#Tommy’s just kinda of a little shit in this I think

[brummiereader]

@mischievouslittlecreature ahh I've finally reached the first chapter of the next act 😍!

The phone booth that stood before them looked terribly out of place, red and man-made and screaming from within as the phone tucked inside its guts rang out. I would have quoted the entire first part because I adored how you described the scene. You fully immersed me in one of the best cinematic scenes of the series. So well that I swear I could see it playing out in front of my eyes. I particularly loved your description of the lone phone booth (this has inspired a new change in theme for my page 😂😍). And you're so right with your observations, one I made when I first watched this scene too. What the hell is it doing there 😂?? It's completely out of place. I don't think I've ever seen a phone booth randomly dumped like that in the middle of no where as a kid growing up in the UK 😅.

Wraith’s hooves clomped against the hard ground, snorts and quiet whinnies sounding from his nose. Ahh, I also really loved this description of Wraith 😍. And with the wind currently battering everything outside where I am, this whole scene was just perfectionist to read ❤️.

That was how things were these days, for the most part. Lizzie may have begrudgingly given her blessing for Tommy to remain seeing Lucy behind closed doors despite his marriage to her, but that did not mean she was particularly happy about it. This made me scoff so loudly! "Blessing"🙄. Lizzie came second! The day she finally realises her place in this arrangement, I will scream with joy! I'm kinda relieved the initial beginnings of this "marriage" are over. I know Lizzie's still kicking her feet about things, but it's a fair amount of years since the last act, so I'm hoping 🤞🏼 that she's at least done with her attempts to seduce Tommy (remembers "you're my property" scene 😳).

I'm gutted to read about Lucy and Charlie's strained relationship 😭. I can see how it could have easily happened with Lucy always away from work, but it's still heartbreaking to see how bad things have become in the household.

Oh, she was going to disembowel Michael fucking Gray. Please do, Lucy! And start with that moustache first. Maybe plucking out each hair one by one 😂.

“I won’t be on my own. I’m never on my own.” Tommy pulled himself into the saddle. “Lucy,” arghhh, I squealed at this 😍! I loved the double meaning to this. Instead of him referring to Grace like he does in the series, he's referring to Lucy 🥰. They really are joined at the hip!

Gosh, another heartbreaking scene for both Tommy and Lucy as they see their lover 😔. I continue to love how you make them descend into these darker moments together. They share so much pain, and instead of dealing with it separately, they always go through it together. Part of me believes they do because they're the same person, that deals with thing in the same way. And another part of me believes it's because they couldn't possibly do it without the other. Like the saying "a problem shared is a problem halved". They're so codependent on each other, and where some people might think that's not a healthy trait to have in a relationship, for Tommy and Lucy it's the only way for them to survive 😭❤️.

Lucy did not speak much during the meeting, though she almost jumped across the conference table to throttle Linda at multiple points. The image of Lucy lunging over the table at Linda in my mind was both epic and hilarious 😂!

Oooh the tension was thick during the Garrison scene. I know Ada is only looking out for her younger brother, but it made me a little nervous how she and Lizzie seemed to gang up. I really hope this isn't the start of something, because she was so understanding of Tommy and Lucy's relationship in the previous part 😬.

She stood, muttering, “I can’t be bothered with this shit,” loud enough for everyone to hear, before storming out the door. Ahh, good ol'Lizzie, always there to make things even more awkward. Even in the series, I never got the impression that Lizzie was really in, in, with what the family was up to. So when I read this part, i was as shocked as Lucy at her outburst and so perfectly worded "cunty" behaviour!

Great chapter, Lily! Can't wait to read more 😍.

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: Devastating news from Michael in America leads Tommy and Lucy to congregate with ghosts.

Word Count: 6,213

Warnings: Drug use, polyamory, animal death, and references to pregnancy.

Notes: This chapter is a little heavy on exposition, so sorry in advance for that. But there's a bit of a time jump between this and the previous part, so I wanted to make sure everyone was caught up on the dynamics between the characters before we really hit the ground running.

Previous Part • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 1: Gathering Storm

The wind howled over the barren hills, pushing white wisps of mist across the landscape. There was hardly a tree in sight, and what little browned or yellowed grass there was trembled against the cold breeze. The phone booth that stood before them looked terribly out of place, red and man-made and screaming from within as the phone tucked inside its guts rang out. 

Wraith’s hooves clomped against the hard ground, snorts and quiet whinnies sounding from his nose. His sides flexed against Lucy’s legs with each movement, betraying the powerful muscle encased under his deep black pelt. 

Tommy eased him to a stop beside the phone booth and dismounted, handing her the reins. Lucy turned her head to look out at the wasteland of dirt and rolling hills around them as he ducked into the booth to pick up the still shrieking phone. Wind tugged lightly at her red curls and kissed icily at her freckled cheeks. Wraith snorted, shifting from foot to foot, dipping his enormous head, black mane twisting in the breeze. Lucy gave him a gentle pat to quell his impatience, watching the dark silhouette of Tommy’s body through the glass panes of the phone booth. Condensation beaded on the transparent material, leaving it blurry. 

They had been out living on the land for a few days. Sleeping in vardos, eating what they were able to catch or forage, and languishing in the fresh air that was free from the smoke and soot of the city. Lizzie and the kids were with them, as was Johnny Dogs and some of his kin. All of whom were lingering back at the camp while she and Tommy went to take the prearranged phone call. It was nice. A much needed break of the usual insanity of their lives. 

Well, it had been nice. All the way up until that business with Dangerous. 

Lucy swallowed hard, adjusting her grip on Wraith’s reins. Poor, sweet, wild horse. Tommy had been nearly despondent when it became clear they would have to put him down. He had insisted on doing the deed alone, and when he came to her after it was done, there was a shakiness in his hands that only she knew him well enough to notice, and his eyes were unsteady and clouded over with grief and something dark and despairing. 

The wind picked up a little, and the walls of the phone booth creaked and rattled. A foreboding death whistle sounded across the hills. Lucy shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the lay of her peaked cap on her head, trying to pull it down to protect her ears from the cold. 

Tommy emerged from the booth a moment later, eyes sweeping across the muddied hills, taking in the gray clouds gathering in the sky. He looked tired, the face under the shadow of his cap drawn in and layered with stress. 

“Everything alright?” she asked when he approached, scooting back in the saddle so that he could climb into the space in front of her on the stallion.  

“Yeah. Arthur got a letter from the Angels of Retribution. They said that they hadn’t even heard of us, so I told Finn to send Aberama and Isiah to introduce themselves. But to stay out of it himself.” 

“Good.” Isiah and Aberama were two of their soldiers that she trusted the most. Aberama had proven himself to be an invaluable asset. Shaped by experience, calculation, and ruthlessness. And Isiah…well, Isiah had been trained by her personally. “Ready to head back?”

Tommy took hold of the reins, sighing and looking out at the vast landscape around them. They could disappear out here, if they wanted to. Never to be seen again. “Yeah,” he said, in a voice that indicated the exact opposite. Lucy wrapped both arms around his waist, pressing her front to his back, holding onto him for both stability and comfort. He lowered one of his big palms to rest on top of hers where they clasped against his stomach, thumb rubbing her knuckles before taking hold of the reins. He snapped them once and drove his heels into Wraith’s sides, and the massive black stallion took off in a ferocious, booming gallop across the field.

They rode back the long way, neither of them saying anything as the wind whipped at their clothes. Lucy didn’t mind; she could sense that Tommy needed the time to think.  

By the time they picked their way to the ridge overlooking where they had made camp, the wind had died down somewhat. Good thing, too. The cold was making her shoulders begin to ache with the pains that so often plagued them.

Looking down, she could see the little figures of Johnny and his boys moving amongst the wagons. They had dug a huge hole in the time that they’d been gone, a small mountain of dirt piled up next to it. The little lake shimmered in the sunlight. A dog barked. 

Tommy brought Wraith to a stop, staring with his eyes fixed not on the hole Johnny and his men had dug, but the body wrapped in canvas next to it. Lucy gave him a small squeeze around the middle. Near the wagons, by where a table and chairs had been erected, she could see the tall, elegantly dressed figure of Lizzie looking up at them. Beside her, a smaller figure, hard to make out at this distance, but probably Ruby, turned her head to stare at the ridge. 

In front of her, Tommy shifted, reaching into his pocket and procuring a small brown bottle, uncorking it. 

“Can I have some?” she asked, after he took a small swig. He passed it back to her silently. The drug burned slightly as it entered her mouth and coated her throat. She was mindful not to drink too much; she was small, and it wouldn’t take a lot to have her flying high as a kite if she wasn’t careful. Handing back the vial to Tommy, he slid the cork back into place and pocketed it. 

More and more often, they found themselves swigging from that little bottle.

Tommy nudged Wraith into moving again, and they started to follow the path descending the ridge, heading into the camp. 

Once they arrived, Tommy dismounted first to be immediately greeted by Ruby running to him. He stooped, beckoning her to him and scooping her into his arms. Lizzie was right behind her daughter, moving to walk by Tommy’s side as he carried Ruby over to where the wagons were stationed. She gave a thin, barely perceptual smile to Lucy as she passed by the horse. 

That was how things were these days, for the most part. Lizzie may have begrudgingly given her blessing for Tommy to remain seeing Lucy behind closed doors despite his marriage to her, but that did not mean she was particularly happy about it.  

It was no secret that Tommy and Lizzie had problems. Lucy lived at Arrow House with them; she had a front row seat to all the shouting matches and bitter resentment that had plagued their marriage. 

She had done her best not to get involved. Tommy and Lizzie’s relationship was their business, and she doubted that Lizzie would respond well to her meddling in it. But it was hard, with her proclivity to want to fix things for people, to not try to repair their strained union. 

Things between her and Lizzie were…tumultuous. They’d had their share of rough patches here and there in the years since she and Tommy got married. Incidents like Lizzie asking Lucy to move rooms. It had been shortly after Lizzie and Ruby moved into Arrow House. Lizzie had wanted Ruby to have the room closest to the master bedroom should she need her in the middle of the night. Lucy hadn’t minded. Of course, she had assumed that Lizzie would have her moved to one of the unoccupied rooms further down the hall, not to the opposite end of the house. In a drafty, overlooked room. The drafts went unfixed for nearly a month, despite her bringing them up to Lizzie multiple times. It was only after Tommy took notice of them that they were finally dealt with. 

Over time she’d grown used to Lizzie’s bursts of jealousy-induced passive aggression, even though it still always stung. Despite her attempts to not let it bother her. In the end, she really felt quite sorry for her, and massively guilty for the role she had undeniably played in amplifying her misery. 

She should have put a stop to it all earlier, back when Lizzie was still a prostitute that she and Tommy frequented when looking for a bit of variety in their sex life. And especially after he had made Lizzie his secretary. And yet they still continued to intermediately sleep with her. That had been a mistake, and not just because of the pregnancy. It had led Lizzie on, and that hadn’t been fair.

And then they’d gone and made things even worse when Tommy married Lizzie.

They had not been dishonest about the arrangement that would come with the marriage. Tommy had not married Lizzie for love, but for convenience. Having an illegitimate child could hurt his image as a politician. And he needed a wife. Someone to run the house and care for the children while he was gone. And to help project the image of a traditional family to his constituents. Marrying her was the right, respectable thing for him to do. Lizzie would enjoy all the benefits of being Mrs. Shelby, but Tommy and Lucy would be continuing their relationship. They had all been clear on that. Lizzie had said that she was okay with that.  

But Lizzie had always been in love with Tommy. Lucy had seen it in her eyes, years ago. And their current actions had done nothing but fan the flames of hope that Lizzie carried in her heart that someday, Tommy would love her the way that she wanted him to. Lucy sometimes wondered if Lizzie thought that if she wanted it badly enough, she’d be able to change him into the man that she wanted him to be.  

Tommy had tried. Sort of. Lucy had seen it during the first year of his marriage to Lizzie. He had tried so hard to play the role of if not a loving and attentive husband, than at the very least a present and dutiful one. But as time went on and the mask slipped, he had ultimately given up the charade, resigning himself to a life with a wife who he didn’t love. 

And then the bitterness and resentment came. There were days where things were better. Lucy could sit by the fire, giggling and playing cards or chess with Lizzie after the kids had gone to bed. But then there were days where even the smallest thing set Lizzie off, spewing cruel words at her or Tommy who, true to his nature, gave just as good as he got.  

In all honesty, Arrow House was no longer the refuge that it had once been. She and Tommy were now relegated to quick and brief touches and kisses in the darkest corners of the house or else they risked Lizzie’s ire. Not that work was much different, as anything outside of strictly professional behavior could risk blowing up everything they had worked so hard to build these past few years. There was the apartment they had in London for when they worked too late to justify driving back to Birmingham, but often when they went there they were both too exhausted to do much more than sleep. It was with a bit of a startle that Lucy realized that she could not remember the last time they had done anything even remotely romantic outside of quick, almost mindless fucks.  

One of Johnny’s boys came over to lead Wraith away by the reins, and Lucy remained securely seated in the saddle, resting a hand on the back of the irritable horse’s neck. Even after so many years, he didn’t take too kindly to strangers, and there was always a risk when someone unfamiliar tried to approach him that he would try to bite or kick. But with her still astride him, he behaved himself, letting Johnny’s boy guide him towards one of the wagons. 

“I’ll do that,” she said to the man, dismounting with ease and taking the rope he was about to use to tie Wraith to the side of the vardo. He nodded respectfully, handing it over and walking around her to go help Johnny and his men haul the carcass of Dangerous into the grave they’d dug.  

She’d just finished looping the rope into place, giving Wraith a companionable pat on the flank when she heard Charlie’s voice raise in an angry cry from where he, Tommy, Lizzie, and Ruby were all gathered at a nearby wagon,

“No! It’s what you do! Shoot horses, shoot people. Everybody says!” He stood, turned, and disappeared back into the wagon, stomping his little feet in a way that was eerily similar to his father. 

Tommy winced, shoulders drawing in, expression locking down in a way that Lucy recognized as him working very hard not to let the hurt he was feeling show too obviously on his face. Straightening, he fetched a cigarette from his case and went to the hole where Dangerous’s body lay. After a moment’s hesitation, Ruby followed him. 

“What happened?” Lucy asked in a quiet voice, going to stand by Lizzie, slipping off her gloves to tuck them away in her pocket.

“Charlie heard Johnny say in Rokka that Tommy shot the horse.”

“Oh.”

“He doesn’t understand that it was out of mercy. And he won’t listen to anyone who tries to explain it to him.”

Lucy sighed, pulling out and lighting a cigarette. “Well, at least we know he’s been paying attention when learning his languages.”

“Maybe you could try talking to him…”

She flicked ash down onto the grass. “He doesn’t really listen to me all that much these days.”

Lizzie looked down and away. Lucy thought she might’ve seen a flicker of guilt in her eyes. 

There was a time when she and Charlie were close. She had known him since before he was born. And even prior to Grace’s death, she had been a second mother to him. Something both Tommy and Grace encouraged. Her lovers had wanted their son to see her as another parent, and so that was the position she had taken up in his life. Or at least tried to. 

But things had shifted in the past few years. Some of it could be chalked up to just the boy growing up and that typical Shelby willfulness finally making itself known. She didn’t think, for all her faults and all the strife between them, that Lizzie had purposefully driven a wedge between her and Charlie. But working with Tommy in London meant that she wasn’t home as much, and with Lizzie always at Arrow House and functioning more often as his mother than Lucy was, things had changed. Slowly, they drifted apart. And now he hardly spoke to her. He called Lizzie Mum, but not her. Never her.

Lucy could not fault him for growing more partial to Lizzie. After all, she was the one who was always there, to help him with his schoolwork, attend his extracurriculars, mind that he ate his vegetables at dinner, and kiss his scraped knees when he fell playing in the garden. It made sense that he would grow closer to her, and that he would side with her when he saw just how much distress the arrangement between his three parents brought her. In his eyes, Lucy had to figure that she appeared to be the primary source of his mother’s pain. 

Maybe she was. 

Perhaps that was why she gave up so easily without a fight, letting him drift away from her with no protest. A way to try to atone for the agony she had caused Lizzie. She may have Lizzie’s husband, but Lizzie had her child. 

She loved Charlie. She only ever wanted what was best for him, and right now, that was Lizzie. She would take care of him, offer him the closest thing to a normal, stable life that was possible for him to have.

It was better for him, this way. He deserved a better mother than the broken fragments that was all Lucy had to offer. 

Despite her understanding of her boy’s–no, not hers, not anymore–changed emotions towards her, it hurt like a knife to the chest. She had loved him from the moment she first held him, had rocked him to sleep hundreds of times when he was a baby, had watched him grow up into the precocious little boy he was now. He was her baby. Or at least the closest she would ever have to one. 

Of Tommy’s two children, Ruby was surprisingly the one who was warmer towards her these days. But then again, Ruby was sweet with everyone.   

Turning her gaze back over to where Tommy stood by the unfilled grave with his daughter, she examined the lines of sorrow standing out starkly on his face as he gazed at the dead horse in the hole. She dropped her cigarette to the ground, grinding it under her heel, about to go to him when the growl of an approaching engine caught her attention. Her head turned, hand half raising to dip inside her coat to where her revolver sat in its holster tucked securely against her ribs, before she recognized it as Arthur’s car. 

By the grave, Tommy had also noticed the car, ushering Ruby over towards Lizzie and moving to meet Arthur when he shut off the engine and jumped out of the driver’s seat. He had a newspaper in his hand. 

Lucy moved to stand at Tommy’s side, craning her head around his shoulder to peer at the newspaper’s headline when Arthur handed it over. 

BILLIONS LOST IN WALL STREET CRASH, it read, in huge black letters. Behind them, she could hear the scrape of shovels and the dull thud of dirt being dumped back into the hole. 

Despite the headline, her stomach did not drop with horror. They had known that this was coming. Tommy had already instructed Michael to sell before the numbers of the stocks and shares collapsed, so they would be–generally speaking–unaffected. 

It wasn’t until Arthur started speaking, explaining how Michael had ignored their advice in favor of that of a broker and held on, that her guts began to turn with outrage and dismay. Michael had held on. And taken them all down with him.

She exhaled roughly, taking a step back, slowly shaking her head. Oh, no. Oh, fucking no.

How much had they lost? Just trying to do the calculations in her head for a ballpark number made her temples start to hurt. 

Oh, she was going to disembowel Michael fucking Gray.

Incompetent, arrogant, backstabbing fool. They should never have forgiven him for that shit he pulled during the vendetta. Banishment had been too kind a punishment for him.  

“That idiot,” she seethed, looking to Tommy. “I’m going to kill him.”

