#Janet if you’re reading this it’s on sight

[chleem]

Is it casual now?/extra II

One shot; college students drew x reader

Summary: “Baby, no attachments.” yet, you’re at his childhood home, laughing with his parents, bonding with his siblings. 

Genre: situation-ship, smut, fluff, angst,

Warnings: swearing, sex, light read, etc

⋆.˚ this is entirely fictional, if uncomfortable then don't read

⋆.˚ official one shot, extra I

♡⸝⸝ "fucked you in the bathroom, when we went to dinner"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Where you going?”

You ask, as Drew stands up. The warmth of his hands caressing your thighs is gone, now running through his hair. “Bathroom,” he mumbles, barely meeting your eyes. He walks off, without another glance back at the table. 

His sour mood is evident, by not only you, but all of your friends. 

To be fair, he didn’t even want to come tonight. He pleaded desperately for you to stay in with him, offering things to you that was ridiculous. Such as, doing your laundry for a month (he doesn’t even do his own). 

But you haven’t hung out with all your friends in a long time, and you missed them. So, tonight was non-negotiable with Drew. 

And he gave up with trying to reason with you, hence, why he decided to join you here, at the nice restaurant. He didn’t even make an effort to engage nicely with them, chuckling under his breath at random times and answering questions with short answers. Whenever you were talking, he would purposely distract you by touching you under the table, making it awkward for you and your friends. 

Drew knows your friends don’t like him; that’s why he’s sour. That’s also why he shows up to these hangouts, just to rub it in their faces. 

“Why did you invite him?” Lucy groans, after Drew was out of eye sight. Your five other friends of this group nod too, all letting out groans of frustration. “Hello, earth to y/n, we. Don’t. Like. Him.”

“He insisted on joining,” you shrug, forcing a smile. 

“Um, you could’ve insisted on him not joining,” Janet, another friend adds on. 

Your friend group was filled with weird people with different opinions, but one thing they’ve collectively agreed on was: they hate Drew. ‘Hate’ is a strong word, but that was the only way to describe their feelings towards Drew. 

They’ve expressed it a lot of times, so it’s become numb to you. 

“Are you guys finally together though?” Gary asks, sitting beside you. 

Oh. Every time they see you, they ask this question. 

“Of course not,” Lucy answers for you, sending you a cocky grin. One you always disliked, because it made you feel small. “Classmates, huh?”

“A really bad label,” Stacy adds on. Yeah, as if you didn’t already know. 

Great. Now it’s just your whole friend group judging you for being with Drew. Again. The last thing you needed from them.

“I visited his parents,” you aggressively say, stabbing into your food. Hopefully that will convince them Drew is a better person that what they think, right?

Wrong. They all ‘tsk’ in a disappointed manner, shaking their heads. “And…still classmates?”

“Well, he said I was his best friend,” you stuff the food in your mouth, “To his family.”

“He probably had to,” Josh speaks up this time, “and wow, is that the first time he called you his friend?” 

You don’t miss the sarcasm in his voice, and you send him a glare. He raises his hands in defense, the table laughs. 

You don’t find the humor in this situation. Why were they so judgmental towards the relationship with Drew? It’s not like he’s the biggest jackass ever. You’ve seen every side there is to Drew, they just don’t know him like you do. “Can you guys cut it off?” You say, not trying to hide the annoyance in your voice. 

“We’re just joking,” Janet laughs, glancing around, “besides, we’re worried for you.”

You chew and swallow the food in your mouth, sending her an unappreciative smile, “‘worried’ for me?”

“Yes, he’s obviously not… well, in love with you,” Janet continues, “we don’t want you with someone who clearly doesn’t care for you.”

“He cares for me,” you defend, furrowing your eyebrows at them. You look around the table, seeing your friends glance down at their food, afraid to meet your eyes. “He cares for me.”

“Sure he does,” Stacy bitterly agrees with you. That tone pisses you off. “Maybe privately, he does, but what about in public? Starting off with the most basic, labels.”

You hate how right your friends are. As rude and mean they’re being, deep down, you know they’re right. The ‘no attachments’ thing is bullshit, especially when nothing about the two of you is casual. 

Five, no close to six months, nothing about that is causal. 

“That…doesn’t matter,” you murmur. Wrong; it mattered a lot, to everyone and to you. You just hated to admit you weren’t as chill or casual as Drew was, how he made everything romantic seem friendly with you. 

When you look around, everyone is now staring at you pitifully. 

You didn’t like that. That pity stare. There’s nothing to be pity of. Bunch of people around the world right now might be having situation-ships too. Nothing to pity. Nothing to be ashamed of. 

Yeah. That’s what you keep brainwashing yourself to believe. 

‘The girl that he bangs on his couch’. Yeah. Nothing to be ashamed of. 

Your phone on the table lights up, and it reads bathroom. now. 

Drew. “Um, excuse me,” you stand up, excusing yourself to the bathroom. 

As you slowly get up and walk away, your friends weren’t very careful with the volume of their voice. You hear one of them calling you a loser, still hanging around just for a good dick to suck. 

That must be Janet. Her lonely ass must be jealous. 

But part of you knew she wasn’t wrong. You were a loser. The biggest loser to exist. The loser of losers, if that even is a thing. 

Casual. Your friends succeeded once again, in making you doubt everything with Drew. 

——

“Really boring, right?”

Drew pulls you in by the waist, a lazy smile on his lips as he stares down at you. He leans against the sink, making you stand between his legs. 

This restaurant had two bathrooms, each with their own sink inside. So, Drew took full advantage of that. 

“Hmm,” you hum carelessly. You didn’t want agree with him; you tried to make this evening nice, but his attitude towards your friends just weren’t helping. You keep your gaze around the collar of his jacket, not wanting to meet his eyes. 

“Something wrong?” He asks, playfulness still hinted in his words. His hand rub circles around your waist, as he tries to make eye contact with you, bending his head down to your level. 

You advert your gaze even more, now focusing on the bracelet around his wrist. Now that you think about it, he always has this on, since the day you got it for him. 

Was that casual to do? To keep the bracelet on at all times. 

“Look at me, would you?” Drew’s tone turns serious, and he pinches the side of your waist harshly.

You flinch, finally looking up at him. You meet his blue eyes, a mix of concern and something else that you can’t read. His raised eyebrows tell you that he wants you to talk, to tell him what’s on your mind. 

Should you? But, where do you even start? With his attitude tonight, or with your friend’s comments? Or with this whole casual thing, which is basically the beginning to it all.

Your lips pout on its own, resting your hands around his wrist. “That was uncalled for,” you murmur, looking down at his bracelet again. 

“What was?” Drew’s pinch one your waist is more soft this time, wanting to get the words out of you. 

“Doing that,” you say, playing with his chained bracelet. Shit. You’re gonna say it. You’re gonna call him out for his behavior. “Being rude to my friends.”

A scoff escapes Drew. He then brings his hand up to your face, forcing you to look up at him. Like second nature, you lean your face into the palm of his hand, waiting for him to explain himself. “Babe, your friends were the rude ones.”

The feeling inside your stomach is indescribable. The nickname sends you butterflies, but the words that follow don't. 

“How?” You ask, crossing your arms.  

He licks his lips, squinting his eyes at you. “It was so fucking obvious.”

“Was it?” 

“Yes- yes, it was,” Drew straightens his posture, taking his hands off you. The warmth of him is gone, now with the presence of a man trying to explain his reasonable case of being bratty. “They asked loaded questions to me this whole night.”

You furrow your eyebrows, thinking hard to the stuff they asked Drew. Shit. They were. Your friends didn’t even trying to hide their discontent with him tonight. 

“They hate me,” he adds on, “C’mon, I leave the table for like, a few minutes, and they talked shit, right?”

The way he looks at you; he challenges you to disagree with him. But you couldn’t; he was right. Your friends hate him, making you constantly doubt whatever this was with Drew. 

“Wasn’t all shit,” you lie, sending him the smallest smile ever. 

Drew makes the ‘tsk’ sound, shaking his head as he gives you a tired smile. “What they say then?” He asks, leaning back against the sink again. 

His eyes look at you in anticipation, biting down on his lips. 

You do not want to tell him what they said. It was rude, and although it was about Drew, it affected you more than it should have. The seeds of doubt are always planted by your friends, they never put you at ease with this relationship. 

You give him a lazy smile, snaking your arms around his neck. You lean in close to him, a seductive look in your eyes. “Does it matter? They talk shit, all they ever do.”

Drew’s lips slightly part, and he glances quickly down at your lips. A smile appears, “I see what you’re doing. You’re distracting me.”

You shrug lightly, before planting a small kiss on his jaw. “Is it working?”

You hear a chuckle escape from him, and his hand wraps around the back of your head. His eyes keep bouncing between your lips and eyes, smiling from ear-to-ear, “annoyingly so, you minx.”

Without another comment, Drew kisses you, soft and slow. 

You return the kiss, escalating into a whole make-out session. 

You hate how your body reacts to him; feeling a pool of wetness form between your legs. Fuck. 

Something pokes against your lower stomach, and you pull away from Drew. You glance down; he’s erected. “Shit,” you curse, as his hands slide down your body. He squeezes your ass, burying his face into your neck as he breathes the skin there. 

“I…I can’t go back to the table like this,” he murmurs, referring to his erection. 

You watch as his back rises and falls, through the sink mirror. Even with this thick white jacket he has on, you can tell his breathing has sped up. Your lips form a straight line, running your hands through his short hair. 

In the bathroom? Right in the middle of dinner? It was highly inappropriate. 

Wrapping your hands around his face, you pull him up to meet his eyes. He looks at you pleadingly, lips parted with drool on the corner of his lips. 

Fuck. How is one suppose to say no to that look? He looked as if he physically needed you; needed you to calm the… ‘growing’ in his pants. 

“Ten minutes,” you tell him, which immediately lights the spark in his eyes. He looks like a puppy! You smile at that thought, as he straightens himself, switching your positions. 

“Ten minutes? Enough for two rounds,” he teases, lifting you to sit on the sink. 

“No! One round,” you say, which gets cut off by Drew kissing you again. As much fun as two rounds sound, the longer you linger in here, the more obvious it is that the two of you are fucking. 

He groans into your mouth, spreading your legs to stand between them. His hands move fast into your dress, slipping your underwear off. The cold surface of the sink hits your thighs and pussy, adding to the heat growing within you. 

Drew trails his kisses down your neck, as your hands work on undoing his belt. 

You moan when he sucks on the sweet-spot around your neck, the belt dropping onto the floor with a hard thud. “Drew…” you moan out, messy hands tugging his hair as he continues to form hickeys around your neck. 

You want to run your hands around his stomach, chest, abs. But the jacket he has on prevents that, being zipped up the whole way. This jacket looked great on him, but would look better on the floor. 

Your hands fidget with the zipper, tugging with no luck of it moving. 

Drew pulls away from your neck, a chuckle escaping, “babe, gently.”

His hands overlaps yours, guiding you to pull the jacket zipper down. It reveals that he isn’t wearing anything inside; a feast to your eyes. “Is that why you refused to take this off?” You ask, referring to before the dinner started.

“I was invited last minute,” he shrugs the jacket off, as if it wasn’t his fault for the improvised outfit. 

“Right, but you weren’t invited,” you remind him, when he insisted on joining you when you were leaving, throwing on a random outfit nearby. You were busy putting your heels on, so you couldn’t see the moment when he got dressed. You didn’t even know he owned a jacket like this. 

“Mmhm,” his mind was elsewhere, attaching his lips to yours again. Sloppy and more lustful this time, as your hands wander around his body. It’s hot under your touch; his abs flexing as you run your hands over them. 

His hand grips onto your thigh, before moving closer to your heat. 

When the warmth of his fingers hit your pussy, you moan loudly into his mouth. 

“Shit,” he chuckles, “we’re in public, babe.”

The tip of your ears heat up too, from the embarrassment and realization that you’re in public, most likely having people hear you from the other side of the door. “Sorry,” you murmur, burying your face into his neck. 

Drew sticks two fingers into your hole, and starts thrusting at a faster speed than usual. Your breathing becomes uneven, as you try to tone down your moans. 

Drew wasn’t having it easy either, as you hear low grunts escaping him. “Fuck,” he curses, adding another digit, “you’re tight tonight.”

“Just fuck me already,” you manage to say, hands gripping on his biceps. Surely, this was enough foreplay, right? 

He chuckles again, this time at your impatience. He pulls his fingers out of you, his hands going to the back pocket of his jeans. 

The familiar gold packaging comes out, and his hands skillfully rip them open. 

“…couldn’t put on a shirt but bought a condom with you?” Laughter escapes you, as you watch him unzip his pants. 

He glances up at you, and when he sees you smiling ear-to-ear, he can’t help but match you, “wasn’t gonna show up totally unprepared, right?”

You laugh again; what an unbelievable guy. “Shirt’s optional but condom a must. Got it.”

Drew lets his pants and boxers hang around his knees, his cock standing proud. The sight immediately wipes the smile off your lips, gulping as you imagine it stuffed inside you. 

“The chances of fucking you wherever and whenever is high,” Drew says, wrapping the condom around his dick. 

He looks up at you, seeing your gaze fixed on his hard cock. A smirk helps themselves to his lips, as his hands tug on your waist. An idea flashes in his mind as he looks over your shoulder, at the big sink mirror. 

“Get off,” his voice brings you back, looking at him with confused eyes now. “C’mon, trust me.”

You let him bring you back onto the ground, before flipping you over. You see both your reflections in the mirror, your back hitting his chest, his dick poking your upper ass. 

When you meet his eyes through the mirror, you understand where this was going. 

“Watch yourself while I destroy your fucking pussy, hmm?”

Oh. Oh. Was it possible to be turned on by words? 

Drew lifts up your dress, revealing your wet core. You hold onto the sink for support, grip getting tighter when you feel Drew’s tip against your entrance. 

Then, he slips in, going deep until it’s completely nestled inside you. 

“Fuck,” you moan, glancing up at Drew. He sends you a smirk, enjoying this too. His hand goes to your stomach, and he lifts you backward, resting against his chest again. 

“Grip my hair, and keep your eyes open, alright?” His voice drops low, one hand moving to knead your breasts. 

You nod, bringing your hands behind you; one tugging gently around his hair, another around his arm that’s supporting you. 

He starts to thrust into you, rather roughly and fast. “Shit,” you moan, the sensation sending you to outer space. With his thick cock slamming into you, his hands roaming your body, your hands running through his short hair, it feels euphoric. 

Your eyes can barely stay open, as you look at the reflection in the mirror. Drew leaves a trail of sloppy kisses along your shoulder, which sends goosebumps to your skin. 

You watch as one of his hand slips between your thighs, starting to massage your pussy. “Fuck,” you moan, louder than you should be. You couldn’t help it, the pleasure was extraordinary. 

He kisses your earlobe, “i’know baby, but keep it down, alright?”

“Y-yeah,” it barely comes out, as the thrusts and massages to your core intensifies. The familiar knot in your stomach forms, informing you that you’re close. “Drew…”

His pace doesn’t stop, and when you lean your head back on his shoulder, he goes harder, “close?”

You nod with any energy left, and Drew uses his free hand to lift your face up again. He kisses your cheek, “use your words.”

You flutter your eyes open, looking at the two of you in the mirror. It was extremely hot, to see Drew filling you up, his hands all around you. The mirror starts to fog up a little, with all the grunting and pressure filling in here. 

“I’m coming,” you force out, and meet Drew’s gaze in the mirror. His blue eyes meet yours, seething with lust. 

You clench around him, your hand going around Drew’s, which is massaging your pussy. He stops massaging, and he intertwines your hands together. The stickiness doesn’t bother you; why should it?

“Fuck,” he groans, his thrusts to your g-spot growing sloppy. 

You tilt your head sideways, and you give him a quick kiss, which sends you over the edge. Your orgasm explodes inside of you, cum dripping out and over Drew’s cock. 

Body giving up, you lean completely against Drew, as he helps himself to his. His cock twitches, and you feel the familiar hot liquid filling up. 

Both of you are breathing heavily, euphoria radiating off your bodies. Fuck. This might just be one of the best fucks you’ve had with Drew. But in a public restroom? Who would’ve thought. 

“You’re so hot,” he compliments, before planting a small kiss on the side of your face. 

You giggle at that stupid comment, looking at him through the mirror; He’s got a playful smile on his lips, looking at you with smitten eyes. “You’re great with your words.”

He chuckles, his hands tapping against the side of your waist, signaling you to move. You use the energy left inside of you, helping him slip out. Leaning against the sink, you watch as Drew grabs tissues to wipe your core, then throwing his condom away. 

After that, he grabs your underwear on the floor. You get yourself dressed, him doing the same thing. 

“Look, only…only seven minutes passed,” Drew comments with a sly smile on his lips, showing you his watch. 

You roll your eyes, your lips betraying you by forming a smile. “Cocky much?” 

He puts his jacket back on, the last piece of clothing. “Well, you've definitely enjoyed the taste of it.”

You hit his chest playfully, his remark sending butterflies to your stomach. He laughs, zipping his jacket only halfway. Your eyebrows furrow at his exposed chest that pierces through the top; and you reach for the zipper. 

Drew stays in place, and you feel his gaze on the top of your head, his hot breath hitting you. You ignore the tension that pulls; when you’re done, you pat his chest, “all done, buddy.”

“‘Buddy’?” There’s a hint of amusement in his tone, eyes squinting down at you. 

You send him a soft smile, seeing him glance down at your lips. “What?”

“Call me buddy one more time,” his hands wrap around your waist, and he leans closer to you, “and you’ll get it.”

His dirty and challenging tone sends shivers down your spine, something you find yourself liking a bit too much. The pit of your stomach yells at you at how hypocritical Drew was being right now, but you ignore it. 

And just because it’s fun, you lean into his ear, and whisper, “best buddy ever.”

Tickles are sent to the side of your body, making you jump and melt into his arms. You laugh uncontrollably; Drew knew you were ticklish, using it to his full advantage. 

“Stop! Stop!” You yell between laughter, your legs ready to give up. 

“Don’t call me that then,” he stops tickling you, grip on you tight to make sure you don’t fall. He kisses the tears of laughter from the corner of your eyes, “I don’t like it.”

“Noted,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck. You glance down at his lips, and he does the same to yours. 

Drew gives you the look; he wants to kiss you. 

And you let him, closing your eyes and feeling his lips against yours. 

Is it still casual if you kissed me like it’s the last time you ever will? You hate how this thought appears in your mind again, haunting you. 

You pull away, the pressure of it getting overwhelming. “Let’s head back, yeah?”

“We have to?” His eyes stay glued to your lips. “You know, We could…we could just leave.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, “no!”

“Say you got plans tomorrow morning,” he shrugs, “I’ll say it for you, if you can’t-”

You cross your arms, looking up at him. “Why would I leave early?”

Drew parts his lips, and he brings his hand up to your elbow. He rubs the area there in soft circles, a playful look in his eyes, “…grab some froyo?”

You drop your arms, looking at him disappointedly. When he saw that, he hurriedly adds, “and I got errands to run. Really.”

You contemplate in your mind about this; ditching this dinner to hang out privately with Drew? Yeah, that sounded like something fun. It must be better than staying awkwardly, having your friends judge Drew. 

Casual. Casual, casual, casual. Some casual froyo with Drew, and maybe ending up with sex in his dorm room. 

Yeah. Seemed like things people whose ‘casual’ would do. 

“Fine. You’re treating me though,” you unlock the door, walking out the bathroom. 

“I always treat you,” you hear him murmur behind you, following closely behind as you two walk back to the table. 

You interrupt the conversation they’re having, grabbing your purse from your seat. They look at your questionably, before their gaze lands sourly on Drew behind you. “i’ve got something, tomorrow morning, so we’re heading off,” you try sounding apologetic, “sorry to leave this early.”

“Oh, um, okay,” Lucy glances between the two of you, “text us when you get home.”

“Yeah, sorry,” you apologize again, before your friends wave goodbye to you. You don’t miss the hateful looks they leave on Drew, as they tell you to take care until the next time you guys meet. 

After that, you and Drew leave the restaurant, letting the doorman do his job of getting a taxi. 

A warmth around your hand catches you by surprise; Drew holds your hand, pulling you closer to him. You look down at the holding of hands; then back up at him. He’s staring down at his phone, scrolling through his insta feed. 

Holding hands. Something very casual to do, apparently. 

“What are you watching?” You ask, leaning on his shoulder. 

He laughs, showing you the screen. It’s a video of a monkey pointing towards the glass, which has different play-doughs lined along it. 

You don’t get the humor in it, but you smile, because it makes Drew smile. 

The two of you stand there, watching different posts on his phone until the taxi arrives. 

Your mind finds it strange how ‘casual’ you two are. 

Because, in the bottom of your heart, you weren’t so sure if this was casual anymore. Along the way, the lines of ‘no attachment’ seemed to have blurred. Blurred to the point of no return. 

-------------------------------

word count: 4.1k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: goddamn, i would fall for this toxic relationship too T_T

sry for not posting lately, i got very busy lately! i promise you, flashing lights 6 & not a big deal pt4 is coming sooooon. but hope you enjoyed this extra, and also, thx for blowing up the halloween special, was NOT expecting that. thank you sm! your lovely comments inspire me to write these fics!

btw, watched obx s4, and the ending broke me T_T like tffff

[dellta-danger]

There are a lot of positives to dating your abusive ex’s ex (a higher level of compassion and understanding for your triggers, for one) but the biggest negative is the little things you find out about your ex’s life after you.

Like I fully didn’t need to know we discovered the same bands in 2019, or that because she adopted a mask in the shape of my face there are things about me that remind my girlfriend of her.

[farfromstrange]

Mismatched Bridesmaid | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

PART 2 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Deciding to go to your old college roommate's wedding turns into a bad idea when you suddenly have to function as a bridesmaid until you're paired with a very handsome groomsman.

Warnings: Fluff, attempt at humor, SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral f!receiving, use of "good girl", One-Night Stand, shameless flirting, kind of "horny at first sight", so cheesy it might make you hate cheese

Word Count: 4.3k

A/n: I was wondering why this didn't post until I saw that I hit "save draft" instead of schedule, so this may come on time for some and too late for others, but I'm still awake, so it counts as the 15th. Also, when I wrote this it was after hinting at it on here, and I was excited at first, but I'm not too happy with it now because it's just silly and falls a little flat, in my opinion. This is why I went back in and edited a hell of a lot, adding some things, etc. Nevertheless, I promised to clear out the vault for this event, so this is it. I got inspired by seeing the She-Hulk clips when the episode with Matty came out. It may or may not be noticeable. We're also working with the Nelson, Murdock & Page narrative. Enjoy!

You are not made for white-veil occasions. 

While weddings, in their essence, symbolize unity while covering different facets of romantic beauty, they are also inherently stressful for nearly everyone involved in the proceedings. Over the years of adulthood, you’ve found that weddings tend to end in disaster when you attend—and you are not particularly fond of engaging in drama.

When your old college roommate sent you an invitation to her wedding in June, you considered responding with no. You’ve been close for a few years, but then you graduated, found separate careers, and then never talked again. You weren’t sure why she would send you an invitation until you called the number on the back of the card and you began catching up. She told you that she wanted to invite you because you were a vital part of her early twenties, and it reminded you that you are both adults and you have both grown beyond what you thought possible, so you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell her that you couldn’t make it to her wedding. Instead, you told her that you wouldn’t miss it for the world. That answer though seemed to have turned destiny against you. 

You were excited when you arrived at the chapel this morning, but as soon as your foot touched the holy ground, everything went wrong. Maybe it is because you’re an atheist and God hates you, or maybe Karma just really fucking loves toying with you. Either way, when your friend’s maid of honor—also one of the few people you hung out with during your wild college days—came up to you, looking pale and panicked, you knew that the curse you always bring to weddings was only continuing to wreak havoc. 

She said to you, “One of the girls got into a car accident on her way here. Don’t worry, she’s not dead, just a broken wrist, but that means we are one bridesmaid short. I need someone to step in before Janet finds out and cuts off my head for ruining her wedding day,” and she was deadly serious about it, too.

You knew that it was a mistake to come to this wedding, especially without a date or a plus-one to fall back on. 

You were so focused on marveling at the beautiful white and golden decorations living the aisle, fantasizing about the day you might be walking down one of those that you didn’t think anything could go wrong since everything had been going so right. You should have known better than to trust that treacherous feeling of excitement that you made sure to nurture before breakfast so you could enjoy the ceremony and the party afterward without making it dependent on the open bar—although that fact did help.

Instead of dreaming about free drinks though, you’re being squeezed into a satin green dress with a low cut in the front, and someone you don’t know is slathering burgundy lipstick onto your lips. They are purposely trying to turn you into a copy of all the other bridesmaids, and you hate it. You hate it so much you get the sudden urge to scratch your eyes out and tear the skin off your lips. 

Janet, the maid of honor, comes back up to you. She’s aged at least ten years since you last saw her when she pulled you away from the aisle. You feel for her. The entire weight of this wedding rests on her shoulders. 

She eyes you, checking your outfit, before giving you a curt nod. “Thank God, you’re hot,” she mutters. You’re not sure if you were supposed to hear it. 

“Thank you?” you answer awkwardly. 

“Alright.” She fixes the corners of your lipstick. “We need to pair you with a different guy than Miss I-Don’t-Know-How-To-Drive was supposed to walk down the aisle with. Your looks don’t match. You’ll get Kathy’s partner,” she says. “And we need to line up, like, now because shit is happening in five minutes, not a second later. We can’t give Bridezilla the time to kill us all.”

With a frown, you ask, “Is she aware at all of what’s happening?” 

Janet shakes her head. “No, and it’s better this way. Trust me.”

You stop questioning her. She knows what she’s doing. 

When she guides you outside to line up, you’re not sure what to expect. You don’t know the groom, and you don’t know his friends. You’re here on your own, and now you’re part of a bridal party that you are also barely familiar with, wearing a dress that you were forced into for the sake of aesthetics. You hate when something is reduced to aesthetics because beauty has many facets, and you would have walked down that aisle with anyone as long as you could get it over with. 

Until you see him. Strikingly dark hair in a perfectly cut tuxedo that underlines the muscles hiding underneath the fabric. His eyes are hidden behind round, red glasses that reflect the sunlight coming in through the already stained glass of the chapel’s windows. In his hands, he’s holding a white cane, leaning his entire weight on it as he waits. And he waits for none other than you. 

Janet paired you with the most beautiful man on this planet, you can’t deny that. The way he stands there, his sharp jawline on full display—he looks ethereal. Just looking at him makes you sweat, and you’re starting to panic. What if she made a mistake? You can’t do this. You can’t—

“Matt,” she says and shoves you beside him into the line of bridesmaids and groomsmen. 

Janet introduces you, and then she’s gone. She pushes you into the cold water, forcing you to learn how to swim. 

He tilts his head in your direction. “Hi,” he says. The sound of his voice resembles the purr of a black cat as it reverberates, but his grin reminds you of the Devil himself. 

Fuck. Me. 

You either did something very wrong to land here, or you did everything right. 

“Hi,” you stammer. One look at him, and the blood rushes to your cheeks. Your face is burning. 

He offers you his hand. “I’m Matt,” he says as if Janet didn’t already expose that to you.

Still, you take his hand. It’s the polite thing to do. “And I’m not supposed to be here.” Mentally, you curse yourself for being so stupid.

Matt chuckles. Even his laugh sounds bittersweet. Like dark chocolate. “I, uh, gathered as much.”

“I’m sorry,” you bite your lip, “I’m not—this is really weird. I don’t even know what to say.” You pray for the ground to open up and swallow you whole, maybe that will make it less embarrassing.

