you had less than a week until Akuma’s attack, and your nerves were starting to get the better of you.

Despite your earlier enthusiasm about ‘staying strong for other people’, you’re once again finding it difficult to imagine a happy outcome. Your therapist had mentioned you’d have high points and low points in your recovery, and that you couldn’t force yourself to feel or not feel either of them. But what if you were in a low point during the attack? What if you got caught and you couldn’t find the strength that day to get out?

What if ‘being in a low spot’ meant you’d die?

You grumble and pinch your eyes shut, rolling over in bed, but it’s too bright and you’re too alert now to fall back asleep.

Maybe you’d feel better if you did something today. You knew your schedule was clear for the afternoon, not having a therapy session until tomorrow. Maybe you could try and brave the mall again…

You weren’t sure if you’d be able to cope, should you get anxious, but a little piece of you really really wanted to try. Plus, you were running out of clothes to wear, and you’d already done the laundry twice.

Maybe you could get something for your boys, too…

----

The mall is less busy than the last time you’d ventured out, which you’re grateful for. Fewer people overall, and a quieter atmosphere made it a little easier to handle, but you still had a pair of Hizashi’s fancy headphones tucked away in case you needed some quiet.

You wander in and out of several stores, perusing the clothes and trying a few things on. You end up putting most of it back on the shelves, but you manage to find two or three things in every store you visit. It’s a substantial haul when all is said and done, and your arms are loaded with bags.

In the past, you would have smacked yourself on the back of the head for spending so much money in one sitting, but with the paycheck you’d gotten for your time undercover, you could afford to go a little overboard.

At least the commission hadn’t been stingy on it’s compensation, for all the shit you had to deal with now.

You set your purchases down on an empty bench and sort your clothes into just a few bags, so it would be easier to carry home. Part of you cringes when you look at the receipts, but you quickly shove them away. Out of sight, out of mind.

Then, just when you’re about to pack up and leave, a blindingly pink store catches your eye. Oh.

Well, you had wanted to get something for Hizashi and Shouta...and thinking back to the previous night, when Shouta’d had his hands up your shirt, you know that both of them would appreciate something like that.

So you wander into the lingerie shop, growing shy as you wander around the racks and look at all the options. You didn’t want something too difficult to remove, even though all the strings and straps would be sexy, and you didn’t want something too plain, or innocent. 

You think hard about it as you flip through clothes hangers and observe each set. Wrong colour, wrong shape, wrong size, too flashy, not flashy enough, itchy fabric...it feels like an impossible mission to find anything even remotely suitable.

You’re just about to give up and walk out, when your eyes land on one of the mannequins. It was unrealistically proportioned, but you were more interested in the lingerie it was displaying. Simple, classic, elegant, sexy...it was perfect.

You find your size on the shelf beside the display, and walk out of the store a few minutes later with another bag in hand, feeling remarkably pleased with yourself. You only hope your boyfriends wouldn’t tear the set to shreds when they finally got their hands on you.

[glenncoco4]

War Zone Ch. 6

A/N: Part of this story may sound familar to you guys. 😂

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present

He steps out of the bathroom, freshly showered, as he pulls the towel off his head, his jaw immediately dropping at the sight before him. Standing across the room in a figure hugging black dress that excentuates her bump and her larger breast is his gorgeous wife. “Wow, maybe we should just order in and…do stuff.”

She can’t help the implication at his words as he comes up behind her, his lips immediately finding the hollow of her neck. “There’ll be plenty of time for that tonight but we have to go.”

He sighs, his chin finding its place on her shoulder as his eyes lock with hers in the mirror.“Seriously, who gets married on New Years?”

“I tried to talk her out of it, but she’s just as stubborn as I am.”

“You Blye women always get your way.”

Her eyes light up, as she turns around in his arms, her semi-protruding belly pressed between them. She leans in, closing the distance between their lips unable to wipe the smile off her face. “Yes. Yes we do.”

XXXX

December 31, 2008

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1…HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

The Chief Petty Officer’s smile quickly fades as her team celebrates around her. Being separated from her husband for over 3 weeks now is effecting her in a way that she didn’t see coming. Stepping out of the tent, Kensi makes her way over towards her bunker, the sinking feeling of not being with him starts taking over. 2 weeks after the explosion she was sent back into the field. Marty had also gotten his new assignment, sadly in Kuwait, so they had 14 days really to take in that newly wedded bliss before coming back to the hot desert, but even then, those days were spent recovering from their injuries. 