The expression on his face said that he may very well let her. He started to tread back and forth, rubbing at his eyes, mumbling in a way she knew was more to himself than to any of them. His teeth were grinding together, jaw jumping under his skin. It did not take long before he was shouting, pacing the ground like an angry jaguar and raging.

“What do I have to do to make people fucking listen to me!?” he screamed into the wind, a hand going to clasp over his mouth as he paced a few more times then stilled, eyes staring with his mind spinning behind them. 

And then he was jumping into action, sounding off orders to both Lizzie and Arthur with a snap of his fingers. He did not need to give Lucy her directions, she already knew them, reaching into her pocket to procure her leather gloves and slide them over her hands, gesturing to one of Johnny’s men to get Wraith where he was tied up. 

“I need to do some thinking,” Tommy announced as he headed towards the horse with Arthur on his heels. 

“Oh. Oh, you do that best on your own, don’t you, eh?” Arthur challenged, agitated. 

“I won’t be on my own. I’m never on my own.” Tommy pulled himself into the saddle. “Lucy,” he said, and she was already there, reaching up to take his outstretched hand, the strength in his arm helping to leverage her up onto Wraith’s back behind him. He gave one last set of instructions to Lizzie, and a final parting word to Arthur, and then he was driving Wraith into a gallop deeper into the hills. This time, they did not head up to the top of the ridge, but instead towards the trees, Wraith’s canter slowing as they entered the dense thicket of foliage, the wilderness seemingly opening up, and swallowing them whole. 

∗ ∗ ∗  

“Do you want me to kill him?”

They were seated on a log in front of the dancing flames of the fire Tommy had ignited shortly after darkness fell over the forest. Lucy had her head on his shoulder, leaning against his side to soak in the warmth that radiated from his body.

“Hm,” Tommy hummed, fingertips stroking where they rested on her upper arm, cheek turning against the top of her head. She had to bite back a smile at the clear consideration in his voice. “Not yet. Not until we know what really happened.”

“He’s a snake.”

“He’s an idiot. But that doesn’t mean this was a purposeful betrayal.”

“Yeah,” she agreed with a sigh, adjusting her head on him. Tommy picked at a sprig of mint held in his gloved hands, pulling off a few of the green leaves and popping them into his mouth. Wraith snorted from where he was tied to a nearby tree. “I still don’t trust him.”  

Tommy tossed the remainder of the sprig away. “Me neither.”

Before them, the fire popped and crackled. Lucy grabbed a few bits of kindling that they’d collected to feed into the flames. 

“I hate to add more onto your plate, but I got a message from Ada’s doctor earlier.” Every day since they’d been out in the country, she went to the red phone booth to take messages from Frances, Isiah, and their other various informants. “She’s pregnant.”

Tommy sighed deeply, but didn’t appear surprised. “Younger’s?”

“The doctor didn’t know, but I would assume so. Who else could it be? Not that it affects things all that much. I just thought you should know. So you don’t get blindsided by it later.”

“Thank you.”

They fell into companionable silence again. He had been quiet since they took off into the woods, busy in his head working on all the new problems Michael had just created for them. Lucy offered suggestions and insights when prompted, but otherwise just let him be, knowing after so many years together that her presence at his side was all he needed while he strategized. 

He shifted, reaching into his pocket to once more procure the little bottle of dope he kept tucked away there. Uncorking it, he handed it over to her first. Lucy took it gratefully, the glass cold against her fingers as she brought it to her lips and tilted her head back to take a swig. Almost immediately, she felt her mind begin to loosen, the corners of her eyesight growing fuzzy. 

She handed the bottle back to Tommy. There wasn’t much left; and he downed the remainder of the drug, tossing the empty bottle into the fire uncaringly. His arm went around her once more, the solid strength of it holding her to his side. Lucy snuggled in close, grateful for the comfort and heat, hoping that she could offer the same to him. 

Her eyes closed, and together, they waited for the ghost. 

She did not need to open her eyes to know once she had arrived. She could sense the way that the air around them seemed to shift, the weight of another presence appearing across the fire from them heavy despite her lack of a corporeal body.

Tommy spoke to her a little, and she responded in her gentle Irish lilt. Lucy could hear the smile on her face. The love in her voice.  

Quick as she appeared in front of them, she was suddenly behind them, her arms encircling them. Solid and real, though they shouldn’t have been. Her body was nothing but ash, spreading into the wind, and yet she was there, holding them as though she had never left. 

“All this time…” Tommy murmured, reaching to hold onto the ghost tighter. 

“I know. Our love still remains,” Grace said. Lucy felt tears squeeze from her eyes to roll down her cheeks. Grace’s hand petted the back of her head. 

She had been coming to them both more and more often lately. They had each seen her on rare occasions before, but now it was a regular occurrence. Probably because of the dope. 

Shared hallucinations, or real? It didn’t really matter. She was there. She was speaking to them and holding them. Things were as they once were, before she and their only real chance at happiness was ripped away from them. 

She was gone as quickly as she arrived, leaving nothing but cold air where she once stood over them. Lucy snatched at the empty space where her hand had been settled on her dead lover’s waist, lips trembling. Instead she latched onto Tommy, feeling him maneuver her so that her head was in his lap. He hugged her tighter, face bowing to bury in her hair, and there in the dark, she felt through their bond the true heavy weight of his despair crashing down onto them both, and the dampness of his salty tears dripping onto her scalp to seep into her skin. 

∗ ∗ ∗

By morning, they had a plan mapped out. Not a particularly desirable or moralistic one, but then again, few of their strategies ever really were. 

It would sustain them until the current financial crisis was over, at the very least.

The first meeting on the subject was held at the Shelbys’ office in Birmingham. The long table in the conference room was already occupied by Polly, Ada, Arthur, Linda, Lizzie, and Leon Greene when Lucy and Tommy arrived. Lucy raised an eyebrow at the tension she felt already crackling in the air and shared a look with Tommy as she sat down in the chair to the right of his.

The meeting went over well enough, despite Linda’s snobbish remarks and attempts to undercut Tommy at every turn. She’d been getting worse, ever since Arthur became chairman of the board. Like she thought that it was her husband who ought to be king, instead of Tommy. 

The idea made Lucy want to roll her eyes so hard in her head that they were at risk of popping out. She loved Arthur to pieces, she really did. But he was not suited to the position of leading the empire Tommy had built. 

Lucy did not speak much during the meeting, though she almost jumped across the conference table to throttle Linda at multiple points. Instead, she relegated herself to the sidelines, watching and listening quietly, as she so often did. Examining the faces of those seated around the table as Tommy explained their current financial situation, and his proposal for what they were to do to try to mitigate it.

At the end of the meeting, all of them–except for Linda who had already stormed out–voted unanimously to go forward with Tommy’s plan. 

Not that there had ever been any doubt that they would. 

The next meeting was for family only. They left Mr. Greene back at the office while the rest of them stepped out into the smoky air of Small Heath, heading for the Garrison. They entered the pub to rapturous cheers and applause, people immediately swarming around Tommy, eager to shake his hand and thank him for the work he’d been doing. 

Lucy watched him work the room, effortlessly charming each person who approached him. By the time he raised his voice to address the entire population residing in the pub, he had them all in the palm of his hand. He probably could have told them all to walk into the canal and they would have done so without question. 

His request that they move into the saloon bar attached to the pub, albeit with the incentive of a promise of free drinks, was met with more cheers, the patrons hurrying towards the doors. Ada, Polly, and Lizzie all went to convene in one of the booths while Tommy leaned his shoulder against a nearby pillar, and Arthur went to sit in a chair at a table next to the booth. Lucy moved to close the doors leading into the saloon bar once all the patrons were packed inside, flicking the lock into place. Then she pulled up a chair between Arthur and Tommy, shedding her coat to lay over the back of it before sitting. 

The meeting started off with Ada drawing a bullet from the depths of her handbag and setting it down on the table in front of her. Followed by an announcement that not only had Finn disobeyed them about staying out of the hit they’d ordered in Chinatown, and as a result ended up on Ada’s couch with a bullet in his arm, but he’d also completely spilled his guts to her as far as the details of what he’d been doing there. 

Fucking kid needed a lesson in how to keep his damn mouth shut. 

But the damage had been done, and Ada and Lizzie were both well and truly furious about the whole thing.

“Oh, Tommy, sweetheart,” Lizzie shook her head. Lucy raised her eyebrows at the term of endearment. “I listen to you. I listen to you when you tell me no more sport for anyone named Shelby. I listen to you when you make me promises.”

Lucy looked down at her hands, unconsciously playing with the plain golden rings that encircled several of her fingers. Guilt twisted inside her like a snake, writhing and squirming. How many of those promises had Tommy broken, in the years since they’d been married?

How many times had it been her fault when he did? 

He tried to explain why he’d sent their boys into Chinatown, but that only seemed to fan the flames of Lizzie and Ada’s mounting anger. 

“Jesus Christ, Tommy!” Lizzie snarled, slamming her hand down on the leather material lining the bench of the booth. 

“I think that you both are overreacting a little here,” Lucy decided to finally speak. “It’s not that big of a deal. And it’s not that different from the type of thing we used to do all the bloody time. Finn’s fine, an asshole pimp is dead, and we’re about to make a hefty hunk of cash for carrying out the hit.” 

“It was a particular opportunity.” Lucy started a little when, of all people, Polly chimed in. Polly, who hated her. Who had never accepted her. And yet, who had just spoken up in agreement with her. 

Lizzie’s eyes darted between her, Lucy, and Tommy. Something dawned on her face, and then her features hardened into a deadly expression that Lucy had become all too familiar with.

“But you told Polly and Lucy,” was all she said in response to the additional explanation that Tommy tried to give her, her voice cold as ice. And despite Polly, Arthur, and Tommy all starting to speak with further details and justifications for the whole thing, all it took was one look at Lizzie’s face and Lucy knew not a single word was actually getting through to her. She was too focused on that one detail: that her husband had told his lover and his aunt information that she believed herself to be entitled to know instead. 

She would be chewing on that for the remainder of the week. Probably even longer. 

“Lizzie, you need to understand–” Tommy started, but didn’t get very far. 

“That you tell Lucy and Polly, but not me.” Her jaw was clenched in a way that Lucy knew meant she was fighting very hard to keep the venom she wanted to spit at them from spewing out. Probably the only reason why it hadn’t already was because they were amongst others. If they’d been in private, she’d have told them both exactly what she thought of them. 

As if they didn’t know already. 

Tommy’s further attempts to smooth things over went about as well as Lucy expected. Once Lizzie got into one of her moods, she could be impossible to reason with. It was better to just leave her alone until it passed. 

“Lizzie, if Finn had listened to me, you wouldn’t have known. When we go home, I’ll explain,” Tommy tried. Lucy cringed, already knowing that was the wrong thing to say even before Lizzie scoffed and started to gather up her things. 

She stood, muttering, “I can’t be bothered with this shit,” loud enough for everyone to hear, before storming out the door. Lucy rolled her eyes. All this whining and complaining about not being kept in the loop on things, and yet every time she did have the opportunity to be involved, she acted as if it was the last thing she was actually interested in doing.  

Fuck, she was not looking forward to dealing with her and the earful she was sure they were due to get when they got home. Maybe it would be better for them to stay away for a few days to let Lizzie cool off. They could sleep over at their apartment in London instead of going home to Arrow House. 

It didn’t take long for Ada to follow Lizzie in storming out. Lucy watched her go, rubbing at one of her temples to try to stave off the headache she felt coming on. Jesus Christ, what was with all the cunty attitude today?

Tommy came to sit down in the vacant chair next to Lucy, leaning forward as Polly urged him to go easy on Ada on account of her pregnancy. It wasn’t all that surprising that Polly knew. Even if Ada hadn’t told her yet, Polly always knew when someone was pregnant. 

In fact, the only one left at that table who didn’t know was Arthur, who almost choked on his whiskey at the revelation.   

Polly left not long after that, though not before all but confirming to them that Ben Younger was the father of Ada’s baby. Lucy shared another knowing look with Tommy as he stood and slid into the booth, occupying the spot near the window where Polly had been a moment ago. Lucy shimmied in next to him, the red leather creaking a little under her as she got situated at his side. Arthur poured three glasses of whiskey, passing two of them across the table to her and Tommy.

Lucy sipped quietly at her drink while the brothers examined and discussed the bullet that had been ripped out of Finn’s arm. 

“Let me see,” she held out her hand for the bullet when Arthur asked about the writing on it. She squinted at the tiny characters carved into the metal. “Hm. My Chinese isn’t fantastic, but I think this one just says ‘death.’” She handed it back to Arthur.   

“Angels of Retribution?” he asked Tommy. 

“Yeah,” he kept turning his gaze out the window. Outside, Lucy could hear the sounds of horse’s hooves clomping against the cobbles and children chattering. She inched a little closer to him, until their sides just barely brushed. It was only them and Arthur; no need to try too hard to hide their relationship. 

“No one fucking listens to me,” Tommy lamented softly, leaning back with his head tilted towards the ceiling. Lucy nudged him companionably. 

“I do.”

He shot her a soft look, hand smoothing down the back of her head, leaning forward to kiss her hairline. His unspoken gratitude hummed between them warmly. He gave her a gentle tap on the back to let her know it was time to go after taking the bullet from Arthur and pocketing it. Lucy slipped out of the booth, going to grab her coat and tug it back on, wincing at a slight twinge in her shoulders as she did. 

“See you later, Arthur,” she said in goodbye to the eldest Shelby brother where he was still sat in the booth. Tommy gave him a pat on the shoulder, telling him to let the patrons in the saloon bar come back in if they wanted, and then led the way outside, into the smoke and soot of Small Heath. 

Previous Part • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[pancakebluess]

HERO AU — cracked treated seriously

✧.* — Tommy does not want to be a hero, he never has, actually. What he wants to be able to go to school and do normal things, but he can’t due to his own powers — sight.

✧.* — Tommy can get a sense of the future, an idea of what a possible outcome could be if the hero’s acted a certain way, or he could get a vague idea of villain plans, making him very valuable to the hero’s.

✧.* — Tommy has been in the hero society sense he was ten, and now fifteen, he truly just.. doesn’t care anymore, using his power is draining, and he’s just kind of.. bored.

✧.* — It’s no wonder he starts selling hero information to the syndicate. No surprise he starts to bond with them.

✧.* — Maybe it was out of spite, or to rebel, he doesn’t truly know himself — but Angel always seemed nicer than Dream anyway.

✧.* — He kind of ping-pongs between sharing hero info for the villains, and sharing villain info to the hero’s— he feels bad, just a little bit at sharing the hero’s plans, but he can’t help but be giddy that he gets to have secrets of his own.

✧.* — [something big happens] — Tommy feels guilty for betraying the hero’s, even if he was also selling out villain info to them — one of the hero’s major plans backfire, and everyone is panicking that there’s a traitor in the tower.

✧.* — Tommy pulls Dream aside and says he’s the traitor — Dream says something like this — “No you’re not, Tommy, you’re too valuable to be a traitor.” Maybe it’s a warning to shut his mouth, maybe it’s because Dream doesn’t think that Tommy is serious enough to betray them like that.

✧.* — Tommy just kinda goes.. oh, so the top hero is just dumb, and kinda just shrugs and gives all their info to the syndicate 4 giggles to try and get Dream to take him seriously.

SIDE NOTES :

— Tommy is not taking his hero job seriously after a while 😭😭 starts sprouting oracle statements towards the hero’s and they’re all like “WDYM” and he just giggles telling them to find out

— Tommy also just likes gossip in general, so during one of his ‘meetings’ with the syndicate he’s explaining the deep, weird love triangle between Watcher, Pyro, and Tyche [ Karl, Sapnap, and Quackity ] — and Blade just kinda goes “no— kid, we want hero plans,” like all amused and fond. Idk side plot of syndicate slowing adopting Tommy?

— I think Tommy’s name would be Hermes in this, or Apollo — and he would maybe be an avian + sneaking out through the hero tower windows to go meet with some of the villains to share info, but than would turn back and go to the hero’s to trade info again. He’s kinda gambling here lowkey whichever side figures out I’m betraying them first wins!!! 🥳🥳🥳

— however the syndicate .. kinda know? But I think they wouldn’t care as much as they should, the kids clearly young, they just didn’t except him to be 15 years old young

[theflyingfeeling]

Eighteenth Day of Gift-Giving: Aches

Prompt: "Just focus on me and try to relax."

This is the prompt I asked a little help with, and here's the result! I wanted to bring back the airport saga one more time, the previous part of which can be found here (although I'm afraid you still won't get to learn how Niko and Tommi are doing at the bar, sorry). This piece was sort of inspired by several prompts on the list, but this was the only one I included as it is. Enjoy 🖤

~

Joel’s head hurt. His eyes hurt. His back hurt from lying on the floor. His jaw hurt from gritting his teeth. His palms hurt from his nails digging into them in an attempt to mute all the other pain into something more harmless and bearable, but it only made him more frustrated. The only part of him that wasn’t hurting was a small patch of his skin near his collarbone where Joonas’ thumb worked in a circular motion. It wasn’t much, but definitely more than what Joel deserved after having complained the entire day, as if everyone else wasn’t as tired and irked about the situation; he was just the one being a huge bitch about it. 

And then there was Joonas. Joonas, who always knew better than to bother Tommi when he sat still with his eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest. Joonas, who would let Niko borrow his powerbank charger even though he was running on 8% himself, just so he could call Minna to wish her good night before he'd climb to his bunk. Joonas, who had made everyone promise they wouldn’t comment on whatever Olli and Aleksi had going on between them, because apparently they were yet to figure it out themselves and that they should be left to do that in peace, on their own terms. 

Yeah, there was no way in hell Joel was worthy of Joonas’ solicitude. Not even a little bit, Joel decided and turned to his side on the new-ish hardwood flooring of the airport lounge, even though it made him feel even more uncomfortable and pained. 

Only then he noticed that the only other part of his body that wasn’t hurting, apart from the little piece of skin Joonas had been caressing, had been the back of his head. 

Because Joonas’ arm had been there this whole time, keeping his head from dropping to the cold, hard floor.

The arm was now protecting his temple and showing no signs of moving from under him. It must have gone numb by now, although Joel wasn’t sure how long they had been lying there. It might have been only five minutes, but with Joel’s sense of time being manipulated by his agony, it could've also been five hours for all he knew.

“Do you want me to go?”

Joel sighed. He was surprised by the smallness of his own voice when he heard himself speak.

“I bet the sofa would be more comfortable.”

“For sure, but do you want me to go?”

It’s not that Joel hadn’t known his answer the first time Joonas asked him. He just didn’t know how to ask Joonas to stay without feeling like he was asking too much.