His features soften. There is no judgment. You can’t see his eyes, but there is a certain softness about him that throws you off guard, but you no longer feel like you’re drowning. “If it helps, I’m only here because I helped the groom graduate law school by writing his essays, and he feels like he owes me, so…I also don’t want to be here,” he says, and he reaches up to adjust his glasses. You get a small glimpse of his eyes. They’re hazel. Beautiful. He has an aura that draws you in; it’s not just his physical beauty that strikes you.

This man—this magnetic force of a man called Matt—is a stranger. He’s a man you were paired with to walk down the aisle even though you were never meant to be a bridesmaid in this wedding in the first place. So many things are happening to and around you at once, and you can feel the flames starting to burn and sizzle away at your skin. 

You should pull yourself together. You shouldn’t stare at him. You shouldn’t listen to your heart which is hammering against your ribcage. But the emotions are already running high and you can’t possibly focus on anything else. He’s like a lifeline to you.

And God, you want him to put those calloused hands on your skin and take you to bed. But that’s not something to think about in a place of God. On the day of someone else’s wedding. Except that you can’t think of anyone else, and his proximity isn’t making the situation any better for you.

Another blush threatens to take over your features. “Oh, you’re a lawyer?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “I have a firm. Nelson, Murdock & Page.”

“Here in New York?”

“Hell’s Kitchen, yeah. Me and my associates just reopened our doors to the public after a rough year.”

“Oh, that’s...cool. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you. And what do you do, if I may ask?”

His interest takes you off guard, but you don’t hesitate to answer his question. You tell him your profession, and how you met the bride, and he listens without another word. No man has ever paid you this much attention before.

Though Janet meant it when she said that you will have to start walking in exactly five minutes, not a second longer. She passed by everyone, handing out bouquets. Green with hints of red and gold. It fits the theme. They’re beautiful, but the flowers within the bouquet become a problem when she hands you your own set. 

“Janet,” you stop her from leaving. “I can’t take these.”

“The fuck you can’t,” she retorts. 

“Seriously, I can’t. I’m allergic to Jasmines. I’ll sneeze.”

She glares at you. “Then fucking hold it.”

There is no arguing with her, and she passes by you to continue putting everyone in their places. You stare down at the bouquet, your nose already starting to itch. The smell alone is enough to make you nauseous.

To your surprise, Matt reaches for the flowers. “May I?” he asks, but he has already grabbed a hold of them.

“Sure,” you answer, curious about where he’s going with this.

“Hold this.” He guides the top of his cane into your hand.

His fingers feel along the red ribbon. He takes a whiff. There are so many scents that would be overwhelming even to someone without heightened senses due to a lacking fifth one, so you’re even more surprised when he finds the Jasmines without a struggle. He traces the petals just to make sure, and he quickly pulls the flowers out of the bouquet, tightening the ribbon around the now smaller girth in the process.

Tossing them behind one of the pillars in the corridor, he hands them back to you. “Here,” he murmurs. “For you.”

Words elude you. 

“Are you allergic to anything else?” The question is valid, considering you’re still not making a move to take the bouquet from him. 

You exhale a shaky breath, reaching for the flowers, and answer without missing another beat, “Weddings.”

That elicits a giggle from him. The sound is enough to make your heart melt. Does he know what he’s doing to you?

Matt opens his mouth to respond, but the sound of heels clicking against the marble floors stops you both dead in your tracks.

Your entire body recoils when the bride’s voice rings out, echoing, “Who the fuck mismatched my bridesmaids?”

A hand rests on your bicep, and you don’t even have to look down to know that it is Matt’s. He’s the only one standing to your right, anyway. He squeezes as though to let you know that you won’t lose your head, but you’re not so sure now that your college roommate is glaring at you in a white dress that reminds you of a pastry, and her eyes are full of fury. He can’t see it, but he would cower in fear if he did.

Thankfully, Janet pulls her aside, explaining the situation to her. 

“She what?!” she screeches. “On my wedding day? Are you kidding me?”

“Yes, because car accidents respect timing when it comes to special occasions,” Janet counters.

You snort. Matt beside you digs his teeth into his bottom lip, but even he can’t hide his amusement.

“Oh, snap,” you mutter under your breath. 

“Shots have been fired,” he says.

“I think we’re witnessing a double homicide.”

“I’m not a very credible witness. I can only describe how it sounded, unfortunately.”

Your snort turns into a laugh. The bride’s head snaps around, and you go quiet. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” you choke out.

“If she decides to throw a punch at your pretty face,” Matt’s breath tickles your ear, “I can be your attorney and sue her ass.”

This time, you’re conscious enough to slap a hand in front of your mouth to stifle your reaction. “How do you know I’m pretty?” you whisper back between little giggles.

He shrugs with a smirk of his own. “I just know.”

He’s got you wrapped around his little finger, and you have no choice but to submit.

Janet manages to bring some calm back to her friend eventually, and then it’s showtime. Right on the second, it’s time for you to walk down the aisle, and you have never been happier about a strict schedule and someone adamant about keeping that schedule for the sake of all of your lives.

Your roommate has always been a very dominant personality, so you’re aware of the things she can do when she doesn’t get what she wants. 

An 80s pop ballad begins to play. You make sure to match your pace to everyone else but also make sure that you’re not running away from your partner.

You may have been a mismatched bridesmaid, but you can’t complain about the company. 

Against all odds, the service is beyond beautiful. It’s not often you get to stand so close when two people who seem to truly love each other make a vow to be there for each other for the rest of their lives. You can’t help but shed a tear. They complement each other perfectly. Is that ever in the cards for you? Will you ever be able to have what they have? Or will you always feel like you’re not worthy of this kind of unconditional love and endless devotion—of someone wanting to spend the rest of their life with you?

You look over at Matt. The hint of a cross necklace is starting to peek out underneath his dress shirt. Of course, he’s Catholic. 

He carries himself with such a grace that puts everyone else in this room to shame. Does he know that you’re staring at him? You hope not.

After the ceremony, you lose sight of Matt in the masses. He doesn’t owe you a goodbye, but you still feel a little disappointed when you return to the dressing room and finally peel the satin dress off of your very sweaty skin. 

At the party afterward, he’s still nowhere to be found. You give up. Not that you want to spend the evening with him anyway, but you kind of do. You drown your sorrows in a glass of vodka cranberry and a bowl of olives. They taste like rotten meat, but there are too many people by the buffet for your liking. The last thing you want to do is mingle and get asked stupid questions by people you don’t even know. So, you stay back, and you watch from afar as everyone is having the time of their lives not so far away from you, but far enough for you to breathe.

“And here I thought weddings were supposed to be a joyous occasion,” Matt pipes up beside you, and you twirl around in your chair to face him with wide eyes.

You didn’t expect to see him back here. “Hi!” you exclaim. “What’re you—I thought you left.”

“Nah,” he says. “I just had to take care of some things.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

He smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yes, that’s why I asked.”

Folding his cane, Matt lowers himself down on one of the chairs beside you and orders himself a beer with the bartender. “Let’s just say that I have an important court case coming up and I had to make a call.”

You take another sip from your drink. “That sounds a lot more exciting than my life, to be honest.”

“You are sulking at a wedding. Thinking about an ex?”

“More like life in general.”

“Ah, yes, the eternal fear of dying alone.” He raises his bottle to yours. “I’ll drink to that.”

A laugh escapes you. “That was cynical,” you say.

“And you’re not?”

He beats you at your own damn game, and he finally gets that smile he has been vying for. 

“Are you smiling?” his voice is barely above a whisper. 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. “Maybe.” But the smile is audible in your voice, giving you away.

Matt smirks, nodding his head. “Good girl.” 

The sharp vodka runs down the wrong pipe. You cough. Did he just—

He did.

He pats your back, and his hand lingers a lot longer than it should. He looks so smug. Pleased with himself. That part of him is stupidly attractive to you, even though you would usually hate such cockiness in any other man. But Matt isn’t like any other man.

You apologize for your reaction, but he should be the one apologizing to you for throwing you off your game. What is he doing? You can’t read him. You wish you could because that would make this so much easier, but that’s probably the point. He wants to tease you. He wants to mess with your head. He’s a dick. A fucking attractive dick that could tell you to do just about anything and you in your flustered state would go along with it without hesitations. That’s the kind of control he has over you, and you just met. It feels like a twisted form of destiny, but you can’t quite believe it. Yet.

“Do you always do that?” you dare to ask.

He frowns. “Do what?”

“Flirt with women who were forced to be bridesmaids even though they were only supposed to be guests?”

A playful smirk plays on his lips.  

“It’s been known to happen,” says Matt.

You poke your tongue against the soft tissue of your cheek. “Cheeky,” you murmur.

“That’s also been known to happen.”

“What, being cheeky with—”

“—with women who were forced to be bridesmaids even though they were only supposed to be guests? Yes.” He’s catching on quickly.

You laugh and nod. “Yeah, that.”

“I do have to say though,” he adds, and for a second you think he might ruin the joke instead of playing it out further, but Matt is full of surprises, “Out of all the mismatched bridesmaids I’ve met in my thirty-something years of, um, living, you’re my favorite so far.”

With your hand, you start fanning your face rather dramatically. “I feel honored,” you say. 

Again, he chuckles. “You should be.”

“Why, because you’re so irresistible?”

“I was going to say that I don’t like a lot of people because, you know, they’re dicks, but that works too.”

“Wow.” You take another sip. The liquor burns its way down your sore esophagus. “You have balls, man.”

“Is that a problem?” he counters with a question.

The answer comes naturally. “No,” you say. “I like it.”

“Good.” Hearing you clink the ice cubes against your empty glass by swirling it around, Matt concludes that you need a refill. “Can I get you another drink?” he asks.

The question sounds so innocent, but the look on his face renders you speechless. His hand inches dangerously close to yours on the counter, his knee brushing yours, and the heat shoots straight to your neglected cunt. 

Fuck this.

“You could do that, or we could skip that part and just…you know.”

One brush of your hand against his thigh, that’s all it takes for him to know. 

Pushing you through the door to his apartment a few minutes later, his lips are on you. The door falls shut with a loud bang, and he presses you against the wall of his hallway. 

His lips feel like a silky cloud of lewdness. The way he kisses you is utterly erotic. Your lips part in a delicious moan that he swallows with a grunt of his own. He swallows it all, shoving his tongue into the tight confines of your mouth, and exploring every inch he can reach. He tastes you. He consumes you. 

His hands desperately search for an ounce of bare skin. He’s tugging at your clothes, sliding and tearing them aside. Once his fingers finally brush over the bare skin of your stomach, he melts. 

You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Your leg hooks around his waist. You can’t wait. He has ignited a fire within you that no one has been able to light before. He’s touching you with a precision that puts your former lovers to shame. He’s paying attention to your every breath and heartbeat, and with every touch, he asks, “May I?” 

You don’t even make it to the bedroom. Once he has successfully removed the bottom half of your clothes, he falls to his knees. He is a sight to behold. The disarray of colors that shines into his apartment illuminates his face, bathing it in a selection of hues that bring out his best features. 

Matt has yet to take off his glasses, and you take the opportunity to tear them away from his face. You’re gentle though. You ask him, “May I?” mirror the question he has been asking you throughout the night, and after a thick swallow, he nods.

You caress his cheek as you remove his glasses, and when you finally see his hazel eyes in all of their glory, you have to bow down to capture his lips in a soft kiss. 

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper. “So fucking beautiful, Matt.”

He whimpers. You could have sworn to have imagined it, but when you stroke his cheek with such a gentleness it almost makes him recoil in anguish, you know that you didn’t imagine the sound from his lips. You kiss it away. You kiss all of his insecurities away. You want him to feel as good as he is making you feel. You don’t know him, but you want to get to know him, and if he’s ready to surrender himself to you, you are more than ready to do the same for him. He can feel that with every brush of your fingertips and every kiss you deliver to his plump lips that taste like heaven and hell in itself.

Your words don’t leave him cold. His cock is aching in his pants—you take note of his impressionable size, which only makes you more excited for what’s to come—but he refuses to take it out. Not until you’re fully satisfied. To be honest, you could come just from staring at him on his knees in front of you, looking like he would lay the world to your feet and kill everyone who has ever dared to hurt you, but that is not enough for him. 

He needs the experience. Feeling your skin, tasting you, and breathing in all facets of your natural scent mixed with the artificial one from your shampoo. He can’t get enough of it. Of you. Of everything about and within you. He’s as attracted to your body as he is consumed by your soul. You’ve got him in a deadlock, but he would never complain about that.

You gasp when Matt grabs your thigh and throws it over his shoulder. Your panties are gone within seconds, torn on the floor somewhere. You’re completely bare to him. 

You want to warn him that you didn’t shave, but he doesn’t care. 

Before you know it, he has flattened his tongue against your pussy, and he licks a long stripe from your hole to your clit. 

“Fuck!” you cry out, reaching for support on the wall behind you.

He flicks the sensitive bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue, testing the waters before he sucks it into his mouth. 

His grip on your thigh becomes bruising. Matt eats you out like he has been starving for years and you are his first and last meal. He sucks on your clit, and he fucks you with his tongue. Your pussy is the altar he worships at. Your arousal is his holy water. He dives deeper and deeper into the wetness between your thighs, and he moans loudly when you pull at his hair.

“Fuck, Matt–” You’re clawing at whatever you can find. It feels so good. You’re higher than you have ever been.

The sound of his mouth working your slick folds toward eternal bliss is obscene and utterly sinful. His stubble scratches against your inner thighs. The pain grounds you in the here and now, making you focus on the tidal wave that is about to crash into you and tear you to shreds. 

You can’t even warn him before your orgasm takes over, and it takes you into another dimension. You come with a shout of his name. It’s nothing short of explosive. The orgasm drags on through his mouth on your clit, relentlessly sucking until the nerves jump, and you’re begging him to stop. 

His face glistens. With every kiss up your body, Matt marks you. By the time he has reached your quivering lips, he still tastes like you.

“You did so well,” he whispers. “Such a good girl for me.”

You exhale. Without his shoulders to hold onto, you would probably lose your footing. “You’re crazy,” is all you can say. 

He smirks. “In a good way, I hope.”

“Yes. Fuck.”

“Regret coming home with me?”

“Absolutely not.”

That’s all he needed to hear. He lifts you with ease. “Then I’m going to make it worth your while.”

And when your back hits the soft mattress and silk sheets of his bed, you don’t doubt that he is going to make good on his promise. 

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama

[batbux]

no choice but to love you pt. 6

FIRST | SECOND | THIRD | FOURTH | FIFTH | SIXTH | SEVENTH | EIGHTH | NINTH | TENTH | ELEVENTH | TWELFTH | THIRTEENTH

AO3 Link (a little behind, but better edited)

“Is that little man your Timothy?” the grandmotherly woman asked, adjusting her glasses to better peer at him. Tim knew his cue well and stepped out from behind his mother with a shy little wave. He was always so good about them trotting him out in front of Gotham’s elite and Jack’s business partners.

“It is,” Janet confirmed, easily steering them both closer so Emma could get a better look. “He prefers Tim or Timmy.”

“Oh, honey. You know, you just missed bring your kid to work day,” Emma said as she slid her top desk drawer open to rifle through it.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, clearly unsure of what that was or why it was important to note that he’d missed it, but polite to a fault. “Going forward, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Emma laughed, ridiculously charmed by this little gentleman that memorized Jack’s “business talk” like a second language even if he didn’t seem to understand entirely.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest little boy?” she asked and pulled out a small handful of round candies. “I could just eat you up. Here, come take some candy.”

Tim’s hand twitched in Janet’s and it became an honest struggle not to laugh. Not that it was funny that a careless internet search had half traumatized her child, not at all, but an honest fear of cannibals hiding in plain sight was probably not a bad fear for a child from Gotham.

And it brought her a valuable lesson about bringing shop talk to the dinner table as well as leaving her laptop unsecured and idling, ready to be taken advantage by little geniuses.

“Go ahead,” she murmured, nudging him a little. He shot her a wild look before shuffling forward to pluck a red candy from the offered bunch, quick as a bird with a worm. Before Emma could offer another, he was back tucking himself against Janet’s side. She smiled a little. “Sorry, Emma. He can be a little hot and cold.”

“Don’t you worry about it,” she said and deposited the rest of the candies back in her drawer. They both politely pretended they didn’t hear the soft crinkling of plastic as Tim unwrapped his treat and popped it in his mouth, quick but shy. “Jason used to be the same way, you know. One day he’d tell me all about his classes and what he got to read that week – and believe me, he said got to – and the next he would look at me like I was trying to poison him. Of course, that’s also the time I switched my Lifesavers for raisins… Say, you don’t think that had anything to do with it, do you?”

Janet laughed appropriately at the joke, nervous at the thought of Jason. Not that he seemed like a bad boy – a bit reclusive, maybe, but someone new in Tim’s life. “He sounds like a character.”

“Oh, he’s a delight,” Emma assured her. “You’ll love him, I promise.”

“Ah, so you…” Know.

“I do,” she said with a firm nod. “I’ve managed Mr. Wayne’s calendar for most of his life and his daddy’s before him. He hasn’t been going around shouting it from the rooftops, but it’s a little hard not to make the connection.”

It made sense even if Janet was struck by the urge to just start screaming. The secret was out—there was no popping a pin back in this grenade. From here on out they would have to move fast.

Janet looked down at Tim. Tim, lips shiny and red, tipped his head back to look at her. There was nothing but calm trust in his eyes. He was being so brave about this, about everything. She owed this to him.

“I just hope they’ll like him,” she confessed. She looked back to Emma, smiling awkwardly, only to be met with a knowing look. “I know the timing is… bad.”

“You’re afraid of Ms. al Ghul,” she concluded. “She’s a bit of a character herself, but she loves her family.”

Well, that’s what Janet was afraid of.

Tim wasn’t her family. Hell, Dick Grayson was Bruce’s cherished first son and the spats between him and Talia were frequent and well documented. Talia, the bold woman that appeared nearly a year ago seemingly out of nowhere to take her place at Bruce Wayne’s side. The two weren’t married, true, but they were clearly partners in their shared life.

But Bruce told her not to worry about Talia. She had to trust that Bruce knew what he was talking about and that Tim wouldn’t be sent into the lion’s den.

“I just worry,” she finished quietly. No one could blame her for that. “Is Bruce free now?”

“Oh, yes! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you for so long,” she said and smiled at Tim again. Janet felt him press closer and knew that she was going to have to have a conversation with him about how Emma was emphatically not a cannibal. “I just wanted to meet the new baby.”

Tim normally would fight the baby allegations to his last breath, but he was clearly cowed by such a fearsome foe. Janet nodded to Emma one more time before pulling Tim through the door behind her and into Bruce’s office.

Bruce looked up from his computer as soon as she cracked the door open, eyes immediately falling on Tim. He shuffled in beside her, eyes also finding Bruce. For a long moment, the father and son simply looked at one another.

Tim broke their impromptu staring contest first to look up at Janet again. In a whisper a little too loud to be secret, he asked, “Is that him?”

[minkdelovely]

UGHHHH HAZEL IT WAS TOO GOOD. I maybe shouldn’t have had coffee right before reading this cuz now I’m all worked up.

The tension here is sooo palpable — I can feel that we’re gearing up for the finale and I’m just clawing my hands into the dirt before being inevitably dragged away kicking and screaming 😮‍💨

PLEASE NOTE: In case it’s not obvious lmao whenever I call our little Detective by his first name it’s with disrespectful intent 😂✨

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Brady bit his tongue, wanting to say something sharp. I don’t see any ladies here.

DON’T BE SUCH A FUCKING SQUARE KENNETH

He felt like a fox about to be pecked to death by the hens.

YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE HEN HOUSE PUNK 😤

“Does Janet know you like to hang around burlesquers?” Someone said as his back was turned.

it’s me, I’m someone

“Could you stay with me? I’m not going anywhere. But I’ll feel safer if I’m not talking to him alone. In case he tries to drag me out. He seems a little off his rocker.” You were genuinely scared he would grab you by the arm and pull you out of the theater if he didn’t think anyone would see. 

HONESTLYYY that Detective Brady is off his rocker <- actually just doing his job but I don’t like it >:T

Brady felt an embarrassed blush take hold as the women moved past him with scowls and tsks.

WHAT DID I SAY? BRUV CAN’T HANDLE THE HEN HOUSE

He didn’t need to talk to you. His lead still stood. But maybe you’d slip and say something to expedite his search for the radio man.

THE RADIO DEMAN 🫠✨

Brady’s eyeline adjusted from yours to Ruth’s. Skye Scraper wasn’t just a pun, it was a cruel nickname she took ownership of. “Finish that sentence.”

FUCK YEAH RUTH

You’d memorized the number the night Alastor gave it to you, too scared to write it down. He warned you though he wouldn’t be the one to answer.

UGHH BRENDA

“Is Alastor still there?” You tried to smile so you sounded less panicked. Ruth mouthed his name and pretended to swoon as you held the phone close to your ear. 

SAMEEEE RUTHIE

Alastor was lying across Brenda’s desk to reach the phone, having wrestled it from the woman’s grip, “I’m here. What’s wrong? I was about to leave.”

THE IMAGE THIS CONJURES MAKES ME SOOOO FUCKING WEAK 😩🙏🏻❤️‍🔥

“I’m coming over to the theater.”

HE’S MAKING ME WANNA CRYYY STOOPPP 🫠🫠🫠

“Please, dear, I don’t want our first fight to be over my work line.” A calming breath, “You don’t have to meet me, but I’ll be there. Just five minutes, then I’ll be off.”

SIR YOU NEVER LISTEN WHEN I SAY STOP 😩😭🫠

But how much harder would it be if the wall was of the prison? Or worse, dense earth under your feet? That’s what Brady was wanting. 

GOD DAMN IT KENNETHHH YOU’RE RUINING EVERYTHING

He smelled like ink and smoke, a scent you inhaled as you tried to calm your breath.

GODDDDD 🥲🥲🥲

A large hand patted your head, “Okay. You go tomorrow. It’ll be fine. Don’t stress.” Pulling you off he placed chaste kisses across your face. “Think about what you want to say to him and we can talk it out in the morning. Everything is fine.”

I AM A MESS <- my resting state but still

He was impressed at the strength of your hands as you gripped at his clothes. Leaning against the car, he offered you his most charming smile. “Deep breaths, dear. Do I look scared?”

I AM TOO IN LOVE WITH THIS MAN IT’S ACTUALLY REALLY BAD Y’ALL

He didn’t. He looked like a magazine ad for French cologne or razor blades that left the softest skin. 

FUUUCKKK

“Did he–” he elongated the word, lips pursed as he searched the sky for his next words, “have Tommy’s body?”

THE REAL QUESTION HE COULDN’T ASK RIGHT AWAY GODDD

“I’ll admit I’m being reckless but I think we can both agree my way is more fun.” Smile sliding into a smirk, he cocked his head and lowered it to get back into your line of sight. When you stuck your tongue out he took a deep breath in, relief. “Are you sure I can’t take you home?”

SIR* YOU REALLY NEED TO STOP BEING THIS HANDSOME AND CHARMING ALL THE TIME *had to fix this cuz autocorrect switched ‘sir’ to ‘sire’ and tbh… not completely wrong

To which home, you wondered. He used the word so casually and interchangeably…

AAANDDD THE BASEBALL BAT FINALLY COMES OUT

Face close to yours. Eyes solely on you. Perhaps the stage wasn’t as necessary as you’d once thought. Lips on lips, the feeling of his smile spreading as he returned the kiss. A second of panic as you realized you couldn’t see or hear or sense what else was happening anymore in the alley. Brady could have had you in handcuffs and you wouldn’t be the wiser. Not as long as Alastor’s mouth was moving over yours.

WASTED ZERO TIME IN BEATING ME WITH THAT BAT HAZEL 🫠❤️‍🔥

While you did your waiting, shuffling around the theater and later tossing around in bed, Alastor fell into a different kind of purgatory. One he hadn’t realized he’d made for himself until you weren’t there. 

I 👏🏻 AM 👏🏻 WEEPING 👏🏻

The feeling in his chest, akin to a magnet tugging through his sternum toward a distant partner, didn’t abate.

THE WAY I HAD TO STOP MYSELF FROM REACTING TO EVERY SINGLE BIT… YEARNING MAKES ME FERALLLL

You were together with him. An item. How spectacular you must be to be a part of anything with him.

IT’S AN OVERWHELMING CONCEPT OMGGG

But for Alastor, well, he wasn’t done asking the question. A moment of panic from a place unrecognized in his brain, fear of losing himself entirely. But what good was a safe harbor if he never ventured out to sea? That’s just a restraint then, isn’t it? Maybe you held a place for him even richer in its comforts than his solitude. So he let himself drift away from familiar shores, no sails and no compass, “I think it’d be smart to bring over a couple sets of clothes. I can keep them washed and always here for you. Would that be alright?” He had wanted to suggest it while together, but Brady was ruining more than his sleep.

THIS ACTUALLY MADE ME SHORT CIRCUIT

“I know it’s boring out in the boonies but, you’re welcome to just stay over while I go to work. I can come back and get you for rehearsals… I’ll enjoy the clubs or come back and make something for a late dinner for us, and bring you home when you’re done.”

I CAN’T FUCKING BREATHE!! The amount of effort and affection that’s being offered here is making my head spin 😵‍💫💖

“Alastor for the love of God please don’t make me keep talking right now.” You lightly knocked your head with the phone a few times. Your heart was gasping for an ounce of understanding.

SAME BITCH SAME

He chuckled, glad you were still very much yourself, “I meant, take you home as in, away from work. So, here. Or, there, if you’d prefer.” His face scrunched up, this wasn’t a conversation he had any practice in, “Anywhere really. I’ll drive you anywhere.”

issuhsjsjdjjdsjjddhidsniddjjdjen

“Like— the first time you asked me over.” You added quickly. A terrible joke, a bad callback that made it painfully obvious you committed everything he said to memory.

ALABAMA 😩✨

Alastor rested his cheek on the dining table, laughing into the wood before bringing the receiver back. You always offered him an out of uncomfortable situations, “Well the offer still stands. I'd be willing to even venture at least halfway across Texas.” 

🗣️ I FUCKING SAID STOP

You were worth regrets. He had decided. He wanted you to say yes.

I AM BEING BEATEN INTO ANGEL DUST

But could you call any place so far from Alastor a home?

not anymore 🥲🫠💖

Brady noticed the uneven length when you sat down and set your hands on the table.

THIS IS ANOTHER ONE WHO DOESN’T LISTEN WHEN I SAY STOP

“Not as cold as she is, I’m sure of that.”

HEHEHEHE

Lying was second nature to you. You had killed for Alastor. You could do this. Deep breaths, slink into yourself. You imagined Alastor choked on the park grounds, wet and unmoving. Imagined him cold to the touch.

TOO MUCH COLD BEING MENTIONED IN A WAY I DON’T CARE FOR 🥲

“Tommy said he’d kill me if I didn’t go. So I did. Promised me he’d stay with me for protection.” Tears welled. Bloody hands and a large rock. “But as soon as he got his money he left.” 

BLOODY HANDS AND A LARGE ROCK… THAT NIGHT WILL NEVER GO AWAY 🥺

“Ah,” a weak laugh to hide the way your breath got sucked in with panic. The words ‘radio boyfriend’ punched the air from your lungs. “You must mean the rake. Took me for a ride at a club corner and sent me off in a cab to never see me again. Didn’t know he was in radio though.” 

THE DEBONAIR RAKE

You’d never fucking say it. He could walk in on you moaning ‘Alastor’ and you’d still act like you’d never heard that string of syllables in your life. 

WHO??