She steps into the dark room, only the generator light a few yards away projecting enough light to illuminate the entrance and a bag that wasn’t there before. The air around her makes the blood immediately drain from her face...she’s not alone. Her hand finds the gun in her waistband as she slowly draws it out, keeping her eyes focused as her other hand reaches for the lamp switch. 

As the small light illuminates the room, her goes wide as the door shuts behind her. Sitting at her desk chair, facing her is that golden mop of hair with the grin that she’s missed so much spread across his face. 

“Kinky.”

She’s at a loss for words, but that doesn’t stop her from sitting her gun on the table and launching herself towards him, her lips smashing into his.“What are you doing here?”

He pulls back just enough to get a full glimpse of those mismatched chocolate orbs that he’s missed so much. God he loves her. “I just got my new assignment.”

“And?”

“I’ll be following team 2.”

A mixture of shock and disbelief crosses her features, afraid that this is all a dream she can’t help but ask anyway.“Really?”

“Yeah. Apparently there’s this really badass, up and coming Chief Petty Officer that my boss wants to do a story on.”

Standing up from her place on his lap, she walks towards the door, making sure it’s locked and secure before turning around, her eyes focused solely on him as she begins to shed her clothes. “Lucky for you I have the inside scoop.”

He’s unable to wipe the grin from his face as she closes the distance between them once again, this time straddling his lap as his cock throbs with desire.“Lucky me.”

XXXX

Present

Their bodies sway with the music as they make their way across the makeshift dance floor. His lips find the crown of her head just as a breeze comes in off the Pacific, introducing an intoxicating scent of lavender and ocean air to his nose. 

She’s been waiting for them to get a moment alone together tonight, what with Talia, Sam and the rest of their family running around, interrupting them at any giving moment. Noticing that they’re all preoccupied at the moment, Kensi finally sees her chance. “So I have some news.”

“Oh?”

“Well, I was just talking to Sam’s friend Noah’s partner, she’s a Producer for this new crime show that’s being developed and they’re looking for a double/stunt person for one of the main characters.”

“And she asked you?”

She tilts her head back, her eyes locking with his, unable to stop the tears in her eyes at the hopefulness in his cerulean blues. Always so damn supportive. “Sam told her about me and how I have all the right training and looking for a new career to start after the baby comes, since I retired.”

“You told her yes, right?”

“I told her yes.”

He hugs her tight, as much as her protruding belly will let him and lifts her up. “Kens, that’s amazing!”

XXXX

January 1, 2009 - Early Morning

They both let out one more moan before he roles over onto his side, both trying to catch their breath.“So you never told me.”

“Never told you what?” The small light coming from the lamp in the corner, illuminating her curious chocolate orbs.

“If you weren’t a SEAL, what would you want to do?”

“Don’t laugh, okay?”

He nods, as he props his head against his hand. His attention solely focused on his wife. Honestly he’s not sure what to expect to come out of her mouth but he knows its gonna be good whatever it is. 

Mimicking his position, Kensi props her head against her hand, nervously biting her lip. She’s about to reveal something to him that she’s never told anyone before. The deep seeded issues she’s had from previous relationships has been weighing on her from the start of her relationship with her husband, but she has to remember that he’s different, in every aspect...he’s different. “I think I’d like to do stunt work for television and maybe film.”

“I could totally see you doing that.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. There’s no doubt in my mind that there isn’t anything that you can’t do.”

The excitement that’s shining in his cerulean blues, makes unfamiliar emotions starts to make themselves known. They’ve been together for almost a year and in that year he’s never made her feel like she doesn’t deserve all the love in the world, to be someone’s favorite person.“Stop.”

His brow furrows, confused at her reaction. “Stop, what?”

“Stop saying those things. I’m already in enough emotional distress as it is.”

Shaking his head, he brings his free hand across her naked waist, pulling her into him. He crashes his lips against hers, earning a moan from her lips. “You’re gonna have to get used to it, baby. I will never not support you. I wanna know every thing about you.”

Her lips find his once more, smiling at his words. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What would you do if you weren’t an investigative photographer?”