Too much, as in more than what he was worthy of. 

Joonas, however, took his silence as an affirmative answer and tried to slide his arm from under Joel’s head. Instinctively – or not knowing what else to do to have his way; to selfishly keep Joonas by his side – Joel grabbed Joonas’ hand to keep it in place. Joonas stopped in his tracks that very second, and two more later, intertwined their fingers, and in doing so, stopped the entire world around Joel.

For a fleeting second, there was no half-empty airport lounge, no fog outside the enormous windows keeping them as its prisoners. There was just Joonas' hand in his, and it shattered his world.

Joel wasn’t used to this kind of intimacy. He simply wouldn't let it happen, not with Joonas, not with anyone. Fleeing before anyone got too close to him never made him too proud of himself, but he didn't know anything else.

He couldn’t really explain why. It scared him, he supposed. Even now, his entire body shivered and his chest felt tight with something Joel did not know how to put into words.

He was thankful that at least with Joonas, he never had to; Joel sometimes felt as if the guy could read his thoughts, which was a comfort as much as it was a nuisance.

“Shhhhhhhhhhh.” Joonas ran his hand up and down Joel’s arm. “Breathe, Joel. Just breathe.”

It was incredible how Joonas knew he was suffocating even before Joel realised it himself.

Joel squeezed his eyes closed and tried to imagine himself some place else, just anywhere that wasn’t a room half filled with strangers, many of them probably gawking at them and wondering what the hell was wrong with him. 

I’m what’s wrong with me, Joel wanted to tell them. I’m so wrong and broken that I’m on the verge of a panic attack by having lowered my walls enough for my best friend to fucking comfort me when I need him the most, nothing else to see here, thank you and have a nice day.

“Joel.”

He could barely hear Joonas’ voice. He couldn’t tell if it was because it was so quiet or because his heartbeat was so loud in his ears.

“Joel. Please turn around. I want to help you. Please.”

Maybe it was the calming tone of Joonas’ voice. Maybe it was the movement of Joonas’ hand on his arm, or the fact his other hand was still clasping Joel’s, tight as if to keep him from falling off a cliff. Whatever it was, something made Joel do as Joonas asked, and he turned slowly, first to lie on his back for a moment, then to face Joonas. 

He kept his eyes shut, for he found some kind of strange comfort in the darkness. Sometimes it terrified him to death, but with Joonas’ soft voice speaking to him, Joel suddenly felt as if nothing would.

It took him a minute, maybe two, for Joel to find his normal breathing rhythm again. Somehow it matched perfectly with the pattern of Joonas’, which made it easier, Joel guessed. He didn’t even try to understand it; one moment he’s a trembling mess, a prey animal who had digged inside a leaf pile trying to hide its own heartbeat, and in the next he’s boneless and warm under Joonas’ touch, his blood finally flowing to his limbs again.

“Just… focus on me and try to relax. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“It’s okay.”

“Okay.”

“I’m here, Joel. You’re safe.”

I know.

~*~

"Joel. Hey, Joel, we're going."

The headache wasn't gone, but Joel supposed he had managed to fall asleep for a short while, since keeping his eyes open wasn't such a strenuous task any more. There was a slight pain in his neck, but he felt warm, even when Joonas lifted the leather jacket he had put on him at some point.

Maybe, against all odds, he'd make it back home alive.

"They're boarding us soon."

Joel could only nod at the information. His entire body felt heavy, possibly too heavy for the plane to take off with him inside it, if Joel was to count on his luck.

Only at the boarding queue he had the strength to lift his head and take in his surroundings. He saw members of the crew, yawning tapping on their phone cases. There was Tommi and under his arm almost sleeping Niko, perhaps a little tipsy if the shade of his gaze was anything to go by. Behind them, Olli and Aleksi's eyes kept wandering back to each other time after time, quick smiles visiting their lips each time they caught the other staring. They way their hands kept fumbling with each other, almost teasingly before shying away again, implied they would've holded hands if they had been some place else that wasn't an international airport.

Joel could relate: his hand was no good for anything without Joonas holding it.

~*~

The time on Joel's phone was nearing four in the morning when they finally stepped out of the taxi. It wasn't unsual to him to be awake at that hour, more often than not against his will, however.

His tired eyes blurred when he stared at the front door of his apartment building. Joonas' would be a few blocks down the street; close enough for Joel to stomp to whenever he ran out of oat milk.

(The nearest grocery store with an entire shelf full of Joel's favourite brand was about as close in the opposite direction, but Joonas wouldn't be there.)

"D'you wanna stay at mine?"

(And they wouldn't read Joel's mind at the grocery store the way Joonas always did.)

[peppermintquartz]

Canon divergence in that Buck does call Tommy the next time he's free, asking to go up in a chopper (instead of the harebrained scheme of going to the BBPU game)

+-

"And that's my favorite view," says Tommy, angling the helicopter to face the Pacific. It's late in the morning so sunlight glitters on the water like diamonds scattered on blue silk.

Buck shields his eyes with his hands. "It's beautiful!" he exclaims, almost giddy with delight at the panorama.

"It is. And at night, I like to look the other way, at the city spread out before me." Tommy's aviator sunglasses hide his eyes but his big smile is on full display.

Buck can't help the shiver in his belly every time he looks at Tommy. It's clear the air is his element. Already Buck knows that Tommy is very competent - they wouldn't have pulled off the rescue otherwise - but here, without anything to distract them, Buck sees how the chopper is an extension of Tommy himself. A deft touch, a slight adjustment, and the vehicle moves smoothly for Tommy to point out different landmarks from the sky.

By the time they land, Buck's spirits are still soaring. He's spent forty minutes flying with Tommy, who not only talked about the mechanics of flying, but also answered almost all of Buck's questions without ever sounding bored. In fact, he seems happy that Buck has done some research before he came for the ride.

"Okay, now I really need to buy you that beer, and also a meal." Buck wants to bounce on his heels. He feels lighter than air, like he's just a balloon full of happy emotions.

Tommy grins, shrugging as he tucks his aviators into a pocket. "I'm free for the rest of the day," he says. Ducking his head, he adds, "Didn't feel too good leaving you alone the other day to go watch the fight, but I didn't think we'd take two hours to tour Harbor Station either."

Buck's cheeks flush. He remembers being irrationally angry when Eddie and Tommy flew off, and he did go home to pummel his pillow a little before sulking. But he's done the mature thing, which is ask Tommy for a flight demo, instead of something insane like figure out what other activities he would be doing or events he would attend and try to show up there like a toy surprise.

"Well, that was because I wanted to find out so much, and it's really your fault, because you answered everything in detail." Buck falls in step with the older man as they head to Tommy's car. "You have to be accountable for your mistakes."

Tommy laughs. Buck feels tingly and proud that he's made that happen. Daringly, he nudges Tommy's elbow with his.

"So, what would you like for lunch?" Buck asks. "My treat, as thanks for the flight."

"Sure," says Tommy with an easy smile. As they approach the car, Tommy halts.

Buck stops as well, a little concerned. "Everything okay?"

Tilting his head, Tommy studies Buck, and then his expression grows a little more nervous and serious. "I... I don't wanna presume anything, and I want you to know that, regardless of anything I'm about to say, I wanna be your friend."

Buck blinks at the older man. "Okay, um. What's this about?"

"Evan, before we go to lunch, I kinda wanna know what's going on here? I mean..." Tommy licks his lips, and Buck's gaze snaps to Tommy's mouth. "You're adorable and you're funny and, well. You're a gorgeous guy. I'm not... I'm not really sure why you wanna spend time with me. And I don't wanna get my hopes up if this is just me reading the signs wrongly."

"Uh, signs?"

Tommy's face falls. He glances away, wiping his hand over his mouth, and licks his lips again. "Shit. I've read you wrong."

Buck reaches out to touch Tommy's wrist. "Tommy, I'm not sure what you're saying."

Tommy looks back at Buck, blue eyes taking in the younger man's expression, and sighs. He flips his hand over to hold the tips of Buck's fingers.

"Hell. Might as well lay my cards out," he mutters, mostly to himself, and then looks - really looks - at Buck. "Evan, I'm gay. And these couple times we've met up, I really, really like how we click. I like your energy, and how earnest and open you are. And it doesn't hurt that you are one of the most attractive men I've ever met, and I really like spending time with you, and I'm hoping... I'm hoping I can ask you out for a date and maybe we can... find out if we could. If we could be more than friends."

There's an anxious cast to his features. Buck can see Tommy's jaw clench and the nervous swallow, and a part of Buck's mind is screaming static. Another part of him is frantically stammering, "I'm just an ally!!" But thankfully that part of him has no control of his mouth, because he instead steps closer to Tommy and-

Oh. Oh.

So that's how it feels to kiss a guy.

He pulls back slightly, but is stopped by the touch of fingers under his chin, and Tommy draws him back for a second kiss, his head angled, and-

Wow. Wow, okay. They're near the airfield in the parking lot and the breeze is cool and the sun is shining nice and warm and they are kissing, Buck is kissing Tommy and this feels right.

When they finally separate, possibly two centuries later, Buck blinks at Tommy. His face feels hot and his skin is tingling. With a small, happy grin, he says, "I would say yes to the date, if that helps."

Tommy chuckles. He licks his lips again and Buck forces himself to look away from those lips. "Okay. I'd like to ask you out on a date on Saturday night, if you're free."

"I... I'm free." Buck's grin grows brighter. He tilts his head. "Lunch, now?"

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 7)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

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 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like her smutty💦

Part 7 Recognition

It was time to start again. Alastor couldn't forget what his mother had wanted, even if she didn't ask it of him directly. And while he finds his comfort again in killing, Detective Brady finds a lead.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, smut, reader's thighs as ear muffs, referencing cruel racists in the early 20th century south, reference to marital violence, pussy eaten, p in v sex, no creampie BOO, bad dancing, Alastor's southern accent, Alastor's mother, gossip, murder, greed , two idiots pretending they aren't madly in love, poor family planning, lots of 1920's slang with notes for your ease」

I think I fixed the broken tag list!

....it's been over a month. Here's nearly 9000 words of our favorite idiots. I feel weird labeling this smut now as...we are...kinda past the smut point and just making sweet sweet love. lol ugh gross. thank you to everyone whose offered help, donated, and shared the word about my mom! It’s been an immense help and has made her a little emotional (in a good way) <Florida stole my moms teeth— explanation and donation link> unrelated, anyone want some RadioDust?

Minors…. Minors. My inbox counts as interacting when you’re literally in there requesting smut. I know your bio has no age but baby honey darling I can tell by your writing. 🔞 Do Not Interact 🏠🚗

A development he knew was coming even if no one else believed him. A drug addict with debts to the local crime syndicates disappearing was neither suspicious nor a mystery. Everyone was confident it was obvious Tommy was at the bottom of Lake Pontchartrain or halfway to California.

But not to him, not for Detective Brady. He had been on the beat for the better part of a year, convinced there was a connection between some of the disappearances in town.

No one wanted to hear it though, most people didn’t even care the people were missing. Only the occasional wife, concerned how she would keep a roof over her head and food in her kid’s bellies with the man of the house gone. But other than that, no tears or chest beating for the missing men and women.

Which made him confident there were countless more unreported cases. Just because no one missed them, a crime is a crime.

But, no bodies, no blood, no crime scenes… he looked like he had lost the fucking plot to his colleagues.

The city didn’t want the bad press, not to mention the fact there was no actual crime to be reported. Someone up and left down? Okay, he was a wife beater? Probably left with his mistress. The cruel den mother of the home for unwanted kids? Her assistant takes the lead and she moves onto a new town to menace. Probably running from the people angry with her.

But he finally had something. Tommy was pimping out dancers, and even laid hands on one. Surely there was a man looking for revenge for that. Can’t knock around a man’s woman and have it go unanswered.

So he tried again to find the woman whose only name he knew was a moniker. Autumn Hind.

Every time Brady came to the theater, another excuse. You left early. You were on the roof smoking—- oh, you slipped out the back. Weekends were your off days, so that was useless.

“You’re obsessed.” Detective Freeman threw an eraser he’d picked off his pencil at Brady. He had seen the man devolve slowly over the past couple months.

“Thanks.” Brady was staring at his notes.

“Not a compliment, Kenny. Shit happens, people leave town. You’re acting like a handful of no shows are some conspiracy.” Freeman came to stand behind Brady, leaning over to read his notes, “How can you even read that chicken scratch?”

He clapped the notebook shut, “Every report was a person less than liked. What are the chances they all leave town in the middle of the night, last seen in the same general area?”

Freeman patted his shoulder, “Did you just ask me why a bunch of assholes,” he stood up and made a show of stretching out tired muscles, “who liked illegal hooch* and jazz with plenty of enemies disappeared?” (*booze)

Brady slapped his desk, “There! You said it! They had enemies. But what— what if they had one enemy in common. A bar manager or — or a,” he was still looking for that link.

“Kenny, the boogeyman isn’t roaming New Orleans killing people. If the higher ups don’t care, if the families don’t care, it doesn’t matter. Let it go.”

The sleep deprived detective sunk into his wooden chair, swiveling side to side anxiously, “Tommy’s mother cares.”

“Yeah well mom’s are famously bad judges of character.” Slipping on his jacket, he shot a worried look to his partner, “Ya gonna go home? Janet’s probably a mess. You’ve been keeping late hours.”

“Nah not yet. I gotta get to the theater before this dame goes ghost on me again.”

“Yikes, still? You’ve been chasing her for a while.” He was making a slow inching walk to the door.

“It’d be easier if I had some support. I gotta do this on my own time.” A deep sigh, well past the point of hiding his frustration with his colleagues and bosses. Freeman looked over the wrinkled shirt and wilted tie, evidence of a man losing his grip.

“Welp, good luck buddy. Hope you get to the bottom of whatever this is.” He gestured at the messy desk and disheveled man, “See ya tomorrow.”

Brady waved without looking up. His eyes were staring into the black leather of his notepad. Tommy was the only recent assumed victim with any real suspicion. The woman whose husband disappeared after going to see a show? Only enemy to him was her, and she wasn’t strong enough to take him down. Deadend.

Most recent, nice young man from up north. Went out for a good time, hoping to catch a little lady for some stress relief, according to his coworkers. Never showed up at work the next day. No one had a bad word to say about the man. Making him an outlier, but still. He was young, strong, soft spoken. Not an enemy in sight but no family to worry, either. Deadend.

But Tommy. Someone cared he was gone. He was in the jazz game, the drug dens, the illegal drink business, and had a heavy hand. He was the perfect bad man, right?

He looked across his desk. Bad men. The occasional unsavory woman. Maybe it was just their time. They pissed off the wrong people.

Or the wrong person.

Someone who worked downtown, someone into dance and drink, someone with nights free to do his work. Maybe a hired gun? No, some of these people didn’t have the money for that.

Plus, one person and so many missing? That would be unheard of, it’d be some kind of record for Louisiana.

A record Brady could claim.

When he entered the theater James, the manager who replaced Tommy, noticeably rolled his eyes, getting in front of the man. “It’s real bad for business to have a cop in here all the damn time. Come on, if you’re not here for a raid then could you be a little less obvious.”

Brady looked past him, “What do you mean?”

“You’re— what is it? What can I do for you?”

“Here again for Miss Autumn. Care to give her real name yet?”

“No can do. Ain’t my business to tell. She’s finished her set, asked to head home early.” Brady turned and kicked a chair over, a large man approaching behind the manager before seeing the hip badge and backing up. “Nah we’re not doing that. We’ve told her you’ve come by but she’s a busy lady. Several gigs here and there. Enough, you’re harassing the dancers now.”

With a snap, Brady had his finger in the manager’s face, “Whatcha gonna do? Call the cops?”

“She. Isn’t. Here. What the fuck do you want? For me to tie her up and bring her to your station?”

That’d be ideal.

A month, nearly. Coming once or twice a week to try and speak to you but every time he missed you. He was going to snap if he heard one more time you were gone. Maybe everyone was in on it. Maybe you werenin the back right now laughing at him.

Brady scanned the room, “Where’s she live?”

“How the fuck would I know— please, leave.” James gestured to the doors.

He lifted his badge up, waving it at the patrons seated closest to him, “Yall know it’s still illegal to partake-,”

“Jesus! Enough!” The manager pushed him back, flashing an apologetic smile to the guests, “She moonlights Sundays at The Dime near the park on 5th, singing for a friend. That’s all I got about her life off stage. Will you fucking go?”

The detective perked up, “See, was that so hard?”

Finally, he could feel his fingers grasp the shifting shadow that was his only lead.

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

“I never said sorry.”

You turned your head, not expecting him to say something serious. Waiting, he didn’t add explanation. Sorry? What had he done… ran out of milk? Forgot to bring in the towels before it rained last week? A quick search of your memory yielded nothing.

“For what?”

He was staring off in front of him. “For putting you in danger before. In the park. I am sincerely sorry.”

You’d somehow almost forgotten. It’d been weeks. Every bad feeling that night had brought you had been carried away by good morning kisses and gentle words before sleep. Nearly every night was spent in his bed, Alastor dropping you off at your apartment when he went downtown for work. The incident in the park was a different lifetime already.

Had he really put you in danger? Or had you rushed into the danger of his hobby to feel closer to him?

“I put myself in that situation. You didn't throw me at that guy. I don’t do a damn thing I don’t want to do. You should have learned that by now.”

Tough act for a woman who jumped up to pour some man’s coffee.

You shook your head, you had to stop equating doting on Alastor as a show of weakness. It wasn’t. Even if admitting that meant admitting you were wrong.

But he had put you in danger’s way, he knew it. “No, you wouldn’t have ever been in that situation if it wasn’t for me.”

Your laughter bounced off the car windows, “Alastor, you met me getting choked to death by a strange man. People will always make dangerous situations for women to be in. Don’t act like you’re special.” A sly smile to ease his anxious heart. “I’d rather be in danger for you than just because I’m a woman. If it’s gonna happen anyway, might as well be worth something.”

His hand slipped onto your thigh, expression softening before his own smile grew again, “Don’t lie to my face so easily. I am very special, we can all agree.”

You looked around, the two of you alone in his car on a side street, “All? You know the trunk is still empty, right?”

“Oh, is that so? You’re quite dangerous yourself, I nearly forgot why we were here.” He patted his pockets to make sure he had what he needed. “When I give you a wave, back up to me, okay? Don’t leave the car. Just drive off if-,”

You kissed his cheek, “Shut it. Not a chance. Go give em hell, baby.”

Alastor crumpled against his steering wheel momentarily, your words cutting his heart open in a most wonderful way. He could never have predicted getting kisses before beginning his dark work. What had he done to deserve this? Perhaps proof someone in hell was in full support of his actions. Straightening his back and checking his hair and glasses in the mirror, he flashed you a smile before slipping out of the car.