You shrugged, “We weren’t on a full name basis. He was handsome, he took me out, we fucked, I never saw him again” You delighted in the way his face screwed up at your unladylike language. 

CUZ KENNETH IS A FUCKING SQUAREEE

You pulled your hands into your lap, eyes firmly locked on Brady’s. “You look tired, sir. I hope my answers will help you. So you can rest.”

this is so cunt, I love it

Upon closer inspection, his eyes were more than just blue. They were dark and light, deep and shallow. Blue so far down it was nearly black. A blue so bright it was a cousin of white. Eyes you were sure would haunt you. 

THE HUNTER ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE COIN… 😩

“Help me then, Autumn.” Your brows rose at the request. He leaned back and away from you, “Just tell me what happened to Tommy. What your guy did. If he was trying to protect your name then we could find a sympathetic jury.”

DON’T MAKE ME THREATEN YOU KENNETH

Brady felt a twitch in his hands he wasn’t used to. An itch to move. Unlike him, and a little frightening. 

DAMNNN HE WANTS TO HIT A LADY…

Those eyes. No, worse. What was behind them. You could see it clearly; unflappable determination. He absolutely would. 

SIGHHH… the hunter on the other side of the coin 😔

“Autumn. I’ve seen enough make up covered bruises to clock em from across the room. That’s the act of a possessive, immature man. Just think about what I said,” You opened the door in an effort to keep your hands from shooting to your neck. “There’s no white picket fence or church bells for you two. He’s a bad man. I think he may even be an evil man. You’re gonna end up hurt, or dead.”

KENNETH FUCKING KILLJOY EVERYONE

“North Villere street and Piety, please.” He told the driver, not noticing his friend in the window.

I’M GONNA NEED HIS FRIEND TO ACTUALLY LISTEN TO ME WHEN I SAY STOP THIS TIME

His blood pressure rose so quickly he was sure he would black out as the cab turned around and drove back past the sign; Vincent DePaul cemetery.

honestly detective, did you think it was gonna be residential with the cross section PIETY??

Alastor kissed away the worries when he took your bag from you. Every detail of the interview was just hummed away. “Even if he finds me, without a body he has no case.” He reminded you like it was nothing short of fact.

BABE I LOVE YOU BUT I NEED YOU TO MAYBE NOT BE THIS BLASÉ

“Not one of mine, I can assure you. He’d sooner need to kill someone himself and call it my fault.” A pause, was that something the detective would do? He shook off the thought. 

KENNETH MIGHT

You waited until you were a few drinks in, Alastor’s bowtie off and shirt unbuttoned several buttons before bringing it up.

SEVERAL BUTTONS?? SCANDALOUS

Leaning back on both hands for support, your legs rested in an unladylike spread down the porch stairs. No shoes. No girdle. No pretense.

COMFORTABLE 🥺💖

“Or was I stalking you as my next victim?” His head fell to the side, eyes closed and smile wide. “I saw you there, yes. And though you weren’t the best singer, I did enjoy your shows.”

AGAIN… I SEE HIM TOO WELL AND IT’S MAKING ME VERY NOT NORMAL

Your relief must have been visible. “He really got to you, didn’t he?” Alastor asked, leaning over and letting his shoulder bump into yours. He was still riding the high of putting away your belongings in his closet and drawers. 

SIR I ACTUALLY DON’T KNOW HOW MUCH MORE OF THIS I CAN TAKE

People have drowned on land before. A sprinkle could lead to pneumonia and that could lead to a wooden box. 

SIGGHHHH IT HURTS HERE

He couldn’t let Brady poison his bed, and the man was clearly there now. Chasing you in your mind still. 

BRADY = POISON IS TOO ACCURATE

“Perfect. This bed isn’t made for three, so let’s eject that little nag, dear.” His hands slipped down your legs, “I want to replace your thoughts with better ones.”

HE MIGHT ACTUALLY BE THE DEATH OF ME Y’ALL

“Whose?” His voice was deeper than his usual speaking tone. A tenor that made you clench around him.

I AM LITERALLY ON FIRE????

You’d never been so satisfied with hands before. With breath. With the sounds of a man. Never saw stars while clothed and not under the lights of the stage. Warm and wet kisses to your neck as you came down from your high, you’d never considered sex could be more than a man fucking someone. Nor that a man could find pleasure so readily with his cock still in his pants. But the way he hummed and growled softly into your skin was proof of his good time. 

I LIKE… ACTUALLY CAN’T EVEN THINK STRAIGHT OH MY GODDD

You’d learned a lot from those progressively chillier nights at Alastor’s over the first week of your constant cohabitation. How much you liked waking up with someone just a reach away. How Alastor woke slowly, incapable of coherent speech for at least the first twenty minutes of his day. He’d stare and smile as his eyes blinked out of sync, rolling back occasionally as he fought the urge to fall back into sleep. Hair disheveled and soft.

FULLY BLACKED OUT SORRY Y’ALL I DON’T HAVE THE CAPACITY FOR WIT

A week without a peep, you were sure he had followed up with your mother and was probably steaming to get at you. But, for some reason or another, he hadn’t appeared again in the crowd of your shows. 

CUZ HE’S PROBABLY HUNTING… or I can’t help but think of worse case scenarios 🫠

Your eyes were on Alastor when his car pulled up to your building. When he kissed you, your hand scratched at the shorter hairs at the nape of his neck. Eyes closed, you could smell him and feel him so much clearer. Perhaps when you were old together you wouldn’t have to worry about your sight giving out, you thought. Because you’d always know it was him by the way his skin on yours lit you up. 

FUCK 🥲🫠💖

“That’s not a name that’s a fucking letter of the alphabet. Mama would smack the color of your cheeks if she heard you.”

I’M gonna smack the color off her cheeks — IMMEDIATE BAD VIBES

Your head fell. You could feel it coming. The gust of wind dragging the clouds slowly towards you. No, the storm wasn’t off course. It was just building momentum.

GOD 👏🏻 DAMN 👏🏻 IT

A Doe in Fall (Part 8)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 📍

Part 8 - Trust

Detective Brady is sharper than you initially thought, though Alastor is (seemingly) unfazed by the threat. While you both explore the idea of ‘home’ a familiar face shows up at your apartment.

「Warnings/Tags: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, Detective Brady exists a lot and maybe too much, fingering lol, phone calls, almost our first fight, stress, Disney mom rule, Ruth is pretty alright for now, Brenda」

forgot to tag you in the deleted scene for TRDFAHS

M👻D☠️N👽I😈

Your mother always said ‘Anger is your sword and shield’. So you postured yourself as someone mad. One hip out, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

“Sir I don’t appreciate a man in a lady’s space.”

Brady bit his tongue, wanting to say something sharp.

 I don’t see any ladies here.

 He met the glares of the women behind you. “Ah, well-,”

“Do you really expect her to leave in her robe?”

“Aren’t you the man whose been stalking her?”

“Autumn I’ll go with you.”

“You want her to get into a strange man’s car?”

He felt like a fox about to be pecked to death by the hens.

“Now-! Alright I’m seeing I maybe,” he set your shoes down and slid past you and between the other performers, “got a little eager to speak to you.”

“Does Janet know you like to hang around burlesquers?” Someone said as his back was turned.

Like having ice water poured over his head, his shoulders tensed as did his tone. “I’ll be right out the door.”

You tried to hide the tremble in your hands, but failed. Ruth slid beside you, “What do you need?”

A phone. But the cord wouldn’t reach that far. You wanted to tell Alastor. You needed him to know that detective had you cornered and knew of his existence.

“Could you stay with me? I’m not going anywhere. But I’ll feel safer if I’m not talking to him alone. In case he tries to drag me out. He seems a little off his rocker.” You were genuinely scared he would grab you by the arm and pull you out of the theater if he didn’t think anyone would see. 

She patted your back, the others filing in to continue with their work of getting dressed and undressed. You took your time, trying to plan what you would say.

Brady felt an embarrassed blush take hold as the women moved past him with scowls and tsks. He could feel a little bit of his sanity slip back now that you were in front of him. 

“I have some questions about Tommy. I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks. We can head down now.”

Oddly, your mother also taught you, ‘You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.’ 

She didn’t always make a lot of sense, contradicting herself daily. 

Time to use the tried and true tactic, “I am sorry, detective. I had some trouble recently and have been keeping to myself… going home as soon as possible. Just trying to keep my nose clean. So to speak.”

Brady watched you look up at him with a face his daughter often gave him when she was in trouble. But you weren’t a child and you surely weren’t his daughter. “That’s no excuse to dodge me.”

Your turn to bite your tongue, “Of course, sir.”

Ruth was… confused. She’d never seen you so obedient. You had more venom in your voice after taking a hit from Tommy knowing a third could be close behind. Why were you being so small?

“Are you ready to go?” He fished in his pocket for his car door keys. 

Ruth felt the need to interject, “She’s not going anywhere.”

Perfect.

You nodded, “I won’t be out at night, sir. You know better than most about the dangers.” Your dangers. Your darling Alastor.

“No, no no,” an unhinged chuckle from the fraying detective, “You’re not slipping away again. I have my car, I’ll take you there and bring you home.”

Ruth looked to you, then back to the detective, “Is she under arrest?”

Brady rolled his eyes, “Of course not.”

“Then? What gives you the right?”

Technically, nothing. He didn’t need to talk to you. His lead still stood. But maybe you’d slip and say something to expedite his search for the radio man. Maybe this would only end with Tommy. But he felt something tickling the back of his skull. An urge to not stop pushing.

“I’ll meet you at the station tomorrow morning. Is it the address on the card you gave me?” Maybe you would, maybe you wouldn’t. You just needed him gone so you could call Alastor. 

He was shaking his notebook, key looped onto his finger. A nervous habit. “You still have my card?”

A smile, “Of course. In case any news came up. I’d have called but I didn’t realize you were so worked up.”

He scoffed. He wasn’t worked up. He was just annoyed. Maybe a little rougher in demeanor than usual but whose fault was that?

“If you don’t turn up tomorrow-,”

Ruth, taller than most women and some men and wide at the shoulders, leaned in.

Brady’s eyeline adjusted from yours to Ruth’s. Skye Scraper wasn’t just a pun, it was a cruel nickname she took ownership of. “Finish that sentence.”

The conversation ended there, Brady leaving with a huff.

You’d memorized the number the night Alastor gave it to you, too scared to write it down. He warned you though he wouldn’t be the one to answer.

“Is Alastor still there?” You tried to smile so you sounded less panicked. Ruth mouthed his name and pretended to swoon as you held the phone close to your ear. 

“Uhh depends, who is this?” Brenda answered, a voice you’d never heard but a woman Alastor had primed you for. 

“….”, but why hadn’t you thought through this part, what name was safe? Which was recognizable? You didn’t like the idea of this woman knowing your name. “Tell him it’s Autumn.”

“….” 

You laughed at Ruth, waiting still for a reply from Brenda, “Hello?”

“Is this a crank? Autumn like the season? I-,” a commotion, “Hey there! No. I don’t know. Well it’s past hours anywa-.”

Alastor was lying across Brenda’s desk to reach the phone, having wrestled it from the woman’s grip, “I’m here. What’s wrong? I was about to leave.”

“I’ll walk home tonight.” It hurt, physically hurt, to say it.

Alastor tried to keep his face neutral, “Oh.” Nervous fingers twirling the cord, “One second.” 

Harsh whispers, some clicks, and he was back, “I’m in my office. What happened?”

“Yeah Ruth is with me. It’s okay. I’ll call you like normal tomorrow?” 

“Should I swing by your apartment?” He considered doing it regardless of your answer.

“Ah, no. I wouldn’t recommend it. I’ll be heading to the police station early tomorrow so I’ll be asleep as soon as I’m flat.” Putting your hand over the receiver, you spoke to Ruth, “Thank you, we got it figured out.”

His heart sank to his stomach, “Did he finally manage to catch you?”

“Yeah. Or—-,” your voice cracked a little, the fear rolling in as soon as Ruth walked away, “Yeah.”

“I’m coming over to the theater.”

Cupping the phone you curved your shoulders in and turned away from the staff milling about, “Don’t, that’s worse.” Tears stung your eyes. You felt like you’d failed him. You had somehow, hadn’t you? The loose thread Brady could grab ahold of was you.

“If you can’t come to the alley I’ll leave after a couple minutes. But I’ll be there in twenty, same time as our normal pick up.”

“Alastor, that’s reckless.”

“Please, dear, I don’t want our first fight to be over my work line.” A calming breath, “You don’t have to meet me, but I’ll be there. Just five minutes, then I’ll be off.”

You decided the safest thing to do was to wait in the alley. If you saw any signs of Brady or anyone coming out, you’d go back inside and just miss the meeting. But the idea of Alastor being just beyond the wall, waiting all alone, was too much.

But how much harder would it be if the wall was of the prison? Or worse, dense earth under your feet? That’s what Brady was wanting. 

You hadn’t realized you’d been chewing your nails until his car turned down the alley from the back and you tore off much of the length of your thumbnail.

Your arms were thrown around him before he was fully out of the car, “Alastor, he knows I have a guy. He wanted me to go down right now but I managed to push it to tomorrow.” Alastor tried to decipher the words as you spoke them into his vest, “What do I do?”

Normally you’d have your own plans in mind but this was too big, this was capable of hurting him more than anyone else. 

He smelled like ink and smoke, a scent you inhaled as you tried to calm your breath.

A large hand patted your head, “Okay. You go tomorrow. It’ll be fine. Don’t stress.” Pulling you off he placed chaste kisses across your face. “Think about what you want to say to him and we can talk it out in the morning. Everything is fine.”

The reality of you standing in a dirty alley crying into the arms of a murderer set in. Then the little detail you were both killers creeped over your chest and took hold of your throat.

He was impressed at the strength of your hands as you gripped at his clothes. Leaning against the car, he offered you his most charming smile.

“Deep breaths, dear. Do I look scared?”

He didn’t. He looked like a magazine ad for French cologne or razor blades that left the softest skin. 

“No.” You shook your head.

“No.” He nodded. “It’ll be okay. If you don’t go, he will hound you worse. If you do go, maybe he’ll realize he’s got a handful of nothing.”

His smile blinded you. Bright grin as he rested against his car, arms open. 

“Do you really think so? A handful of nothing?”

“Did he say my name?”

“No.”

“Did he–” he elongated the word, lips pursed as he searched the sky for his next words, “have Tommy’s body?”

You laughed, morbid but preposterous, “I didn’t pat him down. Coulda.” 

Alastor snapped his fingers, “We’ll have to just assume he didn’t.” A moment of tension. The act of joking barely traversing the space between your bodies let alone reaching the stress under your skin. His hands came to your shoulders; firm, secure. “Did you want to have that fight now? About me coming over here.”

You rolled your eyes, obviously not. “Ala-,” you started and stopped.

“I’ll admit I’m being reckless but I think we can both agree my way is more fun.” Smile sliding into a smirk, he cocked his head and lowered it to get back into your line of sight. When you stuck your tongue out he took a deep breath in, relief. “Are you sure I can’t take you home?”

To which home, you wondered. He used the word so casually and interchangeably…

Face close to yours. Eyes solely on you. Perhaps the stage wasn’t as necessary as you’d once thought. Lips on lips, the feeling of his smile spreading as he returned the kiss. A second of panic as you realized you couldn’t see or hear or sense what else was happening anymore in the alley. Brady could have had you in handcuffs and you wouldn’t be the wiser. Not as long as Alastor’s mouth was moving over yours.

“I’ll call in the morning.” He said into your exhale.

You hadn’t opened your eyes yet. Not ready to return to earth. A pout from you. A chuckle from him. “I’ll be waiting,” You finally said. 

While you did your waiting, shuffling around the theater and later tossing around in bed, Alastor fell into a different kind of purgatory.

One he hadn’t realized he’d made for himself until you weren’t there. 

The house was quiet, almost eerie. Even with music on he found himself nearly uncomfortable. He shifted several times in his chair while reading, not finding any way to settle in. 

His bed was lopsided. Suddenly one side was too light. Multiple times his hand slid under the sheets in search of you out of habit. 

What a terrible feeling; to want someone. To know you could have them but they just… weren’t there.

It didn't make any sense. He knew he’d see you soon, in less than a day's time even. He typically enjoyed his home and its silence. Being alone was predictable and therefore comforting. Well, it had been. Before you. 

The feeling in his chest, akin to a magnet tugging through his sternum toward a distant partner, didn’t abate.

Only when he heard your voice again over the phone did he find a sliver of peace.

“I’ve decided I’ll deny I have a guy. And, I’ll never tell him about you. It’s safer if he never connects us.”

Alastor was listening, honestly, but he wasn’t really processing. His mind was worried about something else. The detective genuinely didn’t bother him but he had to agree, “I suppose that’s best. As long as we can manage it, to not let him know we’re together.”

Together.

You were together with him. An item. How spectacular you must be to be a part of anything with him.

But for how long? With a certain detective breathing down your neck…, “I’m scared. Actually.”

You could hear the smile in Alastor’s breath, it was odd but eased you. 

“He will never have enough to convict us. He’ll drive himself crazy trying. Trust me.” He soothed. 

Did you have any choice? “Okay. You’re right. I trust you.” Unequivocally so. 

He cleared his throat, “Sorry to change the subject…”

“Please.”

“I want you to come over again tonight. What do you think?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course, don’t even need to ask. I’ll always say yes.” All you needed to do was get through Brady and you’d be home.

But for Alastor, well, he wasn’t done asking the question. A moment of panic from a place unrecognized in his brain, fear of losing himself entirely. But what good was a safe harbor if he never ventured out to sea? That’s just a restraint then, isn’t it? 

Maybe you held a place for him even richer in its comforts than his solitude.

So he let himself drift away from familiar shores, no sails and no compass, “I think it’d be smart to bring over a couple sets of clothes. I can keep them washed and always here for you. Would that be alright?” He had wanted to suggest it while together, but Brady was ruining more than his sleep.

Oh.

The same silence from when he first extended the invitation, the deja vu not lost on you. You struggled to decipher the second meaning you were sure was there. Maybe he didn't know what he had asked. 

“I know it’s boring out in the boonies but, you’re welcome to just stay over while I go to work. I can come back and get you for rehearsals… I’ll enjoy the clubs or come back and make something for a late dinner for us, and bring you home when you’re done.”

He said it. He hadn’t really meant to, so he felt the need to clarify, but you also needed him to clarify just as quickly, “I -,”

“Did you me-?”

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“No I interrupted you-,”

“Not at all pl-,”

“Alastor for the love of God please don’t make me keep talking right now.” You lightly knocked your head with the phone a few times. Your heart was gasping for an ounce of understanding.

He chuckled, glad you were still very much yourself, “I meant, take you home as in, away from work. So, here. Or, there, if you’d prefer.” His face scrunched up, this wasn’t a conversation he had any practice in, “Anywhere really. I’ll drive you anywhere.”

“Alabama?”

He looked at the phone as if you were in it. Alabama? 

“Like— the first time you asked me over.” You added quickly. A terrible joke, a bad callback that made it painfully obvious you committed everything he said to memory.

Alastor rested his cheek on the dining table, laughing into the wood before bringing the receiver back. You always offered him an out of uncomfortable situations, “Well the offer still stands. I'd be willing to even venture at least halfway across Texas.” 

“The best half of Texas is on our side so that’s a generous offer. But, given our work schedules, I think your house would be much better. Time wise.” 

He let his eyes close as he felt the coldness of the wood, “Is that a yes then? To bringing over a couple of items… for ease.” Was it a mistake? Would he regret it? 

You were worth regrets. He had decided. He wanted you to say yes.

The weight of what he was asking wasn’t lost on you an ounce. You could see your window from the phone booth. You took great pride in your little apartment. It was your space and no one else’s. As a child you struggled to have your own anything, so you valued your home. 

But could you call any place so far from Alastor a home?

It’s just a few items. You weren’t giving up your lease. It’s a baby step. One you could easily walk back if you needed to later. It’s not like you hadn’t spent every night possible already since that first offer.

“Yes.” 

It was a plan that took your mind off cops. Have your interrogation, go home, then go home for a relaxing evening of jazz and drink.

The levity ended though the second you hung up the receiver. An obstacle between you and him still stood. You pulled out your bag but couldn’t find the will to pack it. Your hands were too busy as you chewed on your thumbnail again.

Brady noticed the uneven length when you sat down and set your hands on the table.

“Surprised you showed.” He opened his notebook and readied his pencil. “First things first, what is your legal name?”

A chill. You’d gotten your warning the night before to prepare something to say but ignored it. Your mind was flipping through words and images. Piercing all of it were the white reflective eyes of the deer along the road. You decided to lean into what you knew. 

“Autumn.”

“Really? Never heard the name Autumn before.”

“Me either. Made for an easy stage name.”

“I’ll need to see your birth records, just to be sure.”

You sucked your teeth. “Ah, unfortunately…all that stuff was left behind with my mom when I moved.”

“And where can I find her?

“Corner of North Villere street and Piety.”

“And your address?”

You paused. His eyes rose and met yours. The radiant aqua from the cafe morning was now an icy color. “I don’t give my address out. You know where I work.”

“But you’re fine giving me your mother’s address? That’s cold.”

“Not as cold as she is, I’m sure of that.”

“Fine, I’ll find it in the census records.” He flipped the page, “Tell me about the dates Tommy arranged.” He tapped his notepad on the table like it was the starting bell of a fight.

You wished Alastor was with you, but also wished he would never enter that station. “Apparently many of the dancers agreed, got a cut. I had no idea about it until he,” you remembered the man and his ugly tie, “introduced me to a man who was very forward. I insulted him and ran off. Lost Tommy good money, apparently.”

“And who was that?”

You searched your memory, “S something. Mister Stein? I honestly wasn’t listening much after I realized what was happening.”

Brady nodded, “And then he knocked you around?”

You winced without meaning too, “Yeah. Got me good.”

Brady waited for you to continue talking, but you had learned this game. People know silence is uncomfortable and will use that against you. So you let the silence stay. Let the awkward tension build. You had limited time, he knew that.

He caved first. “And… the next date. Last time anyone saw Tommy. Tell me about that.”

Lying was second nature to you. You had killed for Alastor. You could do this. Deep breaths, slink into yourself. You imagined Alastor choked on the park grounds, wet and unmoving. Imagined him cold to the touch.

“Tommy said he’d kill me if I didn’t go. So I did. Promised me he’d stay with me for protection.” Tears welled. Bloody hands and a large rock. “But as soon as he got his money he left.” 

Brady was writing, “And the man? What was his name.”

“Something foreign. Kerr-something. Or Car?”

He looked up slightly, “You’re pretty terrible at names.”

You wiped away your tears, “I had more pressing concerns at the time than trying to remember that man’s name. I was hoping I’d never need to know it.”

Brady hummed, “Yeah. And what did your beau think of this?”

Did you hide it? The flash of panic that rolled under the flesh of your face, “If I had a beau Tommy wouldn’t have made me do that. He said that himself.”

“Too bad he’s not here to confirm.”

“If he was we wouldn’t be having this conversation, detective.”

“Touché. Clever little lady aren’t you?”

Fuck.

You shifted slightly in your seat, looking downward in an attempt at being bashful. “That’s kind to say.”

“So why did,” he flipped through his book, “Beth say you stopped singin’ on Sundays cuz of your radio boyfriend?”

“Ah,” a weak laugh to hide the way your breath got sucked in with panic. The words ‘radio boyfriend’ punched the air from your lungs. “You must mean the rake. Took me for a ride at a club corner and sent me off in a cab to never see me again. Didn’t know he was in radio though.” 

“Well now you’re lying and I don’t appreciate it one ounce ma’am.“

“What?”

“Beth says he’s been coming to your shows for nearly half a year.”

No acting necessary for this part. “What are you talking about? I met him at a club. We arranged a date and he picked me up at—“

“Beth’s dive.”

“…. Yeah. Well.” He’d been there before? So often? And you never noticed…, “That’s news to me, that he had been there for so long, it’s got its regulars though so...” You shifted again, this time with a clear uncomfortable edge. 

“He stopped coming when you stopped singing.”

“….guess he got what he wanted then. A fun time in the swing hall bathroom.”  Anger. Unreal and unfounded. Trying your best to hide how confused you were.

“Sounds like a stalker, miss. Maybe one who woulda been quite unhappy to hear you were selli-,”

You cut him off, eyes snapping up to meet his, “I really recommend you reconsider your wording.”

Brady laughed with a huff, “A man dizzy with a dame can do some funny stuff. Especially if he hears she’s in a pickle.”

“Well, no knight coming to rescue me. I’ve sworn off men. It’s why I’ve been leaving work early. Getting home, reading, sleeping. He really did a number on my heart and my pride as a woman.”

Brady’s pencil stopped moving. 

“And his name?”

You’d never fucking say it. He could walk in on you moaning ‘Alastor’ and you’d still act like you’d never heard that string of syllables in your life. 

“John.”

Brady laughed and tossed the pencil to the table, “Let me guess, last name Doe?”

You shrugged, “We weren’t on a full name basis. He was handsome, he took me out, we fucked, I never saw him again” You delighted in the way his face screwed up at your unladylike language. 

“So, someone in radio named John. You know I’m going to be at every broadcaster talking to every John, right?” The nervous shaking of his notebook again. 

“When you find him let me know.”

“Oh I will.” He said it so quickly, so sharply you could feel it cut at your cheek as the words flew past you.

You pulled your hands into your lap, eyes firmly locked on Brady’s. “You look tired, sir. I hope my answers will help you. So you can rest.”

“I am tired. Of people jerking me around. You won’t give me your address, you don’t remember anyone’s name, not even your own, and you deny having a man I know you have.”

If you screamed would he have you committed? “I’m terribly sorry,” you leaned over the table and pulled a piece of fuzz off his shoulder, “my friend gave you inaccurate and dated information. I am genuinely trying to help as much as I can.”

Upon closer inspection, his eyes were more than just blue. They were dark and light, deep and shallow. Blue so far down it was nearly black. A blue so bright it was a cousin of white. Eyes you were sure would haunt you. 

“Help me then, Autumn.” Your brows rose at the request. He leaned back and away from you, “Just tell me what happened to Tommy. What your guy did. If he was trying to protect your name then we could find a sympathetic jury.”

Sympathy? Your smile was too wide, stare gone too soft. What sympathy did he have or would anyone have for you? Did he think you wanted the tender hearts of strangers? “Tommy ran off with a bag of money. He was a good man with a bad habit. That’s all I know. I have no partner, man or otherwise.”

A standstill. 

Brady felt a twitch in his hands he wasn’t used to. An itch to move. Unlike him, and a little frightening. 

Maybe he had been running himself ragged. 

Back sliding down slightly in his chair, he laced his fingers and rested them in his lap, “You know I’m gonna find out what happened, right?” His tone had shifted to something serious and calm. He said it like he was telling you a secret. Low but firm. Steady and sure. 

Those eyes. No, worse. What was behind them. You could see it clearly; unflappable determination. He absolutely would. 

“I trust you will.” A moment of silence again as you both felt the conversation die. As you stood, Brady did too.

“I wasn’t bluffing about him going to Beth’s for more than half a year now. I don’t know how you think this is gonna end but it won’t end pretty. Whether it was just your boss or all the others on my desk, end it with him and help us bring Tommy home to his mother.”

You adjusted your purse on your shoulder, “I don’t know how many time-,”

“Autumn. I’ve seen enough make up covered bruises to clock em from across the room. That’s the act of a possessive, immature man. Just think about what I said,” You opened the door in an effort to keep your hands from shooting to your neck. “There’s no white picket fence or church bells for you two. He’s a bad man. I think he may even be an evil man. You’re gonna end up hurt, or dead.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest but you managed to stifle it. With an honest smile you replied, “We’re all gonna end up dead someday, Detective. I’ll call if I have any news. Thanks for your concern and … evident hard work.” You offered a little nod of your head before leaving the room and the station as quickly as you could without running. 