“I think I’d like to be a gigolo.”

She can’t hold back the cackle of laughter at his choice, even though she knows he’s just messing with her. “For real.”

“Okay, fine, a hand model.”

“Baby, seriously.” 

“Seriously?” His brow furrows, as his brain processes the question. He’s never really thought about being anything else but one idea does come to mind. “I think I’d like to be a teacher, you know, mold young minds. Maybe teach kids that there’s more of the world for them to see and how doing it through a lens magnifies just how intricate and special life around us is.”

She can’t help but be mesmerized by his words, the way his eyes light up when he’s talking about something important, just one of the reasons why she fell in love with him. 

Marty is so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the dream filled gaze that his wife is giving him.“What?”

Shaking her head in awe, her nails find the scruff of his jaw as she gets lost in his eyes thinking about their future.“You’re gonna make a great dad one day.”

His throat goes dry at her words. He’s never really talked about his father, but she knows it wasn’t the best and the fact that those words left her lips means everything to him.“You have no idea how much that means to hear you say that.”

A playful spark shines in her eyes along with a smirk starting to curl at her lips. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

He nods his head, unable to stop the smile from spreading to his face. The look on her face does things to him that nothing ever has before. Quickly making his desire into action, he flips her on her back, straddling her. “Yes, and you’re the father.”

“I thought you said you were on the pill?”

“Yeah, Flintstone vitamins.” The same spark is in her eye as she lets out a belly laugh before her hand reaches for his neck, pulling him towards her. His lips meet hers hungrily as round 2 quickly begins.

XXXX

Present

The band continues to play a soft melody as the party starts to die down, she’s wrapped in his arms, relishing in this content moment with her husband. The cool ocean breeze coming off the Pacific sends her in a trance, thinking about their future and the little bean growing inside her. Being able to go through all of this with her best friend is something she never imagined until she met him. Tilting her head back, she smiles as her eyes meet his. 

“You look like you could use a nice long soak in a jacuzzi tub.”

“To bad we don’t have one at home.”

A knowing grin spreads to his lips. “Yeah, but the one in our hotel room does.”

“What did you do?”

“I may have booked us a room at the hotel next door.”

She can feel the heat pool in her belly as the look of unadulterated love shines in his eyes. “What are we still doing here?”

He can feel the warmth spread through his body as he watches her eyes grow a shade darker. Quickly taking hold of her hand, he pulls her along as they make a quick exit from the crowd, hurriedly making their way out of the reception.

XXXX

She laughs as her husband tries to maneuver them through the doorway, adamant that he carries across the threshold her bridal style. “Baby, I’m too heavy, put me down.”

He shakes his head, as he carries her into the room and towards their king size bed. “You, my beautiful wife are not heavy.” Gently sitting her down, his lips find hers as his hand cups her jaw. “Besides, what happens if you go into labor and can’t walk? I need to build up my strength.” 

“Why wouldn’t I be  able to walk?”

“I don’t know.”

Taking is short answer for what it his, Kensi pulls at his tie, coaxing him towards her. “I love you.”

“I love you more.” His words are followed by action, as his hand makes its way under the hem of her dress. She moans against his lips in appreciation before he pulls back, his eyes staring at her with reverence and all consuming love. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Are you trying to make me cry?”

“I mean I guess it would really depend. If it’s to hurt you, definitely not. If its to make you laugh, abso-“

She smiles as he continues to babble, no matter how much she denies it, listening to him just talk and talk is probably one of the most soothing things to her. But right now she really needs his hand to continue to do what it was doing along with his mouth. “Marty?”

“Huh?”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

“You’re the boss.” His hand makes its way further under the hem of her dress, as his fingers inch their way up her thigh and come into contact with soaked lace.

He pushes the material to the side, his fingers finding her wet folds, making her scream out in pleasure. “Marty!”

One thing that he knows will never get old is this...his beautiful wife screaming out his name, writhing beneath his touch. His tongue fights hers as her hand works its way beneath his briefs and finds his throbbing cock. “God, Kens.”

“Baby, more.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Quickly standing up from the bed, he strips his pants and boxers from his body with no time to remove his shirt before she’s hiking her dress around her waist and on all fours in front of him, flaunting her wet folds.