When Alastor said he was ready to begin killing again, you were a mix of excited and scared. Excited for normalcy to return but scared of the dangers presented there in. You’d been dodging the blue eyed detective for a while already, and moving forward meant possibly making mistakes he could grab a hold of. Not mentioning the risk of someone hurting Alastor again…but for your part in everything, you and Alastor found a compromise.

A deal had been made. You’d stay in the car and bring it to him when he was done. He had asked you flee if something went wrong but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Crawling into the driver’s seat, you tried to remember what he had taught you. How to get it started up, how to make it go backwards. How to make it go, in general. You’d never driven a car. Well, not until Alastor insisted on teaching you. Driving up and down the long stretch of road he lived on, Alastor white knuckling the door handle as you jerked the car forward with every failed shift. You had started on his land, but he feared for his home's safety with you behind the wheel.

Your hands slipped down the steeling wheel, big and round. Your mother would’ve had a hoot had she seen you in the driver’s seat. Clearing your throat, you leaned into the back of the car and double checked the canvas was properly secured.

Another man tonight. The few times you’d both gone out for leisure, having preferred to spend time alone at home, Alastor had gotten gossip that piqued his interest.

You remembered the way the woman’s hand touched his arm when she leaned in. “You didn’t hear it from me but it’s best to avoid French Study on Thursdays. Real piece of work slipping something in drinks and robbing people.” He reported what she had said back to you. It’d panicked you, realizing you were closer to being on Alastor’s list than you’d realized.

“No, the issue isn’t the stealin’. It’s what he does with the people with,” he had been delicate as he said it, taking another long sip of whiskey, “other things of value. And the fact this man has no need to steal. It’s ridiculous! His family has been land ownin’ and well off for generations.” Alastor was always impassioned when discussing the things he hated, even when slipping into drunkenness. His accent came through when he had too much to drink, his real accent. The accent his mother had. “You robbed men for power balance, for their assumptions you were easy to manipulate to begin with. He? Uh, Him? He’s just a piece of shit. He thinks he’s better than everyone else. And no one would report him ‘cause his family name.”

His drink spilled a little, when you had offered to clean it he just slipped the button up off. He lost his usual classy air as the bottle emptied. Which you actually liked.

The benefits of drinking on his back porch was no need to worry about decorum. Music was softly spilling from the open window behind you, Alastor’s prized record cabinet spinning the newest presses.

“It’s like there’s a little bug under my skin,” he wiggled his fingers over his sternum, “It’s gonna dig into my bones if I don’t cut it out.”

Despite your own drunkenness, you nodded and followed along, “So, ya gonna kill ‘em?”

Alastor pouted, making you snort, “I don’t want to think about that right now.” He enunciated every word clearly in his practiced and professional voice.

You’d ended the evening playfully arguing the merits of prohibition on the jazz scene and watching Alastor dance around the wrap around porch. But the conversation hadn’t ended for him.

Little hints he was still focused on it popped up over the following week. Alastor randomly asking you how it felt to be drugged, did you wake up in pain? Embarrassed? Scared? You caught him staring at the greenhouse from the window one morning, lost in thought. Before he had finally said he wanted to go out again, you understanding what that meant, you’d seen him turning a dinner knife over and over in his hand impatiently.

And now here you were. In the car beside a park late Thursday, Alastor having done some scouting while you’d finished up early at the theater.

It took hours. Which was good, it meant Alastor wasn’t rushing. He liked the stalking aspect of killing, of watching someone from across a room knowing exactly how their night would end. And as that man whose name would soon be buried with him alternated smiling and barking orders at staff, Alastor felt his stomach flutter. Like watching a slab of meat slowly turn over the fire. The crueler he was, the worse he acted, the more Alastor found his fingers tapping on the bar with anticipation. Perfect. Damn yourself more. No fake smiles or double faces, no, people like him didn’t even try to play the game others were forced into. Born with money and land already theirs, they didn’t even know the rules.

But Alastor did. Alastor mastered them at the tender age of 14. When he realized his father’s features were a shield. His mother’s lessons on manners and charm his weapons. The first time he was in mixed company, when someone leaned in and whispered a cruel “prank” he had planned for a young dark skinned woman on the other side of the room, he understood. They pulled back and smiled at him, and he managed to muster one of his own. Just smile, they’d take it to mean whatever they wanted it to mean because they thought he was of the same mindset. They assumed it. Like so many other things people would assume about him as he grew.

When he told his mother the story after getting home, she shook her head. When he had asked her what he should have done, she set down her book.

“Well, I’d love to say you should have stood up for her. But I’d also like to have my son above ground.”

He asked her why she couldn’t have both.

“Sweetheart, we don’t usually get the choice to do either, let alone both.”

He offered a solution, after a moment of thinking, “I shoulda buried him first then.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if that was how the world worked?” She returned to her book, “If God just struck em down dead as soon as they hurt people. Better yet, before.”

It would be nice. It was nice. Because Alastor couldn’t wait for God to make the world his mother mentioned. He grinned ear to ear, gloves a second skin, as the man crawled backwards in the grass like an animal cornered. His heart was pounding in his ears. Where to cut first? The gut, his family fat and soft from the money they made off the labor of others? The pale neck of a man who never spent a day outside, instead indoors drugging strangers for sport? The chest covered in a fine cotton shirt he didn’t appreciate?

He wished he had many arms, as many as he could imagine, to slash and tear in tandem.

“What do you want? Money?” the animal asked him.

Alastor shook his head no. No, he didn’t want money.

“Do you know who I am?”

Alastor nodded. “That is precisely why I am here.”

Would he beg? Cry? Bargain? Experience told him it’d be the latter.

“Alright well, if you know who I am you know you’re making a mistake. Here.” The man opened his wallet and pulled out a few greenbacks, holding them out for Alastor. Alastor’s smile softened slightly, remembering tossing you a wallet once before.

He reached down with his left hand to take the money, but instead grabbed the man’s wrist. Swiftly, quicker than the man could process, he took the knife tucked into his belt behind his vest and stabbed the man in the stomach.

Staring into his eyes, he could see his own image looking back at him. Smiling.

Alastor grabbed your face with both wrists, hands bloody and one still holding the knife, and kissed you when he’d flagged you down.

“Is this for bringing the car around without running you over?” Your eyes glanced at the knife beside your head. He apologized, tossing it into the trunk.

“No, just happy to see you.” A mischievous grin that made your knees weak, his body shimmied closer until he was pressed against you, stealing another kiss. His arms stretched out to keep from bloodying you. Your fingers slid up his cheeks to return the kiss. “Thank you, dear.”

When you returned home, to his home, that is, you took to task bringing in the laundry he’d left on the line and putting away the things still on the counters from breakfast. You couldn’t resist going to the second floor room and looking down into the greenhouse. You couldn’t see perfectly well, but you could see nonetheless. Alastor didn’t want you in the greenhouse yet when he was working. He said it was the ugliest parts, the kind that would sure give you nightmares or rob you of your appetite.

Considerate. But, it only made you more curious. Would you be sick if you saw? Would you never eat meat again?

What would you do if you didn’t have any reaction at all?

You watched Alastor leave the greenhouse and lock the door behind him, so you hopped down the stairs to meet him in the hall beside the kitchen.

He’d been sweating, shirt open to reveal a thin white undershirt, and under his arm was a canvas roll. He lifted it up, “Tools. Rinsed them off but I’d like to dry them under the electric lights.” You grabbed the aprons from the wall hooks, Alastor letting you slip it over his head and tie it for him. “Why so tight?”

“I like the way it makes your waist look.” You’d seen him wear it when making biscuits. It made his shape so clear. It reminded you of watching water drip down his sides and roll off his hips in the shower.

He beamed, “I’m listening. What exactly do you like about my waist?” Sharp brows raised as that friendly tongue peeked out at you.

“Hush.” You cooed.

You stood on the long side of the table, him at the short, and took turns wiping the tools dry and checking the other’s work.

As he grabbed each one he would tell you what he used it for. Holding up the garden shears and explaining the point along the blade that had the strongest force. The advantage of curved pruning blades when used on a human body. His eyes were gleaming as he spoke, looking so lovingly at each item like it was a loyal pet.

He finally noticed you were grinning and chuckling softly, so he dropped his smile for dramatic effect, “What? What’s so funny?”

Shaking your head, you set down the next item for him to inspect, “Nothing. You’re just so cute when you’re talking about your passions. Your face lights up from the inside out.”

His breath hitched, smile actually lost as he processed every syllable. Your turn now to notice him staring as you looked up from your work. You recognized that look though, the wide eyes and serious lips. The air of the kitchen felt like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm rolled in.

Alastor set the tools back onto the canvas one by one and carried them to the counter. Before returning he picked up a small knife and set it near the edge of the table.

“Come here.” He nodded his head to space in front of him. The way he said it, that tone, made your heart begin to skip beats.

You slid between him and the table, Alastor lifting you up with a startling ease and setting you onto cool wood. Kicking your legs a little, you set nervous hands onto your lap. You wanted to touch him. To pull him by the apron straps into you.

“How do you always say the right things?” He closed the distance between you, one hand on your neck while his mouth came to your ear. “The things I didn’t know I wanted to hear?”

Swimming. Your mind was swimming. “Why is your idea of right the same as my idea of the truth?” You could feel the grin. Sighing into your ear, down your neck, his hands grabbed your hips and pulled you off the table enough to press your core into his clothed erection. Even through his pants and the apron, you could feel him clearly. When did he get so hard? You always wondered in those moments if it was the topic of discussion. Or the knives. Or your need. Biting your lip wasn’t a thought out action, but Alastor loved to see it. Rolling his hips into you in response.

“Wanna go upstairs?” you asked.

He shook his head, slipping off his glasses.

“Oh no, don’t even wanna see me?” You teased, but firm hands held you tighter to him in response.

“I won’t be letting you get far enough away from me for that to be a problem.”

When he leaned down and his lips so very gently pressed into yours, you could feel it. That missing something from before. It was in the air, it was rolling off of his body and dampening your senses. A desire, a drive that you felt that first time you had sex with him in that apartment above the theater. A motivation that was lacking last time in his bed.

His eyes were staring down into yours, waiting for your response. Eagerly you replied by chasing his mouth with yours. A chain of kisses as you tried to ever remember enjoying kissing another person as much as him.

Not a single soul. Why did it feel like this was all you ever needed? Eyes closed and lips on lips, hands in his hair, it felt like you’d been holding your breath all of your life. His body on yours was a gasp of air.

For Alastor, he couldn’t even think of breathing when around you. Let alone when your mouth was on him. Every time you touched him all he could think about was the word ‘affection’.

So when your tongue swiped up his lips, he moaned as he opened for you. Not because he was new to kissing someone with so much lust. He’d grown accustomed to the things you did to him. No, because you were a fever that had taken hold of him and your kiss the medicine that soothed his delirium.

He wondered, was that why people called it ‘love sick’?

“You really like me, don’t you?” He asked, nose sliding up your jaw.

An opportunity presented to you. A chance to spill over the edges.

You pushed it away, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer.

“Something like that, yeah.”

His hands pressed flat against the table to balance the deep roll of his hips against you. One of your own fell behind you to keep from falling backwards, the other flung over his shoulder. When you moaned into his cheek he captured the sound with his mouth and slipped his tongue back into you.

You liked him. He’d known people to love and not like their partner an ounce, but the way you appreciated his quirks made his heart sing in its brittle cage. You never ceased to see him. The issue with always putting on a show is people tend to be disappointed when the actors become human again. But you never met his persona. He was knife wielding, bloodlusting Alastor from the first word. So when he was himself, you recognized him clearly. Because he was all you ever knew.

And you liked him

You appreciated him.

He dared to think maybe he could inspire more from you. A thought that made him twitch below the belt.

Closer. He needed you closer. He needed you so near to him that he’d never forget the feeling of being wanted. It’d be imprinted on his chest and his arms and his lips.

Impatient hands slipping up your sides, along your neck, down your chest. His greedy mouth suddenly understanding the same greed he once marveled at in your own kisses. Hot tongue sliding over yours, delving deeper into you with every return.

When his hands seemed to come to an agreement, they yanked you forward again. You’d fall off ass-first if he pulled you any further.

You watched with only slight horror has he grabbed the small knife and hiked up your dress in tandem. A gulp, worried the other shoe had finally dropped on a too-good situation.

“Are you particularly attached to these panties?” His eyes were looking up and over his glasses.

“No?” Did you really need panties, you wondered. Ever? Girdles we’re falling out of fashion perhaps you’d all be naked again soon enough. Maybe you two could start another Eden. A pomegranate’s juice the new red staining his skin.

Not even a tremble, his hands lifted each side and sliced them free.

“Oh?” You didn’t have a real question in mind when he tucked the panties into his back pocket. Just a need to express you saw it and didn’t understand it.

Alastor took your hand and pressed it against his hardened length, eyes locked onto yours with a sharpness to them. But when your hand took hold of him and squeezed, everything softened in his features. Funny how where one area grew stiff another melted.

He rolled his eyes closed as you finally undid his belt and pants. A struggle you didn’t see, Alastor trying to keep from pouncing on you like a horny virgin. He didn’t want to rut into you, he didn’t need the pleasure. He needed something he couldn’t see or explain. He just knew you held it behind your teeth.

When your skin pressed into his and you both moaned together he was sure you were the same. One person, split into insufficient parts. Finally lined up flush in place.

When you circled your hips against his aching cock, he wondered what you were chasing after. Was it the pleasure? He’d give it to you in spades.

He was on his knees with his face between your legs before you could close your thighs in surprise.

You needed both hands now to keep from falling back onto the table. “Alastor,” a whine.

He knew better than to talk with his mouth full, so he let two fingers work their way into you with shallow thrusts. Easing you open for him.

“Yes?” His eyes didn’t leave his fingers, glistening under the kitchen light. You hadn't thought much ahead past his name, once his fingers were in you and curling up to find your spongy and soft bundle of nerves your mind had gone empty.

“We can just fuck, if you’re horny.” You watched him watching himself.

“Where’s the fun in that?” His mouth returned to your mound, broad tongue forming a point and finding your clit.

A lazy moving tongue would be frustrating if not for his fingers punishing your g-spot. Consistency was key, and his hand was focused and skilled.

Suddenly you remembered the piano in the sitting room. That’s where you knew that movement from. That clearly practiced muscle memory.

Alastor felt confident everywhere but rarely did he feel comfortable. When your thighs came together and squeezed him at the ears, he felt positively cozy. Would you be so kind as to be his ear muffs come winter? He’d have to remember to ask when his mouth was free. How many cold nights he could now rest assured he would have warmth just a little dive of his head away.

Lowering his mouth, nose buried in your muff, he wriggled his tongue in with his fingers. Not enough, rarely was anything enough any more. He stilled his hand and prodded at your sensitive walls with that intrusive tongue, relishing the little movements you made in response. Taking his digits out entirely, he buried his wet muscle as deeply as he could reach.

The huffs of exhales you were making triggered a moan from him that you felt through your skin. His enjoyment was tripling your pleasure.

Goosebumps ran up your arms at the combine sensations of his moaning and prodding.

When his lips and tongue returned to their uneven teasing of your clit, three fingers now swiping past your inner spot with every thrust, your hands came to his head. Fingers slipping through his hair and gripping every time your body shook. Encouragement, the more you tugged the surer he was he was doing the right things.

And oh, he was. You said the right things but Alastor always seemed to act on them. Your senses lodged themselves between the even stroking of your g-spot and the unpredictable movements of his tongue. One kept the pressure rising as your orgasm climbed, the other pushed you along jolt by jolt.

Curious thing. That night in the park he didn’t have much reaction to your enjoyment, but he found himself not fully softening in his lap as he continued. Normally, unless still physically stimulated or the rare time you stirred something in him, he wasn’t very… battle ready.

But the feeling of you pulling him in by the head, fingers in his hair and thighs at his cheeks; this was different than the others. He was sure now it wasn’t just physical pleasure you wanted. His pride said it was more.

Dozens of times before— he truly was a rake in some aspects, though admittedly it was all in the pursuit of avoiding “sex”, as defined by most, not chasing it — he helped a date find release with his tongue. But it never did anything for him. They moaned and said his name and screamed. Which was lovely. Who doesn’t enjoy recognition?

When you said his name, it was heavier. It was material, it had mass and as its gravity began its pull he found his mind circling that sound. He was pleasing his darling, not placating. And it made him react in that unusually crass way.

He felt like an apex predator when killing, tearing open animals made for him to hunt. But you made him feel baser. Prey in your gentle bite.

As your orgasm mounted, you began tugging at his hair to pull him off. You didn’t need him to stop, but everything was suddenly too sensitive. It was alarming to feel your body rocking from overstimulation. A strident cry filled the kitchen as your back arched off the table. He didn’t let up, despite how much you thrashed under his mouth. Rolling pleasure, muscles electrified and shaking beyond your control.

You patted his head harshly, “Good, I’m good. Alas—tor! Fuck!”

Ah, he loved when you swore. It punctuated your otherwise preternatural aura with a touch of humanity.

He stood and leaned over your now reclining body. Your pussy still clenching and legs shaking as he admired his work. You admired his shape in his apron, his broad shoulders and sharp eyes. Caught between your legs like a lion in a mouse trap; he acted like he had no way free of you. His grin widened and he made a display out of licking each finger clean. Eyes never leaving yours.

You knew many men to squawk at going down on a woman. To balk at wearing an apron. To grimace at the suggestion of cooking a meal while their lady took a nice bath or enjoyed a coffee. Alastor seemed to not think twice about any of it. How nice it would be. To have a partner beside you, to not be the woman in the often referenced “behind every great man is a great woman.”

“Alastor, I want you.” You pulled him down by the neck and stole a kiss. When he began to stroke himself fully back to life you pressed that hand to his chest. “Not like that. Though I’m not declining the offer.”

His eyes saw something in yours. “Sweetheart, you have me. There is no part of me that isn’t possessed by you. I know we keep things relatively… tightlipped for safety but I’m your fella and you’re my gal.” His nose touched yours. “But if you want more, I’ll become more. I’ll break myself apart and make myself better.”

Your heart sank. Sitting up to command a little authority, a feat given you were sitting panty-less on a kitchen table, “Don’t you dare. I’ll always meet you where you are, got it? Don’t go… groping around in the darkness for me; trying to find what I need. I’ll always come to you. Because you’re more than enough as you are.”

A little cough to clear his tightening throat, “I’ve not had a day of darkness since you arrived.” A kiss to your forehead before a soft thumbpad wiped at the corner of your eye. “Did I make you sad?”