When he set down his notebook after returning to his desk, he couldn’t sit. Energy was buzzing in his limbs. He needed to run or swing or pace.

His desk neighbor watched him immediately pick up the notebook again and grab his hat. A few other men shared a glance as Brady rushed out, an unsettling feeling passed among them. 

“He’s still on that case?” One asked quietly, going back to his papers.

“Not officially….” Answered Freeman, standing at the window and watching Brady flag down a taxi.

“North Villere street and Piety, please.” He told the driver, not noticing his friend in the window.

It wasn’t near the station, nor the dance scene. He wondered if your mother would be any more amiable. What kind of woman would raise such a creature as you?

When the car slowed, Brady clicked back into his surroundings. He looked through every window hoping to see something different.

After a long pause the cabbie asked, “Ya gonna get out?”

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the seat. “No. Take me back to the station.”

His blood pressure rose so quickly he was sure he would black out as the cab turned around and drove back past the sign; Vincent DePaul cemetery.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Alastor kissed away the worries when he took your bag from you. Every detail of the interview was just hummed away. “Even if he finds me, without a body he has no case.” He reminded you like it was nothing short of fact.

“What if he gets one?”

“Not one of mine, I can assure you. He’d sooner need to kill someone himself and call it my fault.” A pause, was that something the detective would do? He shook off the thought. 

He was so confident that even though you knew it was just skin deep it still gave you a sense of calm. The bodies, where they went after he was done with them in the greenhouse, was the last step he hadn’t shared with you.

There was one thing you didn’t mention about the interrogation. 

You waited until you were a few drinks in, Alastor’s bowtie off and shirt unbuttoned several buttons before bringing it up. Uncharacteristically nervous about how he’d react when you broached the topic, you needed several deep breaths to get up your courage. Normally the idea of offending a man with an honest question wouldn’t ruffle you a bit, but once again there was nothing normal about you and Alastor. He made you so unlike yourself but not necessarily worse. Perhaps some consideration of other’s reactions wasn’t a bad thing. 

“This is awkward to ask.” It was dark already, the sun setting earlier and earlier. The buzz of the kitchen light could be heard through the screen door, the light just enough to let you see each other's features clearly. Leaning back on both hands for support, your legs rested in an unladylike spread down the porch stairs. No shoes. No girdle. No pretense.

Would he be mad? Or maybe offended?

“Brady said you had been going to my Sunday shows for awhile. Months before we actually met. Did you really meet me by coincidence?”

“Or was I stalking you as my next victim?” His head fell to the side, eyes closed and smile wide. “I saw you there, yes. And though you weren’t the best singer, I did enjoy your shows.”

You tried to see him without directly turning your head. 

“But yes, it was a coincidence. I had noticed that brute of a man a couple weeks in a row, staring at you so intensely. Word got around he had made a scene some time ago with a dancer.” 

You listened like someone was telling you your own story. It was an odd feeling, hearing someone recount your days from a different perspective. An unknown one. 

“I was surprised to see you at the theater when I followed him there. Even more so to see you in the alleyway.”

If he had said it wasn’t a coincidence, you genuinely didn’t know what you’d have done. You’d be scared and angry. Another predator lurking just past the tree lines.

Your relief must have been visible. “He really got to you, didn’t he?” Alastor asked, leaning over and letting his shoulder bump into yours. He was still riding the high of putting away your belongings in his closet and drawers. 

“Yeah. He gives me a bad feeling. Like…a brick wall barreling toward me.” You kicked a leaf off the steps, “Or like, when you see a big dark cloud on the horizon. Can’t do anything but wait and hunker down.”

How do you wait out a storm so set on burying you?

“Dear,” his hands rose and palms flipped up in a way that said he wasn’t hiding anything, “We get hurricanes annually. We’ve survived every one thus far. He’s just a drip. A sprinkle of a man.”

People have drowned on land before. A sprinkle could lead to pneumonia and that could lead to a wooden box. 

He tried to change the topic, laughing about Brenda’s reaction to the call and making plans for an evening out when things settled down again. You listened, but it was your turn to be half there. 

You could barely muster concern when you realized you’d forgotten your makeup and hair wrap at home when you were preparing for bed. What you would give for going home barefaced with a ruined hairdo to be the biggest stress of your week. 

The distance in your stare was weighing down his joy, how could he relish in the newest addition to his home when you were so burdened? Even in the moonless night he could see the faintest light reflecting off your eyes as you stared at the ceiling. Did you even feel his stare? 

He couldn’t let Brady poison his bed, and the man was clearly there now. Chasing you in your mind still. 

“Could I offer you a distraction?” Alastor slipped up against you, hand finding your hip. He could see your smile forming. 

“I wouldn’t argue against a distraction…,” you’d beg for one if you didn’t want to feel any lower than you already did. 

“Perfect. This bed isn’t made for three, so let’s eject that little nag, dear.” His hands slipped down your legs, “I want to replace your thoughts with better ones.” He pulled you to him, your back pressed into his broad chest. The way his soft hands smoothed over your silk slip felt like foreplay, so smooth and slick. Frictionless and gentle. Those same hands ran down and between your legs, following the line of your thighs until they found your center. “It seems you forgot something else.” Two fingers caressed your lower lips, barely parting them, “Not that I’m complaining…,” his lips found the back of your neck as his fingers rubbed gently at your core. 

It took so very little to get your body on board, wet and relaxed for his practiced hand. Your own fingers coming down to rub at your clit quickly when you felt your pleasure winding up. 

He sighed directly into the shell of your ear, hands working in tandem with yours under the covers. His back pressed against you, hips rolling into your backside in time with his fingers. 

“What are you thinking about?” Barely above a whisper as he said it into your heated skin.

“Fingers.”

“Whose?” His voice was deeper than his usual speaking tone. A tenor that made you clench around him.

“Yours.”

You’d never been so satisfied with hands before. With breath. With the sounds of a man. Never saw stars while clothed and not under the lights of the stage. Warm and wet kisses to your neck as you came down from your high, you’d never considered sex could be more than a man fucking someone. Nor that a man could find pleasure so readily with his cock still in his pants. But the way he hummed and growled softly into your skin was proof of his good time. 

You’d learned a lot from those progressively chillier nights at Alastor’s over the first week of your constant cohabitation. How much you liked waking up with someone just a reach away. How Alastor woke slowly, incapable of coherent speech for at least the first twenty minutes of his day. He’d stare and smile as his eyes blinked out of sync, rolling back occasionally as he fought the urge to fall back into sleep. Hair disheveled and soft.

When the weekend came, Alastor offered again to take you out. A promise to take you somewhere no detectives would be hiding about. A week without a peep, you were sure he had followed up with your mother and was probably steaming to get at you. But, for some reason or another, he hadn’t appeared again in the crowd of your shows. 

A week of going into work unmade and unkempt, you finally gave in and asked to be taken to your apartment early Friday. You’d grab a few items you needed, take them to work, and be back home that night. 

Your eyes were on Alastor when his car pulled up to your building. When he kissed you, your hand scratched at the shorter hairs at the nape of his neck. Eyes closed, you could smell him and feel him so much clearer. Perhaps when you were old together you wouldn’t have to worry about your sight giving out, you thought. Because you’d always know it was him by the way his skin on yours lit you up. 

“Pack something you’d like to wear out tomorrow night.” He reminded you before you pulled yourself from the car and waved him off. You lingered for a moment as he drove away, wondering if maybe the storm had been pushed off course.

“Oooh, who is he?”

Whipping around, you saw a familiar face sitting on the stoop of your building. An unwelcome one, though. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Mavis?” Your bag fell from your hands as the strength drained from your limbs.

She patted the dust off her dress before bouncing down the steps.  “The names Ephi now.” A half sister, though perhaps a quarter sister would be best to describe the often absentminded, when not literally absent, sibling. 

“That’s not a name that’s a fucking letter of the alphabet. Mama would smack the color of your cheeks if she heard you.” You were sure you’d not see her ever again, not after she ran off to head north before your mother passed. She scowled, arms crossed as you brushed past her. “I don’t have any money so you wasted a trip. See ya in another decade.”

Ephi grinned up at you as you climbed the stairs, “Looked like he had some money. Mr. Big Shot and his shiny bus.”

“Lotsa people have cars.” Your eyes landed on the suitcase poorly hidden behind the steps. Hand halting its search for the building key as you could feel the stare of your mother looking…down? A weight slipping over your shoulders like a man’s heavy winter coat.

“Well I don’t need money or cars. I need a place to crash.”

Your head fell. You could feel it coming. The gust of wind dragging the clouds slowly towards you. No, the storm wasn’t off course. It was just building momentum.

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei ,  @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog  , @poinappel l , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima a , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @rubyninja1 , @simphornies

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[ao3feed-brucewayne]

until you're in a thousand pieces on the floor

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/L2OalD5 by TinyTim888 Your student’s score of 28 indicates that he/she is a high-needs Little. Littles with Dunn-Hinton scores above 23 typically need to regress further and more frequently than other Littles to maintain their physical and emotional health. Please see the enclosed pamphlets for more information and resources to help you properly care for your student’s needs. Tim glanced at the pamphlets in question and flinched so badly that he dropped the whole stack on the floor at the sight of a towheaded teenage boy smiling up at the camera, hugging a stuffed rabbit to his fuzzy-pajama-clad chest. The top of the pamphlet read Caring for Your Little in a friendly, pastel font. You don’t want that, he scolded himself, stubbornly ignoring the mortifying wobble of his lower lip and the hollow ache in his chest as he gathered the papers off the carpet without looking at them. You’re not some pathetic baby; you’re a Drake, and Drakes aren’t Littles. Words: 4581, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Categories: Gen Characters: Tim Drake, Jack Drake, Janet Drake, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson Additional Tags: Non-Sexual Age Play, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Parents Jack and Janet Drake, Enemy to Caregiver, Emotionally Repressed, Insomnia, Nightmares, Bed-Wetting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Disordered Eating, Age Regression/De-Aging, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Touch-Starved, Child Neglect, Alternate Universe – Littles & Caregivers, Cuddling & Snuggling, Stuffed Toys, Canon Divergence - Jason Todd's Attack on Titans Tower read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/L2OalD5

[gogolucky13]

Little Bird [Two]

Summary: While home for summer break, you find yourself spending time with and falling for your neighbor, who also happens to be your dad’s best friend.

Pairing: dbf!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Word count: 2,708

Warnings: Pining. Mentions of marital problems and cheating. Age gap (reader is early 20s and Bucky is late 30s). Bucky being a little sad but sweet. (18+ only for the entire series).

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love on the first part! 🤗 A very special shout out to @sweeterthanthis for her endless support and letting me scream at her about my love for dbf Bucky. 😌 Divider by @firefly-graphics and gif found here. I am no longer doing tag lists, please follow @gogolucky13-library for updates. Happy reading! 💜

The next day is more of the same. A morning hike with your mom, another swim in the lake after lunch, then some time spent lounging in the old hammock in the backyard as you kill time before dinner with a book. Your dad and Bucky were up just before the sun to head out for a day long fishing trip, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t eager for them to get back.

Still in the hammock, your book now lays beside you. The story you were reading is forgotten, the two large oak trees you rest under enchanting you into their calming shade as you bask in your peaceful surroundings. But then, the sharp sound of crunching gravel slices through the tranquility, and your attention is quickly drawn to the driveway. The beating of your heart picks up when you spot Bucky climbing out of the car; excitement fluttering uncontrollably in your stomach when he gives you a smile.

You smile back, but it quickly fades when you remember your conversation with your mom at lunch, when she told you Janet—the woman from yesterday—and her sister would be coming over after dinner. Attempting to force out your disappointment, you take a deep breath and decide to head inside to get ready for tonight.

Under the stars later that evening, you sit with your parents and Bucky—along with Janet and her sister—down by the water as a fire blazes in the metal pit, warming and mesmerizing. Conversations float around you, but you’re far too distracted by the pair of steely blue eyes burning your skin hotter than the flames dancing before you.

Five. Five times now you’ve caught Bucky’s gaze set on you, your heart palpitating wildly each time as it threatens to burst from your chest and land amongst the coals. And when your eyes meet his, Bucky looks away; nonchalantly shifting his gaze as he takes a languid swig of his beer, completely unaware of the effect a simple look does to you.

It leaves you confused; wondering if it’s all in your head or if Bucky is just simply bored with the conversation Janet is attempting to engage him in, while you just happen to be in his direct line of sight. Regardless, the intensity his gaze holds has you fidgeting; squirming into a new position as you take a sip of your own beer in an attempt to calm your buzzing nerves and thrumming heartbeat.

“So, Y/n,” Janet’s sister, Marie, begins. Her voice drifts from your left and it pulls your attention in her direction. With the call of your name, though, you feel all eyes on you, including the set of bright azure ones that have been blazing through you all night. “What do you study at school?” She asks casually.

Clearing your throat, you shift uncomfortably in your chair at the sudden and unwanted attention now on you. “Journalism,” you reply with a tight lipped smile.

“Oh, how awesome!” Marie exclaims. “What are your plans after graduation?”

Slightly shrugging your shoulder, you briefly glance to the flickering fire to contemplate your ambivalent future. “Uh, I’m not entirely sure yet. I definitely see myself moving to the city at some point, though. Hopefully find some work with an editing company or something.”

“Well, that’s super cool,” she says. “I wish you all the best.”

Giving her a small smile, you softly reply your thanks. Then, before you can even stop yourself, your gaze flits towards Bucky. The corners of his full lips lift up into what you believe is the beginning of a proud smile, a friendly wink catching in the flames and sending your heart into overdrive.

Eventually, the conversations die down with the fire; the glowing embers extinguished into nothing more than a pile of cooling black rocks and a billow of smoke.

Now in the darkness of your room, you lay in bed, but sleep doesn’t come easy. With the lingering sensation of ocean blue eyes branded on your skin, and the looming reality of Monday morning creeping in, your mind is restless.

Suddenly, the shrill creak of the stairs easily catches your attention. On high alert, you listen intently to the sound of heavy footsteps descending to the floor below until they fade out of earshot. Muted sounds of a cabinet shutting and a chair dragging across hardwood barely reaches up to where you still lay in bed.

Several minutes pass before a nagging curiosity gets the better of you, coaxing you out of bed with a gentle tug. With a soft sigh, you rip the light sheet off your body and allow the pull of inquisitiveness to guide you downstairs.

You expect to find your mom, maybe even your dad, hanging in the kitchen when you reach the bottom of the stairs. They are somewhat notorious for waking in the middle of the night for a refreshing glass of water or to jot down a quick note of remembrance for something the next day. But you are caught off guard to find Bucky sitting alone in the dim light of the kitchen, head hung low with a half empty bottle of beer in hand.

Startled, you stand motionless in the shadows just outside the doorway, watching him in silence. A tight clench squeezes in your chest at the sight of him, slightly disheveled and obviously exhausted.

Heavy bags rest darkly under his eyes, a few frown lines etched around his mouth as he sits with a subtle scowl on his face. A crease digs deeply across his brow, a look of serious contemplation coloring his still gorgeous features.

The longer your presence goes unnoticed by Bucky, guilt begins to ripple within you; an oppressive amount that has you feeling shameful for spying on such a private moment. Taking a step back, you force yourself to go and leave him be. However, a deep groan of the hardwood gives you away, announcing your presence before you have the chance to retreat silently back into the darkness.

Instantly, a bright azure stare finds your figure in the shadows. “Spying on me, little bird?” Bucky softly teases with a smirk.

The pounding of your panicked heart thuds deafeningly in your ears. “Oh, uh no, I uh…” your tongue feels too big for your mouth, catching and knotting into itself as you attempt to stammer out a response. Embarrassment heats your body to an uncomfortable amount at the fact you’ve been caught.

“I’m joking, y/n,” he chuckles. “Join me?”

The invitation does little to soothe your nerves, but it’s a start. Releasing a breath, you nod and allow timid steps to carry you to the chair across from Bucky.

“Beer?” He offers, quickly downing the remainder of his before standing.

“Sure,” you reply, watching him intently as he opens the fridge and retrieves two umber colored glass bottles.

As Bucky sits back down in front of you, he slides one of the beers across the table and you quickly catch it, the glass cold against your palm.

“So, how’s school?” He casually asks, taking a sip of his drink.

You watch in a mild daze the way his lips curl around the mouth of the bottle, bottom lip shining in the dull glow of the overhead oven light as he swipes his tongue over it. When he arches an eyebrow at you in question, you awkwardly clear your throat to respond.

“It’s good,” you reply evenly, quickly bringing the beer to your mouth to gulp some of it down.

Bucky hums, nodding in understanding as he drops his gaze to the label on the bottle, his thumb scratching mindlessly at the corner of it.

Gently chewing on your bottom lip, you realize you should probably ask him a question now, and briefly glance around the dated kitchen as you muster up the courage to ask him what you’ve been curious about these past few months.

“How’s Dot?”

The question draws a sardonic snort that bleeds into a chuckle from Bucky; his tongue poking through the hollow of his cheek as he shakes his head in disappointment. Before he answers, he takes a long drink of his beer.

“We, uh, we separated at the end of last year,” Bucky sniffs, eyes still fixated on the deteriorating label in his hands.

Although you aren’t entirely surprised by it, it’s still somewhat surprising to finally hear it confirmed out loud. “Oh,” you softly say. “I’m sorry to hear that.” You find it difficult to keep your gaze on him and drop it to the various wood patterns in the table, a small flurry of embarrassment warming your skin.

“Don’t be,” he states. “It was a long time coming.”

At his words, you manage to glance back up to him, but his attention remains elsewhere. As you attempt to gather your thoughts and find something else to say, Bucky breaks the short moment of awkward silence with a heavy sigh.

“It’s just,” he begins, scraping his teeth over his bottom lip, “we weren’t getting along anymore. Although, if I really think about it, I’m not sure we ever really did get along. We were high school sweethearts and we had been together for so long, I think we just thought getting married was what we were supposed to do. Then we just got complacent.”

He’s divulging a lot, and the slight shine of red in his eyes tells you he’s most likely drunk; lips and tongue a lot looser with the flow of alcohol in his veins.

Dot was alright. She was always cordial and kind to you and your family, but you were never too fond of her. For as long as you’ve known him, Bucky has always been a bit more reserved—expressing himself mostly through looks and actions—whereas you just always knew when Dot was around. Loud, slightly obnoxious, she enjoyed being center of attention. You wondered if that’s what drew her and Bucky together; the whole opposites attract thing.

Of course you had to tolerate her for the sake of being a part of group events, but it didn’t stop you from forming your own opinion on the woman. There were times you’d catch a snide comment or jab that was supposedly intended to be lighthearted directed at Bucky, which never sat well with you. In the moment, he’d laugh it off and attempt to shift the focus, but you could see the hurt lingering in his eyes. It always made your heart squeeze just the slightest for him then, and now.

“She cheated on me.”

A quiet gasp escapes you at the confession. There’s a blend of white noise that fills the quiet space—the low hum of the refrigerator, the faint ticking of the clock in the living room—yet you’re certain it isn’t enough to drown out the sound of your heart shattering for the kind man before you.

“Bucky, I…I’m so sorry,” you say, brow crinkling in sadness and indignation. “I don’t…I don’t know what to say.”

Finally, Bucky glances up, giving you a tired look complete with a forlorn smile. “You don’t have to say anything, little bird.”

He holds your stare, cerulean eyes piercing straight into your soul, and suddenly, you’re unable to move. The room around you seems to shift, spinning slightly off axis as your mind becomes fuzzy with an onslaught of confusing emotions, because in the depths of mesmerizing blues, you think Bucky can feel it, too.

But then, a sharp, loud cough breaks you from your reverie, and you’re blinking away the fog in your head to see Bucky has dropped your gaze once again. He’s taking another long swig of his beer, and even in the low yellow light, the cut of his jaw is still prominent.

Once he swallows down the amber liquid, clearing his throat, Bucky softly speaks. “Sorry to, uh…dump all of that on you.”

“No!” You quietly exclaim, mindful that your parents are still sleeping on the floor above. “No, don’t be. I’m sorry for intruding on…whatever this was.” You force a laugh, and Bucky snorts. Pinching your lips together, you decide it’s only fair to return the man’s honesty. “There is something, though, I kind of lied about…”

Your voice trails and the implication of your words draws Bucky’s attention back to you. He fixes you with an expectant look as he waits for you to continue.

“I kind of, sort of failed a class this past semester,” you state. “So when I said school was going well, that was a lie.”

Gradually, Bucky’s face splits into a bright smile, a genuine laugh resounding around the room. Its effects are contagious and you find yourself giggling with him.

“I’m glad that’s so amusing to you,” you tease with a playful eye roll.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Bucky chuckles, his voice sounding light for the first time since you joined him. “I just wasn’t expecting that. I thought you were gonna say…I dunno, that you got arrested or something.”

You scoff in mock offense. “Thanks for thinking so highly of me.”

The smile on Bucky’s face only drops for a moment, conviction evident in his tone and eyes when he responds, “I think very highly of you, little bird.”

Pausing, your body is once again bathed in a bashful heat as your heart stutters in its bony cage, completely overtaken by the simple phrase. On the surface, it’s nothing more than a reassurance, but you choose to read between the lines; to find what is quite possibly a projection of your longing desire in the breaks between his words.

You think you find it—if only for a brief moment—when his bright blue eyes flash with what appears to be an honest sincerity; as if he’s making a silent declaration, and it becomes more than what you were expecting. In an attempt to regain your composure, you clear your throat and drop his gaze, bringing your beer to your lips.

“So what was the class?”

“Probs and stats.”

“You’re joking,” Bucky chortles.

“Nope.” You sigh before adding, “I’m taking a remediation course over the summer in hopes to bring my GPA back up.”

“Do your parents know?”

You shake your head. “No, I was hoping to just take the course and fix everything without them knowing, but…”

“But what?”

“But I suck at probs and stats,” you confess with a forced laugh.

The tip of Bucky’s tongue glides across his upper teeth as he seems to contemplate something, his lip bulging out as a result. His stare is unwavering—intense and full of something you can’t quite place—and you begin to feel on edge again until he finally speaks.

“I could help you.”

The proposal catches you off guard, and you let out an awkward chuckle in disbelief. “What?”

“Yeah, I could help you. Probs and stats is basically my whole job,” Bucky responds. “It’s an online class, right?”

You nod.

“Alright, well I’m working from home most days this summer, you can just come over and we can go over the lessons together.”

“Is this a joke? Are you being serious?”

Bucky laughs at your skepticism. “I’m being serious.”

Gently, you nibble on the inside of your cheek as you consider the offer. In theory, you have nothing to lose by accepting, and everything to gain by getting the assistance from him.

As he waits, Bucky’s brows raise in anticipation. “So? What do you say, little bird?” Then, he leans forward, elbow resting on the table as he holds out an empty hand for you to take. “Are you gonna let me help you?”

Biting back a smile, you nod. “Alright.”

You reach over the table to accept his hand, gently wrapping your fingers around it. The touch is a juxtaposition of tenderness and strength, and as he brings his fingertips to the back of your palm, there is no denying the pleasant sting that tingles up your arm and consumes your entire body. Then, as he releases your hand, there’s an exchange of knowing looks, and suddenly, you aren’t so put off by the prospect of Monday morning.

[quindolyn]

hi can i request the maurauders going to see the reader do a musical like heathers or mean girls and they are just confused and turned on bc they didn't expect it to be this dirty (can lead to smut or not). luv you and hope you are taking care of yourself, if not go get something to eat, drink some water, take a nap, or do somthing you enjoy. or dont not trying to be pushy :)

Creature of the Night || Poly!Marauders

Word Count: 3029 (excluding song lyrics)

A/N: I think I liked how this turned out? I didn’t make it smut but it’s certainly suggestive, I went with Rocky Horror, I know that the musicals mentioned in the request are more modern but I fucking love Rocky Horror and I think it works with the request. When I first read this request I smiled so much because I love live theater, I don’t perform as much as I used to because as I progress with my education I’m focusing more on the stuff I can use to pad my resumes for college and stuff but I still love going to see productions. One of the worst parts of the pandemic for me has been not being able to go see shows, I miss it so much.

Warnings: theatre enthusiast reader, erections, suggestive material, song lyrics, slight teasing, wearing very little clothing in front of an audience, I believe that that is it

Masterlist

500 follower celebration

antici-

The magic of the stage was second to none. Sure, Hogwarts may have had witches and wizards, subjects like Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts, and ghosts that spent their time meandering about the halls but there was always a part of you that looked forward to the summer between your years at Hogwarts. Because no matter how magical Hogwarts was, the theater always made you feel completely and utterly alive. 

Every summer since the one after your first year at what all of your muggle friends thought to be a very prestigious boarding school up in Scotland, you’d taken part in your local youth theater’s productions. Your parents both being muggles thought that it would be a great way for you to be able to stay in touch with your muggle origins. 

The first year you’d been far too nervous to actually audition for a role, the very thought causing bile to churn in your stomach and threaten to make you sick all over your kitchen floor when your father first pitched the idea. So instead you’d done costumes and it was the most wonderful experience of your life. 

Who needed drugs when you had live theater? The hustle and bustle behind the scenes was electrifying but after two summers of costuming, of quick changes in the wings, learning how to use the ancient sewing machines they stored in the depths of the storage rooms, and pulling pieces for the actors to try on you decided that you wanted to try something more.

The moment you had stepped onto the stage it was like you’d come to life and you cursed yourself for not taking the risk earlier. You belonged on the stage, with the harsh stage lights on you and pounds of makeup plastered onto your face you could feel the magic thrumming through your veins and it was addicting.

If it was possible, you were even more excited to perform this summer, the previous school year you’d finally gotten together with your long time best friends the Marauders, turning them from friends to your boyfriends.

When your mother had sent word of the production being put on this summer you’d squealed while seated next to James and across from Remus, who had Sirius hanging off of his side. After explaining to them, mostly Sirius and James really, just what live theater was their first reaction was to ask if they could come see you perform.

“I don’t even know if I’m going to be cast,” You had explained gently, not wanting to get their hopes up in case you weren’t cast this year.

“Bull shit of course you’re going to be the cast,” Sirius had contested through a mouthful of jam and toast, waving his hand theatrically through the air, watching him that day was not the first time you’d considered how the way he acted often reminded you of an over enthusiastic theatre major.

Remus, the only one with any knowledge on muggle theatre had snorted, wrapping an arm around Sirius’ waist to pull him closer to his body, “She’s not going to be the cast Pads, she’s going to be casted,” He’d corrected gently, pressing a kiss into his long, dark tresses.

“Whatever,” The smaller boy had grumbled, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

Which brought you to where you were right now, five minutes to curtain touching up your make up in the mirror of the shared make-up room.

“Hey (L/N),” One of your cast mates called settling into the makeup chair next to you as she plucked a tube of dark red lipstick from the small canary colored makeup bag she had previously abandoned on the counter, “Your boyfriends coming tonight?” She asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Yeah, they are,” You responded, applying mascara to your lashes.

“Excited to meet them, that photo you showed us,” She smiled, fanning her face with her hand, “Smoking,” She smiled, making eye contact with you in the mirror.

Rolling your eyes you ignored her comment, “It’s five minutes to curtain, you’re just now doing your make-up?” You chuckled, noticing her black face.

“Oh, shove it,” She laughed as you pushed yourself from your chair, traipsing out of the room, giving her the middle finger on your way out.