As she situates herself on the pillows, he pumps his cock a few times before coming up behind her and sliding his hard member into her creamy, wet opening.

They both moan out in ecstasy as he pounds into her over and over again, the feeling of every bump and groove of his cock sliding against her in all the right places. It only takes a minute before they’re both creeping over the edge, screaming out the other’s name. They’re sent into oblivion as she matches his even faster pace before letting out one final moan.

Slowly pulling out of her, he finds his place next to her on the bed where she’s now laying flat on her back, panting as she tries to catch her breath. “Happy New Year, baby.”

“Happy New Year, Princess.” He turns his head, mesmerized by the glow of her skin and...her, before scooting in closer, bringing his lips to hers.

Her head finds his chest, the cotton of his dress shirt dampened by their latest activities. She starts toying with a button, lost in thought at the officality of this year and all it will bring. “Can you believe that time next year, there’ll be three of us?”

He places a kiss to the top of her head unable to hide the smile on his face. “Pretty great huh?”

“Yeah, but you know what else would be pretty great?” She tilts her head back, locking eyes with him knowing that he can already read her thoughts. 

“Bubble bath and cheesecake for two?”

She doesn’t respond, instead she takes action. Slowly standing up off the bed, she pulls her sun dress up and over her head, revealing her very much larger breast to her husband. His eyes immediately going wide as she sensually walks towards the bathroom where their next adventure awaits.  “Don’t forget the cheesecake.” 

[bbnibini]

Progression (Masumi Usui x Izumi Tachibana/Reader)

(ao3 vers.)

He was 16 and a boy in love.

There didn't seem to be a limit to his forwardness. He was honest and affectionate, and while flattering to your self-esteem, you knew he was young and this was a phase he would eventually get over from. A part of you wished he had that much passion in his performances.

As you saw him grow as an actor and witnessed he was starting to sprout buds of what you hoped was that passion he was lacking, you realized you may have judged him too quickly. He was rather cute(in a brotherly kind of way) when he wasn't being so...upfront. There were times when you catch yourself looking over at the other actors getting close to him and secretly wished he would find more people he can feel like he belonged to.

Because for all the abundant love and obsessive affection he had for you, you knew there was a part of him, more likely unnoticed even by himself, that craved the love he had been openly offering to you.

If only he knew he didn't need to seek for it anymore; that he had already found a place to return to that was waiting for him to say  "I'm home,"

Perhaps...that really was what he needed then.

He was 17 and had a dream.

It shocked you. You swore you saw him grin like a fool when you almost locked him in an embrace. When you came to your senses, you finally began having suspicions he was doing this for attention.

But you were wrong.

There was sincerity, perhaps even bashfulness in his expressions. It was at that moment did you notice his hair was softer than you thought. His eyes also weren't entirely purple, and he smelled like bergamots---

The force in which you pushed him away caused you to fall flat on your butt.

"What are you doing, Masumi? Don't lean into me like that!"

"But I wanted to kiss you-"

You didn't even need to say anything else. Tsuzuru efficiently pried the teenager off your arms and gave you his usual look of apology.

"I guess there are some things that never do change," you mutter softly to yourself, a fond look was seen on your face; hiding a tenderness Tsuzuru noticed and kept to himself for both his and yours' sakes.

He was 18 and vulnerable.

The amount of growth he had on the two years you have known him was...needless to say, dramatic. Unlike before, there was passion in his eyes and gentleness in his interactions with others. There were times when his cheesy lines get to you, knowing full well you were getting more aware of him but you steeled them, thinking the idea ridiculous.

There were also times when Tsuzuru would look at you with a shaking head, but you pretended not to know why.

He was 19 and a growing boy.

"What? But Masumi just fitted this costume last week!"

"And he doesn't fit in it anymore. Seriously. If you want to put the tabs on someone, do it with this lovestruck Godzilla over here!"

"Here", was Yuki pertaining to the boy standing beside him. Masumi had been sleeping more than usual. If not for being constantly scolded by Sakyo or Tsuzuru, you could swear that the boy would be imprinted on his bed eventually. It was a "necessary sacrifice" on your part (as Itaru would like to call it to tease you), but you promised to wake him up every morning if he would stop sleeping at random places. The last thing the troupe needed was a Hisoka 2.0.