You wanted to say it. But not now, not like this. You didn’t want Alastor to connect love and sex. To think one was necessary for the other.

While you were coming to learn how lovely it was to pair the two together, it was a fact they were wholly independent things. And you couldn’t allow him to think they were a set.

“You’ve made me too happy. It’s absolutely terrifying.”

But Alastor had found your expressions of acceptance always tumbled the circle of Love to overlap with that of Sex. It was only in that mixed space did he find desire in pleasure.

A wicked smirk, “Let me pile on my affections and drown out your fears.” His hips rolled into you again, a surprising eagerness returned to his lap. “Can I continue?”

With a nod and a smile, “But not another word of change, buster.” You leaned back on your hand for support. Alastor was happy to return to your heat, lining up and sinking into you. An embrace like no other, one he found particularly earnest when with you.

Close. Finally. You began where he ended, a natural extension of who he was and who he could be. The things he could have. A relieved sigh he didn’t try to hide before he began moving, a moment when his tension could melt. You were both an unseasonably warm autumn day and the cool comforting shade of an unfamiliar tree. Both the heat and the relief.

He watched your body rock against the table, even fully dressed you managed to look more scandalous than any show he’d seen downtown. He was grateful he didn’t seek this comfort often in others, the way his mind melted made him feel vulnerable. He couldn’t think straight. And then you began to make those lovely little groans, high pitched and needy, and he was sure his soul was errant.

As his thrusts deepened, cock no longer kissing your cervix but ramming into you with good intentions, you dropped back as you lost the battle against his hips.

Alastor’s arms slid up our waist and pulled your arms towards him, “Too far, I can’t see your face.”

Your arms were slung over his shoulders as your back curved for him, “You don’t need to see my face.”

“Tsk, wrong.”

Your new favorite place was right in front of him, wherever his line of sight was you wanted to be in it. Nose to nose, heads tilting to recapture soft lips and softer moans.

Until the softness left, Alastor’s skin slapping against yours as he dragged those lovely sounds from you. He watched your eyes roll closed, mouth open as you moaned with the safety of the seclusion of a country home. A thought bubbled up, inspired by you.

“I want the neighbors to hear you.” That smile half cocked across his upsettingly handsome face. His hand slipped between you both to repeat the motions he learned before. Hard and fast, no choice but to raise your voice.

Your head fell back, clit still sensitive, “You don’t have neighbors!” A new moan hitting the walls.

“I do— just a few miles down the road, dear.” His mouth latched onto your neck but he didn’t suck like he wanted, he couldn’t bite. Your skin was your job, your body not his to mark. Suddenly he remembered, “Do you still have that make up? For your bruises?”

You couldn’t understand why he would bring that up while balls deep in you but you nodded.

“Would it work on your neck?” He nipped lightly.

It clicked, “Absolutely.”

You felt like a teenager again. When his tongue swiped over your soft flesh before he began to suck on the skin there you could feel the heat rising off your chest. You could feel him everywhere, and with the knowledge he wanted to hear you, you tossed your shame out of the kitchen window and relaxed into the pleasure.

As he moved up your neck he left little marks behind. There was no sense left you didn’t occupy. He could smell the soap and sweat of your skin, taste your cunt still on his tongue, your sights and sounds a decadence he couldn’t get used to. And the feeling of you… velvety walls, a feeling finer than silk as he slipped in and out of you. So incredibly hot on his most sensitive areas, pulling him back in with admirable strength.

He felt his orgasm ratcheting up but tried to hold back. He wanted more time to experience your ecstasy, to wallow in your openness. Even pressed skin to skin now wouldn’t satisfy that deep desire for this unique level of intimacy. So he wanted to enjoy it for as long as he had it.

But, he knew he should prepare. “I don’t want to dirty your dress.” A lust heavy voice penetrating the nap of your neck. He’d made a risky release before at your urging, something he often thought about when work got quiet. But he knew he needed to think clearer now.

“Then don’t.” A terrible reply but you wanted all of him, every drop of his hunger for you. “Keep the mess in me.”

“My dear,” he slowed his hips, autopilot keeping them moving at all, “I don’t think now is the time for,” you tightened around him to trip him up, which worked spectacularly. Alastor had take several seconds before continuing, “talks on family planning.”

A pang of nausea and fear, small and sharp in your abdomen. It wasn’t that you weren’t aware of biology, just that Alastor brought out your baser animal instincts, too. And before, when he came buried as deeply as he could reach, it felt like you’d actually completed some ritual. Bears hibernated, birds migrated, Alastor came in you.

You’d never let a man do that before Alastor. “I just want to… accept everything you are willing to give me.”

He bit his bottom lip to redirect some attention away from his now throbbing member, “And when you’re sure on me, I’ll always provide.”

A pout that he kissed, you accepted the terms. An argument could be made you were already very sure, but you were well aware how naive that sounded when you’d known each other for so little time. Had a coworker told you she’d met a guy and within three months was ready for… the consequences, you’d have laughed and asked if she was drunk or just stupid.

Alastor wanted to provide. But he knew you’d be the one with the raw end of the deal, he couldn’t risk coercing a decision in the heat of the moment. If your mind was half was addled as his with pleasure then you were in no state for big decisions.

Life changing decisions.

Decisions that filled empty homes.

Fuck, why wasn’t he a less considerate man?

When his kiss deepened, so did his ministrations. He was fully sheathed and so unwilling to draw back more than a couple inches you wondered if he had changed his mind. It felt like a man not wanting to stray too far from home. One hand on the small of your back, his other other on the back of your neck. When he pulled out he pressed his tongue further, only stopping the kiss when he came onto the little space of table between your thighs. Soft and swollen lips parted as his breaths ran ragged. A smile spread across your face as you watched his eyes open, witnessing a pleasured blow out of his pupils.

When he grabbed a kitchen towel and cleaned the table, you chuckled at his grimace. “See? My way is cleaner.”

He didn’t reply at first, taking the cloth and hovering over the sink before tossing it into his trash. “Only in the short term. We can finish up tomorrow with the tools?”

Your legs kicked again, not ready to slide off, “Mm, it’ll be easier in the daylight.”

“Instead,” he zipped his pants but removed the belt and set it on the counter, “Let’s get zozzled* and sway around the sitting room? Crash where we land.” (*drunk)

“I’ll pour if you get the music on.”

He turned to leave but paused, “No, I’ll handle the drinks. You always have too heavy of a hand.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining last time…”

“I’m not sure I remembered I was at home and not at a drum* last time…,” He uncorked the label-less whiskey, grabbing two glasses with one hand. “Didn’t wanna insult the pretty waitress.” (*speakeasy)

Fair. You weren’t much for drinking and always underestimated the strength of illegal hooch. Some were weak and some could kill you. But fancy Alastor had connections with the kind of people no one dared to risk harm to, so he always had the most trustworthy goods.

Good music, great whiskey, and even better company. You thanked him for being safe while working, he praised your ability to learn new skills so quickly. After a few drinks he pushed the coffee table against the wall and you drunkenly swayed around the room to something playing smooth and low. As much as you enjoyed your conversations, having your head tucked under his chin as neither of you said a word somehow filled in the little cracks of your heart more so than any talk. For him too. No tension after sex, no stress of how long he’d get to breathe before the next instance of prodding to do it again. He could smile and close his eyes and feel the room swing and sway in total safety.

A safety neither of you knew was being threatened from afar.

When you woke, Alastor was gone. A note on the table letting you know he’d run out to grab some things for breakfast. Telling you to relax and recover.

You put the furniture back, bringing the glasses to the kitchen and his belt to the bedroom.

Coffee and a slow perusal of his home. Intimate details you tried to not stare at when he was there. The rare photo of his mother, a woman you didn’t speak about, a conversation you didn’t need to have, but someone you knew existed fondly still in his life. A silent thank you to her.

No photos of a man to give thanks to you so you turned to the little curios and mementos. 

Little seashells and sand dollars, a small gator’s skull. Books, about anatomy and history. Novels about crime and love and mystery. Ticket stubs for films he’d seen. Little bits of his mother scattered in. A woman’s necklace. A chatelaine* with all of the accessories and tools. (*wikipedia page)

When you felt you’d spied enough, you crawled into his side of the bed and inhaled as deeply as you could. His pillow smelled like him. You let yourself sleep off the hangover surrounded by pieces of Alastor.

Pieces you couldn’t contain. Pieces left around town as a dick* hunted for his personal monster. (*a detective, but also, a dick, fuck this dude?)

Beth, or Betty as you called her, the friend you often sang for, was cleaning up from the previous night when Brady walked in. She tried to tell him they were closed, but he took a seat at the counter anyway.

“I’m looking for a singer named Autumn. She been around lately?”

She paused, knowing the name was tied to your work. This man didn’t know you. “Whose asking?”

“The city of New Orleans”, he set his badge on the counter top.

“Is she in some kinda trouble?”

“She the kinda dame to get into trouble?”

Beth laughed, “She doesn’t try to but men, liquor, and jazz tend to make it happen. She’s okay, right?”

He took a deep sigh, trying to blink away the exhaustion and remember he needed to be someone strangers trusted. Being honest hadn’t been working and being rough barely got him a lead. “Well I was hoping you’d know. Found out someone roughed her up a bit ago and just wanting to make sure she’s okay. But I don’t have her legal name, no address, nothing to track her down.”

Shaking her head, she leaned onto the counter, “What? Some egg* forget it’s just a show?” Brady shrugged. “I can’t say. She hasn’t been by in a couple weeks.” (*man)

He asked why. Feeling the deadend approaching.

“She was just doing me a favor. Once she got a guy she didn’t have much time.”

Fighting the urge to slam his fists against the wood and sling his notebook across the bar, Brady took slow breaths. Jaw clenched as he grabbed his pencil, “That is wonderful news. Hopefully a fit guy who can… keep her safe.”

Beth laughed a little, “I don’t know about that. He’s kind of a daisy*, but real kind.” (*a non-masculine man)

“Could I get a name? Or her address? Wanna follow up. See for myself that she’s doing well.”

She tapped the bar with two fingers and winked, “Ah no can do. Flatfoot* or not, I don’t tell men where to find sleeping ladies. But her fella is in radio though. I recognized his voice right away. Popular too, really ritzy air about him.” (*cop, detective)

As he left, he slapped the notebook against his palm over and over. When he stopped to take a second to congratulate himself something caught his eye. Across the street was a park he knew well. Following the block and turning, he could see the white and green awning of the cafe he’d seen you at before.

Had he been there? He hadn’t questioned why you were alone on such a nice day. But maybe you weren’t. Maybe you’d been playing him from the start.

Enough games.

When you took the stage that evening, a Friday show with a promising crowd, you felt like solid gold. Alastor would be there to pick you up in a few hours, you had every need met. And now you had the adoration of strangers to pump up your chest.

Until you passed your come-hither eyes over the crowd and a striking ocean blue pair knocked the wind out of you.

James was standing behind Brady, mouthing an apology. You missed a beat in your routine but forced your smile back. It took a second, to slide back into the actress you were when away from Alastor. Every time it got harder and harder to fall back into that role but you managed. His eyes never left your face, and you thanked God your heaving chest could be seen as fatigue and not the sheer panic that had taken ahold of your body.

When you were on the other side of the curtain you considered rushing out the side door, into the alley and down the street. But you couldn’t. You’d successfully brushed him off for so long but now that he had seen you, had made it clear he was there for you, you couldn’t flee. Innocent people don’t hide from cops.

Feet dragging, you saw some of the dancers standing around the dressing room door. “He’s out of his gourd if he thinks I’m changing with him in there.” One said loud enough to ensure Brady heard. When you entered the room he was sitting at your make up table, legs spread and your shoes in his hands.

“There she is!” standing, he extended the shoes to you, “Don’t stare like a deer in the lights. I’m sure you knew I was coming. Slip these on, we’re going for a ride.” He gave them a shake, “You can call your mac* from the station and let him know you’ll be late.” (*man)

˖  ݁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

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf ,  , @fizzled-phoenix ,  @phobophobular  , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo    , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk   , @bontensbabygirl 

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU

part 1

“Are you lost?” Munson frowns, propping his shoulder against the door frame and crossing his arms over his chest. His rings glint against his jacket sleeve; he’s got new tattoos on his fingers.

Steve’s head fills with static fuzz for a second, and he stares like a mouth-breathing idiot before helpfully answering: “Um.”

“…Right. Well, this has been weird as shit, man, but, uh— pharmacy’s closed until my uncle leaves at sundown, so…” He lifts his hand to make a shooing motion, then pauses, assessing Steve with narrowed eyes. “What are you all dressed up like a good little school boy for, anyway? Didn’t you graduate last year?”

Oh, okay. Wow. (Like, yeah, he does kinda look like some goody two-shoes freshman with Robin’s forgotten backpack hiked up way too high under his armpits, but also fuck you, dude.) Steve squares his shoulders, plasters a falsely polite smile on his face and cocks his head to the side, all innocent, like he doesn’t know, like he’s just asking, man. “Sure did. Weren’t you supposed to do that, too?”

Munson glares at him like he’s imagining doing to him what Misty did to the rat. “I really don’t want to fight this early in the morning, man.”

“I’d love to see you try,” Steve snorts. “What, Munson? You gonna beat my ass? Think you can take me? Go ahead.”

He doesn’t know why he’s egging on a fight, but he’s suddenly itching for one. Feels the urge bubbling up beneath the surface. Hot under the collar. Probably this is the part where Tommy would hold him back and tell him it isn’t worth it, man, come on, but Tommy’s not around anymore.

A lot of people aren’t around anymore.

Nobody fights for fallen kings.

So Steve bows up with a sneer and a huff, and Munson does the same, and that’s… concerning. It gets a hell of a lot more concerning when he flashes a menacing grin and claps a hand to Steve’s shoulder; gets right up in his face, nose to nose, breath sharp with spearmint to cover the scent of weed.

From Wayne’s point of view they might almost look like friends.

Steve barely hears the thwck slice past his bad ear before he feels the cold press of a blade against his throat. Pocket knife, unpocketed. Munson’s smile widens, and Steve swallows hard, feels his pulse jump against the blade, the blood rushing to his cheeks. It shouldn’t be hot. (And it isn’t, because it shouldn’t be.)

“You want to try that again?”

Munson’s voice is deadly soft, a raspy whisper that makes Steve’s hair stand on end. His eyes are huge and dark. Intense. Kind of endless.

Kind of like Nancy’s when she’s staring down a loaded gun.

Steve blinks and licks the sweat off his upper lip, fingers trembling against frayed denim where he’s got his hands raised in surrender. “We’re c-cool, man. We’re cool. My mistake.”

Munson backs off with a pleased look on his face, snaps the knife shut and tucks it back into his pocket. Soft squeak of worn leather; casual shrug. “Cool. Glad we understand each other.”

Then he scruffs Steve under the chin — patronizing and quick, this humiliating little bullshit maneuver like ‘chin up, Steve-o’ before he hops down the steps and swings himself up into his van. The tires screech in the loose gravel, and Steve just stands there and stares. Gobsmacked. Pissed off.

A little stiff in his jeans.

When he looks down there’s a black cat brushing itself against his sneakers. “Misty?” he asks.

“M’row,” says the cat.

There’s a dead bird at her feet.

—

part 3

[cjlouwho]

I’m just laughing at how those post-episode interviews really fucked 911 over because if they’d just left it I’d honestly be eating this shit up, and I think a lot of us would. Yeah, we’d still be pissed at the biphobia presented to us through the writing, but we’d have hope that there would be opportunity to fix it. Even if they didn’t plan on fixing it on their end, if they’d have just shut up about it then they wouldn’t have heard so many complaints.

I know some people said they’re glad they didn’t lead us on to believe Tommy would be back, but from their end they should have. There are so many shows with loose ends! So many series where I’ve thought “I wonder what happened to *insert storyline here*” but they moved on and so did I. I shrug it off after a while, a little bummed, but otherwise fine.

But they had Lou do two “exit interviews” that I’m not totally sure he knew were exit interviews when he did them. Part of me wonders if even the headline surprised him, potentially believing he was doing breakup interviews or whatever. And then the Oliver interview was weird and kinda gross. I know Lou mentioned having other things lined up he needed to do, but that doesn’t even read as a “yeah I’m done here” it reads more as “I’ve got other commitments I have to keep and then hopefully I can return.”

Anyway, If they’d have just left the episode as is, and shut up about it afterward, we’d be having some angsty fun right now!

[daddy-kinard]

“You ever wonder…” Tommy trails off, shaking his head a little dismissively.

“Wonder what?”

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just,“ he shrugs, kinda sheepishly, he knows it’s a stupid thing to waste time thinking about what ifs, “you ever think about how different things would be if Chim hadn’t called me up with that collective death wish? If we’d never even met that night.”

But Evan just smiles.

“Nah.”

“Nah?”

“We’d’ve found each other some other way.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. We’ve been circling closer and closer for years, Tommy - the 118, the calls we now know we both responded to, even that night when I met Red instead of noticing the hottest guy on the planet at the other end of the bar - we would have found each other some other way, eventually.”

Tommy snorts, partly at the hottest guy on the planet comment, and partly at how sure Evan sounds about it. As though it was fate bringing them together.

“You really believe that?”

“I really do. I don’t believe there’s a single universe where I never get to meet my soulmate.”

Soulmate.

It’s possibly - no, who is he kidding - it is definitely the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to Tommy. Maybe the most romantic thing someone ever will. It sounds like a line lifted straight out of one of his most re-watched romcoms, something that people don’t just come out with in real life, and certainly not in Tommy’s real life. His thoughts drift to the small box hidden in the lower compartment of his toolbox, if Evan’s casually pulling out shit like this as they lounge on the couch waiting for Eddie and Chim to arrive with pizza and beers, Tommy’s suddenly not sure he’s going to survive the wedding vows he hopes are in their future.

He doesn’t say that, obviously, he wants to maintain some element of surprise when he asks. Instead it’s -

“Didn’t have you down for the soulmates type.” Because, sure, he knows Evan is superstitious in the way a lot of firefighters are, but he didn’t think that extended to his love life. He loves love, that is true, but every conversation they’ve had since that second do-over of a date, about being willing to put in the work, to communicate, to learn how to show up for each other, it doesn’t scream letting the universe just do it’s thing.

“I’m not. Or, I wasn’t. And then you came along. Tommy, I didn’t even know I liked guys,” he stresses, “but I wanted to be with you. More than I knew how to deal with. And then, you gave me a second chance that I probably didn’t deserve, and I just…this isn’t me saying I’m taking it for granted okay? I know that we’re not magically perfect for each other or whatever, I just, part of me just knows that it was always meant to be you, y’know?”