“Break a leg!” She called after you as the door latched shut.

You weren’t usually this nervous before a performance but knowing that your three boyfriends were sitting out there somewhere in the audience had you pacing back and forth backstage wondering what they were going to think of the whole production.

“Rocky Horror?” Sirius’ confusion evident in his voice as he plopped down in his seat next to Remus, throwing his arm around the werewolf’s shoulders, drumming his fingers on his clothed shoulder hidden behind his knitted cardigan.

“Yeah,” James collapsed into his chair on the other side of Remus, tucking one leg under his body, “No clue what it’s about but I’m sure our angel will be wonderful. Can you guys see her?” He straightened himself up in his seat, craning his neck in attempts to catch a glimpse of you.

Remus being the only one with any ties to the muggle world knew a bit about the show and had to do his very best to suppress a smirk from overtaking his face as he knew exactly what he and your other two boyfriends were getting themselves into. 

“Just hush up you two, the show’s gonna start any moment,” He scolded, patting his large, scarred hand on James’ thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Rem,” Sirius whined, puckering his lips and closing his eyes, signaling to his boyfriend that he wanted a kiss.

“My needy baby,” He crooned, leaning in to connect his lips with Sirius’ in a quick liplock before pulling back, allowing Sirius to drop his forehead to smear against his shoulder.

“That’s mean,” Sirius murmured discontentedly.

“Poor baby Pads,” James cooed mockingly.

“Both of you,” Remus hissed as the lights in the theatre dimmed, “The show’s about to start, be good for me and be quiet yeah?”

Their response came in their silence as the crowd started settling down and the music from the orchestra pit began a voice coming from somewhere out of sight as it was played through the speakers,

“Michael Rennie was ill

The day the earth stood still

But he told us where we stand”

Not 20 minutes into the show all three of them were as hard as rocks, James had already made Remus check the playbill for the name of the character you were playing, not being able to remember what you’d told them as all of his concentration was focused on a certain place.

Janet Weiss.

Remus couldn’t remember either, but he was almost certain that’s the name he could make out in the dark theatre, printed next to a picture of your smiling face.

When you’d stripped down to your underwear the boys could barely focus on the plot line of the show, only being able to watch the way your bare skin shone under the harsh light of the spotlights. Watching as sweat glistened on your skin, making you shine as you moved about the stage. 

Enchanted by the melodic cadence of your voice they all felt a certain jealousy burning deep in the pits on their stomachs at the thought that there were dozens of other people packed into that theater, all observing you in your vulnerable state of under dress. Only they got to see you like that.

Sirius missed much of the first act glaring at members of the audience who he deemed as looking at you for too long for his liking, but if you were being honest a 4th year smiling at you in the hallway was sometimes too long for his liking.

It wasn’t like any of them had never seen you naked before, in fact they’d all seen you naked more than their fair share of times but something about you on that stage in a white bra with a matching slip was driving them all crazy.

Especially Remus, whose ultimate weakness was seeing you in anything white which was one of the reasons you’d been so excited to invite them in the first place, knowing that they would be horny messes the entire time.

On stage you did your very best not to look out into the audience looking for them, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to stop a ginormous grin from forming on your face and you couldn’t afford to break character. Not if you wanted the night to go your way.

As the opening notes to “Touch-A, Touch-A, Touch Me”, rose from the orchestra pit you had trouble stopping a small smirk from pulling at your lips as you opened them, inhaling deeply before singing the first words of the song,

“I was feeling done in, couldn't win

I'd only ever kissed before”

Despite yourself you caught a glimpse of long dark hair in the audience, quickly taking a glance at Sirius’ face, eyes glazed over in lust, legs shifting uncomfortably with his mouth hanging wide open. 

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed another raven-haired boy’s mouth dropping as you shrugged off of your robe

“I thought there’s no use getting, into heavy petting

It only leads to trouble and, seat wetting

Now all I want to know, is how to go

I've tasted blood and I want more”

It was impossible to miss the way Remus’ jaw clenched as you laid your palm against Rocky’s chest, he was being played by your good friends who’d been working with the same theatre company as you since forever, he was like a brother to you. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t lay it on extra thick tonight with your boyfriends in the audience.

Tracing a dainty finger down Rocky’s chest you pushed your body against his singing out the next lyrics of the song,

“I've got an itch to scratch, I need assistance”

You turned you and your cast mate so that looking over his shoulder you were able to meet Remus’ eye, sending him a quick wink before focusing back in on Rocky.

“Toucha, toucha, toucha, touch me

I wanna be dirty

Thrill me, chill me, fulfill me

Creature of the night”

Pressing your back up against Rocky’s chest you guided his hands with yours to your breasts, squeezing them as you followed the choreography you knew by heart.

You ripped your slip from your body with the help of Rocky leaving you in only your white bra, matching panties and a pair of small heels as you paraded around stage, belting the suggestive lyrics into the theater.

“Then if anything grows, while you pose

I'll oil you up and rub you down (down, down, down)

And that’s just one small fraction, of the main attraction

You need a friendly hand, oh i need action”

You smirked, thinking about all of the action you’d be on the receiving end of later that night as you sunk to your knees in front of Rocky, your hands grasping his thighs. Deciding to tease them perhaps a little more than necessary as you went through the number, curling your leg around his and pressing your bodies together so that there was no space between your two questionably clothed bodies.

As the number was brought to a close it was impossible for you to ignore the excitement bubbling up inside of you as you continued your way through the show you kept throwing glances at your boyfriends, always finding their eyes already trained on you. More often than not, on some body part other than your face.

If your boyfriends thought that they had a bit of a problem before that song they were in a terrible predicament now.

Remus caught Sirius on multiple occasions trying to move the hand that he was holding to grope at his crotch as he tried to buck up into his boyfriend’s hand. And much to his own dismay, Remus would pull his hand away, thinking it probably wasn’t the best idea to give his boyfriend a hand job in a crowded theater. Knowing that he wouldn’t have to worry about James touching himself because he would never dream of disobeying him, Remus divided his attention between you on the stage and keeping Sirius in check.

Each of the boys were counting down the seconds until the show came to an end and they could get out of there and relieve some of their tension.  As the curtains were pulled closed they all breathed a sigh of relief before they reopened, leaving all three of them bewildered and slightly annoyed, even more so when they noticed everyone around them standing as they applauded the actors.

Remus forced both of them up when you rushed to the front of the stage, curtsying as the crowd went wild, your boyfriends most notably. As you took your bow you blew a kiss to your boyfriends taking note of the uncomfortable way they all stood, trying to adjust their erections to make them less noticeable while simultaneously applauding you.

As you cleared the stage after curtain call you took your time, doddling towards the dressing rooms where you had left the clothes you’d arrived at the theater in along with a special outfit you’d brought for after the show. Usually you were one of the first actors to clear the theater after a show but tonight you took your time. Hanging up your costume with more care than anyone really should treat any garment with and certainly more than what it needed. 

You smirked mischievously as you pulled the you’d brought outfit from your bag and shimmied it up your legs before slipping the delicate straps up your shoulders. You glimpsed yourself in the mirror, the red satin of the dress clinging to your curves in an attractive manner, short enough to display miles of legs and low cut enough to show off a decent amount of cleavage and perhaps a sighting of the matching red bra you were wearing beneath it.

Slinging the back of your black heels over the heel of your feet you snatched your purse from the armchair in your dressing room before striding out to go meet your boyfriends in the lobby, where you’d told them to wait for you.

Their heads all turned as they heard the clacking of your heels against the tile of the floor, “Boys,” You greeted as they unabashedly took in your new appearance.

As he most often was, Remus was the first one to collect himself, “Puppy, you were wonderful,” He praised, walking to meet you as you approached him, leaning down to smear a kiss against your cheek, “You did amazing up there, so proud of you,” He threw his arm around your waist as you walked towards Sirius and James.

“We got something for you,” He explained, his grip on your waist tightening, “Jamie give it to her, yeah?” 

“Oh yeah,” The smaller boy grinned, remembering the bouquet he held cradled in his arms as he handed it over to you, “Here you go angel.”

“Thank you Jamie,” You said as you took it from him, closing your eyes as you buried your nose in the sweet smelling flora. As you opened your eyes you made eye contact with Sirius, who stood across from you, practically drooling as he took in your appearance without any shame, “They smell wonderful.”

“You okay Si?” You asked, looking up through your eyelashes, batting them innocently.

“Like you don’t know exactly what you did up there to us (Y/N/N),” Remus whispered in your ear, pressing his nose into your temple.

“You guys are the ones who wanted to come,” You lilted, rubbing one of the velvety petals between the pads of your thumb and forefinger.

“Could’ve warned us,” James mumbled, his eyes not leaving your thighs as he licked his lips, if it were anyone else you would’ve been uncomfortable but you couldn’t help but feel flattered whenever any of them ogled you. 

“And what’s with the dress Pup?” Sirius nodded his head appreciatively towards your dress, obviously admiring the way it hung on your body.

“What, you don’t like it?” You asked with fake hurt in your voice, knowing that he more than liked it, he fucking loved it. 

“S’not that,” Remus mumbled, nosing at your jugular, “Just that whole show, got us a little bit worked up. We didn’t expect it to be so sexual Puppy,” He nodded towards James and that’s when you noticed the erection he was still sporting. 

“Got us really worked up, can we go home now?” James asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, trying to distract himself from his little problem.

“Jamie,” You whined, smiling wickedly, “I wanted to celebrate, I was thinking we could go eat somewhere, I was thinking maybe Thai food?”

You watched as Sirius ground his teeth, conflicted between needing to get home and not wanting to deny you from what you wanted. 

“Having fun teasing us Bunny?” Remus asked you with a sly smirk, knowing exactly what you were doing.

“M’not teasing,” You insisted, turning indignantly to your other boyfriend.

“Sure you aren’t,” He chuckled, “Thai sounds great (Y/N), wanna talk with you about the show,” The idea of teasing Sirius and James even longer was very appealing to Remus and he was ready to make the sacrifice of being teased himself, knowing that he’d be able to get back at you later that night.

“But-” James began.

“You wanna argue with me Jamie?” Remus challenged, raising a singular eyebrow.

“No,” He moped, “Of course not.”

“Good,” Remus said, nodding his head approvingly, “We wouldn’t wanna deny our Princess would we?”

James shook his head, eyes pleading, desperately seeking Remus’ approval.

“Pads?” Remus challenged, turning his attention to the other raven haired man.

“What? Oh um, of course not,” He agreed distractedly, dragging his eyes from your form to meet Remus’, his reluctance evident in his voice.

“Good,” Remus said pointedly, his eyes cold, daring Sirius to question him. When he didn’t the werewolf continued, “Let’s get going then, there’s a nice little restaurant a couple blocks away yeah?”

As you all hummed your consent you made your way to the exit, “Ten galleons if you can make James cum in his pants at dinner,” Remus whispered in your ear quietly enough so that  James and Sirius trailing behind you wouldn’t be able to hear you, you could hear the smirk in his voice as you exited the theatre.

“Deal.” This was going to be fun, you considered that you might have to invite them to come see the show again.

-pation

tagging: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @kittykylax @amourtentiaa @superbturtlemakerathlete

[mattievictoria]

Plants That Will Get You Pixie-Led

   There’s an age-old belief in that the Good Folk, The Fair Folk— or whatever name they wish to be called, lest you offend them— possessed heightened powers during Halloween. In contemporary America, where I celebrate Halloween each and every year, this isn’t a widely held belief (as much as I wish it was). The veil is thinner on Halloween, and the things which normally remain out of view are free to move about and stretch their legs. My first introduction to the concept of “Halloween is for the Fae” was actually in poetry, with poems like Halloween by the eponymous Scottish poet Robert Burns, or my personal favorite, Halowe’en by American writer and poet Joel Benton. (I know these two poems have the same name and it makes for an awkward sentence, there’s literally nothing I can do about it.)

    I have drawn fae-inspired Halloween art before, but this time I wanted to draw a little something where I could also include a few interesting folklore tidbits. This article and accompanying artwork was inspired by an actual misremembered fact I had wrongly attributed to the Elder Tree— I incorrectly thought that it was on Halloween that standing beneath an Elder tree caught you a glimpse of the Fairy King, when it is in fact, Midsummer’s Eve that this spectacle occurs. By the time I realized this, I had already finished the artwork and began writing this article that you’re now reading. What most likely happened was that I confused this bit of lore for the folk ballad Tam Lin, in which a young woman named Janet helps a former mortal escape the clutches of the Faery Queen. Janet helps Tam Lin narrowly escape being used as a sacrifice as part of the Faery Queen’s “Tithe To Hell”, which she must pay on Halloween. That is a VERY loose summary of the ballad which is at least as old as the 16th century, but you get the idea— Faeries and Halloween were once synonymous with one another.

    It shouldn’t be a surprise at this point that I’m a big fan of this Halloween-Fae tradition, and I say we bring it back. For my part, I have included this handy illustrated and written guide on how to contact the Fair Folk and get yourself Pixie-Led, away from the hustle and bustle of dreary city life and into the ancient and alluring woods that exist beyond the veil. Enjoy reading this article while you can, because if you do decide to seek out a fairy ring or field of sitchworts, you may probably never get the chance to read this again… not sure if they have the internet in Fairyland. 

Fairy Ring Mushroom (Marasmius oreades) 

    The Fairy Ring Mushroom is probably the most well-known of all of the flowers, trees and fungi that I’m going to discuss here. In folklore, it was said that fairy rings appeared where the Fair Folk held their moonlit dances, and that any human foolish enough to enter the circle would be punished by the Good Folk and/or spirited away to their realm. The ring of dried grass that often accompanied the ring of mushrooms was known as Elf Grass, and was said to be worn down by the Faerie’s vigorous dancing. Of course, all this has a scientific explanation— the mushrooms growing in a perfect circle, the fungi depleting the nutrient in the soil creating the dried-up grass…but of course, none of those explanations are any fun. 

Elder (Sambucus) 

    Elder is a plant that is steeped in folklore and legend— it’s a favorite of mine to discuss and I have previously written about it in my article on Cursed Plants and Witch Trees. However, while elder is mostly associated with witches and witchcraft, it is also associated with faeries and elves. In Denmark, it was believed that standing under an elder tree on Midsummer Eve after midnight granted the viewer a glimpse of the King of Fairyland as he rode with his royal retinue in the dusky summer twilight. Not quite paying a Tithe to Hell on Halloween as the Faerie Queen did in Tam Lin, but still quite the sight to see! 

Foxglove (Digitalis)

    One the oldest names of the foxglove is the folksglove, a reference to the Fair Folk, as it was said that this plant was used by Faeries as gloves, hats, and other clothing items. Along with the cowslip, also known as the “fairy’s cup”, the foxglove was said to be a favorite of the Fairies’ many floral accouterments, as it grows deep within wooded hollows, a place where fairies are said to dwell. But this fun little detail about Faery gloves could also be viewed as a cautionary tale, as digitalis is a potent poison and not something to be picked on a whim. Just like you don’t mess with Faeries, you don’t mess with poisonous plants such as this. 

Stitchwort (Rabelera holostea)

    Up until recent years, the Stitchwort was placed in the genus Stellaria (the same genus Chickweeds and other flowers are placed in). In 2019 it was re-assessed and re-categorized into the genus Rabelera ( and— here’s your useless fact of the day.) In Somerset, England, Stichworts are simply called “Pixies” as anyone who picks one is likely to be pixie-led. They weren’t mincing words, were they? 

St. John’s Wort (Hypericum perforatum) 

    A powerful plant in many folk remedies, St. John’s Wort is still used in all manner of ways in the modern era. Like the elder tree, St. John’s Wort is a plant that has a storied reputation in folklore, but I will leave you with this one tidbit that pertains to the topic at hand— being pixie-led by the Fae. In the Isle of Man, it was said that any person who had the misfortune of stepping on St. John’s Wort after sunset would be carried away by a Faery horse. That equinus fae would rise beneath the unfortunate trespasser and spirit them away, galloping until dawn and finally dropping them miles away from home; try to explain that to your friends and family.

Bibliography and Works Cited

Baker, Margaret. Discovering the Folklore of Plants (Shire Discovering). 3rd ed., Shire Publications, 1996.

Folkard, Richard. Plant Lore, Legends, and Lyrics (Illustrated). Independently published, 2020.

Gilman, Clarabel. “Bits of Plant-Lore.— (I).” The Journal of Education, Vol. 49, No. 9, March 1899, pp. 226-227, https://www.jstor.org/stable/44045817. 

Grieve, Margaret. A Modern Herbal: The Complete Edition. Illustrated, Stone Basin Books, 2015.

Mushroom. “Magical Fairy Rings: The Science and Folklore.” Mushroom Appreciation, 21 Aug. 2022, www.mushroom-appreciation.com/fairy-rings.html.

Sharples , Matthew T. “Rabelera Holostea.” Rabelera Holostea | International Plant Names Index, International Plant Names Index, 14 Nov. 2019, https://ipni.org/n/77205026-1.

[purelyapocryphal]

Fic Masterlist

What We Do in the Shadows

The One Where the Crew Has a Betting Pool (series, rated M/E; 59k; Guillermo/Nandor, Guillermo/Camera Two, Camera Two/Nandor (just roll with it)): the camera crew’s betting pool over whether Nandor and Guillermo will finally get it on gets rather out of hand. Featuring excessive bagel consumption, questionable metaphysics, and an oddly-perceptive North Jersey merman. Camera Two POV, covers Season 2 through the summer afterwards.

To Ease This Precious Ache (rated E; 2.3k; Guillermo/Nandor): Shortly after Théâtre des Vampires, Guillermo shows up on Nandor's doorstep with a seemingly-straightforward request. Things escalate rather quickly. Featuring homoerotic swordplay and Melissa Etheridge.

A Case of You (rated E; 4.2k; Guillermo/Nandor): Nandor knows you shouldn’t drink alone. Guillermo obliges. (Commensal politics throughout Guillermo’s tenure as a familiar, including four-dollar Cab Sav, eleven years of half-truths, and what exactly happens when a vampire bites you.)

Of Recklessness and Water (rated E; 8.6k; Guillermo/Nandor) Nandor stumbles across La Llorona and decides that it’s Guillermo’s problem. Unfortunately, he’s right. (Also known as "Cryptid Encounters of the Emotionally-Constipated Kind.")

Henges (rated T; 2.3k; Guillermo/Nandor). Guillermo is a New Yorker. Featuring Manhattanhenge, druids, and that classic New York garbage smell.

Six Ways 'Til Chelsea (rated M; 3.7k; Guillermo/Laszlo). When Guillermo returns to the Vampiric Council Library of Antiquities after his disastrous outing with the Cloak of Duplication, Laszlo tries to cheer him up. Via custom-curated antique pornography, of course.

Be Sure to Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair (rated M; WIP; Guillermo/Nandor; Nadja/Laszlo; the Baron/the Sire). San Francisco, 1967. It’s the Summer of Love and between the hippies, the Vietnam draft, and whatever the hell is going wrong with the sourdough, Guillermo de la Cruz is burning through a LOT of saint candles. The last thing he needs is a tall, handsome, and very weird hippie showing up to place a certain cake order…

Rivers of London

For Sentimental Reasons (rated M; 11.7k; Nightingale/David Mellenby, Nightingale/Seawoll, Nightingale/Peter (dude gets around, okay?)): Nightingale’s relationship with his body across the decades, particularly with regards to a certain Peter Grant.

The Isle is Full of Noises (rated M; 23.4k; Nightingale/Peter): The Folly's finest are called to North Wales to investigate sea monster sightings. Casefic.

The Room Where it Happens (rated G; 1k; gen): The Nightingale brushes up on his geopolitics.

Friends of Dorothy (rated T; 25k; Nightingale/Peter): If your posh, repressed governor starts reading you The Wizard of Oz while you’re trying to get over Skygarden, is he flirting with you, wrangling his own demons, or both? Only time will tell.

Derry Girls

Better the Devil You Know (rated T; 4k; Sister Michael/Janet Taylor): Limavady Retreat Centre, summer 1995. Friends Across the Barricade fosters goodwill in unexpected quarters.

Ghosts (BBC)

Ghost Stories (rated M; 80k; Ensemble; The Captain/Pat Butcher, Mike/Alison Cooper): Button House, Surrey. An ex-Army captain with a mysterious past moves into a flat in a once-grand estate. His new neighbours certainly seem determined to keep life interesting… (An AU-ish where the house has been divided into flats and things get a bit metaphysical. Oh, and there’s Twister with Feelings).

Memoranda of Understanding (rated M; 2.3k; the Captain/Lieutenant Havers): Lieutenant Havers and the Captain write memos concerning Button House's latest innovations in invisible ink. The fact that the source of the ink is somewhat delicate is irrelevant. Mostly. (It's not crack if you cite your sources, right?)

Land to Light On (rated M; 69k; the Captain/Lieutenant Havers): Academia AU. At an academic conference about the role of ghosts in European society, the Captain gets more than he bargained for. Having to share a bed with a certain Dr Havers isn't even the half of it.

[kaijudyke]

hello my friends! as you may or may not be aware i have a healthy obsession with the ballad of tam lin, and today i would like to talk to you about the abundance of parallels between tam lin and star trek deep space nine s02e22 the wire! i will be summarizing the ballad for you so you do not need to be familiar with it! strap in for a long analysis and join me under the cut 💖

1. a summary of the ballad in broad strokes

(all excerpts in this section from child 39A)

tam lin is a scottish folktale about a young woman named janet who goes to the forest of carterhaugh, which is known to be guarded by a fairy called tam lin.

O I forbid you, maidens a', That wear gowd on your hair, To come or gae by Carterhaugh, For young Tam Lin is there.

(janet is aware of this, and goes anyway. one of my favorite running themes in the ballad is janet being incredibly headstrong and cocky.) she picks a few roses, he appears and tells her to stop, she stands up to him, and they end up sleeping together (and, ostensibly, falling in love). she returns home to her father's castle pregnant. her father and the other men at the castle are very concerned about her pregnancy, but she defies them and tells her father that this is her own responsibility and that she'd rather be with tam lin than any human nobleman:

If that I gae wi child, father, Mysel maun bear the blame, There's neer a laird about your ha, Shall get the bairn's name. If my love were an earthly knight, As he's an elfin grey, I wad na gie my ain true-love For nae lord that ye hae.

janet goes back to carterhaugh to pick abortifacient herbs and terminate the pregnancy, since she believes she and tam lin will never be able to be together. tam lin reappears and asks her to stop, and she asks him to tell her more about himself (in many versions she asks him if he's a christian), looking for any reason not to give up on him:

"Why pu's thou the rose, Janet, Amang the groves sae green, And a' to kill the bonny babe That we gat us between?" "O tell me, tell me, Tam Lin," she says, "For's sake that died on tree, If eer ye was in holy chapel, Or christendom did see?"

he tells her that he's human like her, but was taken by the fairy queen as a child. he also says that the fairies pay a tithe to hell every seven years, and he's worried this time they're going to sacrifice him. he tells her how to save him: she must be at miles cross at midnight on all hallow's eve, when the fairies ride by, and she must pull him down from his horse and hold on to him as the fairies change his shape several times.

"They'll turn me in your arms, lady, Into an esk and adder, But hold me fast, and fear me not, I am your bairn's father. "They'll turn me to a bear sae grim, And then a lion bold, But hold me fast, and fear me not, And ye shall love your child. "Again they'll turn me in your arms To a red het gand of airn, But hold me fast, and fear me not, I'll do you nae harm. "And last they'll turn me in your arms Into the burning gleed, Then throw me into well water, O throw me in with speed. "And then I'll be your ain true-love, I'll turn a naked knight, Then cover me wi your green mantle, And hide me out o sight."

(the exact details of the transformations vary between versions, but some of the most common shapes he has to go through are adder, newt, lion, hot coal, and burning iron. if you're interested in the variations, i highly recommend this page!) once the transformations are done, he instructs her to wrap him in her green cloak, after which the fairies won't have a claim to him anymore. janet follows his instructions and successfully saves him, much to the dismay of the fairy queen.

2. janet, julian, and their relationships

whichever version of tam lin you are reading, janet is a character with a ton of agency. she has no qualms about encroaching on tam lin's territory (in fact she tells him in no uncertain terms that the forest is hers), and there is some indication that she might have gone to carterhaugh specifically because she wanted to sleep with tam lin; she's said to be wearing a green dress, and since the color green was associated with the fae, wearing green to a fairy wood is pretty clearly inviting their attention. (in medieval literature, green was also sometimes associated with love and sex.)

it's not hard to draw a parallel between janet's decision to pursue tam lin despite the danger he represents and julian's immediate fascination with garak in past prologue even though (or rather because) he suspects him to be a spy. also of note is that janet and tam lin's relationship begins with an argument, where her willingness to challenge him seems to be what draws him to her. one of my favorite retellings, by james p. spence, emphasizes this:

‘I'm here tae guard these woods, tae see that naebodie nor nothing disturbs their peace.’ ‘An was it ma father that gave ye such a job?’ ‘Naw it wasnae.’ ‘Weel, there ye are then. It should be you that's asking ma permission tae set foot in these woods, because it is ma father that owns them.’ Then the young man's face rose up intae a smile that seemed many a long year since it was last there. (scottish borders folk tales, james p. spence, p. 114-115)

i'm sure i don't need to tell you that this is reminiscent not only of garak and julian's fondness for debate but of the way cardassians show romantic interest. more than that, though, i think there's something to be said for the way these relationships are treated by other people in the characters' lives. janet's father and his knights are troubled by her pregnancy, and they clearly think she should be with a normal, respectable man, preferably one of said knights, given that she feels the need to remark "There's neer a knight about your ha / Shall hae the bairnie's name." (child 39I) in the wire, when julian tells jadzia he wishes garak would trust him, she replies "why should he? it's not like the two of you are really friends." julian's friends do not understand why he spends so much time with garak—a cardassian, a spy, an outcast, someone who can't be trusted.

in both cases it's easy enough to see where they're coming from; being pregnant out of wedlock with a fairy's child is certainly not an ideal situation for a young noblewoman to find herself in, and it's remarkably foolish for a starfleet officer to have regular lunch dates with someone he believes to be an enemy spy. but janet and julian are both stubborn, and more interested in what's adventurous and exciting than what's good for them. (remember that, like janet knowingly going to pick roses in a forest guarded by fairies, julian wanted the position on ds9 because he wanted to try his hand at "frontier medicine"; misguided as he may have been, his thirst for adventure is the reason he's even on the station to begin with.)

3. fairyland, the obsidian order, and enabran tain

in the ballad, tam lin is abducted by the fairy queen when he's a child. she takes him to a magical realm where he feels no pain and is far removed from human worries.

And we that live in faeryland, No sickness know, nor pain, I quit my body when I will, And take to it again. (j. holm, verse 32)

garak has been enabran tain's protégé since he was very young. as an operative of the obsidian order, he's been trained to be cool under pressure, to play his cards close to his chest, and to avoid sentimentality and attachment. the plot of the episode hinges entirely on a device implanted in his brain that keeps him from feeling pain. to save his life, julian has to remove the implant, metaphorically rescuing him from fairyland and the influence of the queen who stole him away from the human world. the fairy queen is very possessive of tam lin and very disdainful of his feelings for janet; in many versions of the ballad, after janet successfully rescues him, the fairy queen remarks that if she'd known this would happen, she would have plucked out his eyes and replaced them with wood, or taken his heart and replaced it with stone.

"But had I kend, Tam Lin," said she, "What now this night I see, I wad hae taen out thy twa grey een, And put in twa een o tree." (child 39A, verse 42) 'Had I but kend, Thomas,' she says, 'Before I came frae hame, I had taen out that heart o flesh, Put in a heart o stane.' (child 39B, verse 41)

much like tain tried and failed to mold garak into the perfect emotionless spy, the fairy queen very literally wants to remove tam lin's ability to feel love, because his emotions make him harder for her to control, and in the end are what lead him to escape her clutches entirely. garak and tam lin are both saved by the same thing: their transgressive love for their rescuer, and the fierce, unconditional love they receive in return.

4. hold me fast and fear me not

the central event of the tam lin ballad, of course, is the transformation scene. i'm sure it's what makes the ballad stick in people's minds; it certainly is for me. there's something so deeply romantic about the phrase "hold me fast and fear me not," and about the idea of loving someone so much that you'll hold on to them even as they turn into a beast in your arms. the wire doesn't have as literal a transformation scene as tam lin, but i would argue that it certainly has one.

after julian removes garak's implant (which we can equate to pulling tam lin down from his horse), garak goes through withdrawal. he becomes, by turns, depressed, and angry, and spiteful, and violent. throughout the episode, we see him try to drive julian away. he refuses his help; he insults him; he tells him contradictory stories about his past, all designed to shock him; when none of this succeeds at discouraging him, he physically lashes out.

julian, however, doesn't budge. he isn't fooled by the shapes garak contorts himself into. he takes every change in stride, never wavering in his determination to save him. every person garak claims to be, julian accepts. like janet defying the fairy queen for love of tam lin, he goes as far as to enter cardassian territory and seek out enabran tain in order to save garak's life. when he believes he's about to die, garak tells julian he needs to know that someone forgives him; "i forgive you," julian says, "for whatever it is you did." whatever kind of beast garak is—whatever kind of beast tain has turned him into—julian will not let go of his hand. he will hold him fast.

He grew into her arms two Like iron in hot fire; She held him fast, let him not go, He was her heart's desire. (child 39D, verse 31)

the basic structure of these stories is the same: the main character finds out that the person they love is in immediate danger due to something they went through when they were younger, which fundamentally changed them as a person and is also keeping the two from being together. unwilling to lose their love, they brave the wrath of a powerful villain who's controlled this person's life for a long time. there are undeterred by the frightening changes the person goes through. in the end, they are victorious, and their beloved is free.

5. my dear doctor, they're all true

a closing statement: tam lin is a folktale. like any folktale, there are many, many versions of it, often contradicting each other. there is no definitive version of tam lin (though child 39A may be the most famous). you're free to read every available version of the story, finding meaning not only in the most commonly reoccurring themes, but also in which parts of the text speak to you. like garak's contradictory stories about his life, while it's hard to say whether any one element is true, every element tells you something—about the story, or about the person who tells it. my view of these story parallels is heavily influenced by my own personal interpretation of, and feelings about, the ballad. as it should be.

[bevioletskies]

love will never do (without you)

summary: Despite his increasingly frequent social visits to Baker Street, none of its inhabitants have been able to convince Kazuma to stay for dinner. Ryunosuke is determined to finally change his mind.

word count: 6.7k | read on ao3

a/n: For @asoryuu-week, day three of seven (prompt: "family"). This fic takes place post-Resolve; mild spoiler warning for Adventures and Resolve, where events may be alluded to but not described in detail. All names and honorifics are taken from the official localization, with the exception of Haori, Sherlock, and Iris.

Fic title is from the song Love Will Never Do (Without You) by Janet Jackson.

“Are you sure you won’t stay, Kazuma? I promise Iris won’t be making roast chicken this time.”

Kazuma chuckled, drawing his coat a little tighter around his midsection as he buttoned himself up, though to Ryunosuke, it mostly seemed as if he were trying to avoid Ryunosuke’s pleading gaze. “I’m happy to hear that, but I’m afraid I can’t. Lord van Zieks and I are getting on a train first thing in the morning to attend that conference I told you about, remember?”

“You seem to spend more time with him than with us,” Ryunosuke said, frowning somewhat. “Though if it’s work-related, I suppose it can’t be helped. Next time, then?”

“No promises,” Kazuma said, offering him a regretful smile. “Enjoy your not-roast chicken dinner without me, won’t you? I’ll come by for tea sometime next week, and that’s a promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Ryunosuke nodded. “Have a safe trip, Kazuma.”

“Have a good evening, Ryunosuke,” Kazuma replied, bowing his head slightly before disappearing into the carriage that awaited him. Sighing, Ryunosuke lingered on the sidewalk for a moment, watching him go, then turned and headed back inside, back to where the others were waiting for him with hungry bellies and questioning gazes. When they noticed Ryunosuke had returned to the table alone, their curiosity was quickly replaced with disappointment.

“It wasn’t meant to be, it seems,” Sherlock commented blithely. “What a shame; I’d been hoping to continue our conversation on Japanese martial arts. I would’ve loved to hear his opinion on my boxing technique.”

“Oh, I wish he’d stayed,” Iris sighed, slumping in her seat. “I even made all of his favorites! Surely, that should’ve been enough.”

“Unfortunately, Kazuma-sama is a very busy man,” Susato said, patting Iris’s hand in sympathy. “Well, there’s no point in dwelling on it at the moment. I’m sure he’ll stay for dinner someday, just not today. Shall we eat?”

As much as Ryunosuke loved Iris’s cooking, this time, it was hard for him to enjoy even a single bite. Over the last several weeks, Kazuma had inexplicably been coming by Baker Street more and more often despite having spent the last several months politely but firmly rejecting Ryunosuke and Susato’s invitations. Usually, he only stopped by if someone was sick and he wanted to pass on his well wishes, or if they’d had a particularly difficult case together and he wanted to decompress. Both of them had resigned themselves to Kazuma’s apparent desire to keep them at arm’s length, only to be surprised when he showed up one day for afternoon tea. It had become something of a regular appointment ever since. Still, none of them had been able to convince him to stay long enough for dinner.

“Naruhodo-san?”

Ryunosuke startled; he barely remembered finishing dinner and returning to his desk in the attic, only to shuffle mindlessly through his paperwork without reading any of it. “Ah - sorry, Susato-san, were you saying something just now?”

“No, I’ve only just come back up,” Susato replied, looking at him curiously. “You seem...distracted. Is it because of Kazuma-sama?”

“I just...don’t understand what’s going on with him,” Ryunosuke admitted, rubbing his aching temples. “I can’t help but worry he’s caught up in something again. He spent months keeping his distance, and now, he comes round twice a week, only to leave after an hour or two of conversation. It’s...it’s strange, is what it is.” He then sat up, his eyes wide. “Do you think he’s spying on us for someone?”

Susato tilted her head, looking at him worryingly. “...oh dear, I hope not. And I don’t think all of Kazuma-sama’s secrets are wrapped up in conspiracy, Naruhodo-san. As I said, he’s a busy man, so we should be grateful that we get to see him as often as we do. And I’m glad that he’s been so happy and healthy these days.”

“Yes, of course,” Ryunosuke agreed. Kazuma was definitely smiling more, talking more, laughing more, and that was never a bad thing. It didn’t stop him from worrying, though. “I hope he’ll stay for dinner eventually, especially for Iris’s sake. She went to all that trouble tonight, after all.”

“Perhaps we’ll have to guilt him into it,” Susato said with a mischievous giggle. “If Iris were to cry and bat her eyelashes at him, he’s sure to come around!”

“...I’d like to try less underhanded tactics first, Susato-san,” Ryunosuke replied, sighing.

_____

Of course, that wasn’t to say Ryunosuke had any tactics in mind to begin with, short of cornering Kazuma and asking him outright. Every single time, without fail, Kazuma had somewhere to be or someone to see, even when he knew he was coming to Baker Street well in advance. Every single time, Ryunosuke went to see him off while asking him to stay, and every single time, Kazuma seemed to be avoiding his eyes while telling him he had to leave. Then, days later, the same thing would happen all over again.

They’d tried a few different things in the beginning, naturally. Sherlock had offered to spar with Kazuma, and when that hadn’t worked, offered to discuss literature and politics with him instead. Iris had bribed him with tea, then sweets, then science; unsurprisingly, Kazuma only had a polite interest in hearing about Iris’s smoke bombs. Ryunosuke and Susato tried to persuade him with the promise of stories from their brief return to Japan, what with Ryunosuke finishing his formal law education and Susato taking a few turns in the Supreme Court as the elusive Ryutaro. Frustratingly, even that failed to work, and everyone was at a loss as to why.

“Your head appears to be in the clouds today, Ryunosuke. What’s on your mind?”

“I - oh!” Ryunosuke coughed, blushing. “Sorry, Kazuma, I seem to be drifting off quite a bit these days. What did you say?”

Chuckling, Kazuma moved in closer, the side of his hip pressing into Ryunosuke’s. He lifted a hand to affectionately rap his knuckles against Ryunosuke’s forehead. “I said you seem distracted. Is something bothering you?”

Ryunosuke cast a worried glance around the courthouse library, hoping no one could see the strangely intimate stance they were suddenly in, then turned back to meet Kazuma’s intense, albeit slightly concerned gaze; he swallowed. “Are you free this evening, for dinner?”

Kazuma’s eyebrows shot straight up. “Dinner?”

“At Baker Street, with the others,” Ryunosuke clarified. “I think Iris is making beef stew and freshly baked bread, so…”

“Ah.” Kazuma cleared his throat, taking a few measured steps back before turning back to the bookshelf he’d been perusing. “No, I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it.” When Ryunosuke motioned for him to continue, he frowned. “What?”

“I was waiting to hear what excuse you had to offer this time,” Ryunosuke replied, his tone harsher than he’d intended; Kazuma looked just as taken aback as Ryunosuke felt.

“Excuse? You think I’ve been making excuses?” Kauma said coldly, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t know you thought so little of me, Ryunosuke. Do you really believe that I’m making things up just to get out of joining you for dinner?”

“I’m not sure what to believe,” Ryunosuke said, more resignedly now. “You’ve been coming over so often these days, but you never stay longer than a couple of hours, and never for dinner. I can only assume that you’ve been told to visit us but not to stay too long, or...or, I don’t know, that you think Iris will poison your food or something.”

Kazuma scoffed, looking away so he could yank a volume off the shelf rather violently. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ryunosuke. It’s convoluted thoughts like that that keep us in court longer than we need to be.”

Ryunosuke flinched, hurt. “There’s no need to be so short with me. All I wanted to know is why my best friend has been so distant, but...if you continue to act like this, I’m not sure I care to find out.”

Now it was Kazuma’s turn to appear wounded; he let out a lengthy sigh. “I...I’m sorry, that was unnecessary of me. And…” He inhaled sharply. “You’re right, I have nowhere to be. But I won’t be coming all the same.”

“But why?” Ryunosuke whisper-shouted, frustrated, mindful of the other library patrons who were watching them curiously from a few shelves away. “I understand not wanting to accept every single invitation, and I understand that you’re busy, but you haven’t even stayed once, so...I can only assume that something must be wrong.”

Kazuma visibly swallowed, tucking his books underneath one arm, folding the other defensively across his stomach. “Have a good day, Ryunosuke.” And with that, he swept past Ryunosuke rather hurriedly, disappearing out of sight before Ryunosuke could even fathom what had happened. Groaning, he slumped against the shelf he’d been standing beside; his head was starting to hurt again. He barely even looked up at the sound of Susato’s footsteps.

“I’m afraid they didn’t have the records we were looking for, Naru - Naruhodo-san? Are you alright?” She placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “I thought you were with Kazuma-sama.”

“I was, but...I really don’t know what’s happening, Susato-san,” Ryunosuke sighed. “I asked him if he’d be able to join us for dinner, and this time, he didn’t even give me an excuse. Simply told me he had nowhere to be, but he wouldn’t be coming, anyway. I mean, what are we supposed to think at this point?”

Susato’s face fell. “Oh. I...I see.”

“Is it…” Ryunosuke hesitated. “Is it strange to miss someone, even when they’re standing right in front of you?”

“I don’t think so,” Susato murmured, offering him a sad smile. “Because I feel it, too.”

Dinner was a somber affair; the moment Ryunosuke and Susato arrived home, Sherlock and Iris could instantly tell that something was wrong. They seemed resigned, too, especially given that Kazuma hadn’t bothered interacting with them much prior to Ryunosuke and Susato’s return to London. Even Sherlock confessed he wasn’t sure where to begin when it came to deducing Kazuma’s reasons, or worse, his potential ulterior motive.

“And I was so looking forward to having another big brother around,” Iris said, chewing rather despondently on her piece of freshly baked bread. “Do you think he might be mad at us for some reason? I can’t think of anything we’ve done to offend him, but…”

“If he were upset, I don’t think he’d be visiting us at all,” Susato reassured her, though she didn’t sound very sure herself.

Finally, things seemed to come to a head one drizzly morning when Ryunosuke managed to acquit his client rather quickly, ending the trial sooner than expected. As he and Susato finished packing their things so they could join their client in the defendants’ antechamber, Kazuma approached them with a broad smile.

“Well done, Ryunosuke. That last deduction of yours was ingenious,” he said, extending a hand. “I was thinking, instead of visiting Baker Street, we could go all go out for tea sometime and - ”

“No.” Ryunosuke had said it so quickly, so immediately, that all three of them looked surprised; Susato only just managed to stop herself from gasping out loud. “No, I - I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Naruhodo-san,” Susato whispered, aghast.

Kazuma’s hand dropped unceremoniously to his side. His mouth was set in a hard line, his jaw taut. “Ryunosuke…”

“I really don’t know what’s going on with you, Kazuma, and...and maybe I’m simply overthinking it, but…” Ryunosuke shook his head, fists clenched. “It just feels as if you don’t care about us anymore. That you only come round for tea to keep up appearances, and not because you actually want to spend time with us. It even seems as if...as if you can’t wait to get away when the time comes.”

“That’s not true, I - ” Kazuma’s lip curled, but even he couldn’t seem to find the words to speak. “I want to, but I...I can’t.”

“Are you in trouble, Kazuma-sama?” Susato said urgently, stepping forward. “If there’s something we can do to help, anything at all…”

Kazuma turned abruptly, his head bowed, shoulders trembling. For a moment, Ryunosuke wondered, panicked, if he was about to cry. Yet, when he turned back to look at them, his eyes were sharp, determined. “...fine. Let’s have dinner, then. Is tonight too soon?”

Ryunosuke and Susato exchanged confused glances. “I’m...sure Iris would be happy to cook for you,” Susato said slowly, uncertainly. “Do you really mean it, Kazuma-sama? You’ll be having dinner with us tonight, just like that?”

“Just like that. I’ll be there, I swear,” Kazuma promised. As much as Ryunosuke didn’t want to believe him, something about the look on Kazuma’s face told him that he could trust him, despite mounting evidence to the contrary. Swallowing thickly, Ryunosuke held out his hand. Kazuma instantly accepted, giving it a firm shake. “Tonight.”

“Tonight,” Ryunosuke echoed numbly.

_____

Hours later, Ryunosuke still felt uncertain as he was getting dressed for dinner. He’d believed Kazuma at the time, but now, he expected to see nothing but yet another empty place setting at the table. And, of course, Ryunosuke couldn’t forget the haunted look in Kazuma’s eyes when he’d accused him of not caring about them - did I go too far? Ryunosuke wondered, chewing his bottom lip worriedly. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, I shouldn’t have pushed it -

“Naruhodo-san!” He startled at the sound of Susato’s voice, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process. “Naruhodo-san, Kazuma-sama is here!”

“Wait, really?” Ryunosuke stepped out of his bedroom and promptly almost fell over - again - at the sight of Kazuma, standing at the bottom of the attic stairs, wearing a casual outfit and a radiant smile that actually seemed to reach his eyes. For a moment, Ryunosuke felt his heart stop. “Kazuma, you - you really are here!”

“And I’ve brought a gift for everyone,” Kazuma added, motioning towards the box tucked underneath his arm. He looked cheerful, amicable, nothing like the cornered, wounded animal he’d appeared to be just hours ago. “Nothing too exciting, I’m afraid, but I hope it will please everyone all the same.”

“I’m sure it will,” Susato said, beaming. “Shall we head to Mr Holmes’s suite, then?”

“We shall,” Kazuma agreed, holding out his hand for her to take. When she accepted with a giggle and an exaggerated bow, Kazuma then turned to extend his other hand to Ryunosuke with a wink for good measure. “Ready?”

“I…” Ryunosuke’s cheeks warmed; he quickly made his way down the stairs and pushed past them, nearly knocking his shoulder into Kazuma’s. “I-I should see if Iris needs help setting the table.”

By the time everyone was seated, Ryunosuke’s stomach was tossing and turning like nothing else. It wasn’t unusual, he supposed, for Kazuma to act like this; he remembered getting a little too drunk with him in their university days, only to find Kazuma’s face a little too close to his, looking him up and down in a way that made Ryunosuke wonder. It had only ever been wondering, though, with nothing ever coming to fruition. Now, despite his current frustration with Kazuma’s erratic behavior, Ryunosuke still thought about it every now and then, about his meaningful glances and his sly, almost suggestive remarks.

“So how’ve you been, Kazzy?” Iris chirruped brightly. “The last time you were here, you were telling us about some of the work you were doing with Susie’s daddy.”

“Yes, Professor Mikotoba invited me to spend some time with him in his new laboratory so I can familiarize myself with the latest in forensics,” Kazuma replied, smiling gratefully when she handed him a generously-filled bowl of soup. “I’m assuming he’s done the same for you, Mr Holmes?”

“Indubitably,” Sherlock said, nodding. “It’s also given me the opportunity to see the wonderful Miss Haori at work as well.” He then turned in his seat, beaming in Susato’s direction. “Of course, I already knew she was perfectly lovely, Miss Susato, but now I’ve seen first-hand just how whip-smart and delightfully curious she is. I can see why you’re so taken with her.”

“O-oh,” Susato managed to say, blushing. “I’m sure she’d be pleased to hear you say that, Mr Holmes.”

“Already knew?” Kazuma echoed, looking at Sherlock curiously. “I didn’t know you were acquainted with her.”

“Oh, Haori stops by for tea and a chat all the time!” Iris said, beaming. “She’s always curious about the different concoctions and inventions Holmesie and I have been working on, you see. She even brings some incredible ideas of her own!...none that have worked out, mind you, but I’m sure that someday, we’ll create the perfect invention together.”

“I...I see.” Kazuma cleared his throat, taking his first spoonful of soup.

Sherlock and Iris exchanged dubious looks across the table; Ryunosuke could only hope that Kazuma wouldn’t notice. “Well, what else have you been up to?” Iris asked as she began to eat as well. “Surely you’re not spending all your time working, Kazzy. Do you have any hobbies? Ooh, or a secret lover, perhaps?”

“Iris,” Sherlock said, frowning somewhat, but she didn’t seem to be deterred at all.

“Susie and Haori are so sweet together,” Iris continued, idly stirring her soup with a dreamy sigh. “And we’ve even had a few of Holmesie’s clients take interest in Ryu, can you believe it? Just the other day, there was this young woman who stopped in, worried about her brother’s dubious business dealings. Ryu happened to be home, so he offered to keep her company while she waited for Holmesie to return. She was so charmed, I think there were literal stars in her eyes - ”

“Iris,” Sherlock repeated, firmer this time. Ryunosuke wasn’t sure his face could get any hotter; he didn’t dare look up to see how Kazuma had reacted. “Now might not be the time for that sort of talk. After all, Mr Naruhodo made it clear that he wasn’t interested in her.”

“He did?” Kazuma’s voice was strangely affected, almost hollow.

“I think I remember her,” Susato said with a rueful smile. “She was quite forward, asking Mr Naruhodo if he’d like to have dinner sometime. Once he understood what she meant, he told her he was flattered, but that he already had someone.”

“A gentleman’s rejection, if I do say so myself,” Sherlock added unhelpfully. “Seeing as Mr Naruhodo has precisely no one.”

“...a kind reminder, Mr Holmes,” Ryunosuke said, sighing. It was only then that he noticed the severe pull of Kazuma’s mouth, almost as if he were clenching his teeth to stop himself from speaking. “Anyway, er, Kazuma, didn’t you want to tell Mr Holmes and Iris about that odd contraption you saw when you accompanied Lord van Zieks to that crime scene in the countryside?”

Kazuma’s expression quickly shifted into a friendlier one, though he still seemed more guarded than ever. “Yes, thank you for reminding me. I wish I’d had a camera on me, it was the strangest thing…”

An hour or so later, after their somewhat awkward dinner had ended, Sherlock elected to put on a record rather than provide the musical entertainment himself, a lilting sort of waltz that had everyone swaying in their seats while they sipped their tea and continued to chat. Susato was in the middle of recounting the plot of the latest novel she’d been reading when Sherlock suddenly pulled Iris to her feet, humming along all the while.

“Quickly, Iris! Here, stand on my feet,” he instructed, grinning brightly.

“Are you sure?” Iris asked doubtfully. “Won’t that hurt?”

“Not at all, not at all,” Sherlock insisted. “You mustn't dawdle, either, for the best part is about to begin!”

Ryunosuke and Susato couldn’t help but burst into raucous laughter, watching Sherlock clumsily guide Iris around the room as the music began to pick up in speed, the heels of Iris’s shoes constantly slipping from the toes of Sherlock’s, her fingers clutching at the back of Sherlock’s waistcoat as she held on for dear life.

“I already know how to dance, Holmesie!” Iris exclaimed through her own fit of giggles. “You hardly need to teach me.”

“Ah, but isn’t it so much more enjoyable this way?” Sherlock beamed. “Naturally, this doesn’t work with everyone - imagine me doing this with Mikotoba, for instance - ”

“And you know perfectly well that Father already knows how to dance,” Susato interjected, still laughing.

“ - but you, Iris, are the perfect size!” Sherlock declared, scooping her into his arms. Iris squealed at the sensation of suddenly being lifted up in the air, giggling hysterically as he spun her around. Ryunosuke and Susato continued to clap and cheer them on, applauding happily as the song came to an end. Sherlock finally set Iris back down onto her own two feet, looking understandably winded. He let out a quiet groan, bringing one hand to cup the small of his back. “We’ll have to do that again sometime, my dear girl. Not immediately, you understand.”

“Oh, perfectly,” Iris replied, glowing. She then collapsed onto the settee, situating herself right between Ryunosuke and Susato, her head dropping to rest on Ryunosuke’s shoulder. “And we must invite Ginny round for it, too. I bet she’d love to join in!”

“And now I simply must see you and Father dance together as well, Mr Holmes,” Susato added, chuckling. “I’m sure the two of you would look positively enchanting!”

Ryunosuke then turned to look in the direction of the armchair. “What about you, Kaz - Kazuma?” But Kazuma wasn’t there; the only indication that he’d been sitting there at all was the saucer on the table beside it. Frowning, Ryunosuke shot to his feet and headed straight to the entryway, ignoring Susato’s startled cry. “Kazuma, are you seriously going to - ” But Kazuma’s boots were still neatly lined up beside his own, his coat still hanging from the coat rack, leaving Ryunosuke to turn and head straight into the kitchen. There, he found Kazuma hunched over the sink, hands gripping the counter a little too tightly. “...Kazuma, are you alright?”

“...I just needed some air, sorry.” Kazuma made a point of not turning around. “My head, it...it still hurts sometimes, and the music was a little too loud. But please, don’t let me spoil your fun.”

“It’s hardly fun when you’re not around,” Ryunosuke said, sidling up beside him. Up close, he could see sweat beginning to form on Kazuma’s brow, his bottom lip clenched between his teeth. “I’m sorry to hear about your head, though; shall I ask Mr Holmes to turn the music off? Do you need water, or - or maybe you should lie down.”

“No, it’s...I’m fine.” Kazuma straightened up, smoothing out the front of his shirt and letting out a labored breath that seemed to rattle from within his chest, though he still refused to look in Ryunosuke’s direction. “I must say, it seems I’ve been learning quite a lot tonight, more than I ever expected to.”

Ryunosuke frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I knew of Professor Mikotoba’s frequent visits to Baker Street, of course, but I didn’t realize Haori-san and Inspector Lestrade came by so often,” Kazuma remarked with a dry laugh. “And to hear that some of Mr Holmes’s clients had a keen romantic interest in you...who would’ve guessed?”

“Hey,” Ryunosuke protested softly, chuckling. “I’ve been told I can be quite charming when I want to be.”

“That sounds like the sort of thing a doting parent would say,” Kazuma teased, finally lifting his head to look at Ryunosuke with a warm, inviting smile. What exactly he was inviting him to do, Ryunosuke couldn’t be sure. “Hardly the words of a potential lover.”

“Well, uh…” Ryunosuke’s gaze softened; he moved closer. “...what would a potential lover say?”

“Passionate, perhaps,” Kazuma mused, taking another sharp inhale, though his breathing didn’t sound quite so painful anymore. “Clever, kind-hearted, loyal…” He then smirked. “Gullible, a little cowardly, overly agreeable - ”

“My apologies for being too agreeable - what a terrible character flaw I’ve got there,” Ryunosuke shot back, elbowing him. Kazuma’s sweet, raspy laughter finally rang out for the first time that evening, like music to Ryunosuke’s ears. Still, a sobering thought quickly cut through the sound. “Speaking of agreeable...Kazuma, why did you finally agree to come to dinner tonight, of all nights?”

Kazuma went quiet again. “...I’d like to hear your thoughts first, actually.”

“I…” Ryunosuke swallowed, silently wishing he hadn’t said anything. Now all he wanted to do was go back to mere seconds before, just so he could hear Kazuma laugh again. “I don’t want to think the worst of you, Kazuma, I really don’t. But I can’t help but feel you only accepted our invitation to prove a point. To prove us wrong.”

Kazuma shook his head, smiling bitterly. “I had a feeling you’d think that. It sounds like something I’d do, doesn’t it? But no, that’s not quite it. It’s more like you...like you helped me see reason, in that I finally saw how I was being entirely unreasonable.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Ryunosuke admitted. “If anything, I felt like I was being unreasonable by accusing you of not caring about us. Without evidence, no less!”

“This isn’t the courtroom, Ryunosuke,” Kazuma replied with a faint laugh. “But if you’d like, I can testify. I’ll even be generous and let you cross-examine me.” Ryunosuke wordlessly motioned for him to continue, unamused. “Yes, er...I really do apologize for making you and Susato-san worry about me, for making you doubt my friendship. I swear, I’m not in any sort of trouble. I’ve simply been...evasive of my own accord, not to mention selfish.”

“You’re not selfish, Kazuma,” Ryunosuke insisted, frowning. “Self-important at times, yes. But we know you mean well.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Kazuma said hoarsely, slowly lowering himself down onto the kitchen floor with a lofty sigh. “I’ve been terribly selfish, in fact.”

Ryunosuke went to sit beside him, concerned. “How so?”

Kazuma seemed to be staring straight ahead at nothing, evidently lost in thought. When he finally spoke again, he sounded angry, Ryunosuke suspected, at himself. “I was ecstatic when I heard you and Susato-san were coming back to Great Britain,” he began. “I’d spent what felt like a lifetime here alone, talking to almost no one, trusting almost no one. So, I…I started imagining all the things we’d get to do, the memories we’d get to share.”

“Of course,” Ryunosuke agreed. “That’s all we’d been dreaming about since we departed from Japan, too.”

“So…when you returned, I just assumed it would be like old times,” Kazuma continued, smiling ruefully. “Instead, it seemed as if the two of you had made friends with all of London. Between dinners, parties, society events...I never knew you were such a social creature, Ryunosuke. And of course, you have something of a family now, here at Baker Street.”

“Yes, I do. Iris thinks of Susato-san and I as her older siblings,” Ryunosuke replied, nodding. “But...Kazuma, I still don’t understand. No doubt we’ve been busy, yes, but we’ve made plenty of time for you as well. Have you been feeling ignored?”

Kazuma ducked his head. “No, nothing like - you know what? This isn’t...I’m not seeking out your pity, alright? I’m not asking for you to feel sorry for me. I should have never brought it up, so why don’t you rejoin the others before they - ”

“No, I want to hear this,” Ryunosuke insisted, clasping his hand over Kazuma’s knee. Kazuma shuddered, but he didn’t move away. “I want to hear what you have to say. It’s obviously been bothering you for ages, so - please, tell me. Tell me everything.”

“...I wasn’t feeling ignored, exactly.” Kazuma lifted his gaze once more, his eyes suspiciously glossy. “It was more like...I felt as if there was no longer enough room in your life for me. And that you were the one keeping up appearances, being the kind of friend that you are, but...I started to believe you saw me as someone from your past, not someone you wanted in your future. Especially after...well, everything that transpired.”

“I made you feel as if I didn’t care about you?” Ryunosuke asked, his voice small.

“That’s where the selfishness comes in, actually,” Kazuma muttered. “I was too caught up in what I wanted, what I felt like I deserved, that I made everything carry more weight than it actually did. That I made your happiness about me. But…” His smile then softened, bittersweet. “...people have always been inexplicably drawn to you, Ryunosuke. When I first saw you on that stage, giving your speech, I assumed you didn’t have the presence to do it - ”

“...thanks,” Ryunosuke grumbled.

“ - but then I truly saw just how magnetic you really were,” Kazuma continued with a fond chuckle. “So, to bring this back to here and now, I...I wanted to keep seeing you, spending time with you - and with Susato-san, of course - but I didn’t want to stay around long enough to remind myself of how I no longer play a significant role in your life.” He let out a choked sob, dropping his head into his hands. “God, it sounds even more selfish when I say it out loud. I’m sorry, Ryunosuke. Once again, I...I let my feelings cloud my judgment. A terrible habit of mine that seems impossible to break.”

“Kazuma,” Ryunosuke breathed, stunned. “I...I had no idea.” He then moved even closer, reaching over to gently brush Kazuma’s hair out of his eyes. “Kazuma...look at me, please.”

But Kazuma merely got to his feet, knocking Ryunosuke’s hand away from his face. “I really should go before I spoil your night any more than I already have,” he said sharply, suddenly. “Please, give the others my regards.”

“You are not leaving before we finish this conversation,” Ryunosuke insisted, grabbing Kazuma by the wrist before he could disappear into the night. “Not this time.” Kazuma yanked his arm out of Ryunosuke’s grasp, his posture stiff and unyielding, but he didn’t seem poised to run off otherwise. “Kazuma, I - I’m so sorry that I ever made you doubt how much you mean to me. Believe me, I would not be the person I am today without you.”

“Ryunosuke, I really don’t want to make this about me - ”

“You’re my family, too, Kazuma.” Kazuma’s eyes widened. “And I want you here, always. We all do.”

Kazuma slowly turned on his heel, his hands dropping to his sides, the fight seemingly leaving his body all at once. “Ryu…”

“Yes, I - I won’t deny the importance of the friends I’ve made in London,” Ryunosuke continued, his voice trembling as he spoke. “And of course, I’ve got friends in Japan, old and new. But...surely you know that you’ve always meant the world to me, that you’ve always been more than just a friend, a-and you always will be. No matter who, what, or where we are, that will never change.”

Time seemed to stop for a moment, a moment that stretched out into what felt like minutes, hours, even, as Ryunosuke and Kazuma just stood there, staring at each other, waiting for someone to make a move. Then, Kazuma stepped forward, sweeping Ryunosuke in for a hug.

“You might not be the most articulate speaker in the world, but you’ve always had a way with words,” he murmured, burying his face into Ryunosuke’s shoulder. This time, he sounded halfway between a euphoric laugh and a relieved sob. “Thank you, Ryunosuke. You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that.”

“Then perhaps I should say it more often,” Ryunosuke teased, bringing Kazuma in even closer, his fingers curled into Kazuma’s shirt, refusing to let him go. He was warm, solid, comforting in a way that Ryunosuke had never quite realized until now. “For both our sakes.”

“I’d like that,” Kazuma mumbled; for a split second, it felt as if he’d pressed a kiss to Ryunosuke’s cheek, but he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. “Anyway, we really should go and rejoin the others. It’s a wonder Susato-san hasn’t burst in here already, demanding answers.”

“I suspect she knows more than she let on...as she does,” Ryunosuke added, reluctantly pulling away. “Oh, and I’ve just remembered - would now be a good time to open that gift you brought?”

“Is that what you’re really after?” Kazuma asked, smirking. “But yes, I think so. Once I’ve apologized to the others for my coldness, that is.”

Mere minutes later, Kazuma found himself tackled to the ground by Susato and Iris, who were both crying tears of joy, clinging on to Kazuma like their lives depended on it. Ryunosuke and Sherlock stood back, watching on with bemused smiles as Susato then proceeded to scold him for being so distant, while Iris bounced up and down on her heels, begging him to sleep over so she’d have more time to read him her latest manuscript.

“Ryu always says you have a flair for the dramatic, after all,” Iris said, grinning cheekily. “So I’d like your opinion on whether this one particular passage gets your heart racing!”

“I’m afraid I can’t stay the night,” Kazuma said apologetically, taking a seat on the settee this time; his eyes widened slightly in surprise when Iris plopped right down beside him. “I’ve got an early morning meeting, unfortunately. If I were to sleep over, I think any Friday would be a safe bet.”

“This Friday, then?” Iris suggested. “You could set up in Ryu’s bedroom! I’m sure he’d like that.”

Kazuma raised an eyebrow in Ryunosuke’s direction. “...would he, now?”

“Hey, I - d-don’t - Iris!” Ryunosuke spluttered, his cheeks reddening. “Kazuma, your gift? Now?”

“So demanding,” Kazuma replied, clicking his tongue in disapproval. Still, he went to retrieve the box he’d left in the entryway, then knelt on the floor by the fireplace so he could open it. Iris immediately went to peek, while Sherlock only just managed to hold himself back, mostly because Susato had grabbed him by the arm before he could snatch the box out of Kazuma’s arms. Ryunosuke, on the other hand, went to kneel beside Kazuma, his heart racing with sudden anticipation. “Admittedly, I don’t really have an eye for art, but I was working on a crime scene diorama a month or two ago when I was struck by the idea. So…”

Small gasps filled the room as Kazuma carefully lifted out a mid-sized shadow box frame filled with the most beautiful papercraft any of them had ever seen, depicting 221B Baker Street and its occupants in a domestic scene - Sherlock playing his beloved Stradivarius, Iris pouring a cup of tea, Susato reading in the armchair, and Ryunosuke eating sweets by the fireplace, Wagahai nestled in his lap.

“Kazuma-sama,” Susato whispered, speechless, her eyes shining with tears.

“No eye for art, you say? My dear fellow, this is absolutely beautiful!” Sherlock declared, beaming.

“Oh, I’m not the one who made it,” Kazuma said, shaking his head. “No, I used my connections to find and commission one of the best artisans in the country, and this was the result. I thought it would make for a nice piece for you to hang somewhere - anywhere, really. Do you...do you like it?”

Ryunosuke made a quiet, incoherent noise, having clapped his hand over his mouth to keep himself from crying, too. “Kazuma, it’s...it’s incredible! I only wish we’d spoken earlier so you would’ve thought to include yourself, too.”

Kazuma’s gaze softened; he looked pleased, yet embarrassed. “Yes, well...I don’t live here, so it wouldn’t have been appropriate, anyway.”

“Well, then maybe you should!” Iris piped up. “After all, you’re Susie’s brother and Ryu’s partner, not to mention my newest big brother. Why wouldn’t you live here?” Kazuma opened his mouth, then closed it again, suddenly also at a loss for words. Ryunosuke couldn’t help but silently note that the tips of his ears had gone red.

“I think you might be moving a little fast for the poor man, Iris,” Sherlock said, chuckling good-naturedly. “Let’s start by having him stay the night sometime in the near future first, shall we?”

Susato hastily dried her tears, then straightened up, smoothing out the front of her kimono. “Kazuma-sama, if I may, I’d like for us to find a place to put this up right now before you go. Shall we keep it somewhere in your suite, Mr Holmes, or would you rather we bring it up to the attic?”

“The entryway, Miss Susato, the entryway!” Sherlock was already off before any of the others could blink, in search of a hammer and nails; Iris quickly followed him to ensure he wouldn’t hurt himself in the process. Ryunosuke, Kazuma, and Susato stood stock-still in the middle of the living room, staring after them in disbelief. Then, the three of them couldn’t help but burst into laughter in perfect harmony.

_____

It was pitch black by the time Kazuma readied himself to leave, buckling up his boots and slipping on his coat. He frowned somewhat when he realized he’d already pulled his gloves on, yet had forgotten to button his coat. Before he could remove them, someone else’s hands were on his front, dutifully buttoning him up on his behalf.

“Ryunosuke,” he said, surprised.

“I’m really glad you made it tonight,” Ryunosuke said, doing up the last of Kazuma’s buttons. He then took a step back, offering Kazuma a boyish smile. “As I said, I just wish we’d had that conversation earlier, but...I suppose the most important thing is that we had it in the first place.”

“How surprisingly mature of you,” Kazuma teased, smirking when Ryunosuke’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

“We’re back to this again, are we?” Ryunosuke sighed, elbowing him a little harder than necessary. “You never could resist poking fun on my behalf. I’d bet you some of our old classmates are still debating whether you actually liked me or not.”

“It's hardly my fault that no one reacts quite the same way that you do,” Kazuma grinned. Then, he squeezed Ryunosuke’s arm. “Really, though, thank you for hearing me out earlier. I’m not even sure I explained myself properly - honestly, I felt like a complete mess - but you seemed to understand me all the same.”

“I know a thing or two about...what was it? ‘Not being the most articulate speaker in the world’?” Ryunosuke mused, laughing when Kazuma scowled. “Your words, Kazuma, not mine.”

“Yes, well…” Kazuma ducked his head for a moment so he could readjust his gloves. “...Ryunosuke. Earlier, when you said that I’ve always been more than a friend...what did you mean, exactly?”

Ryunosuke’s breath hitched. “Oh, um...well, I-I’d just told you that you were part of my family, too. That you always have a place here, with me, Susato-san, Mr Holmes, and Iris.”

Kazuma nodded, making a noncommittal noise under his breath. “Right, of course. Anyway, I’ll be seeing you on - ” And suddenly, Ryunosuke’s lips were on his, just like that. He barely had enough time to blink before Ryunosuke pulled back, blushing furiously. “...Ryu?”

“Sorry, sorry, that wasn’t - I-I shouldn’t have done that,” Ryunosuke stammered, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “You were just about to leave, and - ”

“And if you meant it, you would do it again so I can actually kiss you back,” Kazuma said firmly. It seemed to take Ryunosuke a moment to process, then, he grabbed Kazuma by the coat lapels and pulled him back in for another kiss. Ryunosuke felt Kazuma smirk against his lips, wrapping his arms around Ryunosuke’s waist so he could hold him even closer, the two of them relishing one another’s warmth. “...better. Marginally better.”

“So mean,” Ryunosuke mumbled, sighing as he unceremoniously detached himself from Kazuma’s embrace, though any ill will he felt towards Kazuma and his acerbic nature was quickly quashed when he saw the way Kazuma looked at him - like he finally believed in every word that Ryunosuke had said. “Friday, then?”

“I was going to suggest we meet up for breakfast tomorrow, after my meeting,” Kazuma suggested. “We’ve got more catching up to do, after all. And I was hoping you could get me up to speed on Mr Holmes’ latest exploits before he or Iris starts questioning me the next time I come by.”

Grinning, Ryunosuke gave Kazuma one last kiss before finally letting him go. “...it’s a date.”

_____

a/n: Welcome to my third entry for Asoryuu Week 2021! I'm mad at myself for writing this entire Baker Street family fic and somehow completely forgetting to include Wagahai until the very end, especially considering how I include Mikeko in literally every Klapollo fic I possibly can. Anyway, I promise this is the last of my sad Kazuma hours for this week; I know this fic and day one's fic are similar in concept, but the rest of my entries (if I manage to finish them, that is) are established relationship and one modern AU, if that's something you're into!

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and I hope you're all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Family of Our Own: Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Read on AO3

May, 1754

Claire was in her garden with Maggie. Brianna and Kitty were supposed to be helping as well, but they were a bit preoccupied chasing chickens and making the dogs bark their heads off.

“I don’t want to hear it if either of you get bitten!” Claire called over her shoulder.

“We won’t, Mummy!” Brianna said, exasperated.

Claire turned back to face Maggie again, and the girl shook her head.

“Ye canna stop them,” she said. “No’ until it’s too late.”

“You’re too right.”

Claire was just about to demonstrate something for Maggie when the sound of a horse’s hooves caught her ear.

“Girls! Get the dogs inside!” They obeyed, turning it into another game of sorts to corral the beasts. She didn’t want the dogs spooking the horse and throwing whoever the rider was to the ground. It was midday, and they weren’t expecting any visitors. Claire squinted down the road, wiping her hands free of dirt on her apron, her throat clenching on instinct at the sight of a flash of red. Her nerves settled however, when she remembered.

Once a quarter.

Apparently it was time for Jamie’s first visit from Lord John Grey.

“Who is it, then?” Jenny appeared on the porch, flanked by the girls, including Janet this time, all having realized that getting the dogs inside could only mean a visitor on horseback.

“It’s Lord Grey,” Claire said, returning to Maggie’s side.

“Lord ha’ mercy,” Jenny breathed. “Inside, girls. Now.”

“He won’t hurt anybody,” Claire said, furrowing her brow. “There’s no need to worry. Jamie trusts him.”

“That makes one of us,” Jenny said, her jaw hard, and her eyes fierce. “Inside,” she said again, and Maggie trudged past Claire to obey her mother.

“Wait, Brianna,” Claire called, stopping her from joining the throng.

“Are ye mad, sister?”

“I want her to meet him,” Claire said lightly. “It’s about time she meets a respectable Englishman,” she reasoned, with no little disdain directed at the assortments of horrible Englishmen they’d been harassed by over the years. “Besides, he’s a friend of her father.”

“Respectable and English dinna belong in the same sentence,” Jenny grumbled, ushering the girls inside.

“Should I take offense to that?” Claire said testily, putting one hand on her hip and the other on Brianna’s shoulder.

“I’ll let ye know in a bit.” She gestured with her chin, and Claire turned around to see the horse crossing the threshold of the archway. She was surprised by his appearance; she didn’t know why. Perhaps it was because he bore little to no resemblance to the scrawny young lad from all those years ago. His face was kind and gentle; his eyes held both quiet mirth and an impenetrable sadness. He was slender but still finely muscled, the makings of a good soldier.

“Good day, Madame,” he said, slowing his horse to a stop. “Is this Broch Tuarach?”

“That it is,” Claire answered.

The man paused for a moment, blinking back something that was seemingly shock, his lips parting silently, then closing. “Well,” he said, awed. “I do believe I’m in the presence of the Englishwoman I’ve heard so very much about.”

He dismounted, keeping hold on the reins. He bowed lowly, bringing his tricorn hat to his chest, maintaining eye contact all the while. “Lord John Grey,” he said. “I am entirely at your service, Ma’am.”

“Claire Fraser,” she answered, curtsying, keeping one hand on Brianna’s shoulder. “And I do believe it is I who is at your service, my Lord. You’re the reason I’m no longer a widow, after all.”

He smiled, almost seeming uncomfortable as he put his hat back in place. “Yes, well, it was the least I could do,” he said. “And this is?”

“Brianna Fraser,” Claire said proudly, nudging the girl a bit so that she’d curtsy. “My daughter. Jamie’s daughter.”

“My God,” John breathed, his eyes wide with wonder. “No wonder she’s his spitting image. He never mentioned…”

“He never knew,” Claire said sadly. “I wasn’t showing until after Culloden. She was quite the surprise.” Claire gripped both of Brianna’s shoulders.

“Indeed,” John said. “Well, Mistress Fraser, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Brianna answered, her normally hybrid speech entirely posh, her nose stuck in the air. Claire briefly contemplated that perhaps her daughter was mocking John’s Englishness, but she quickly dismissed the thought.

“She doesn’t have the burr, then?” John said, amused.

“She has whatever she wants in the moment,” Claire said with a chuckle. “She’s quite the impressionist. Isn’t that right, darling?”

“Indeed, Mother,” she said in the same tone, staring John down, or up, rather.

Both of the adults chuckled, perhaps a bit uncomfortably.

“This is one of Da’s dearest friends, Brianna,” Claire said cheerily, squeezing her shoulders and looking down at her. “He’s the reason that he came home to us. I’d like it if we were all friends. Wouldn’t you?”

“I should indeed love to make the acquaintance of one of the King’s finest,” Brianna said rather obnoxiously, drawling the vowels like a veritable fop. “Even if he’s a bloody Redcoat,” she added, not skipping a beat, her accent remaining perfect.

“Brianna — !”

“John!”

Before Claire could scold her daughter’s behavior, Jamie came running from the side of the house, trailed closely by Rabbie, likely along to take care of John’s horse. John smiled uncomfortably at Claire before turning to greet Jamie as he quickly approached. Claire was rather shameless in how she admired her husband, glistening as he was with sweat from a long day in the fields, curls damp and wild, shirt slightly stained at the collar and clinging to him despite its loose fitting, exposing the overworked muscles beneath. She had to remind herself there was company, including that of their small daughter.

Dragging her eyes off of her husband’s beautifully made body, she immediately noticed she was not the only one aware of said beauty.

John immediately changed when Jamie came into view, in ways that Claire could not exactly put her finger on. He seemed lighter, as if being fed for the first time after months of starvation.

Christ...this isn’t attraction.

This man is in love with my husband.

“Christ, man, it’s good to see ye,” Jamie said enthusiastically, shaking John’s hand with fervor. “Ye’ve met her then? Ye met my wife? And my child?”

Any insecurity that had just seized Claire’s heart upon her realization melted away, and she strode contentedly to meet Jamie, pulling Brianna along by the hand. She smiled, standing at Jamie’s side and settling herself into him, warming to her core as Jamie draped an arm over her shoulder. She reveled in the smell of him; dirt, manure, sweat, and Jamie, his general masculinity.

“Yes, I’ve had the pleasure,” John said, smiling more genuinely at Claire. “Beautiful, both of them.”

“Thank ye, a charaid.” Jamie was warm against her, flushing with pride. “Can ye imagine? I had a bairn all those years and I hadnae a single clue.”

“I can’t imagine,” John said. “You must have been overjoyed.”

“Aye.” Jamie looked down at me, catching my eye sweetly, then winked down at Brianna. “She is...they both are my greatest joys.”

“It does my heart good to see you so happy, Jamie,” John’s voice became soft and light, his eyes glistening. “To have seen you through such pain, then to see you like this…” He stopped himself, seemingly overcome. Claire threaded her arm around Jamie, grasping at his side. “It’s overwhelming.”

“It is,” Jamie agreed. “There are still days I canna believe it’s true. I’m overwhelmed near every day at my luck. And it’s because of you, John. You are the reason I’ve got them back.”

He grasped John’s hand, tightly. Claire felt herself go flush, and she tightened her grip on Jamie’s side despite herself.

“I’d do it again and again, Jamie, no matter the risk.”

Their hands remained clasped together, and they maintained eye contact, and Claire suddenly felt like an unwelcome voyeur to something she did not fully understand.

He told me nothing happened. He told me nothing happened. He—

“Mummy,” Brianna piped, still not dropping her put-on airs. “I would quite enjoy something to eat.”

“Christ, a nighean, why’re ye speaking like yer mother?” Jamie wrinkled his nose down at Brianna, finally releasing John’s hand.

Brianna shot a look at John, her nostrils flared. “I’m hungry.”

“Alright, lovie. Go inside and ask Mary MacNab for something from the kitchen. We’ll be in.”

Claire briefly brushed a few curls away from Brianna’s face before the girl scampered inside, apparently all too eager to get away.

“I’m sorry…” Claire said once Brianna was inside. “She’s not normally so rude.”

“She was rude?” Jamie furrowed his brow.

“Before you got here, she called him a bloody Redcoat.”

Jamie snorted, then smiled crookedly at John. “Well, she isna wrong.”

Claire pinched Jamie’s side, causing him to jerk a bit.

“She also was most certainly mocking his speech,” Claire said. “She does that sometimes, impersonates the Redcoats that come by. To make her cousins laugh. I suppose she thought she’d try doing it to your face since she knows you’re a friend.”

“Yes, well,” John dipped his head a bit, clasping his hands behind his back. “I can’t say I blame her. I’ve heard brutal things.”

“Aye. My family suffered many an indignity in my absence at the hand of some Redcoat or another,” Jamie said, tightening his grip on Claire. “My brother-in-law told me Claire was beaten.”

“Oh, Jamie,” Claire said. “I wish he hadn’t…”

“No, I’m glad he did. Because if he ever returned — ”

“I know Lord John is a friend,” Claire interrupted quickly. “But perhaps it’s best either way to...refrain. From what you’re about to say. Or anything similar.”

Jamie nodded, tight-lipped. “Aye. Well, ye get the idea. The wean’s trust has been broken. Hers and the rest of my family, unfortunately. My sister is none too pleased ye’re here.”

“Brianna has had to lie to protect me, us, all her life,” Claire said softly. “She saw me bruised and bloodied after that beating. She’s...she’s only eight. Back then she was only six. It’s...difficult to conceptualize a ‘good Redcoat’. For everyone, not just her.”

“I understand,” John said. “Believe me, I do. The last thing I want is to make anybody uncomfortable. I’ll just fill out the report and be on my way.”

“Ye mean just leave?” Jamie said, incredulous. “I’ll no’ have that. Ye’ve been traveling fer days, no doubt, no’ a home-cooked meal in sight.”

“Well, yes — ”

“And beds at an inn arena so comfortable, I ken it well.”

“Stay the night?” Claire said, perhaps a little too abruptly. “Do you think that’s the best idea? You know...Jenny?” she added quickly.

Not because I’m threatened...because of Jenny.

“Jenny can hang,” Jamie said, genially. “This man sacrificed his own safety to see me home. Right this minute he’s putting himself in danger, knowing as he does I’m no Mister Malcolm. The least we can do fer him is give him some leisure, good food, and a warm bed. Fer one night.”

Claire sighed. “Alright. But you are talking to Jenny.”

John chuckled, oblivious as to just how much he should fear Janet Fraser Murray.

“Speaking of Mister Malcolm, should I mention a Mistress Malcolm in my report?” John asked.

“Well...the other officers who’ve come by know me as a Fraser cousin, and a Scot at that,” Claire said uneasily. “Elizabeth Fraser.”

“I suppose I could say Mister Malcolm was made a widower during his time in prison, and that he’s remarried to the previously unmarried Fraser cousin. Would that make it easier for you both to live your lives together?”

Jamie and Claire exchanged a look. “What d’ye think, mo ghraidh? Any interest in being Mrs. Malcolm?”

She hummed an amused laugh. “It would be an honor.”

He leaned in to kiss her sweetly, and Claire was so swept up in the moment, she nearly forgot John was standing right in front of them.

“I thank ye, John,” Jamie said warmly.

“We thank you,” Claire corrected, smiling at John while embracing Jamie, “my friend.”

“It is a privilege to be known as such by such a woman,” John said with a small bow of his head.

“Shall I show ye around the grounds, then?” Jamie said, excited. “The lads are in the fields waiting fer me to return, but they can surely wait. Fergus can lead.”

“Fergus. Your son?” John said, as if recalling.

“Aye,” Jamie said, swelling with pride. “Ye’ll meet him at supper.”

Claire nearly offered to show John around herself so that Jamie may get back to work, but she knew that he was proud of his ancestral home and that he would find great joy in showing his friend all there was to see.

But she was too curious to pass up the opportunity to be alone with John for a few minutes.

“Why don’t you tell the lads you won’t be back so they’re not waiting for you? The last thing we need is Jenny’s wrath that productivity was slowed for all this,” Claire said.

“Aye, ye’re right.”

“We’ll wait for you in the stables, I’ll show him the stock.”

Jamie made a Scottish noise of approval, squeezing Claire to him and kissing her temple before darting off to the fields.

“Shall we?”

Claire looked up to see that John was offering her his arm. She curtsied slightly before accepting, fitting her arm in the crook of his elbow before heading off around the house and toward the stables.

“You have no idea how often he spoke of you,” John said, seemingly out of nowhere. “He loves you dearly.”

“I know,” Claire said. “I can assure you it is equally returned. Believing him dead was...nothing short of horrific. For eight years.”

“I am sorry,” John said, sincerely. “If there were a way to get word to you safely…”

“Please, don’t. You’ve risked yourself enough as it is.” Claire gave his arm a squeeze, offering him a reassuring smile.

A small silence passed between them, nothing to be heard but the bleating of the goats, the clucking of the chickens, and the leaves rustling around them.

“You love him,” Claire said.

John stiffened against her, nearly stopping in his tracks. “No, I hardly know what — ”

“It wasn’t a question,” Claire said, strengthening her resolve a bit, hardening her jaw. “Jamie told me of your predilections.”

He made to pull away, panicked. “Madame, I — ”

“It’s alright, my Lord.” Claire tightened her grip, not letting him get away. “Where I come from...such things are not so taboo.”

He gawked at her. “I’d certainly like to know where that is.”

“It’s...hard to explain,” Claire said wistfully.

John cleared his throat. “How...how much did he tell you?”

“He told me of your friend that you lost. Which…I am sorry for that loss.”

“Thank you,” he said, his voice tight.

“And he told me how you...looked at him. And now that you’re here...I see it.” Claire looked away, staring ahead at the stables as they came into closer view. “You look at him the way he looks at me.”

“I…” John sighed. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m not sure either.” Claire kept her gaze ahead, uncomfortably aware of their closeness. “In a way, selfishly...I’m glad you love him so much. Because that’s what brought him back to me. But it’s...cruel, isn’t it?”

“How is that?”

“Because he...he’s not…” Claire almost stopped, as John nearly had before. “He isn’t. Is he?”

John chuckled softly, smiling sadly. “There were a few times where I thought perhaps he might be. But his heart belongs to only one.”

Claire could feel his eyes on her, so she turned her head, making uncomfortable eye contact. “So you really never…”

“No, Madame, I did not. We did not.” He did stop then, looking at her seriously. “I’d never met you, of course, but I’d not be able to live with myself if I was part of betraying you.” He started walking again, his more serious point made. “I confess I hardly even had the desire, knowing as I did how madly he loves you.”

“Hardly?” Claire’s brow furrowed.

“Well…” She could feel the heat from his blush radiating off of him. “I couldn’t say never. That would be a lie. And I do pride myself on my honesty.” His words were clipped and terse; Claire almost regretted bringing it up. “You could say the mind was willing, but the flesh was weak. In a way.”

Claire nodded slowly, staring ahead again. “If it...weren’t for me. Would you have?”

She felt him stiffen again. “No. It would be an abuse of my power over him. Such a thing would be despicable.”

Despite his discomfort, Claire could hear the genuineness in his voice. It was a comfort to know, but that still wasn’t what she meant.

“What if...that wasn’t an issue?” she pressed further. “Would you have?”

She heard him swallow. “Well...yes. I’d have tried.”

Claire nodded. “Would he…?”

“You know him better than I do,” John said, not a hint of malice. He meant it.

“I’m...I’m not so sure about that,” Claire said, sounding more sad than she’d meant to. “I just mean it’s...it’s been eight years. A lot of things can change in that time. People change.”

“While that may be true, Madame Fraser, one thing has not changed,” he stopped again, turning to face her, taking both of her hands in his, “and that is the love he bears you. That I can assure you.”

Claire forced a smile, gratefully squeezing his hand.

“God, you are a dreadfully forward woman,” he said, chuckling.

“I’ve always been terribly honest,” she said sheepishly.

“While frightening, I don’t find that necessarily a detriment,” he said lightly. He offered his arm again, and she took it much less hesitantly, leading the rest of the way to the stables.

“Do you know that I bear you no ill will?” John said rather suddenly. “I realize how shallow of a promise that may seem, given that you have everything I’ve ever wanted and could never have. But it’s true.” Claire felt shame burning in her core to think of her initial reaction to the depth of John’s feelings. “Do you know what I said to Jamie after he was freed?”

“Cherish that wife of yours, Fraser,” Claire quoted fondly. “He told me.”

“Did he tell you why I said it?”

“No?”

“He asked me what he could do to repay me,” John said.

Claire felt an unexpected rush of tears, suddenly overcome with something resembling pity, mixed with immense gratitude. She squeezed his arm and looked at him.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“John,” he corrected lightly. “Please.”

“Then I’m Claire,” she echoed, “John.”

“Alright, Claire.”

They finally reached the stables, and Claire took the initiative to introduce him to all of the horses. Rabbie was in a stall with John’s horse, still brushing the beast down as he gnawed on his hay. John was absolutely tickled when Claire introduced Alastair as Brianna’s horse.

“Takes after her father, then?”

“Quite. She’d been begging me to ride since she could talk. I delayed it for years because of her condition.”

“Condition?” John’s brow furrowed, concerned.

“Oh, she’s perfectly healthy. Just...leftover complications from a difficult birth. If she fell it could kill her. I’m just...paranoid.”

“I see,” John said, though he still seemed concerned. “Does Jamie know?”

“Do I know what?” Jamie appeared in the doorway of the stables.

“Brianna’s condition,” Claire said, welcoming Jamie back into her arms.

“Oh, aye, I ken all about that,” Jamie said. “She’s a fighter, my daughter. Braw wee thing.”

“I can tell,” John said, smiling knowingly.

“Alright,” Jamie said, taking the place that John had just had, settling Claire’s arm in the crook of his elbow. “Ye’re acquainted wi’ the beasts, aye? Shall we move on to the rest of the land?”

Claire and John exchanged a fond look before both looking up at Jamie.

“We shall,” John said.

[lovely-jily]

“we’re rubbish at lying”

hey! i had this cute idea and wanted to see where it would take me. it’s just a little taste of some wolfstar, and who doesn't love that? let me know how you guys like it:))))

"Sirius! You git, you can't hog all the firewhisky," Marlene yanked the bottle out of the protesting boy's hand. She took a swig of it, giggling slightly, which caused the liquid to run down her chin. 

"I wouldn't have to worry about hogging it if you didn't waste so much," Sirius grabbed the bottle back, wiping Marlene's chin of the spilled drink, "You do know that some of us intend to get drunk tonight, right?"

The giggling persisted. She was making obvious advances on the boy, and he was obviously enjoying it. She was grabbing his arm, playing with his hair. Sirius always was a flirt, and loved when it was reciprocated. Anything to boost his ego. 

They were in James’s living room. He had invited them all over a few days before the term started. It was their last year. The last year before they were thrust into the real world, before they were going to fight in a war that was no theirs.

 Marlene and Sirius were sitting on the floor next to the fire, Peter on the chair behind them. Across from them sat James, Remus, Mary, and Dorcus on the couch, clutching their mugs.

James didn't want to drink, as he wasn't seventeen and he was smart enough not to disrespect his mother's rules inside her own house. Remus hated getting drunk, and Lily always assumed it was a control thing. She knew the boy was secretive and she knew that firewhisky was a good tool at loosening the filter that restricted said secrets (other than veritaserum, of course). Mary and Dorcus were probably going to get into the drink later, but the night was still young and they wanted to remember most of it. 

Lily was leaning on the doorway connecting the kitchen and the living room. She was snacking on some of the pudding that Mrs. Potter had made and was watching Marlene's horrid attempts to flirt with Sirius. 

"You know what I've heard about you, Sirius?" Marlene was now caressing his thigh. Sirius was simply laughing at her, looking over at James who had a smirk on his face as well. 

"What have you heard, Marlene?" Sirius laughs at her as she leans in close. Lily could only imagine the smell of the alcohol on their breaths. 

"That you," She ran a finger up his arm before taking another swig, "are like a dog in bed."

She grabbed a fistful of his shirt while the room roared, the four boys a little too loudly. Lily got the sense that she was missing out on some inside joke. 

"Have you also heard how he humps his pillow in the dead of night?" James laughed, looking at Sirius's now red face. 

Marlene looked at James as if she were pondering something. She then stood up, bottle in hand, and walked over to him. 

"I've heard even better things about you, Jamsie boy," She traced her hand over his jawline before straddling him. At this sight, Lily felt her stomach drop and a burning feeling in her chest. Ignoring it, and simply wanting it to go away, she glanced down at her plate, playing with the pudding. 

"Is that good?"

She looked up at Remus. He was in a plain t-shirt and jeans, and Lily found that his arms were rather scrawny without a jumper or his robes. She had never seen him in a t-shirt. 

"It was," she smiled at him. Out of all the boys, she was the closest to him by far. 

"Mrs. Potter is a brilliant cook," he said, leaning against the doorframe. 

"I have a proposition!" Marlene exclaimed, pulling James and Sirius up and wrapping her arms around the pair of them, "Let's have a threesome!"

Lily gripped her fork tighter, looking back down at her plate. Her appetite was lost. She then watched Remus's face and it matched how she felt, although he was trying to mask it. But she could read through the stone expression.

"You don't like that either, do you," she said to him quietly. 

He looked at her, and she could see panic flash in his eyes for a moment and shock on his face, "What do you mean?"

"You've been looking at Marlene all night," She said. It was true, even at dinner Marlene was making advances on Sirius, "Sorry to assume."

"Oh," Relief flashed over his eyes and he chuckled, "I just worry about the decisions of my mates is all."

Lily looked down at her plate, "Yeah, same. I usually have to mother Marlene when she gets into alcohol and I was just looking foward to a good night. It's a little embarrassing in all honesty."

"We're rubbish at lying," Remus responded, smirking and putting his hands in his pockets.

Lily laughed slightly, "We really are. But at least we have each other."

The night persisted and after Marlene stopped trying to hookup and started crying, they all went to bed. While Lily was brushing her red hair, there was a timid knock at the door. 

"Come in," She answered.

Remus entered, wearing his night robes. He looked nervous, hands playing with his pajama shirt and eyes wild, "Do you have a second?"

"Of course," Lily smiled, invitingly, in an attempt to calm him down and welcome him. He looked almost like a deer in the headlights.

He shut the door behind him and sat on the dresser, in front of her. 

"I've got to tell you something, Lily," the boy took a shaky breath. It seemed like he was near exploding, "And I don't want you to think of me any differently because I'm still the same person that you're close with."

"Okay," Lily smiled. She knew what he was going to say. Lily knew those scars don't come from "accidents". When she first met the boy, she assumed he was abused and her heart ached for him.

However, it became clear by their fifth year that an abusive home life wasn't at fault for the deformities. Lily figured out the patterns while they worked together as prefects, although she never confronted him on the subject. She didn't care, and in all honestly, she empathized with the feeling of not fully belonging in the wizarding world. 

Remus looked like he was going to throw up. His face was pale, his jaw clenched shut.

"Rem," She took his hand, causing him to relax, "You can tell me absolutely anything and I wouldn't look at you any differently-"

"I'm gay." 

That was absolutely not the secret that Lily had expected. She felt her eyes wide and her mouth go dry. She felt horrible for this reaction, but it really took her by surprise and she needed a second to compose her thoughts.

Remus seemed to take her silence as a bad sign because the boy began to go on a nervous rampage that was almost impossible to understand, "Well, I actually might be bisexual with just a heavy preference towards men, because I had a huge crush on Janet Prince in third year, but I mean she also was a Tom Boy, so who knows, but I still liked her and-"

Lily kicked herself for her reaction. She didn't care about his sexuality, she felt the same way about it as she did him being a werewolf, she was just so shocked. 

She rubbed her hands on his arms, "Hey, Remus, it's alright."

He relaxed a bit under her touch, "Are you sure?"

"Of course I am," She said, bringing back her welcoming smile, "I just didn't expect it, is all. I'm proud of you for telling me though, that's not easy."

"While we’re on the topic," He looked in her face and smirked, "I'm a werewolf."

She laughed and the sharp change in mood, "I know."

It was his turn to be shocked, "How?"

"Rem, no one gets sick every full moon. I only noticed because that's when you couldn't finish the Prefect work and so I had a lot of late nights staring at the full moon."

"Sorry about that," He smirked slightly, blushing. 

"Don't be. I was happy to do it," Lily picked her brush back up, "So I'm assuming that Marlene wasn't the one you were staring at then?"

His blush reddened, "No."

Lily laughed slightly, "I do think that Sirius flirts with you more than the rest of us."

He did a nervous smile, "Lily, while I appreciate that, I know you're just saying that."

"Remus, I wouldn't say it if I didn't think it was true. I know the damage that lies can do."

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

until you're in a thousand pieces on the floor

by TinyTim888 Your student’s score of 28 indicates that he/she is a high-needs Little. Littles with Dunn-Hinton scores above 23 typically need to regress further and more frequently than other Littles to maintain their physical and emotional health. Please see the enclosed pamphlets for more information and resources to help you properly care for your student’s needs. Tim glanced at the pamphlets in question and flinched so badly that he dropped the whole stack on the floor at the sight of a towheaded teenage boy smiling up at the camera, hugging a stuffed rabbit to his fuzzy-pajama-clad chest. The top of the pamphlet read Caring for Your Little in a friendly, pastel font. You don’t want that, he scolded himself, stubbornly ignoring the mortifying wobble of his lower lip and the hollow ache in his chest as he gathered the papers off the carpet without looking at them. You’re not some pathetic baby; you’re a Drake, and Drakes aren’t Littles. Words: 4581, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Categories: Gen Characters: Tim Drake, Jack Drake, Janet Drake, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson Additional Tags: Non-Sexual Age Play, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Parents Jack and Janet Drake, Enemy to Caregiver, Emotionally Repressed, Insomnia, Nightmares, Bed-Wetting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Disordered Eating, Age Regression/De-Aging, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Touch-Starved, Child Neglect, Alternate Universe – Littles & Caregivers, Cuddling & Snuggling, Stuffed Toys, Canon Divergence - Jason Todd's Attack on Titans Tower via https://ift.tt/L2OalD5

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 12: Billows and Breeze 

Summary: Burning questions pave the way for a few much-needed answers. 

Read on AO3

Read chapter 12 on tumblr below the cut:

Previous, master list, next

A/n: I’m back, thanks so much for your patience! As usual, this chapter picks up directly where the last left off, so it might be good to glance at the previous chapter if you want a refresher.

Chapter 12: Billows and Breeze

***

After the unfortunate incident with the knife, Claire had been reluctant to leave his side, still buzzing with worry over him. She’d gotten herself well and truly worked up, and Jamie thought that they needed to do something lighthearted and low-stakes. The day so far had been so charged with tense energy that Jamie thought perhaps being outside in the familiarity and tranquility of nature would do her some good. 

“Do ye fancy a hike?” he asked Claire, who was sitting curled up on the couch. Immediately remembering that “hike” was likely not a word in her vocabulary, he amended, “a wee walk about outside?” 

Claire’s face brightened instantly and she perked up. “Oh can we? I feel so stuffed up!” 

Jamie was proud of himself for once again correctly guessing what would be good for her. Perhaps he had her figured out now… 

Thus the preparations began. It was an unseasonably warm day for autumn in Scotland, so Jamie was comfortable with Claire wearing one of the armload of dresses provided she also wore his jacket. Most of them still lay on the chair where he’d deposited them the night before. He grabbed one out for Claire, handed it to her, and then she disappeared off to change. When all of the rest of the dresses had been draped over his arm to bring upstairs, he noticed the book laying on the chair. The Woman of Balnain. 

Alarm bells went off in his head, and his curiosity peaked, but he didn’t have any time to spare to look into the book. It’d have to wait. As he tossed the clothes upstairs in the guest bedroom, he took a stop by his office to place the book on his desk. Soon. 

For his own preparations, he suited up in his well-loved hiking boots, packed a backpack of water and snacks, and considered their destination. Claire likely wasn’t interested in a car journey (she’d had enough excitement for one day), so perhaps just a walk about his property and a stroll to the neighboring monro. It truly was beautiful: the heather was in full bloom this time of year, turning the hills into sweeping seas of purple. Claire would love it. 

So, they escaped out the back door and set out side-by-side along his property. They weren’t touching, just amicably basking in each other’s nearness. About two steps in, Jamie realized he needed to slow his pace. His long legs and inexhaustible hiker’s energy would far outpace his wee faerie. 

“I never thought tae ask…” Jamie began as they walked along, Claire’s face upturned toward the sunlight peeking through the clouds, “how old are ye?” 

“Oh…” she looked down shyly and then glanced back up at him from under her lashes, “I'm quite young really, I’m only 9 and 30.” 

Jamie’s mouth fell open. He was incredibly taken aback by this, having pegged her to be about his age if not younger, but quickly decided he could take it in stride. 

“‘Quite young?’” he chuckled, “ye’re practically a granny compared tae me, lass. I’m 29.” 

“29!” she exclaimed, as if she had just told her that he was the bloody queen rather than a decade younger than her, “but you’re so… why don’t you live with your parents?” 

Jamie nearly tripped over a stone in his path but managed to right himself before toppling over. Claire had stopped walking the moment “29” had left his mouth, and she was staring at him with a concerned gaze that uncomfortably reminded Jamie of how an adult might look at a lost child. 

But the pieces were beginning to fall into place in his brain, and he wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs as he gathered his thoughts. With a glance at Claire and then a tilt of his head, they resumed walking. 

“I sense that maybe there’s a wee difference between lifespans of humans and the fair folk…” he began uncertainly, “Humans only stay wi’ their parents until they are 18 or so. Besides, I lost my mam when I was young, and my da a few years back.” 

He wasn’t sure exactly what possessed him to share that last intimate detail with her, superfluous to the point as it was. He hardly ever talked about his parents’ deaths to people, and it disconcerted him a bit how easily it came tumbling from him now. Apparently a deep part of him wanted to share everything with her. 

“Ye said ye’re quite young…” he continued, and a horrifying thought suddenly struck him, “you didna still live wi’ yer parents before ye came through the stones, did ye?” 

Oh Christ what if she was only a child by fae terms! She looked his age but…

His head began to spin, but she thankfully answered before he could work himself up any further. 

“No. I suppose things are a little different for the fair folk. We are taken care of by our parents until around 30 years of age or so. But I’ve been on my own for far longer than that. I… I lost my parents as well. When I was very young. I can hardly remember them really…” 

She gave a little tilt of the head, trying to keep the mention of tragedy casual, but he could see the pain in her eyes that wouldn’t meet his. 

Jamie’s heart ached for her, tinged with the familiar longing for his own parents. It seemed they really were kindred spirits— him and Claire— two lost souls who’d somehow come to find each other. 

“I’m sorry, lass,” he said huskily, “so that’s what ye meant when ye’d said ye’d been takin’ care of yerself yer whole life? Did ye no’ have other family?” 

Claire shrugged her shoulders a little, as if her clothes were too tight, and shook her head, her curls billowing in the gentle breeze to hide half of her face. He knew she wasn’t hiding from him intentionally, but it still made his heart clench to see her discomfort. 

“Not really. But the fair folk are rather communal. We are often near each other, even if we don’t live as a family unit per say. Others made sure I was well, and I had friends and other fae around, but mostly I’ve been—” 

She left the word “alone” unspoken, but the meaning was clear. The undeclared word seemed to linger in the air between them, weighty and heart-wrenching. 

At this new declaration, Jamie couldn’t help but reach out and take her hand. She wasn’t alone anymore after all. Maybe she felt that way, but Jamie would be damned if it were true. He wouldn’t leave her. Her wee hand slipped easily into his, and he allowed his thumb to drift over the peaks and valleys of her knuckles. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. What else could he say in the midst of such loss?

“What about you?” she asked, her natural radiance suddenly coming through in her smile, dissipating the heavy topic’s dark cloud, “will you tell me more about your sister?” 

Jamie couldn’t help a sheepish smile. “Aye, Janet is her real name. After we lost our mam when I was around 8 or so, Jenny became sort of a mother tae me. She was always there when I needed her, and— weel…” he let out a bit of a laugh, thinking about the earlier blow up with Jenny, “she’s always there now, sometimes too much when she’s sticking her neb intae my business… but I’m glad she’s there. I love her verra much.” 

Claire gave him a sweet nod and squeezed his hand. “I can tell she’s important to you.” 

Apologies rose in Jamie’s throat along with the resurfaced guilt from earlier. He had told the one person who mattered most to him that Claire meant nothing, and both of them were aware of it. But as much as he was bursting to lay himself at her feet and explain his mistake all over again, he’d already been forgiven, so it was time for him to move past it. 

His thoughts were interrupted by Claire letting out an exclamation. They had just rounded the edge of the monro, revealing the expanse of rolling heather— its purple waves spread into a picturesque canvas across the landscape. 

“Bonny, is it no’?” he asked, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. 

“It’s beautiful,” she uttered in wonderment. 

Feeling like a protagonist in a romance novel, he held tightly to her hand and led her through the field. Her skirt billowed in the breeze behind her, and her face was lit up with a serene joy. Riotous curls swept all around her head, and Jamie was enthralled. He found himself walking almost completely backward so he could watch her face as she took in the beautiful sights. 

He could admit to himself that it was cheesy, but to him, Claire would always be the most beautiful view. 

If only he could tell her that… To bring them to a halt, gather her into his arms, and kiss her until she was breathless…

He had to squeeze his eyes shut before the longing took him over. The words he always repeated to himself came to the forefront of his mind. 

You can be her friend, her anchor, but nothing more. She’s lost everything, ye canna take advantage of her. Pull yerself together. 

And so he did. He wiped all thoughts of kissing her from the slate of his mind— imaging a whiteboard of the errant imaginings being erased— and grounded himself in the moment. 

“Have ye ever seen a place like this?” he asked. 

She shook her head, still smiling in delight. “We don’t usually wander out as far as the moors. Well, some do. Some have experienced a great deal. But I hadn’t ever left my forest before now.” 

He nodded, going silent as his imagination overwhelmed him with images of him taking Claire to the beaches of Greece. Her joy as she took in the crystal blue waters, her dropping to her knees to grab handfuls of sand, her body clad only in a bikini as she jumped into the waves...

A question suddenly struck him and pulled him rudely from his fantasy. 

“Do the fair folk read?” 

She looked at him, uncertain. “Read?” 

He thought back to their adventure at the bookstore. She hadn’t actually asked him about the books, but she hadn’t made any indication she knew what they were either. It had been an overwhelming day; he couldn’t blame her for not asking about every single thing when it was all unfamiliar. 

“Do you have language in a written form? With symbols?” he expanded. 

She gave a little shake of her head and looked curiously at him. “We communicate verbally, like we’re doing now. What is reading?” 

And thus, Jamie set into the best explanation he could manage. About communication, learning, writings surviving the years to give insights into ancient ways, the power of stories in human culture. 

“We tell many stories,” Claire told him during a break in his explanation, “all passed down from one generation to the next. Like I said at the gardens, language is everything to us.” 

He nodded thoughtfully. Jamie’s curiosity about the fair folk was well and truly peaked, and as they walked along, enjoying the serenity of the warm day and the feeling of earth under their feet, he launched into more questions. 

“This may be a difficult question tae answer, but… how are ye alive if ye dinna eat? I mean… humans get energy from things we eat, where do you get yers?” 

“Well… I suppose a simple way to explain it is we get energy from everything around us.” She made a wide, encompassing gesture to their surroundings. 

“Like from the sun? Like plants do?” Jamie’s brain was running away with thoughts of Claire going through the process of photosynthesis. 

“No, it’s… it’s hard to explain. It’s more like… I just tap into the energy of the earth. I don’t really know how else to say it.” Claire gave him a bit of a helpless smile, and Jamie returned one in dismissal of the topic. It didn’t matter to him so much how exactly it worked so long as it did. 

“Okay, one more question,” he asked, hoping he hadn’t already pushed her too far with his curiosity. 

But his fears were assuaged when she answered indulgently, “you can ask me as many as you want, Jamie.”

That got his head spinning. What he really wanted to know was about relationships between the fae. Did they have marriage? He longed to ask her (and maybe get down on one knee depending on the answer), but he bit his tongue. It wouldn’t do to be scaring the lass with a daft question when he couldn’t even keep his feelings in check. No, he’d save that one for another day. 

“I appreciate it, lass, but jes’ one more for now. From the stories I’ve heard from my mam… and that many people believe in Scotland, ye’re supposed to leave offerings of milk and sweets— food— for the fair folk tae eat. But ye dinna eat, so…”

Claire let out a laugh then. Not one of mocking or disdain, but pure enjoyment. And it lit up Jamie’s soul to hear even though he had no idea why it was she was laughing. 

“You humans think you have us all figured out. That one, my lad, is one you all made up completely on your own. I’m sure half of the things you believe are mere superstition,” she answered with an entertained gleam in her eye. 

Jamie could have talked to her for hours, deciphering which of the scottish legends were true or man-made, unraveling the secrets that made up his mysterious faerie, but he noticed she was starting to droop a bit. Her pace had slowed, and despite the wide smile still gracing her face, Jamie thought it was time to turn around. 

“Come now, lass, let’s go home.” 

She gave a grateful nod, and with that, they turned back. On the way home, Jamie began to explain all about his job. About the publishing company— his whole livelihood based on stories. Claire seemed to lighten at that, and Jamie started to mentally catalogue which books he’d have to read to her first, imagining her delight as she was introduced to all different kinds of worlds and knowledge. 

The sun was just beginning to go down as the cottage came in sight. The clouds were lit in a warm golden light, and specks of it sparkled in Claire’s hair. Rather like the color of the aura around her— he thought. He looked at her then, really looked, and saw the soft shimmering cloud, barely visible in the golden sunlight. They were no longer holding hands, but he thought if he took just one step closer, he could feel the warmth of it. Indulging himself, he did, and found it to be just like it always was. A sense of well-being, of serenity, of Claire. 

*

“Would ye like another shower, a nighean?” he asked as they stepped inside the house and he took the jacket from her. 

She looked quite excited by this idea. “Oh yes, please.” 

He inflated with the pride of pleasing her and had to hide his smile as he hung their jackets on the hook. 

“Well alright then. But only if I can take one after ye, I must smell worse than the underside of a stag.” 

Much to his surprise (and perhaps even horror), Claire suddenly was on top of him, her face pressing against his shoulder and hands casually rested on his sides, holding him still. There was the sound of a deep inhale, and then she withdrew her face with a smile. 

“I think you smell wonderful,” she said sweetly, without a hint of sarcasm in her tone or guileless eyes. 

Jamie laughed out loud, his chest heaving with the force of it. Claire laughed along with him, although he wasn’t entirely sure what she was laughing about. 

Overcome by his giddiness (the lass had just smelled his oxter and liked it for Christ’s sake!), he leaned in and caught her around the waist. Holding her body against him, he lowered his head and took a whiff of her neck. His nose brushed the skin there, and she began to squirm against him, the softness of her clouding his mind. 

“Ye smell like…” 

His words cut off as she struggled playfully, making him laugh. The squirming only egged him on, and he easily held her incapacitated as he sniffed again, this time on the other side of her neck. She pushed half-heartedly at his chest, but at the same time, she seemed to be leaning closer to his touch. 

He had been planning to tease her, to finish his sentence by listing whatever horrible smell he could think of and demanding she shower immediately, but he found that when he really thought about it, she smelled fresh as a summer rose. Like the heather of the fields and crispness of the breeze. 

Of course she did, the lass didna drink, she likely didna sweat either. 

Just another enchanting thing about her— she would always smell intoxicating. 

“Actually ye smell good,” he finished lamely.

His hands fell from her waist, releasing her, and she pushed away from him while continuing to laugh. 

“Well I’d like that shower either way,” she teased. 

As he headed toward the bathroom to turn it on for her, he began to berate himself over their little display. His eyes squeezed shut with the force of his embarrassment.

That was something a couple would do. Not friends. He’d been overcome by flirting in the moment, the nearness of her that seemed to make him lose his heid. He’d stepped over a line. 

The feeling of her squirming in his arms, of holding her body against him, lingered in his mind long after he’d left Claire to her shower. He sat down at the kitchen table and buried his head in his hands. 

He had to get himself together. 

*

While Claire showered, Jamie needed to take care of real life. Food was first-and-foremost, and then he had to set about the task of taking more time off work. There was no way he could leave her. That was the same thing he’d told himself the last few days, and Jamie briefly wondered if he ever would be able to. It certainly wasn’t getting any easier. 

As he pulled out his phone to shoot Ian a clipped and matter-of-fact text about yet another absence, Adso gave him a green stare of disapproval from his perch on the coffee table. 

“What are ye judgin’ me for?” he asked the cat indignantly. 

Adso simply gazed at him some more, even and unwavering in his haughty objection. 

Jamie sighed heavily, “I guess ye’re right,” he told the cat, “I’ll call him. Now stop eyin’ me like that.” 

Whipping out his phone, he reluctantly initiated the call. 

“Hi, Jamie,” Ian answered, seeming rather muted compared to his usual exuberant greetings. 

“Hello, a charaid,” Jamie said, and then there was a long silence. Guilt was seeping into his brain at the thought of possibility driving his family away. The cat really had convicted him… 

“Listen, I am—” “Jamie, I wanted tae—” they both started at the same time. 

“I’ll go,” Ian volunteered, “I wanted tae tell ye that I’m sorry we ambushed ye this mornin’. Ye’re right. Ye’ve worked hard wi’ out a single day off in years, ye deserve a vacation if that’s what ye’re needin’.” 

“Thank you, Ian. I’m sorry, too. I shouldna have blown up at ye and ignored yer calls. I’ve jes’ been… sortin’ through some things.” 

“I understand that,” Ian chuckled. 

“Listen, were ye serious? About me takin’ as many days as I need?” 

“Of course.” 

“Then ye willna bite my heid off when I ask ye for the rest of the week?” 

“Ye’re a canny one makin’ me say it before ye drop that bomb on me… Of course, Jamie. Take the time ye need. Ye’d tell me if anythin’s wrong, wouldn’t ye? Ye ken ye can talk tae me about anythin’?” 

Jamie’s heart clenched. “Of course, Ian. Thank you. Listen, I hafta go, but I’ll see ye soon, aye?” 

“Aye. And Jamie… maybe gi’ yer sister a call? I ken she wants tae apologize.” 

“Alright, Ian,” he answered rather noncommittally, still stinging from their fight, “Bye, a charaid.”

With Ian’s quick goodbye, Jamie hung up and sat back heavily in his chair, sighing at Adso— who was looking smugly satisfied over making Jamie do the right thing. There was barely a moment of silence between them before he thought about the fact that Claire had been in the shower an awfully long time. 

“Wee besom’ll use up all my hot water,” he grumbled at Adso on his way toward the bathroom to check on her. 

Not that he really minded in the slightest. Claire could use up all the hot water and leave him taking cold showers for the rest of his days and he would just thank God that it meant she was with him.

***

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