"I can never get tired of being greeted by you every morning.♡"

You never noticed it before but, you had been straining your neck more than usual when you talk to him, and as you wanted to point it out to him to air out your complaints, a more attentive Tsuzuru would tease you about disagreeing with Itaru's plan a lot less vehemently than before--and you would find yourself holding back your words out of an awareness that it would affect you more than he.

"A woman pretending to be dense would tire even the most devoted man eventually."

"If it's you who's doing it, I will count it as being tsundere. And a tsundere director is always cute.♡"

You settled on looking over at Tsuzuru with a glare, convincing yourself that doing so would strain your neck less. Tsuzuru muttered, "Let's go with that", with a knowing smirk and you vaguely "wondered" why it had been so warm that particular winter night.

He was 20 and "bachelor material".

Or so he told you in his DMs after his coming-of-age ceremony. You got to hand it to him for not giving up on texting you despite the absence of your replies.

"Oh, what a hottie! Your boyfriend?"

Huh. Now that he was older, even your friends are being deceived.

"Hey? You okay?".

There was a tender ache in your heart as you realised how much he had changed. He had been such an unsociable boy before, but now he had friends, and he had been smiling more.

"Mhmmm..." The drawl in your reply felt like it was holding back a sigh. "It's nothing. What were we having again? Caprese salad?"

The you a few months from then wished you were more discreet in saving his picture, for you had endured plenty of teasing from a scheming Tsuzuru for the rest of the year.

He was 21 and a professional.

"Masumi?! In a drama?"

The way Tenma looked at you, seemingly insulted made you tone down your voice a bit. "I-I'm not saying I'm doubting your choice on asking him to act with you, it's just...Masumi? Really? Did he agree with you?"

It was Masumi they were talking about! Didn't he hate stuff like this?

Tenma's sigh made you snap out from your many, confused thoughts. "Director, he agreed immediately. Besides, why wouldn't I ask him?" The confidence Tenma had, you surmised didn't only come from his skills as an actor, but also the trust he had for the other Mankai members.

This made you look back on what Mankai had achieved so far, and you felt a gentle ache. Oh.

"Sorry, I just...it's hard to believe he changed so much."

You were mixing up the past from the present. You find yourself doing that often.

If Tenma noticed anything else, you didn't know. But the awkward way he stroked your head made you calm down a lot. Unfortunately, it didn't stop the melancholy in your heart.

He was 22 and a tease.

"You haven't been making eye contact lately. Are you finally seeing me as a man?"

If he had said that a few years ago, you would have brushed it off as a joke and laughed with him. But Masumi stopped saying such embarrassing things at some point, and you eventually got used to it as well.

...only you didn't and you actually felt more conscious since he rarely flirted with you anymore. A part of you kept wondering if he eventually grew out of it like any other teenage crush, but the intensity of his gaze said otherwise.

"Just kidding. Quit spacing out, director."

Oh. You were holding your breath. Oh, there were other people in the room practicing with you.

"What's wrong? Is the director not feeling well?" Sakuya looked over to you in concern.

Oh. You were actually disappointed.

"I-I'm fine! Let's get back to practice!"

You pushed away the first words that popped in your head once Masumi pulled away from you:

"Too bad."

After practice, Tsuzuru cornered you and gave your forehead a flick. "You're dragging it on for far too long. Everyone has noticed now and it's rather pitiful. What are you going to do?"

You swallowed. "W-what are you talking about?"

Tsuzuru shook his head and sighed. "Sakyo-san was right, you really ARE a bad actor."

Screw Sakyo. You wished his blond mop of a head would grow bald! But screw yourself even more.

Of course it had been obvious and was probably obvious to everyone else for even longer than you had assumed.

But perhaps the absence of his receptions was a sign that you were only making a fool of yourself. A frustrated groan and a fews swigs of liquid courage later, you opened your eyes to see a worried Masumi stroking your head as you lied on his lap.

"My head aches..."

"It's called a hangover, Director."

You realized a lot later, after absorbing the fact that he and you aren't actor and director anymore, that you made an even bigger fool of yourself earlier and that it didn't matter anymore...

"Masumi?"

"Hm?"

To: Masumi Usui

I like you, don't you like me anymore?

                  message seen 5 hours ago

"Happy birthday."

...because he was 23 and yours.