Which, Tommy supposes, is kinda what he was getting at in the first place. He slots his fingers in between Evan’s and squeezes, thumb rubbing a familiar pattern across the back of his hand.

“I do.” He smiles.

a silly little something for my only contribution to @bucktommypositivityweek, written in my notes app on my commute home

[alchemistc]

out

Tommy waffles over where they're going for drinks, halfway out the bay doors with space between them and the rest of the station, and Howie darts a strange look at him over his shoulder as Tommy wanders towards where their cars are parked.

They decide on Jenny's, even though Monty's is closer to both of their apartments, and it's not until Chim's shoved a third shot in Tommy's face that he darts a calculating glance at Howie.

"I fucked the bartender at Monty's and bounced while he was still in the shower," Tommy announces, to Howie, to the bar, to the world at large. No one except Howie is paying any attention, though.

Howie narrows his eyes. Picks at a coaster and knows he's going to piss off their server by turning into a pulpy mess. "That's how you wanna do it?"

It's -- there have been hints. More recently he'd stopped playing up the ladykiller act, and when he'd blinked at the guy flirting hard at a call three weeks ago, there'd been a distinct redness to his cheeks that he hadn't actually tried to downplay.

"Why me and not Hen?"

Tommy taps two thumbs against the sticky table. Eyes the neck of his bottle of fancy beer. "Why, because she's gay too and we all flock together?"

Howie purses his lips. Tilts his chin. Ends up quirking a brow just to watch Tommy get it. Tommy chuffs a laugh.

"Well shit."

"Kinda disappointed you're not taking this opportunity to confess to the devastating crush you have on me that you always thought was unattainable."

Tommy blinks, and Howie pictures him thinking of where the line between friendly and flirty really is. Howie wouldn't say no is the thing, except he's sort of seeing someone semi-seriously now? Tommy blinks again. "If it was gonna be anyone at the 118 it would have been Eli."

Not Sal? Howie wants to ask, but he bites down on it because that's his own fucked up thing.

"So the new cap must really do it for you," Howie surmises, and Tommy tilts his head back and forth like he's considering it, a little. So: Kind. Fiercely loyal. Little fucked up. Providers.

The rom-com loving quirk takes on a little more meaning in Howie's head.

Howie kicks his shin, and Tommy's smile lines graft across his cheeks. Good god he's gonna make some man so fucking happy, one day. "So, is this a secret I gotta keep? 'Cause I gotta tell you, my track record is not great but I will find a way to do it if you need me to."

"Kinda the reason I told you," Tommy says, and that's kinda that.

---

Chim watches Buck shake Tommy's hand. And then continue to shake his hand. And then... keep shaking his fucking hand.

Eddie gives him a bemused look, and Chim figures he'll let this play out without any interference.

[half-oz-eddie]

The very first time Buck spent the night at Tommy’s, he couldn’t shake the excitement. Tommy invited him over a handful of times beforehand, and Buck loved learning about all the things Tommy collected. Many of his belongings had some history, or a great story and Buck loved to hear every single one.

Sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep, he’d peruse Tommy’s shelves, or read some of the old books he picked up from a rare book store in some little town he flew to.

This one particular night, though, Buck was feeling restless and uneasy. He had a rough shift, and it left his body in a world of pain.

When he stumbled down to the kitchen for some water, Buck accidentally knocked over a vase on an end table.

His heart dropped and shattered right along with that vase.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” He whispered to himself, frantically glancing up the steps and hoping Tommy didn’t hear anything. He scrambled to pick up the glass, mentally berating himself for being so stupid and careless.

Tommy trusted him. He trusted him in his house with his belongings that he collected over the years. A house he lived in alone and when he finally lets someone his space after so long, he breaks something that was probably incredibly valuable.

Buck assumed this vase was rare and expensive, probably the only one of its kind and Tommy was going to be so disappointed in him. What if Tommy thought Buck didn’t respect his space or how much time he put into his collections?

Buck hissed in pain when a shard of glass nicked his finger. He hopped over to the kitchen to toss the glass into the trash and grab a broom to finish cleaning up.

His heart was racing, practically beating out of his chest. He was so worried about hurting Tommy’s feelings, letting him down—

“What’re you doing, Evan?”

Buck jumped the moment he heard Tommy’s voice.

“Ah—he-hey, Tommy, I-I didn’t see you there.” Buck nervously laughed. “I was just uh…getting some…water. Yeah, water.”

“Are you okay? I heard noises—“

“I’m fine!” He exclaimed, quickly withdrawing. “I’m fine. A-all good.”

“You sound nervous. What’s up?” Tommy asked worriedly.

It wasn’t like Buck could hide it. He sighed, walking around the counter to face Tommy in the dim light.

“I uh…broke that vase you had on the end table. My legs were wobbly and I kinda lost my footing and bumped into the table. I’m so sorry.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “That blue vase?”

“Yeah…the-the blue one.”

“Hm…I bought that at a flea market because the end table looked pretty bare. I paid, I think…2…no, 3 dollars for it.” Tommy chuckled. “It doesn’t mean anything, if that’s what you were worried about.”

“I thought you’d be upset. I know you have a lot of valuable stuff that means a lot to you—“

“Oh, Evan.” Tommy cupped Buck’s cheek. “It’s just stuff. You mean more to me than anything in this house.”

“Really?” Buck’s eyes widened. “Even your home brew kit?” Buck asked with a smile.

Tommy sighed before nodding reluctantly. “Yes, even that.”

“You hesitated.” Buck’s smile widened.

“I do love that kit more than a little bit, I suppose.” He pulled Buck into his arms. “But I love you even more than that.”

Buck let himself fall into Tommy’s embrace, sighing in relief.

“Let’s get you back to bed, okay? I know you had a long shift and you really shouldn’t be up and about.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” Buck murmured into his shoulder.

“It’s no bother.” He promised. “You’re never a bother.”

Buck let Tommy carry him upstairs and back into bed while reassuring him that he was the most precious thing he’d ever had.

[yikesharringrove]

Billy's always loved libraries.

He fucking loves books, has since he was a little kid.

But he just loves everything about them.

In California, he loved the air conditioning. He loved the fact he could find some random corner and not have to go home for hours and hours. He loved that he could read whatever he wanted for free. He loved that if he didn't actually take it home with him, his dad couldn't give him shit for the books he read at an alarming pace.

In Hawkins, it was a place to hide.

Nobody expected Billy Hargrove to be tucked away in the very back of the library, his nose in a book.

And to be fair, he hadn't expected Steve Harrington to be in the library, either.

Billy didn't even know his name the first time he saw him.

Steve had a cart next to him, and was reshelving books, humming quietly to himself.

Billy was fresh to Hawkins, and all he knew was that this town was shitty, and that boy was absolutely beautiful.

In a few days, when he was finally enrolled at the high school, he learned the boy's name.

Steve Harrington.

The stories about him were so different than Billy expected. The tales of the wild party boy, the wannabe bully with a short fuse and a shitty right hook.

Everything he had seen in the library was contradictory to everything he now knew.

Steve wasn't much of a presence at school. He was quiet in his classes, often daydreaming out of the window, or doodling sleepily on his meager notes.

Billy sat one row beside and two seats behind him in calculus, and he had noticed the large red grades at the top of each of his assignments. The low scores and the come see me! scrawled in the teacher's writing.

His ineptitude at school fit somewhere in the middle of the two Steves Billy had come to think about.

Mean party animal Steve didn't care about school. Didn't study and smirked at failing grades.

Library worker Steve blinked tears out of his eyes and stayed behind in class to explain to the teacher I promise, I studied so hard. I don't know what happened, I studied every night last week.

Billy had decided, he liked both versions of Steve. He liked the one with a snarl on his lips and a glint in his eye when Tommy H. said something fucking stupid. He liked the one who showed kids to the childrens' section with a soft smile and gave them a high five when they found a book to check out.

It took a few days for Steve to become aware of the shadow in the library, following his every move as he went through his shift.

The new guy at school. Billy Hargrove.

Metal head lady killer. Who gets into fights and flirts with everyone with a pair of tits.

Who sits in the library and reads Emily Bronté.

He smiled at Steve when they first made eye contact across the reference desk, and Steve thinks he must be imagining the wink thrown his way.

Billy had spread out on one of the desks near the back, his calculus textbook open, notes strewn about.

They had a test the following day that Billy was studying for.

Steve had kinda already accepted the failing he was probably going to earn.

But maybe...

Steve's shift is up in half an hour.

Luckily, Billy stayed put where he was, Walkman headphones over his ears, pouring over notes and example problems.

Steve knocked on the table top like a dork.

Billy looked up at him, and whoa, his eyes are so blue. He pulled his headphones down.

"Hi, uh, Billy, right?" Steve's face felt hot, but Billy just nodded. "Um, we're in the same calculus class-"

"I know. I've noticed you in there."

Steve rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Yeah. Well. I suck as math, and-"

"Do you want to study with me?"

And Billy liked the look on Steve's face. The eye-crinkled grateful smile. It was in between the Steves he knew. It was kind, but he laughed at himself easily.

"Thanks, man. I appreciate it. I mean, I'm stupid at calculus."

"Nah," Steve liked the way Billy brushed off Steve's insecure commentary. "This shit is hard. You wanna do some practice problems?"

[soupinaboot]

Fuck it. Every Steve Harrington headcannon I have because I've been rotating that boy in my head like a pig on a stick Part 2 this is a little more in depth than the first one but only by a smug

- Epileptic, either since he was young or developed it over time due to all those concussions he keeps getting

- Favorite fruit is blackberries I have no reason

- Kinda sad but he never really had friends, yeah he hung out with Tommy and Carol but that was about it. Like after the fall out with them he was by himself, alone. I feel like if he was as popular as we think he is, he would have at least one other friend right?

- Does not have a filter at all. That one scene where he just casually says, "Oh yeah my parents are out of town because my mom doesn't trust him to not cheat on her any who!" and I feel like he just kinda does that

- Star Trek fan but he just does not comprehend that it's supposed to be nerdy (this is not my own I saw someone else headcannon this please tell me if you find them I can not)

- Absolutely sucked at ELA, could be cause of dyslexia or not whatever you want buttercup

- But on the topic of dyslexia, this headcannon is one of the main reasons why I love math nerd Stevie so much. Like, ELA test and History test are mostly long paragraphs that he needs more time to read through and his teachers don't care enough to give him extra time like he needs. But math tests tend to have a small paragraph that he can read faster or just focus on the numbers and finish on time, so he just got really good at math so he would have at least one class he passed

- Survives off of coffee, lord knows he needs it

- My most random headcannon is that since his parents were never really around or cared much for his safety, he used to hang out outside a lot and explore the wildlife around, got really into nature and animals, bought nature books etc. But his dad told him nature and animals were girly and forced him to stop even though he really loved it

- If he does ever go to college (which he doesn't have to, though if Robin went he would probably go with her), he would either get in education major and become a math teacher or some form of environmental degree

- His love language is quality time

- Among the three of them, Steve and Carol were the closest. Yes, Steve and Tommy met first, and yes they tend to call each other their best friends, but in actuality Carol and Steve were best friends. They have mean girl energy.

- He used to also play hockey when he was younger but stopped playing due to scheduling and shit. But he really liked it cause whenever he would practice there were these older figure skaters who would teach him figure skating (he kinda liked it more than hockey but he never told anyone)

- Speaking of scheduling, he is always tired due to his packed schedule. Since he was young, his dad forced him into a lot of sports and didn't really give him a break. Add that to his piano lessons, his jobs, studying that his dad forced him to do, friends, etc... he is just perpetually tired. And it fucked up his sleep schedule developing into insomnia as he got older

- Most of his and Eddie's dates are just them taking naps

- Once he meets Corroded Coffin they all become best friends. Like best fucking friends

- Specifically Steve and Jeff

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles pop-up Graduation challenge.

What's A Little Grand Theft Auto Between Friends?

Prompt: Graduation | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Nudity for Comedy, Smoking, Brief Mention of Underage Drinking | Tags: Post S2, Class of '85 Graduation Party at the Quarry, Randomly Teaming Up, And Then Having Fun Together, Steve Gets an Alternate Introduction to Eddie's Hot-Wiring Skills, Steve Ain't Body Shy, He Spent Too Many Years in Locker Rooms, Pre-Steddie

Coming tonight was a mistake, he's realized, because Steve isn't comfortable with this crowd, not anymore. 

Decision made: He's leaving.

He places his plastic cup down on the open tailgate of a truck he's passing by.

"Thanks for the trash, Harrington," comes the snapping snarl, and Steve stops. He hadn't realized there was anyone sitting in the back of the truck. But there's Munson, in all black, blending into the night. The only thing visible, the cherry on the end of his lit cigarette.

"Sorry, man," Steve says, leaning up against the side of the pickup, "I didn't want to just, you know, throw it on the ground."

"How noble," Munson says, dripping with sarcasm.

Steve's too tired for another snotty showdown. Graduation party at the quarry sounded neutral enough, but he was wrong. He's done dealing with everyone, and everything, from Hawkins High.

Except Henderson and the kids. But they haven't started HHS yet, so they totally don't count, and tonight he can hate everything about the place.

Including the crown prince of shitty attitudes, Eddie "The Freak" Munson. 

Steve takes the few steps back, grabs the cup, slings the beer that was mostly untouched into the grass. Holding up the empty cup to show Munson he's corrected this horrible offense. 

"That's more like it," Munson says, cigarette dangling from his lip.

"Well, that's my cue," Steve says, and keeps walking.

"Wait! Wait a second," Munson asks, no demands, and Steve has no idea why he even thinks about going back, let alone does it.

But he does.

Backpedaling the few steps until he can almost see Munson again.

"What?" Steve asks. 

"You leaving already?" Munson questions, and Steve just bobbles his head, because yeah, obviously.

"Can I get a ride back to town?" Munson asks, and Steve arches an eyebrow.

"Is this not your truck?" Steve asks.

"Nope," Munson answers, and Steve's hand flies up to toss the empty cup right at Munson's forehead.

Munson bats it away, laughing, as it clatters around noisily in the truck bed.

"You're a dickhead," Steve says, but then just wheels his arm around, silently telling Munson to hurry up if he's coming. Munson grins, wide and wolfish, hopping over the side with ease, landing on both feet with a resounding thud.

Then he holds out his arm in a sweeping after you gesture. Steve shakes his head and starts walking back to his car, hoping like hell he's not blocked in.

He is. 

"Well, shit."

"I got this," Munson says, trying the doors of both cars boxing them in, nearly touching bumper. Billy and Tommy, of fucking course. 

The Camaro is locked, but Tommy's isn't, and Munson slides into the driver's seat. Curious, Steve sinks into the passenger seat. 

Munson pulls out a multi-tool of some kind, and before Steve has a chance to realize exactly what he's doing, Munson has the cables pulled out from under the dash.

"Holy shit," Steve says, leaning closer, "where'd you learn to do that?"

"Well, when the other dads were teaching their kids how to fish or play ball, my old man was teaching me how to hot-wire. Now, I swore I wouldn't wind up like he did, but they wanna be dickheads? We'll all be dickheads. What's a little grand theft auto between friends?"

Friends. They aren't friends, and Steve's aware of that fact, acutely. But he'd be lying if it didn't feel kinda nice to hear from someone, even as a lie.

So, Steve grins, "Not a thing. Friend."

Eddie backs up Tommy's car, then pulls the wires, killing the engine. Afterwards, he stuffs everything back up under the dash. 

"Won't that-" Steve starts.

"Yup," Eddie answers, "gonna be deader than shit and he's gonna have no idea why."

"My man," Steve says, holding up his fist, and Eddie eyes him, but eventually bumps it back. "Thanks. This is hilarious, and he'll never suspect me. Like, I can't do that, and Tommy knows it."

"That's why it's good to have shady characters on your side, Harrington."

"Guess so," Steve agrees, and once they're back in Steve's car, Steve backs up, pulling away, easily.

Eddie digs his cigarettes out of his jacket pocket, "Can I?"

"Only if you light me one," Steve answers, watching as Eddie slides the cigarette along his own bottom lip, into his mouth, puffing as he lights it, then reaches over to place it between Steve's parted lips.

Steve feels funny about it, in a way he doesn't exactly understand, just for a second, before shaking it off.

"So, why was King Steve bailing so early tonight?" Eddie asks.

"Eh, I don't know. Guess I realized I'd graduated and had no interest in seeing any of those assholes again."

"Well, I didn't graduate, but same."

"You didn't graduate?" 

"Nah, maybe the third time will be the charm," Eddie answers. "Going from King Steve, to running as fast as you can. I'm proud of you, big boy."

It's so unexpected, Steve's sure he looks stupid, before he busts out laughing, "Well, that's a new one."

"Really? Are the rumors not true? I'll be so disappointed," Eddie asks, looking dramatic, feet now resting on Steve's dashboard. Steve doesn't have the energy to tell him no.

"What rumors?"

"About your big dick, man. Girls talk. I listen."

What? That's. What?

"Well, I gotta piss, so you can take a gander for yourself, I guess," Steve banters, parking and hopping out of the car along the dirt road. 

He knows Eddie doesn't actually wanna look, but two can play this game.

So, Steve doesn't go to the trunk, to the cover of darkness. No, he heads right up front, illuminated by headlights, and takes his dick into his hand. Lays it on his palm, like he's presenting it.

He looks through the windshield, but can't really see Eddie's reaction. Bummer.

But, then Eddie's hand pops out of the passenger window, giving him a big thumbs up.

And Steve tosses his head back, laughing.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

If you want to see more of my entries into this challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

[theoraeeken]

bucktommy / tevan prompt: drive, car/vehicle, hands

i literally cannot see the words "bucktommy" and "hands" and not instantly get weird about it so uh. sorry. if you're not into short, kinda horny oneshots. thank you for the prompt!!! <33

bucktommy / rated m / mild and implied sexual content / prompts open

-

Buck never gets out of the city, these days.

That's an over simplification, of course. Sometimes he does. Calls out of the city. Assists out of county. But it's been a long, long time since he made it out of LA for anything fun. And, this? This is fun.

The early evening has made a painting out of the North California landscape, streaming past them like so many brushstrokes. A sky in pink and lilac, trees tops in black shadow. Tommy, pretty as a picture, pretty as he always is with his hands on the wheel and his eyes forward.

Jesus, Buck has never wanted anyone so much in his life.

"You're staring."

"You're gorgeous."

Tommy huffs, but doesn't tear his eyes away from the road.

"You know I could watch you do this for hours."

"You have been watching me do this for hours," Tommy reminds him, mouth a sly smile, "Except for that powernap you took after lunch."

"You want me to take the wheel for a bit, babe?"

The same smile that always crossses Tommy's expression when Buck callshim babe appears. It's a soft little thing, but it's one of his favourite things in the world.

"Nah, there's only an hour left. Besides, I wouldn't want to deny you your favourite spectator sport."

It's true, it is. Maybe not in the way that Tommy thinks, maybe Tommy doesn't get it at all, actually. Buck likes to watch him. Watch him drive, watch him cook, watch him shave. Watch him nap on the couch after along shift, watch him comb his hair back before one. The confidence in his walk, the set of his shoulders, the surety of his hands.

His hands.

The same hands that are on the wheel that have pulled people out of burning buildings have washed Buck's hair in the shower. They've piloted helicopters, and cooked dinner for the two of them. They've patched up burns and lacerations and concussions in the field, and touched Buck the way no one else has ever quite managed.

Tommy flexes his hands, palms sure on the wheel.

Something stirs in Buck, a sense memory tucked into the joints of his wrists, the swirl of his fingerprints.

Buck stretches out in the passenger seat, a pleasant warmth settling at the base of his spine, a tingling in his gut, his fingertips, his legs.

There's a little sweat gathered in the fabric at Tommy's collar, where it's trickled down his neck. There's a drop of it tracing a faint red mark there, just under his hairline. Too faded to show any trace of what caused it, but Buck knows it was his teeth.

Buck runs a hand up his thigh absently.

"Evan," Tommy says warningly, but there's a touch of amusement in his tone, too.

"What?" he says innocently.

"You know what."

"Nope," he grins, "You look good."

"You look like a distraction."

"You can handle it."

"If I crash this car, and someone phones 911, you do realise neither one of us is ever going to live it down, right?"

He knows. He can practically see Chimney laughing his ass off already, hear Hen cackling. They gave him enough shit when a photo of Tommy appeared in his locker, a perfectly innocent picture of his boyfriend passed out cold on the couch in Buck's apartment, Jee-Yun beaming wildly into the camera after a day at a waterpark. Tommy's not wearing a shirt, because it got wet chasing Jee through a splash field. It's in Buck's locker because it's a great picture. No correlation.

"You flew a helicopter into a hurricane, I think you can manage the I5."

"You didn't have a hard on in the helicopter."

"That's what you think," Buck grins. He does now, easy and eager to go, like he's eighteen again, dick on a hairpin trigger.

"You didn't get enough this morning?" Tommy asks wryly.

This morning was slow and easy, still under the covers with the early morning light coming down on them like a blessing. Tommy's mouth on his stomach and his fingers inside of him, pulling an orgasm out of him like pulling on a loose thread - unravelling Buck into an incoherent mess.

"That was like eight hours ago-"

"It was maybe five, at an absolute push-"

"-and you just look so good sat there-"

"-I'm not doing anything!"

"-and I want you," Buck says, chest going warm at the way Tommy's mouth snaps shut and a blush starts spreading across his cheeks, "the way I always want you because you always look this good."

"We're gonna crash on the I5 and there's gonna be a pile up, and they're gonna check traffic cam footage and see that it's because I swerved into oncoming traffic, and when they ask me what happened, I'm gonna have to say it's because-"

"We're not going to crash, Tommy," Buck laughs.

"-because my boyfriend is insatiably horny," he interupts, louder, before glancing over at him. His eyes drop down to where Buck is rubbing himself through his sweats and he groans, a deep rumbling thing in his chest that makes Buck jerk helplessly in the seat, "and because he looks so good right now."

The satnav on the dash says there's still ninety minutes until they reach their destination, which is damn near an eternity. The thought of being confined in this car with Tommy, in a nice fitting t-shirt and shorts that have ridden up to expose a slither of inner thigh, for more than an hour feels impossible. Buck grinds into the heel of his palm, images of them pulled over at the side of the road, pressed together in the backseat of Tommy's old muscle car, or Buck bent over the hood, or leaning against the driver's side door with Tommy on his knees in front of him- They bomboard his imagination like firecrackers, every one of them vivid and alive like memories rather than fantasies.

Tommy's hand shoots out like a gunshot from the wheel to clasp his wrist.

He didn't realise how close he was to coming until his hand stopped moving.

"Jesus, Evan-" Tommy breaths out, his fingers like a vice, chest heaving, "You're trying to kill me."

"Whatta way to go though, huh?" Buck slurs. His hips are still twitching, even as he steps back from the precipice of orgasm. Everything is still so close, so hot, so intense. Tommy's jaw is so tight the muscle is jumping under the skin, but he lets go of Buck's wrist to lace their fingers together instead.

It's probably not the placating gesture Tommy wants it to be, not now that Buck's so worked up, not when it's Tommy's hands that have him writhing in the passenger seat of this car, Tommy's everything, really.

"Evan."

"What?"

"Quit it," he says firmly.

Buck grins, "Or what?"

"Or," Tommy says easily, "Every time I catch you, I'm adding an hour onto how long I'm making you wait when we get to the hotel."

That definitely doesn't have the desire affect, or it does. Buck can't tell over the wildfire that courses through him, caught between the desire to chase relief as soon as possible, and drag whatever game they've stumbled onto here out for as long as he can. Whatever shows on his face makes Tommy laugh, pull his hand back and put it back on the wheel.

-

(They make it to the hotel by the skin of their teeth, check in like a pair of maniacs on the run from the cops, then Tommy shows him just how serious he was about that three hour penalty by strapping his arms to the bed with his belt.)

-

(He only makes it two and a half.)

[diazsdimples]

I am just as devastated as the next person about Bobby and Athena’s house being burned down but think about the possibilities! Walk with me here. Bobby spending 90% of his time on Real Estate websites when he’s not plotting how to get the 118 back from Gerrard. Athena noticing that his searches get gradually further away from metropolitan LA until one day, Bobby very happily shoves the laptop in front of her face and there’s a listing for a very cute looking ranch-style property. “And it’s only an hours drive on the freeway, Athena!” Athena’s initially resistant because since when has Bobby ever expressed interest in living on a ranch and also she is a city girl through and through, but Bobby finally convinces her to come view the property with him and fuck, it’s actually kinda perfect. It’s in their price range, with a lovely big house that’s got 4 bedrooms (one for them, one for Harry, one for May, and a guest room/ office), the kitchen is massive and rustic and Bobby’s like a kid in a candy shop the whole time, just bouncing around this place like an energised toddler (“it has a walk in pantry, Athena!”) and Athena starts unconsciously planning the furniture layout and some renovations. And then, and then, Bobby takes her outside and the back yard is absolutely gorgeous; there’s a patio that’s got a barbecue, a stone pizza oven, a fire pit (one outside this time), there’s so much room and space and Athena can feel herself gradually falling in love. And it’s got TWO WHOLE PADDOCKS! The opportunities are endless! They go home and she tries to act indifferent but Bobby finds her looking at the listing again and going through their finances, scoping out the local area, checking her commute time into work. They talk about it a couple more times, during which Bobby mentions the fact that he’s always wanted to own horses and he misses having chickens like he did when he was little in Minnesota, and honestly it’s her husband’s insistence and pure joy that ends up convincing her. She’s got one condition though: she gets a bunny rabbit. It’s a non-negotiable. If Bobby wants the house, Athena gets a rabbit. Bobby agrees, so they end up putting in a tentative offer, slightly under what they think it could go for, but miracle upon miracles, it gets accepted!! They finally tell the 118 (who respond with a variety of reactions, most of which being “you bought a what??”) and a few weekends later, they’re moving in their few worldly possessions, as well as setting up all the furniture Bobby impulsively ordered one night when Buck was over and pulled up a few furniture stores. Athena starts building a rabbit hutch, which turns into something more like a rabbit castle cause she’ll only have the best for her baby, and she gets her rabbit, who she names Hercules. He spends a fair chunk of time inside, on her lap as she rubs his ears. Bobby ends up buying a whole flock of hens, and a rooster that he names Maurice (and he’s never seen Tommy back up quite as quickly as he did when Buck showed him the chickens with a shit eating grin on his face). Eddie and Buck help to build a massive vegetable garden which Bobby fills with herbs and vegetables and flowers. He wants a dog, but Athena won’t allow it cause 1. She’s allergic and 2. Hercules doesn’t like dogs apparently. So he gets two horses instead, a mare and a gentle old gelding and spends his days off riding the horses (he does hire someone to care for the horses when he can’t) and tending to his garden and cooking and he’s never felt quite so happy in his life. A lot of plaid begins to work it’s way into his wardrobe and when he gets the horses, Eddie brings him back a pair of cowboy boots and a Stetson from Texas, which he initially doesn’t wear but then Athena says he looks hot in them so he brings them out when he’s riding the horses. And no one minds the long drive to their new place cause it’s so perfect, they have the best cookout there and it’s clear that Athena and Bobby are the happiest they’ve been in years.

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 4)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

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 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie

Part 4 Enough

Alastor struggled with the prior expectations others had of him, but you eased them away with gentle hands. And to your great comfort, Tommy’s absence is noticed but not entirely shocking to anyone. With that concern behind him, finally, Alastor gives in to his own selfish wants and asks for your help with his “work.”

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, No smut! No pussy eating! No fingering! It took away from the important events and Alastor’s mental health (I know he’s not real but he’s KINDA REAL?) so I didn’t include it. Next time! , Murder, dead bodies, allusions to bad things by bad men, Alastor has had bad times and will have bad times, bad kind of choking, domestic shit, Detective Brady, Obvious Sin」

You let Alastor start the shower, remembering people often complaining you turned it too hot. Stepping into the tub and drawing the curtain around, you told him to face the water so you could clean his back. It wasn’t dirty, you just wanted an excuse to touch and stare.

A moment of silence, you were a little scared to speak but had a question burning a hole in your pocket, “Do you like sex?” You ran the bar of soap down his back, no wash cloth in sight.

“It’s … pleasurable.”

Your mouth twisted, “I thought maybe…it didn’t work.”

He laughed, “You wouldn’t be the first. Works fine. I just don’t care to use it much. I don’t-“ a pause, he considered how to say it as he had never said it out loud before, “I don’t see the appeal, typically. There’s better ways to enjoy my time and chase pleasures than sweating over a stranger,” The word stranger floated in the air around you. Alastor felt the need to push it away, dispel it as quickly as he could, “Dancing is basically the same thing, which seems to be the issue with current society.”

“I can respect that. Well, I’m relieved you aren’t dependent on murder for an erection because I don’t think I can hide that many bodies.” A chuckle from him, but you grimaced. Not now, don’t joke now. Stop hiding from the uncomfortable vulnerability of blunt honesty. You were glad he couldn’t see your face, resting your head between his shoulder blades as you lazily washed his lower back and down, “Don’t push yourself. I know I’ve been-,”

“Affectionate?”

“Aggressive.” You winced, “your word is better. Just, I wont… I can't enjoy something you don’t want.” Your traced circles onto his skin, “I can't get my rocks off to someone’s bad time.” A smile you couldn’t see, small and warm. “I hope it’s obvious I won’t go anywhere.”

He laughed louder, offending you a little.

“Sorry, it’s just— yes that’s been made clear. I quite literally told you to stop following me and somehow here we are.” He looked over his shoulder at you and gestured for the soap. You shook your head no.

“Turn around.”

He paused.

“Not— not like that. Unless you want me to?” You would drop to your knees so fast you would damage the tub if he said yes.

“I’m good dear, thank you.”

The tub was safe.

You took your time, covering his chest in suds, his arms, his sides. You did get on your knees after all to wash his feet, his calves, his thighs. You stopped short of going any higher.

He looked down right bashful. It was so cute you wanted to shove your face into his crotch and scream. 

Alastor wasn’t used to people handling him. Not outside of uncomfortable situations. The order of events typically went as follows:

Date makes a move. Alastor politely redirects. Date gets annoyed because it’s not the first time he’s done this. Alastor offers other ways to please them, be it his hands or his mouth. They either get sad (‘You think I’m repulsive, don’t you?!’) or angry (‘What kind of man are you?’). 

If he didn’t find them worth the effort, he would simply end the date then and there. But if he liked them enough, enjoyed their company enough, needed them for some purpose enough, he would acquiesce. They would touch him, and he would react like the touch-me-not plant he used to harass as a child, moving without thought from the stimulation. And he’d think about more engaging things until he got them to  finish or he could say he did. 

And it would buy a little more time with good enough affection and good enough company and good enough reasons. 

Good enough. ‘Enough’ was right there in the phrase. 

And then it would repeat until someone gave up.

When he didn’t move or reply as your hands sat where his thighs met his hips, lost in some train of thought, you left it be and stood. Lathering your hands, “One spot left!”

He suddenly looked so tired, eyebrows rising as if to ask you ‘what’s that?’ yet the dullness of his eyes indicated he wasn’t actually asking. 

But like a fall from a mildly scary height into the sea, thrilling but safe, he tensed as your hands moved. When you began to wash his face, he hit the water feet first.  His shoulders noticeably relaxed, and you thought you saw his chin shake a little, but you let it go to rub circles on his cheeks. You got behind his ears and under his chin. You tried to make a mustache but the soap didn’t lather well enough for that.

“You’re not missing out. I don't look good in facial hair.” He said, and you believed it. 

You handed him the soap and let him finish cleaning himself, trying to steal looks without being too obvious. Making a mental note to yourself for every piece of him to compliment later when he was more comfortable.

It tickled when he washed you, those soft fingers making bubbles across your skin. The steam was dampening his hair. Ah, you just noticed he wasn’t wearing glasses.

“Can you see? Without the glasses?” He was down now, cleaning your already clean legs.

“Ah, well, no.”

You held up 7 fingers.

He squinted then made his eyes wide, “Hmm…. Two hands.” You pushed him down with your foot to his chest, him catching himself with his arm. “At least I didn’t say three, dear.” 

You play kicked, “Unfunny!”

When he laughed now he looked boyish. His laughter bright as a bell. It was so jarring that it made your subconscious remind you of the dead man lying in the other room. The juxtaposition impossible to ignore.

Alastor noticed the shift in the air, getting up and setting the soap down on the lip of the tub. His hands rubbed your cheeks, your chin, your nose.

“You can leave after you’re all cleaned and dressed.” He was looking at your nose as he spoke.

“I can do anything I damn well want.” Your eyes skirted around his face before making him meet your gaze, “Atleast to the car. Okay?” Suddenly insecure about how aggressive you were, “Please.” 

Alastor nodded, could he see your smile? You could see his.

It was unspoken, and somehow equally shocking as the night you grabbed a dead man by the legs, that you dressed each other. Domestic was the only word for it and it was downright frightening for you.

But your body didn’t stop, some magnets in your fingertips drawn to the buttons of his shirt, to the collar you adjusted, to his glasses that you rested on the bridge of his nose.

Alastor hadn’t any idea what he was doing, perhaps his mother had told him to do this and he had long forgotten it. Maybe he saw it in a movie. Or read it in a book. But gingerly, as you sat on a side of the bed away from Tommy, he knelt and rolled up your stockings, watching as you clipped them to the garter belt. He slipped on your shoes and took your hand to help you stand. As you put on your dress his hands took the buttons at the bottom and yours took the top, meeting in the center. His newly clean fingers straightened out the wrinkles.

He avoided looking you in the eyes, something heavy in the space between you two telling him the air might catch fire if he did. He didn’t know what that meant, and he had done enough new things for one evening. 

“Can I ask you something?” He took the twine that tied the clothes together and began looping it through eyelets in the canvas.

“Of course.” He could ask you anything, if you answered was still up in the air.

“Why did you work for a man like that?” Continuing to avoid your face, he busied himself with drawing the sides and corners of the canvas up like a giant sachet.

A good question. One you would think he’d have asked before the murder. “He wasn’t like that before. This whole… thing was a recent shift. I know it was gambling but I think he was getting into some hard drugs too. His behavior had just gotten erratic.”

He tied the twine tightly, “It seemed impulse control was an issue for him, given his brief conversation with me. This-,” he pointed at you, suddenly full of passion again, “This is what I meant. I don’t talk to men for long. What a terrible conversation that was.” You fought back a smile. “Was he bragging? You wouldn’t believe the number of men— well I suppose yes you would.” He pushed up his sleeves and held them in place with arm bands, “If that is the typical sexual tendencies of men then I’m glad to see I evolved past it.” Alastor was spewing a stream of consciousness that even you could tell was out of character. 

Or perhaps, “I have a feeling you’d be saying all this if I were here or not.” You stared down at the canvas bundle.

That smile again, “Normally it’s under my breath but— they don’t seem to mind!” He gave the bundle a tug, checking for the sturdiness of the twine.“So, usually I do this closer to the car…” 

It was unladylike and you loved it, legs open wide as you lifted your half of the bloody package. You lumbered down the tight stairwell as he went backwards, insisting it was the gentlemanly thing to do. There was a moment you were alone at the bottom of the stairs as Alastor brought the car around. You gave the body a little kick, “Why’d you have to go and be such an ass?” Mumbled under your breath like a professional.

As you both stood there, trunk full of Tommy between you, you were unaware of what little wildfires you’d set off in the other.

Alastor felt his stomach flipping, an impulse to grab your face with both hands and kiss you making his fingers tap the roof of the car. He was worried if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop. An issue he had never had before, but it still felt like an issue nonetheless. It was, wasn’t it? An issue?

Something in you felt like the good wife in the doorway, waving your darling off to work in the morning. Wanting to plant a kiss on his cheek and straighten his bow tie. If you’d seen a neighbor do it you’d roll your eyes and fake a gag, but you wanted to give it to him. You wanted to give him consistent adoration he could rely on and that was the only example you could think of. A nervous hand considered clawing the feeling out of your chest entirely.

You both decided to play it cool,  Alastor dialling back the urge and planting a single kiss to your nose. You hummed, “If anyone asks…”

“You saw Tommy take the cash and leave.” Alastor said quickly, so confident you could believe maybe you had.

You nodded. Biting your bottom lip you stopped the urge to offer more help. Trust needed to exist that he’d ask for it if he wanted to. 

Maybe your face was losing its skill, mask dissolving under the events of the night, because a grin spread across his face, “Baby steps.”

Always scared of letting him slip through your fingers, you tried to hide how badly you needed another date to look forward to. Pursing your lips, “Speaking of, we’ve checked off public acts of indecency, a dance hall romp, and now some gentle sex near a formerly living man. Would you like to get coffee this week?”

“In the daytime?” False incredulity

“Fully clothed.” You added.

If he hadn’t stifled his laughter, it could have been dangerous, “Scandalous.” A small panic, he hadn’t actually agreed yet. An unfamiliar feeling of insecurity came down on you like a mistimed curtain fall. 

“I’ll need a few days…Saturday, at ten, the little cafe at the west entrance of our favorite park?”

Our. Your knees buckled a little. 

“Sounds positively deviant. I’ll be there with bells on.” Why was your heart pounding now. Why now?

“It’s a date then.” A kiss to your cheek, he tensed, holding back. “Can I drive you home?,” it was spoken into your skin. His lips not leaving your face. 

“I have to go back in. Tell everyone how much of an ass Tommy is for leaving me all alone with that wealthy bore.” Your cheek leaned into his kiss. His lips dragged across your skin to find your mouth, still open.

He exhaled, shakey and slow. Your eyes saw something new; dilated pupils staring down at you. A heat was pooling in your lap again, never so receptive to a pair of eyes before.

“Should I come back?” He knew he shouldn’t.

Luckily so did you. “You know I’m not far from here. Just get home, or wherever you're going, safely.” He finally let his mouth capture yours, his hands roaming the soft fabric of your dress. Red, smooth, warm. You broke away, pulling from some well of strength you didn’t know you had, “If the girls see— there’s no motive quite like a jealous man.”

That grin erupted, beaming a toothy smile that warmed you to your core, “Endlessly fascinating.” His fingers lingered on you until they were pulled away by the limits of his reach, him backing up to the car door, “Be safe. Good night.”

Your legs crossed one in front of the other, had a man ever considered your safety enough to say it out loud? Without adding some patronizing addition like “little lady” or “pretty thing” to it that felt more like an admission of intent? “Good night.”

Alastor rode home in silence, sometimes so lost in thought he would snap back to reality and realize he had no idea how long he had been driving. It would take a second but he would confirm he was still on the right path. 

It was too soon to bring you to his home. He knew that was a logical statement. However, every other part of him wanted to carry you over his shoulder into his house and show you around, excited to hear your responses to the details of his safe harbor. He could cook for you. You two could push the sofa back and dance in the sitting room. The back porch was lovely for early morning reading.

An incorporeal pain tore through his stomach. 

Hands gripping the steering wheel, bright eyes popping up from the tall grass as he rumbled past. 

He was getting ahead of himself again. All of the idioms he was taught were going up in flames. 

‘Don’t put the cart before the horse.’

Unfortunately he had guilded the cart as well, so weighted with the gold of his hopes he was worried the axis would snap.

‘Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.’ 

He had saddled you with an entire coop of his joy. Unfair and unwise.

‘Pearls before swine’

He was, like many men, reduced to a greedy mouthed animal at your feet, incapable of appreciating your attention as it should be. But he didn’t want you to stop. Perhaps a pig could learn?

So much for evolved. 

As he pulled into the dirt driveway of what was his father’s home, then his mother’s home, now his own, he wondered what your first thoughts would be. Would you like it? Were you expecting something grander? Something shiny and new? 

When he was backed up to the greenhouse he rested his head against the steering wheel. 

The smell of the soap was heating up with his thoughts, remembering your hands. You smelled the same now tonight, the same soap. What an intimate thing to share. Could he ever hope to share such things with someone, or was it foolish to spend time thinking about it? 

Alastor would give nearly anything to share a set of plates with someone gentle, to have a set of hand towels in the bathroom for himself and someone patient, to warm two mugs in the morning with coffee for himself and someone understanding.

A secret little dream he threw away shortly after entering adulthood. Which was fine for him. If having those niceties meant having to fake that a part of himself mattered more than it did, he didn’t want them. Not that much. He was already putting on a show outside, he couldn’t bring the audience into his home. His mother’s home. 

As he grappled with Tommy’s impromptu shroud, he considered his outward image. 

He was proud of it. He chose to have it, it was a tool that got him far in life and elevated his status. No qualms. Just, when you expect to do something all of your life alone, it’s foundation shaking to learn perhaps you didn’t have to.

He had convinced himself he preferred to be alone. But now it seemed maybe he had been lying to himself. At some point he confused accepting a situation with preferring it. 

He stared down at Tommy’s pale face, clothes dirty and body stiffening on the metal work station of the greenhouse. He probably would never have learned about Tommy if not for you. No rumors or whispers or warnings about a theater manager abusing the artists in his employ were floating around.

Again, he felt his chest tightening. It didn’t matter if he had had the man already in his sights or not. He would have killed him. Alastor ran his hands through his hair. Would you have stopped him, would he have let you, if you swore Tommy didn’t deserve to die?

No. A silly rhetorical. Had you begged on your knees with tear stained eyes he’d have kissed your cheeks and said whatever you asked to hear. And then he would wait for Tommy to be alone in a dark place like he did the others. And he would avoid looking you in the eye for as long as he had to, until you forgot about the former employer.

With a single and soft clap of his hands he shut his mind off and went about his work. Now wasn't the time for questions and what-ifs. He needed to make Tommy disappear as soon as possible. He didn’t usually kill so close together in time. A brief thought slipped through the cracks of his walls, This would be easier with help. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

No one noticed Tommy was missing until the following night. But given he’d gotten a considerable payday Monday the staff just assumed he was off snorting his profits. 

It wasn’t until Wednesday morning did police come by, Tommy’s mother having called in a missing person’s report.

You heard the girls speaking to the detective outside the dressing room before rehearsals. 

“This is typical Tommy.”

“He’s been dabbling into some heavy stuff.”

“You didn’t hear it from me, but! I heard he got,” you couldn’t see what she was doing, “ya know?”

When the detective looked into the dressing room and asked who he hadn’t spoken with, your eyes met in the mirror, recognition painting his face. 

“Detective Brady! The assistant manager can talk now.” Someone called from down the hall. You continued covering your bruises, hoping he hadn’t noticed them. With a pat to the door frame, metal ring clinking, he left.

He didn’t have time to speak with all of you before it was doors open and left before the show began. As soon as you got home you fished around in your key bowl for the crinkled card.

You dropped it back in, hands coming to your face. Of course. Why would it be any other man?

Deep breathes. It isn’t strange he ran into you before, you worked and lived in the area. He probably handed that card to every woman he passed at night. 

Slow breathes. The girls did the legwork, just follow suit. You were a single woman. No one would suspect you of anything unless they found a smoking gun under your pillow. Even then, if you could bat your eyelashes enough and find a  dainty enough cross necklace you could beat any rap. 

All you wanted now was to see Alastor and tell him. Three more days.

Surprisingly, the theater ran perfectly smoothly without Tommy. James, the assistant, stepped up and everything carried on as usual. The detective didn’t come back, either. Rumor in the dressing room was that Tommy had been an open-and-close case of bad decisions leading to bad outcomes.

There was a sadness at the theater regardless, no one having heard any news. He had wandered off before but he always returned in time for the big weekend shows. But Friday night came and went and Tommy never showed. Which for you was expected, but the other staff seemed worried. The girls, not so much. 

You weren’t as scared as you had thought you’d be. For yourself, atleast. You would rather die than let Alastor be found out because of you. Maybe he would have advice to ease you. Even if he didn’t, you’d be comforted getting him up to speed.

Knowing you’d see Alastor soon was like knowing when the next big rain was coming. You spent all week planning your time around it. 

Except for the small detail that you hadn’t actually known where the west entrance was to the park, or even that the gates had names. But you found it easily enough. As you approached you could see him waiting, a blue suit without the jacket, was there a color he wouldn’t look charming in? 

No. Silly questions seemed to be in the air lately.

You slowed as you approached, him hearing the click of your shoes and turning before you could gather your thoughts. This was the first time to see him in the daylight. 

His mouth was moving but you didn’t hear anything, brain short circuiting. His hair looked so much brighter in the sunlight, sun passing through brown locks. You could see his eyes looking at you, brows rising as he questioned something, but your thoughts were arrested by the color of the gaze you’d spent weeks trying to get into the focus of; a bright honey brown that seemed to shimmer. A little pop of light bounced off a button of his vest, his smile gleamed as he leaned towards you.

Run. You had no business here. A possibly soon-to-be criminalized dancer and him. You should have worn a better dress. Should have gotten your hair done. Should have better.

Alastor couldn’t figure out what your face was saying. He was proficient in reading the expressions of others, in discerning the changes in the air of any given room, but this… he couldn’t place. Your eyes were wide, smile taut and flat as you took a step backward. His hand reached out to stabilize you, your heel catching on the uneven pavement of the lesser cared for wards of the city.

“What’s wrong?” His smile softened. 

You spoke without thinking, something you never did, “You’re too beautiful. I should go.” Your attempt to turn away only half in jest. His bright laugh rang out, melting the muscles of your legs. 

“That’s a new one.” His fingers lingered on your arm, “You can pick a seat, I’ll grab coffee. No staff on the patio.”

Considering fleeing still, you thought about how sad he would be standing there with two coffees in his hands. The weather was quickly cooling, but in the early sun the outdoor seating was perfect for a coffee date. 

Shaking off the nerves, you tried to get a fucking grip. You adored your physical form, you had no issues thinking you deserved whatever you wanted to have. But, well, it was like he was glowing from the inside out. Even his skin seemed to catch the light. There was that quick heart beat again. You looked through the glass front, Alastor in line. If you had gone through with the plan to rob him, and had he returned in the daylight to argue with you… you’d have just handed back his wallet and maybe even your own. 

The least attractive thing about him was his money, strange considering it was normally the most important thing a man had in his pocket for you. 

Did he know? That you had been-

“Autumn, was it?”

You heard something in your neck pop as your head spun toward the voice. The color left your face, you stood so quickly you almost knocked the chair over.

“Detective! What a blessing!” Your hands were trembling as you reached out for one of his with both of yours, “You’ve been on my mind lately.”

The detective, tall and lean, eyes a striking cool blue and hair the color of wheat, removed his hat. “Oh?”

“Yes. I never got a chance to thank you for saving me last week. That man was just not taking no for an answer.” You took several steps to the left, making his back turn towards the cafe doors. 

“I thought maybe you’d been cross with me. You ran off like-.”

“I was just nervous. I didn’t know if you were for real or just another trickster trying to get a lady alone.” You stared at his eyes, trying to keep him focused on you. 

“Ah, well, you had good reason to be. Lucky coincidence seeing you here.” He set his hat under his arm, “I was just headed to your manager’s mother’s home.”

Your eyes flitted to the counter, back to Brady. “Oh? Is…is it bad news, sir?” 

“Not a trace of the man. But, that isn’t uncommon down here I suppose.” The detective sat down at the table you’d been at….you stayed standing. He motioned for you to take a seat, “That being said, I don’t think Tommy just wandered off with some cash.”

Were you wearing your perspiration pads under your dress? You think you were. If not, maybe you could just spill water on yourself and say it was a stain. Stiff, you took a seat. 

“I was hoping to interview the rest of you ladies. I was going to stop by tomorrow but, if you have a moment, what can you tell me about him?” His eyes looked like ice, their effect similar as a chill ran down your spine. 

“Well, oh geez… I don’t want to speak ill of anyone, ever.” Your hard learned skills were coming back to you. Your hands came together to shyly fidget with each other. 

“Consider it a help to the police, no worries ma’am.”

“Miss.” You corrected, that practiced smile small and chaste, “I’m not married, sir. As you can imagine, in my profession, it is very hard to come by good, honest men.”

A chuckle, he put his hat down on the table. Fuck. Fuck! 

“But, uh, yes. I can tell you quite a bit. Tommy was a fine man. For awhile. He was very respectful to us. A clean and tight ship.” You saw the door open behind him, Alastor using his back as his hands were full. “But, the last three months or so, he started getting mean.” You leaned forward, putting your left hand on Brady’s that rested on his hat. Your right hand slipped to the side and under the table, waving frantically to Alastor to turn back around.

Without question he swiveled on his heels, sitting down at another empty table near the cafe doors with his back to you.

You gripped his hand and the hat with one motion, and set it back on his head, “If he saw me talking to a flat foot…it could be a lot of trouble. Maybe we should speak privately.”

Why were you incapable of finding a balance between honey and venom? Your words came out too sweet, voice dipping into the tone you reserved for marks.

“Ah, well…Miss Autumn-,” Brady shifted in his seat.

You stood up, slapping his shoulder, “I meant the theater! Sir!”

He flustered, shaking his head and standing too, “I didn’t say anything!” His nervous laughter eased you, walking further from the table so he would follow. “Well, I’ll be by tomorrow. Maybe we can finish this conversation.“

A nod, not at all intending to tell him you didn’t work Sundays, “That sounds good. Anything I can do to help. But really, I expect Tommy will show up as soon as the cash runs dry.”

With a tip of the hat, he walked off to bring bad news somewhere else. 

You waited a moment before moving to the seat across Alastor. You thought your bones had turned to jelly, “Thanks for the rerouting. Was I obviously rattled?” You were mortified.

“No, not at all!” Alastor set the cup in front of you. “A former beau?”

You shook your head, “Worse. Detective Brady back there came by the theater this week, but didn’t have time to speak to me. Just so happened to see me now on his way to Tommy’s mom. Actually, that was something I wanted to tell you. I’ve met him before.”

His brows rose, blowing slightly on the coffee, “Oh? A patron of your theater?”

“No. That night with Legs. He stopped me a quite a few blocks before I found you. Gave me his card and a warning about missing people and something about little ladies being out at night.”

Alastor nodded, unphazed.

“Should I be worried? Because I’m worried.” You couldn’t even touch your drink, stomach in knots. He smiled, breaking the spell Brady had cast over you.

“Without a body there is no proof anyone is dead. That’s all that matters.” Alastor was cocky, leaning back in his chair with a far too relaxed demeanor.

You hadn’t realized your shoulders were so tight, “Sorry for shooing you away. I just got so scared! If he knows I,” You caught yourself, face going red as you corrected, “thought I had a guy, it could put you under a spotlight.”

His hand came over and gently rubbed your open palm with his thumb, “You’re right. That was smart, thank you.” Alastor smiled brighter, “Now! Let’s put that behind us. I don’t have a terribly long time. There’s a couple things to discuss. Most importantly,” he leaned over the table, face serious, “You think I’m beautiful?”

You kicked at his shin under the table, “My heart nearly stopped! I thought it was something important! Unfunny!”

A snicker, “Cruel?”

You nodded, “Very!”

It was by most people standards a normal date. It only strayed from mundane when Alastor walked you home and asked if you had any nightmares about Tommy. 

When you told him you hadn’t slept that well in weeks, and thanked him softly for his affection as you felt that had something to do with it, he hummed happily. He offered you his home phone number, you gesturing to the phone box at the corner in return. 

The nights were busy, so you often spoke in the mornings before his work. You’d made somewhat of a schedule, waiting in the booth around when you knew he was up and settling with coffee. He’d call, you’d ramble about your evening and what wild thing happened. Luckily the detective never returned after his Sunday visit so your stories were just fun and lighthearted. His laughter sounded so good over the staticy phone line. He would tell you about his work, about the bands he had the pleasure of hearing. New Orleans was the undisputed mother of jazz, and it showed in the fervor of his audience. It wasn’t uncommon he was busy keeping up with demand for more big and new sounds. 

While you enjoyed every opportunity to see him, be it coffee at a different cafe than the first or a walk around forested areas you knew were of use to him, the calls were nice. It allowed you to enjoy him without worrying about putting any undue pressure on him. You could twirl your phone cord and bite your lip without concern.

But finally, the moment you’d been waiting for. You called Alastor and he sounded tense, like he hadn’t slept. With a simple “What’s wrong?”, he asked if you’d want to help him with work.

The first one was almost too easy. Alastor had you wait at a bar where a man he clued you in on frequented. A staff member of his station had missed work for several days, supposedly sick. Alastor got the real story from eavesdropping on the ladies at lunch. The man, Mr. A. Wellington, was next. After watching and waiting, Alastor knew the man’s patterns well enough. Including you was a risk, but he had been fighting the urge to ask you for so long now. This one seemed it would be cut and dry. 

All it took was a smirk, a well placed hand, a laugh. The man practically pushed you down the back stairs of the bar and out through the doors that led to the service street. So engrossed in ignoring your suggestion of slowing down, he didn’t hear or see Alastor standing feet beside you both. 

The look of betrayal on the man’s face as his eyes flew from Alastor back to you increased Alastor’s high was three fold. He asked the man, already too gone to reply, if he remembered his staffer. “You should. She’ll always remember you.” 

You leaned against the door that led back to the hotel bar. Your eyes and ears were open for any unwanted company, any possible danger. Other than your own little madman. Alastor took this one personally, you could tell by how much messier he was than the first two.

While he didn’t explicitly state his code of ethics for selecting “victims”, you had picked up on the pattern. A man who assaulted a young woman, a wife beater, a violent segregationist. 

Was he really doing bad things? You found it hard to pity any of them.

Once the messy part was done you’d help get the man, as it always had been so far, into the trunk. You’d share a few kisses and clean the scene before being driven home, where you’d share a few more. Your favorite part, by far.  And after you waved, he’d drive off to wherever he went with the dead men. 

But one night was atypical. One night was downright horrible.

You lured a man into a large park beside the water. A part of you almost felt bad, as he sweetly held your hand. He had been a perfect gentleman, you seducing him at a dance hall. Alastor had warned you he was dangerous, but you wondered for a second if he was Dangerous or dangerous. Like Alastor-dangerous.

You found your answer when the man smiled down at you, telling you how beautiful you looked in the starlight, how you’d stay so beautiful forever, and wrapped his hands around your neck. Capital “D” Dangerous. 

The man was knocked off balance by Alastor tackling him from the side. You all three fell into the dirt and grass. The wind was forced out of you from the impact, your hands failing to get traction as you tried to sit up. The ground was slick with mud from recent rains flooding the rivers. Hurricane season was already in full swing.

The man wasn’t huge, but he was larger than Alastor. You watched the men struggle, slippery ground complicating Alastor’s attempts to stay upright as he straddled the man, and he couldn’t get leverage enough to bring down the knife. Horrified, you sat on your legs feeling helpless as the man lifted himself and Alastor off the ground entirely and tossed him onto his back. A small cry, Alastor rolled away revealing a rock where his back had landed.

The man only needed one of his large hands to wrap around Alastor’s throat but he used two for the fun of it. Your shoes slipped off as you struggled to get to your feet like a baby deer newly introduced to the world. Everything was wet and spinning, your lungs were burning. 

Alastor didn’t feel scared as his vision went black, just annoyed he had fucked up.

Even that feeling washed away as a grayness flooded into his consciousness. Everything lost color, flavor, texture. All urgency inked out. 

Before everything slipped away, before he slipped under, he thought he heard his mother calling his name.

He thought he heard you scream. 

Part 5 is halfway done 👌

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove  @saccharine-nectarine

@looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith ,