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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 11 days ago

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can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 11

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10

Steve waits until everyone’s gone home to open the letter. Chrissy had ribbed him over not sharing but, no matter how supportive she is, she just doesn’t get it—she can’t. No matter what she’s shared, her and Jeff are clearly dating. And even if they hadn’t been, Jeff likes girls. The worst thing that would’ve happened is him turning her down.

With Eddie? The worst thing that could happen is total annihilation.

And Steve’s never been good at holding himself back. He cares fast, and he cares hard, and he can never quite stop, no matter what changes, or how much distance he puts between himself and the other person. Look at Nancy, and Tommy, and Carol, and his parents, and every single relationship he’s had where he’s all in, and the other person never meets him. He doesn’t even need halfway, hell, he’d take a quarter.

But even that’s never how it works out. If there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that Steve Harrington is too much, always.

So, if his fingers shake as he opens the letter, who can blame him?

But, inside is everything he could have ever asked for—Because you’re it, baby. He caresses the words, fingers trembling, heart shuddering in his chest to a beat that sounds a lot like, “maybe, maybe, maybe.”

He knows it’s stupid. This letter isn’t for Steve, not really. It’s Chrissy’s face Eddie pictured when he wrote it, Chrissy’s lips he imagined kissing, Chrissy’s hand he imagined holding. But, it’s hard to remember, when there’s such longing on the page in front of him.

He doesn’t know what to say, thoughts running too fast to pick them out and write them down. He tries, pen stuttering over the page in half-formed sentences, until he’s left with:

Eddie —

You don’t want to know what I

Someone has loved you. I love

I’ll take anything you

Fuck

Hee crumples the letter up into a ball, and tosses it across the room toward the trash bin. He shoots, he misses, he lays down with all the lights still on.

Steve stares down at Eddie’s letter, helpless in the face of the bubbling hope, unwilling to squash it. He folds the letter back up and puts it under his pillow, hoping for dreams, just like Eddie had said.

He doesn’t.

Steve’s tired the next morning, zoning out during class, and shuffling through the halls like a zombie. Chrissy keeps sending him worried looks, and even Robin asks if he’s okay in Mrs. Click’s class, which she was right, they do share.

Steve tells her he’s just tired, and she drops it, but there’s a sad, knowing smile on her face.

It happens at lunch. Eddie jumps up on his lunch table, boots thudding loudly against its metal surface, drawing all eyes in the room toward him. Everyone looks away, familiar with his tabletop rants by now, but Steve can’t look away.

Eddie’s magnetic when he’s like this, a black hole swirling everything up in its path. Steve doesn’t want to miss a thing, barely blinks as Eddie begins the familiar walk across the Hellfire table.

“Forced conformity, folks—it’s what’s killing the kids!” he cries, clapping fast to punctuate the sentence. Across Steve’s own table, Tommy boos, gaining momentum when the people around him laugh and join in. “Oh, don’t act so high and mighty, Hagan, you’re the worst of all.”

He’s grinning, but it’s not the dimpled one. He’s just baring his teeth, a predator scenting blood. “You’re all so focused on shooting balls in laundry baskets, like that’s all there is, but guess what? You’re going to be a washed-up has-been before you’re even out of this school.”

He takes a few steps forward, eyes straying from Tommy farther up the table, making it clear he’s talking to all of them. “You don’t realize that daddy’s money’s gonna dry up, and you’ll be left with a wife and three kids you don’t even like, reliving the old glory days like they were even worth remembering.”

“Come say that to my face, Munson!” Tommy cries, standing up from the table as the rest of them egg him on.

Eddie makes a little rock and roll symbol and smirks, like that’s exactly what he wanted Tommy to say. “And you know what? That’s all you’ll deserve for the shit you’ve pulled. A sad lonely life with your sad flaccid dick.”

And suddenly, he’s looking right at Steve, gaze piercing straight through Steve and into his soft, squishy underbelly. There’s blood in the water, and by Eddie’s laugh, he can taste it. “You’ve earned it,” he says, not even blinking, his eyes so intense Steve can’t breath with it. “After all, once a jock, always a jock.”

Chrissy links their fingers and squeezes his hand beneath the table. Steve blinks, spell broken as he squeezes her back in thanks. He looks down at his remaining chicken nuggets, appetite gone.

“You okay?” Chrissy asks, barely audible with all the continued heckling.

Steve glances up just in time to watch Eddie jump down from the table and plop his ass down like none of it happened at all. He’s laughing as Jeff and Gareth pat his back, but he looks deflated, like the whole spectacle took everything out of him.

“I will be,” Steve replies, pushing his lunch tray away.

If nothing else, he has something to write now.

***

Eddie can’t get the look on Harrington’s face out of his mind. He’d been at the top of his game, riling the jocks up enough that Hagan had jumped up like a jack-in-the-box. But, then he’d looked at Harrington, and it’d all gone wrong.

The guy was drooping into himself, mouth down-turned, eyes like a kicked puppy. Eddie stuttered, got caught up in him, something unnameable stuck in his throat. Eddies doesn’t even know what he’d said after that, couldn’t hear himself think much less speak, until Harrington finally looked down at the tabletop and their eye contact broke.

Now he’s stumbling over his words, trying not to even look Harrington’s way as he finishes off his speech. It lacks the usual oomph, but Eddie doesn’t care; he just wants the whole thing to end.

Eddie stumbles down into his chair, shuddering through his smile as Gareth and Doug elbow him in the side, ribbing him good-naturedly. He chokes out a laugh, and doesn’t look at the jock’s table for the rest of lunch.

The next time he sees Harrington, there’s another complication to contend with in the form of Robin Buckley, best known for her proficiency on the trumpet and quirky outfits. And now? She’s best known for attaching herself like a barnacle to Harrington’s side.

Except, if she was a barnacle, Harrington might at least try to shake her off. But, no. He just smiles at her, and whispers with her, as she inserts herself between Chrissy and Harrington like she belongs there.

Chrissy, for her part, seems to like the girl as well.

Eddie doesn’t get it, can’t comprehend what the hell’s happening, and it makes something squirmy and viscous sink into his stomach every time Buckley inserts herself between the pair, every time they smile at her.

But, they still stop to talk to him in between classes, so Eddie tries to drop it.

“It just doesn’t make sense!” Eddie cries, phone clutched to his ear, not even letting Gareth get a word out before he’s continuing the conversation Jeff had rudely interrupted by showing up to lunch. “What the hell is Harrington’s deal?”

“Dude, you’re like, obsessed,” Gareth replies, clearly talking around a mouthful of whatever after-school snack he’d chosen this time.

“Is he trying to date every girl in school at the same time?” he whines, yanking on his hair hard enough that his scalp tingles.

“You’re just jealous,” he replies, and that same squirmy feeling makes Eddie wriggle his whole body, like there’s a chill in the air.

Is the heater on the fritz again?

“Of who?” Eddie screeches before quieting down, peeking into the living room to make sure Uncle Wayne hasn’t stirred. He hasn’t, but Eddie still keeps his voice lowered as he continues hissing into the receiver. “Of Harrington? Don’t be absurd.”

Gareth laughs, “I don’t know, man, but this whole thing is just getting weird.”

“I know, right? What are they up to?” Eddie asks, ignoring Gareth’s muttered “not what I meant,” like he hadn’t said anything at all.

He never figures it out because Buckley never comes around—not to band practice, or Hellfire, or any of the other times Chrissy and Eddie (and Harrington) are in the same place. Eddie should be relieved. He’s not.

Everything is spiraling out of his control.

But, the letters keep coming, and Eddie keeps devouring them

Eddie —

I really liked your tabletop speech this week, even though you made fun of the jocks. Some of them definitely deserve it. Do you hate all of them, or just the bullies?

You laughed, but it wasn’t your real laugh like when Mr. Danver accidentally said ‘orgasm’ instead of ‘organism’. I love your laugh, I thought about it all day. Kind of like when your favorite song gets stuck in your head.

I know I’ve said it before, but I do really like you. But, if you knew me, I don’t think you’d like me. It’s okay, though. I’m stupid like that—always putting my whole heart into people who don’t feel the same.

I’m sorry, this is probably not the letter you hoped to get. I’ll be better next time, promise.

Yours,

Your Secret Admirer

P.S. Put your response in the World Atlas, the long one that they have to put sideways on the bookshelf (because no matter where you are, I’ll always think of you).

They all make something flutter within him like his lungs are growing wings and flapping themselves out of his body entirely. Even as it leaves him breathless and aching, he wants more of it, longs for it.

It’s just—she sounds so sad, lately, like she’s losing hope in this at all.

All Eddie wants to do is reassure her. So, he keeps writing back, pulling his heart off his sleeve and flinging it down on the page for Chrissy to read, hoping he’ll somehow see those same feelings reflected in her eyes.

He never does.

So, he pokes; he wheedles; he pines for a girl on a page that never quite stands before him. And he pours it all onto the page.

Secret Admirer,

I don’t think it’s all jocks—you’re too nice for that. But even you have to admit that a lot of the jocks are only doing it to be at the top of the food chain. Guys like Carver and Harrington Hagaon? They don’t even care about sports, they just want peons to fawn over them. But, there’s people like you, too, so maybe more of them are better than I expect.

I can’t imagine knowing who you are and not liking you. You’re the nicest girl I know. You don’t have to tell me who you are, but if you do? I promise, it’ll all be okay.

Yours, always,

Eddie

P.S. You don’t have to ��be better,” baby. I just want you to be you. That will always be enough for a guy like me.

It’s not enough—something is breaking open in him that words on the page can’t quite mend.

“I’m going to ask her out,” Eddie says once Harrington and Chrissy have left the latest Hellfire session, still inexplicably coming despite never playing.

Jeff chokes on his sip of soda, coughing harshly enough that some of it comes out of his mouth and splatters onto the table.

“Gross, dude,” Doug says, but still pats his back like he’s burping a baby.

“Are you serious?” Gareth asks, tone disbelieving.

Eddie makes crazy eyes at him, trying to psychically beam all his thoughts into Gareth’s head like, yes I’m serious, and, you know about the notes, why are you looking at me like that, and, what the hell else am I supposed to do to crack this mystery wide open?

“That is such a bad idea,” Jeff cuts in once he’s got his coughing under wraps.

Eddie whips towards him, scowling at his best friend as he replies, “you’re just jealous.”

Jeff sighs, heaves himself out of his chair, says a quick, “whatever, dude,” and walks out of the room without a backward glance.

“Aren’t you his ride?” Doug asks.

Eddie flaps his hand in dismissal and replies, “forget about him,” despite his gut sinking down into his boots at Jeff’s words.

“Well, how are you going to do it?” Gareth asks, the only one of his friends to seem even remotely excited.

Eddie keeps flapping his hand and replies, “never you mind.”

That even gets Gareth to scoff, knowing Eddie well enough to know that means he’s got nothing.

But there’s a thought niggling away at his brain: why not finish this thing the same way it had begun?

On his way out the door, he drops his latest letter to Chrissy into the trash bin and doesn’t look back. He’s got a new letter to write.

***

“You know this is juvenile, right?” Jeff asks.

Chrissy pulls the world atlas off the shelf with a roll of her eyes.

Her and Steve had fought about him picking up the letters alone, and Chrissy had won the way she always does when it comes to matters of his safety. He’s sulking in the parking lot now, waiting for her to retrieve it for him.

But, there’s no letter behind the cover. She flips through the whole book, then shakes it, pages flapping wildly, to see if anything falls out. Nothing does. No note, at least not yet.

Steve will be disappointed.

“They’re boys, of course it’s juvenile,” Chrissy says, turning away from the shelf to make pointed eye contact.

If boys are stupid, Jeff is the stupidest of them all. She thinks she can see a tinge of red to his dark cheeks that makes her smile. Chrissy turns away to pick up her book bag where she’d left it on the closet table.

“There’s no letter?” Jeff asks, sounding surprised.

Chrissy sighs, responding, “not yet. I’ll have to check back tomorrow.”

Steve will be crushed. He’s been weird about the letters since he’d begun writing the first drafts alone. Even with the minor polishing Chrissy puts on them after, they’re Steve’s words and feelings, no matter what Eddie thinks. And it shows in the way he takes them home and pours over them for days before slinking back to her with the original letter and his response, cheeks rosy as she fixes his spelling errors.

“Eddie’s planning on asking you out, you know,” Jeff says.

There’s a clatter behind one of the shelves, but Chrissy barely notices. “He said that?” she asks, turning sharply toward him, hand still clutching her book bag.

Jeff nods, lips pursed. God, what are they going to do? This whole thing has spiraled so far out of either of their control. Chrissy had known when she offered that there was a chance Eddie would catch on—that he’d see her leaving a note, or catch her picking one up.

Better her than Steve, she’d thought then. No matter the awkward situation she’s found herself in, she still thinks that, even more so now. Better her than Steve. Steve, who’s proven himself kinder than she ever imagined, who would be run out of town, her ex-boyfriend at the head of the mob.

Chrissy can hear someone shuffling out of sight, feet shuffling on carpet far too close for comfort, so she steps closer to Jeff and lowers her voice.

“Do you know when?” Chrissy asks, anxiety leaching into her. She needs to talk to Steve. Flirting with Eddie is one thing, but going on a date with him? Going out with him? That’s a whole other monster.

And then, of course, there’s Jeff.

“No, he hasn’t told me anything,” he replies, something small and hurt in his voice.

Chrissy’s never had a best friend, but Steve’s given her a little taste of it, and she’d be hurt if he didn’t tell her something like this.

“He’s probably embarrassed,” Chrissy says, aching to reach out and touch, but they’re in public, and Jason could be lurking behind any corner; the last thing she wants is to put a target on another person she cares about’s back. “You’re still his best friend.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he sighs, but when she bumps their shoulders together gently, his lips quirk up.

He smiles over at her, bumping their shoulders together himself as he asks, “drive me home?” as if it isn’t a foregone conclusion. “And stay for dinner?”

That gives her pause. She can feel her cheeks flushing. Despite taking the next step in their relationship, Jeff’s never invited her in, not where his parents and brother are. They haven’t even really discussed what they are, not with this whole secret admirer thing hanging over their heads like the Sword of Damocles.

But she wants to. She wants to hold his hand in the halls, go to his house for study dates and dinner, kiss him somewhere where they don’t have to be furtive.

It’s all stolen moments with Jeff, kisses and conversations made in haste when all she wants to do is linger. So, she says, “yes, please,” and bounces out into the parking lot.

Steve isn’t there, and neither is his car.

“Maybe he went home?” Jeff asks, but he looks just as unsure as she feels.

“We’ll call him when we get to your house,” she asserts. She’s relieved when all he does is nod and follow her to her car.

She’s got a best friend to find.

***

Robin knows something’s gone wrong as soon as she sees that dangerous gleam in Carver’s eyes. She knows whatever it is, it’s about to go catastrophically wrong when she follows his line of sight to where Eddie stands chatting away with one of his friends.

Still, she stands frozen, watching in breathless horror as Eddie waves goodbye to his friend, that familiar happy grin on his face as he slides into the driver’s seat of his van. Heavy music blares from the rolled-down window as his van sputters to noisy life.

When she turns back to get her eyes on Carver, he’s gone. She spots him only as Eddie peels out of the parking lot, Carver’s douchey car hot on his heels.

Robin turns and runs back into the school. She’d spotted another douchey car still loitering in the parking lot; Steve’s in here somewhere.

She checks the library first, knows from previous confessions that it’s where he and Chrissy work on most of the secret admirer notes. It’s deserted aside from a scattering of freshmen in one corner, and Nancy Wheeler arguing with the librarian about a text the library doesn’t seem to have.

She finds herself in the gym next, unsure if any sports are currently in season, but nice guy or not, Steve’s got jock sensibilities. He likes the gym. There’s a singular kid shooting baskets, but based on the rack of balls off to the side, there might have been more.

She goes to the boy’s locker room without thinking, pushing the swinging door open with sweaty palms and shaking arms.

Inside, she finds boys, all blessedly dressed.

“Ohhh!” they call juvenilely as she stands there, shocked as four pairs of eyes lock on her.

“Girl in the locker room!” someone calls; she’s pretty sure that’s Tommy Hagan’s smug voice, but she barely notices, too caught up in trying to find her boy in the mess of bodies.

“Steve,” Robin strangles out.

Her skin feels tacky with panic sweat, and in the past five minutes of searching, she’s run her fingers through her own hair enough times to leave it sticking on end. She’s sure she looks more like a troll doll than an enticing member of the opposite sex.

“He already left,” a guy she doesn’t recognize responds, eying her up and down. “But I’d be more than happy to help you out.”

As if his meaning wasn’t already clear, he bites his lip and swipes his lip like he’s wiping up drool as all the other boys start “ooooh”ing in unison again. Is that something they’re taught in elementary, or something?

She doesn’t wait for them to continue, just turns and runs out of the locker room, panic nipping at her heels.

She runs back out to the parking lot, out of places to check and desperate to not miss Steve leaving.

That’s where she finds him, leaning casually against his car like Eddie’s life isn’t at stake.

She runs so fast, limbs uncoordinated and breaths coming rapid, that she doesn’t stop in time and hit’s Steve straight in the chest.

She bounces off, almost falling to the pavement until he grabs her shoulders and steadies her. Steve’s hands feel big on her shoulders, the pressure of his palms pushing her soul back into her body as she takes big, deep gulps.

“What’s wrong, Bobby?” he asks, already looking at her like she’s a wet puppy he’s ready to scoop into his arms and dry off with the shirt on his own back.

There’s too many witnesses, and too many damning words to be said, so all she whispers is, “you need to go, Steve.”

He wrinkles his nose, but something of the gravity of her words must sink in because he leans in without hesitation and meets her pitch as he asks, “where?”

Robin steps even closer, damn-near standing on Steve’s toes as she begins her stilted explanation.

“Jason Carver followed Eddie’s van in his car,” Robin starts, words blurring into each other in her haste to get them out. “I don’t know what he’s planning, but—“

She doesn’t get to finish; Steve bolts to the driver's side door and flings himself into his car without sparing her a second thought. She can’t blame him.

Robin only hopes he makes it in time.

PART 12

#koko's steddie secret admirer au #steddie #my fic #it's getting messsssyyy. well messier

307 notes · View notes

hazelfoureyes · 6 months ago

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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 ݁ ˖

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#human alastor x reader #alastor x reader smut #alastor smut #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel x you

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adrienneleclerc · 3 months ago

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We’re on a world tour (like beyonces renaissance tour) and it’s opening night in London. Charles being with Arthur Pierre and kika and their reaction + them being in the pit. Also, Charles and our oldest daughter coming out to dance on stage like how blue Ivy did with bey. And the grids’ reactions + other celebrities being there for opening night!!!😅❤️

What happened to “hello”? “How are you?” “My name is”? I’m kidding. ANYWAY, sorry it took me so long so I really hope you liked it and I am so sorry if you didn’t. Since you said “oldest daughter”, Charles and Y/N have 3 kids.

World Tour

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Singer! Reader

Summary: Y/N starts her world tour in London and kicks off the tour with a huge surprise

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors

A/N: mix of social media and written fic, because of the ages of the kids, we could make it so charles and Y/N got married at 18 and started their family at 19 so charles is still 26, OR married at 21, family at 22 so he’s 29, completely up to you. So this could take place in 2027 or 2024, it doesn’t matter. Also, her performance photos/video outfits are not consistent, sadly.

Y/N was backstage doing her makeup when her daughter, Juliana, who everyone calls ‘Jules’, walks in with a hairbrush in her hand

“Mami, Can you brush my hair?” Jules asked. Y/N turned to her and smiled.

“Sure, baby. How many knots are in your hair?” Y/N asked, taking the brush from Juliana’s hand

“A lot, I can’t get them out.” Jules said. Y/N got a detangling spray from her vanity to spray in her daughter’s hair.

“It should be easier to get it out now. You excited to dance with me, princesa?” Y/N asked.

“I’m nervous. What if I mess up the routine to ‘Arranca’ and I get booed?” Jules asked. Y/N spun her around so they were facing each other.

“Mi amor, you won’t get booed. Besides, you are 7 years old, no one expects you to be perfect. And guess what, you are still going to sing a song with me.” Y/N said.

“Can we sing ‘como la flor’, mami?” Jules asked and Y/N smiled.

“Any song you want, baby.” Y/N said and kissed her forehead.

Charles was sitting with his 4 year old son, Santiago, who’s nickname is “Santi”, his brother Arthur, Pierre, and Kika.

“Where’s sissy?” Santi asked.

“She’s with your maman, mon coeur.” Charles replied.

“I can’t believe you brought him to the concert, Charles.” Arthur said.

“It would be unfair to leave him in the hotel room with Dot’s (Dorothea) nanny while Jules gets to be here with us.” Charles said.

“I think it’s cute that Charles brought Santi.” Kika said. “How old is Dot now by the way?”

“She is 8 months old now.” Charles said and Kika cooed.

“You took him to the bathroom, right?” Pierre asked,

“Of course I did, I’m not an idiot, mate.” Charles said.

“Why is Jules with Y/N?” Arthur asked.

“I Don’t know, Jules asked if she could go backstage with Y/N and Y/N said she was okay with it.” Charles said.

“Yeah, she had the right idea, do you see how packed it is?” Kika asked. Charles stood up, holding Santi’s hand the entire time.

“Yeah, my Y/N has a lot of fans from all over the world.” Charles commented the lights turned off and the crowd started screaming, Charles saw Santi put his hands over his ears so he got out Santi’s headphones from his backpack and put them on him, carrying him so he will be able to see his mom.

Y/N came out on stage with her first performance outfit.

“Ah, she looks so good!” Kika fangirled.

“Yeah, she does.” Charles smiled fondly.

“How we doing tonight, London?” Y/N asked the crowd and they cheered. “Wow, I can’t believe I’m starting my world tour here. It seems insane to me but it’s also the same weekend as the British Grand Prix so of course it makes sense to start here.” The crowd cheered, clearly having an overlap of F1 fans and Y/N fans. “If you have been a fan of mine for years and have been to my concerts before, hi, it’s so nice to have you come back. If you’re a long term fan but haven’t been to my concert, I am so glad that you are finally able to come. Lastly, if you’re a new fan or your sibling, bestie, partner, child, or even parent dragged you here tonight, welcome! You are going to have a fun time, I promise.” Y/N said and the soundboard person started the instrumental track of her song ‘Fulanito’

“If y’all know this song, sing along, mis amores!” Y/N said. “Que manera, como él consigue de mí lo que quería, quedé partía desde la primera, haciendo lo que no hace cualquiera, y no sale tan bien…” Y/N started singing. Her backup dancers joined her on stage for the performance and they finished that song. There was a ton of applause. “All right, before we start this next song, I’m pretty sure everyone knows I’m married.” Y/N said, putting her hand up to show off the ring Charles bought her once he started making good money in Formula 1 and the crowd cheered. “We have a little family, 3 children to be exact, and my daughter’s dream is to be a performer like me. So everyone clap your hands together for my daughter, Juliana!”

“Sissy!” Santi said, perking his head up.

“Yeah, It’s You’re sister, Santi.” Charles said, they all clapped and Charles saw Jules walk on stage and hugged her mom before standing next to one of the dancers before the music of ‘Arranca’ started playing, Jules was following the dance exactly and she looked like she was having a great time. Charles took out his phone to record his little girl dancing with his wife, when the song ended, Jules hugged Y/N and Y/N squatted down to give Jules’s a kiss on her forehead.

“Give it up for my daughter, everyone! Before my baby goes, she wanted to sing a song with me so I gotta do it.” Y/N sat down on the edge of the stage, Jules following her and the soundboard guy started playing the music of “como la flor” by Selena Quintanilla. Charles took photos of that too.

The concert ended an hour and a half later.

“Hey guys, thank you for coming with me.” Charles told Pierre and Kika, carrying Santi who is sleeping.

“No problem, we had a fun time.” Pierre said.

“Yes! Please ask Y/N if she’ll let me borrow the outfit she wore when she sung Sin Pijama, it’s so cute.” Kika said. Charles laughed.

“Sure Kika, I’ll ask her.” Charles said. Pierre and Kika left and Charles walked with Arthur backstage. When they entered, they saw Jules practicing her dance.

“Papi!” Jules said, hugging Charles. “Did you like my dance? I practiced with Daniela (dancer).”

“You were amazing, sweetie, but call me papa.” Charles said. Jules let go,

“I like papi better.” Jules said before hugging Arthur. “Tio, you liked how I sung?”

“You did really well, and it’s oncle.” Arthur said.

“Fine, oncle.” Jules said and she sat down on the couch. Y/N came out in short and a hoodie.

“Muñeco, Arturito, is Santi sleeping?” Y/N asked.

“Yeah, He’s a little tired, but he was dancing to most of your set, you were amazing out there, Mon coeur.” Charles said, kissing her.

“Yes, you were great, didn’t know you were such a great dancer.” Arthur said.

“Yeah, i took classes when I was younger. Let’s go back to the hotel so we could Santi in bed.” Y/N said, rubbing Santi’s back.

“Yeah, Let’s go.” Charles said.

They go to their hotel, Arthur goes to a different room, charles Charles enters their shared hotel room to get Santi ready for bed while Y/N went to the nanny’s hotel room to get Dot. When Y/N enters their hotel room, Jules and Santi are in their pajamas, he’s sleeping and she’s brushing her teeth.

“Mami, Can we go to iHop tomorrow?” Jules asked.

“Do we have time for breakfast before going to your race?” Y/N asked Charles while putting Dot in her portable crib.

“Yeah we have time, we justa have to wake up early.” Charles said.

“I’m okay with that.” Jules said, she got into bed and fell asleep.

“Thank you for coming to my concert tonight.” Y/N said.

“Yeah, Pierre and Kika loved it, she loved your last outfit by the way, she wants to borrow it by the way.” Charles said, changing into his pajamas

“Yeah, she can borrow it after the tour.” Y/N said

“I am so proud of you, you know. We’re both in a really good place in our careers” Charles said.

“Thank you, i love you.” Y/N said.

“I love you too.” Charles said, kissing Y/N.

liked by tomholland2013 and others

charles_leclerc My princess and my queen singing and dancing together, what more could mask for? The Y/N Leclerc concert was a blast, Santi enjoyed it, my brother enjoyed it, what a great way to have fun before the Grand Prix

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y/n_leclerc love you, muñeco! Glad you had a good time

valeinallcaps yes! F1 driver supporter his Latina Queen, love to see it

maxverstappen1 Kelly and P loved her too! P won’t stop singing “Shower” on the way back from the concert

georgerussell63 Carmen had to tell me what the lyrics meant and I think she sang “MAMIII” a little too hard

danielricciardo she had me dancing in the mirror and singing in the shower this morning, best concert ever!

pierregasly Kika has her tickets for the Paris show, she’s obsessed.

oscarpiastri Lily really wanted to go but it was sold out 😢

charles_leclerc im sure Y/N will have another show in London soon

User32 NO WAY!!! I was there too!

User12 him going to her concert is iconic

User28 the grid going to her concert is iconic

liked by zendaya and others

y/n_leclerc Thank you so much London, you guys were absolutely amazing, thank you for making Jules’s first performance special. Next stop is Dublin!

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sabrinacarpenter loved your performance outfits, they’re so you! We need to collab!

selenagomez never been happier to be in London than last night!

mileycyrus you have such an amazing stage presence

dualipa whenever you’re in LA…

joejonas 100/10 concert right there!

reneerapp that’s mother right there

sukiwaterhouse it was such a great show, loved that you brought your daughter out

liked by y/n_leclerc and others

francisca.cgomes she is an iconic, a legend, and she is the moment. But bestie, where did you get that outfit?!?

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y/n_leclerc its custom made, babe, you could borrow it after the tour!

User31 she’s so real for that

The End

I really hope y’all liked it!

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #hispanic reader #hispanic #latina #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

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pedge-page · 16 days ago

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aww imagine when ellie is a little older and she has one of those doctor kit toys, and joel gets a cut (or maybe a bruise or something like that) and ellies like "it's okay daddy i'll help you 🥺" and she runs with her little kit and puts on the stethoscope and does a little "check up" and takes his blood pressure and checks his temperature, and then she asks where his boo boo is 😭 and then she gives it a little kiss (bc thats what joel and reader do) and she's like "all better daddy :)" 😭😭😭 please that would send me into a coma that is too cute

notes: oh my god this was so adorable to think about, thank you so much for the baby fever.... I ran a little further with this one based off this ask!

Joel Dealing with Wife: Doctor Ellie

- - - -

Joel’s caught on to something pretty big here. His ever growing littler girl Ellie is quite the caretaker….of him especially. All he tolerated under you and Sarah finally met its match when Ellie quietly entered the world.

He started to realize it after she would burst into tears each time he’d trip on Sarah’s toys, or grunted at your shoulder slaps. But she only ever showed worry when it was him getting hurt.

And he couldn’t get enough of it. Okay sure, its wrong to make your kid worry about things they don’t understand isn’t quite worth stressing over, but he can’t help but fall into a giddy awe spell of greed seeing just how bent out she gets when she thinks he’s hurt. It started with big hugs for long minutes. Then she decided she needed to practice real medicine. The amount of bandaids this family has gone through despite no real injury is astounding to his wallet.

But it’s commendable. She so carefully puts her warm hands over his forehead whenever he stubs his toe, or checks his pulse when he’s eaten something too hot. Doctor Ellie is always in the house, and ready to assist.

And maybe Daddy… goes a little too out of his way to bring her out.

Joel had just rammed a large plank of wood into his abdomen, not carefully checking its length before swinging it around as if he were still in his twenties. “Ugh--damnit!” He groans, clutching his side. The throb lasted for just a moment before dulling, and he was about to carry on his business when—

“DADDY!!!!” Ellie wails, followed by the patterpatterpatter of her little feet running as fast as they can take him towards his aid.

She’s etched with concern over her chunky face, grasping on her tip toes for his hands. “Daddy okay?” She asks with her high pitched, sweetie voice that gets his soft spot racing.

“Yea—No. No baby…I think—“ he clutches his side, as if remembering the near fatal accident he just suffered. “Uuughh---oh Ellie…I’m hurt. I’m hurt real bad.” He bends forward, one hand over his abdomen while the other covers his face. (He peeks through one squinted eye to see her reaction).

She gasps. “It’s okay daddy! I help make it better!”

She grasps his finger with her entire hand and leads him towards the living room. “Moo!” She commands to Spoon. “Amboolance! WEE WOO WEE!!” She waves her hands around to clear the way of the invisible traffic as Joel followed, half squatted and stiffly wobbling to match her short stature.

She quickly tosses a blanket on the carpet, pointing for Joel to lie down. He obliges, groaning more so from the cracks in his back and knee instead of the fake pain he’s been dishing out.

He watches as she digs frantically through the bin of various toys before retrieving her mobile hospital toy kit. With the stethoscope thrown on her waist (it’s for kids 8 and up and she isn’t quite the size yet), she puts the rounded part over Joel’s stomach. Then she presses her head on his injury as well, causing him to let out an oof and chuckle as she listens futally for his heartbeat.

“I nee take look.”

She rolls up his shirt a few inches to uncover the invisible wound.

“How bad is it, doc?” Joel pleas in dramatic desperation.

She tilts her head to the side, closing one eye with her palm before shaking her head.

“Nee sur—Sur gee.”

Joel puts together that’s surgery, and he’s starting to wonder where she’s learning all this hospital stuff….

She begins rummaging around for her other toys before announcing “Knife!”

Joel’s head sits right up, eyes wide in Father-panic mode that she may have gotten her hands on an actual—

She instead pulls her yellow and green kids-cooking toy plastic knife that is meant to part velcroed plastic vegetables, and realistically couldn’t even slice through two strands of hair. He lets out a sigh, leaning back and letting her continue with her critical patient.

“Snack time!”

Of course you just had to interrupt their special Daddy-daughter only playtime with fucking snack ti—oh is that apple slices and peanut butter?

Ellie drops everything, sits on her butt almost like a dog and awaits patiently for her snack. Conveniently Spoon has also come to sit automatically next to her, if the dog-analogy wasn’t evident enough.

“Interrupting surgery, babe,” Joel hums.

“Surgery can wait after snack.”

Ellie wiggles her feet as you hold out a slice towards her mouth for her to bite and keep her hands clean. The room is silent minus the content, unhurried crunching of apple sizes.

“Okay baby, continue your surgery. What part are we at?” You ask, sucking a slice into your mouth as you also dip one into Joel’s open trap, giggling as he swallows it like an arcade ticket machine crunching away at his spoils.

“Make cut,” she says plainly, searching around for that knife again.

You raise your brow suspiciously but let any irrational thought go as she holds up her very non lethal kiddie knife.

Doctor Ellie starts serrating his belly fat back and forth with the dull piece of thick plastic.

It probably looks like real pain to her, were it not for him holding his breath as his chest and stomach puffing up and down, trying to hold his giggles and squirms together.

You watch Joel with raised brow, knowing he’s got tears in his eyes trying to play poker face so hard, knowing you’re there watching him get tickled by this thing and knowing he’s gonna deny it profusely.

“Shouldn’t you put me under anesthesia—“

She slaps a piece of paper — the phony ticket from her train conductor set (Jesus, how many different toy sets did you guys get her?) — a little too carelessly, but enough to get the idea across that daddy needs to stop talking as she does careful work.

“Sew!” She announces, as if she has a nurse assistant handing her each tool. Although, technically, she does, but you seem more interested in wiping the plate of peanut butter and sucking it off your digits.

Joel’s eyes are closed, enjoying the serenity of lying on the floor. You don’t realize how good it is to be on the ground until you have kids, and now you’re constantly on the floor doing everything with them.

“Mommy…where sew?”

You shrug. They’ve got so many toys, you’re honestly not sure what creative thing she’s gonna come up with the “sew” Joel’s tummy. Given her use of the kids knife, you’re curious what kind of toy—

She pulls out a real sewing needle, point and sharp and definitely not kid approved along with fabric thread. It glints in her little hand for a brief moment as she dips to make contact on Joel’s skin—

“OOKAY Let’s not use that,” you yelp, grasping her arm carefully from going any further. Joel’s still got that stupid paper over his eyes, absolutely oblivious and too trusting of Ellie.

Something else about kids: you can baby proof the fuck out of everything you didn’t even think needed baby proofing, and yet they will still —what does Jeff Goldblum say in the dinosaur movie?…—f’ind a way’.

You remove the needle and thread from her grasp, position it inside a cotton swab and high out of her reach. You fashion a string of yarn wrapped around a q-tip instead, and hand it to her like it’s nothing. She takes it and goes back to “sewing” Joel’s tummy up, dragging the cottony tip over his naval.

His belly dips as he lets out a pained breath, trying so hard to act like he’s not tickled.

“Am I gonna make it doc?” Joel asks curiously.

“Bluey!”

He doesn’t quite understand that answer, until she’s pulling out the packs of varied assortment of bandaids. It takes a few minutes to help her pull each sticky back off, but soon Joel’s got 4 bandaids of Paw Patrol on his stomach, one Bingo on top of his jeans, some chainsaw massacre’s on his arm, and a pretty hello kitty across his forehead.

“All done!” She boasts happily.

“Nah uh! You need to make sure it stays better!”

“Oh—“ she bends down and kisses his belly, just like you and Joel always do whenever she gets a minor booboo. Kisses make everything better.

Minus the bacteria in your saliva but ya know it’s the placebo in the thought that really counts for the healing factor.

“Give daddy one on the cheek for good measure,” he commands, pointing sternly into his face. She happily obliges with a fat “mmmmmwah!”

“Yay. Looks like he’ll live,” you muse a little too unhappily. Joel snickers, sitting upright. God, he somehow looks ridiculous and hot with hellow kitty plastered across his forehead.

“Doc, do you think I need to come back in for a check up, ya know, just to see—“

But Ellie has already concluded her medical services, now hustling away to go find something else to do.

Joel steps out to the backyard, where Sarah is cruising in her remote toy jeep with the 6 ducks packed in the passenger seat and trunk.

She rolls to a stop, her brightly colored sunglasses peering up at her Dad. She sucks her ring pop silently, knowing the desperation he’s come to seek her out.

Sarah fully well knows Ellie has Joel in her back pocket, and she likes to let that play out. because ultimately… Sarah can also benefit from their needy relationship off one another.

Joel clears his throat, looking around as if he’s making an illegal trade. “I’ll give ya two ring pops if ya pretend to run me over. And not the face this time,” he warms, knowing she’’ll plea innocence to his own askings. “Just for Ellie to see.”

She sucks on her candy before pulling it out of her mouth with a loud pop. “I’d do it for free.”

----

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adragonprinceswhore · 3 months ago

Text

The Way I Feel Under Your Command Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Reader (she/her pronouns)

Summary: What is a summer romance? A fleeting moment of shared intimacy? A cherished memory tucked away in the nostalgic corner of one’s heart? A chance to escape the crushing loneliness inside, even if just for a summer?

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, smut, angst, fluff (see individual chapters for specific tags)

A/N: A summer romance story with some enemies to lovers, secret relationship, and mutual pining? I’ve got you, boo 😙

Chapter 1: Red Lake

Chapter 2: Magic Between You & I

Chapter 3: Too Young To Reason, Too Grown Up To Dream

Chapter 4: The Way I Feel When I’m in Your Hands

Chapter 5: Did I Find You, Or You Find Me?

Chapter 6: Only You Can Cool My Desire

Chapter 7: Just a Fool To Believe

Chapter 8: A Whole Life So Lonely, Then You Come And Ease The Pain

Chapter 9: I’ve Turned To Water

Chapter 10: Baby Can I Hold You

#aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #modern aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond one eye

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rosemarie333 · 2 months ago

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Astro Observations/Opinions (Vedic Edition😋)

Hello guys! This is my first astro observation so I hope y’all like it, if not then😗

These are based on my perspective of placements and signs, so take what resonates and leave what doesn’t🫶🏾 I’d love to hear y’all’s take as well!

ANTYWAYSSS (spelled it like i say it) let’s get started😈😈😈

1. Solar women are so mentally strong (as are Saturnian Women) like they won’t bend backwards for anyone ESP a man. Always giving boss bitch energy and super independent. Some of the ones I met can be egotistical as well lol

2. I know people might think mercurial people talk the most shit because it’s mercury but out of all the shit talkers i know BABES ITS THE SATURN MFSSS. like they are the ones that will be telling and spilling the tea to their friends and talking the MOST shitttt likeeeeeereeeeeee that’s crazy. They are often like “bitch i gotta tell u abt xyz” like BABYYY and don’t let me get started if it’s paired with like rahu or even ketu like even ketu people talk the most shit too like and they’re the ones that are called “detached” but lord and behold LMAO crazy

3. Mercurial people really are all or nothing. U either meet them when they are at their highest and at their lowest like there’s no in between. When they are at their highest they thrive so well and they can radiate their happiness onto others as it’s kinda hard for them to get there. Deals with a lot of insecurity and abuse and they take it out on the ones who doesn’t deserve it more than the ones who do like it genuinely believe that if they told the people who hurt them what’s up then it’ll take a BIGGGGGG boulder off their shoulders and then they can begin to heal (even if it’s through letter that they burn or whatever like BITCH GET IT OUT). Y’all don’t have to take it out on others WERE BETTER THAN THIS😭😭😭 as a mercurial myself i get it like it’s hard asf esp when abuse and pain is all u know it’s so easy to get wrapped into that. tbh i’m dealing with handling my emotions better and im trying to use my poison as medicine as one would say (its hard but with having jupiter in the 1st house i can’t linger in negative thoughts or emotional all the time like at max an hour or three but forgetting abt it which holds on to it rather than expressing because when i hold onto i start to isolate myself and then i burst when it’s too much, yeah 😞 working on it tho)

4. Rahu people are like maritans mixed with jupiterians like very bold and EXPRESSIVE but like to have a good time like jupiterians. Super duper expressive.

5. Magha placements be feeling like royalty at all times and AS U SHOULD BOO LIKE DO U. LMAO i say bc i have a magha moon friend who calls me a peasant when he wants to be sassy like LMAO okayyyy

6. Jupiter men are the ones with the big body counts LoL everyone I met be fucking like they wont live tmr like calm down sir😭

7. Moon women are conservative lol. they are def the ones judging other women for being out there when in reality they wish they could to bc lunar women are often people pleasers unfortunately 😩. Ngl i deadass think that MANY moon women are closeted like baby it’s okay U DONT HAVE TO HIDE. But one thing about lunar women THEY LOOK GOOD IN ANYTHING OMFG

8. Dhanistia omg man or woman bitch y’all have a certain magnetism to y’all and DAMNNNNN like i’m obsessed esp with the girlies. Like y’all are so confident and have such a strong aura like y’all make me wanna get out of my SHELL 🥹

Anyways that’s ittttt hope y’all liked it.

#vedic astrology #astro notes #vedic astro notes

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baeksqt · 6 months ago

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𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 - aitana bonmatí

aitana bonmatí x fem!reader

(a/n: oooh guess who’s posting a 6 month old piece dedicated to her boo, yep me, hopefully this doesn’t feel so long winded -_-)

word count: 918

genre: fluff

The trumpets of soft jazz accompanied your hums whilst your face sat inches away from your bedroom wall. With a slight ache in your back and a steady hand, you meticulously painted, the paintbrush moving over the same spot repeatedly, while your glasses slowly slid down the bridge of your nose.

The task of painting a mural for your newborn niece's bedroom, as requested by your sister, was no small undertaking. Utilising your time after work to visit, despite the demands, and hopefully make some decent progress. A week had passed and now, once again, you were sitting hunched over adding details. With your loyal Irish terrier, Dulce, sleeping soundly in your lap, occasionally stirring whenever you shifted positions.

The tranquillity of the bedroom is interrupted by a gentle knock at the door. You look to your left and the corners of your lips upturn. Seeing your girlfriend Aitana standing at the door, her hair in her usual relaxed ponytail, dressed in comfortable grey sweats.

"I thought you might have snuck Dulce in here with you." She quipped with a soft chuckle, looking at her watch as the clock hit 8:30pm.

You start to shift in your seat, intending to get up and greet the Barcelona player, before realising that Dulce is nestled between your legs, letting out a low grumble of disapprovement. You quickly settle back down, opting to stay put.

Aitana stood quietly behind you, her gaze fixed on the mural taking shape before her, the adorable zoo scene slowly coming together as you filled in the giraffe's spots. Above your head, you heard an approving hum, and then Aitana's encouraging voice, "You're doing well, chica. It's looking good!" She leaned in to examine the baby elephant on the wall. You release a doubtful sigh as you painted but your girlfriend was having none of it. "Don't be like that, amor meu! You're almost done." Aitana patting your thigh as she was now sitting next to you, "You don't know it yet, but your sister is currently bragging to her friends about you on the phone." Throwing you a knowing glance before resting her head on your shoulder.

You pause for a moment, the paintbrush resting lightly in your hand, looking up at the colourful, vast wall. As your eyes roam the wall, they come to rest on your girlfriend, nestled on your shoulder, her eyes closed in a state of wakefulness and slumber.

"I can hear your thoughts from here," Aitana mumbles quietly as you carefully set down your paintbrush, lifting Dulce out of your lap and glancing over at her. She stirs slightly, still half-asleep, and then continues, "relax." Her voice is gentle but firm as you unintentionally wake her from her short slumber as you stand up.

As Aitana observed, you stretched and vigorously mixed paints together in an attempt to find the perfect shade of blue. She then turned to the bedside table and quickly retrieved a new paintbrush.

"What can I help you with?" Aitana asked with a slight smile. You look up at her bewildered, surprised at her sudden involvement, considering that she hadn't shown much interest in the mural in the last couple of days.

"Uh...well the butterflies in this corner still need to be completed," you used the end of your paintbrush to point at the lightly sketched butterflies that fluttered across the wall, "that is, if you can reach." you teased your girlfriend.

Aitana, now pouting, threw a miserable glance, not taking kindly to the playful jab. "There's a step stool by the crib." you motioned to the oak crib behind the two of you.

"...Or I do the butterflies and you can finish the tiger—" you began to offer.

"No, no. I'll do the butterflies! I can reach perfectly fine." a smug look appeared on Aitana's face, turning away from you to retrieve the step stool.

As you and your girlfriend focused intently on your respective sections of the mural, time seemed to slip away unnoticed. Idle conversations about work and football filled the air until you suddenly became aware of Aitana approaching. With a mischievous grin on her face, she swiftly swiped her paintbrush across your cheek, leaving a streak of pastel pink in its wake.

"Lighten up, chica!" she planted a gentle kiss on your forehead, having to stand on her tiptoes to reach you.

Surprised and amused, you quickly retaliated by dragging your own blue-coated paintbrush across Aitana's forehead, eliciting a playful squeal from her. Dipping your hand into your palette, preparing to imprint your handprint onto your girlfriend's sweatshirt, before being interrupted by the sudden sensation of paint being splattered across your shirt.

You both gasped, meeting each other's wide-eyed gaze, recalling the mural that overlook you. "Aitana!" you hissed, scanning the mural in a panic for any paint splashes. "Amor meu, it's completely fine!" Aitana pointed at the mural with a smile.

"Completely—" the Barca player's expression fell as she ran her index finger across the pastel blue background of the wall, leaving a harsh pink line across, almost touching the giraffe. "Fine." You finish her sentence, blinking twice, hoping the mark would magically disappear.

Before either of you could say anything more, the knock at the bedroom door caught your attention. You turn to see your heavily pregnant sister standing in the doorway, a hopeful smile sitting on her cheeks before catching the sight of you and your girlfriend from your shenanigans.

"The mural's not done isn't it?"

#aitana bonmati #aitana bonmatí imagine #woso imagine #woso x reader #fc barcelona femeni #woso one shot #baeksqt writes

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sunandsstars · 1 year ago

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YAWNETU

CHAPTER 8

Tonowari x Ronal x Na’vi!Reader

Summary: With her arrival in Awa’atlu, reader seeks to find a sanctuary for her family, one that she may find in two particular individuals

Warnings: Implies drowning, mentions death

Word count: 2.2K

A/N: Guess who’s back!! 😝😝also pls pls pls double check if your name is on my taglist! if it’s on there 2x drop me a message and i’ll remove one of them, just clears some space and organises me! And thank you so much for being so patient!

Taglist: @itsyoboysparkel @dumb-fawkin-bitch @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @fanboyluvr @mooniequeen @berrybluez @bajadotcom @alwaysinwritersblock @pandoragalora @perfectprofessorloverapricot @lvrcpid @answer-the-sirens @phantomalex14 @neteyamforlife @bat1212 @sadforeversblog @ducks118 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @1800imgay @soushswag @honeybxes @lola-bunn1 @alldaysdreamers @doggodorime @theesexystallion @scarlettwch @annamarieisbae @wallpaintt @zatarias-pandora @daoyus @ambria @simp-erformarvelwomen @simpliheavenli @tojidilfs @automaticwizardnerd @lexasaurs634 @symptoms-of-moonlight @avtprint

@deviismynamewritingismygame @sunrays404 @tsireyassgurl @xx-kaitlyn-trixx-xx @that-one-daydreamer @yeosxxx @noname2246 @ok-boke @rubyrubyruuu @diosmilkymommers @annaleesworld @jiminsthickthighs @holysaladapricothero @peaches-peach-peach @enochi @thispussyshouldcomew @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis @kirisimpster @pompompomegranate @stevebuckysdoll @midhito @any-maybe @nyylovestowrite @omnimaki @blueberryfailureclinic @degenweeb @tejas-kris @sadlyitsme-boo-hoo @agustdeeyaa @kthehoeforfictionalmen @himbo-klown @miraxflor @behindthearcane @yanelis-world @jaxe-27 @noahboahsblog

The next few months became repetitive, lessons on how to be a Metkayina, lessons on how to be a Tsahìk, spending time with Tonowari and Ronal. It was a comfortable routine ___ got herself into, she was happy here in Awa’atlu. Her babies were safe and healthy, she was safe and healthy.

But sometimes she would be reminded of her home back in the forests, her people, her old mates, Spider.

She missed him.

___ continues to weave a new top, made of dried seaweed and shells, she enjoyed these new garments and loved wearing and designing them in her free time. They were much more freer to wear than the leather she was more used to growing up. Her mind drifted to Spider once more, wondering if the toddler was ok and if he was safe with Norm and the other tuwtute. She knew they would take good care of him, but she could not help but think he would be in better care with her. His mother.

Shaking her head she huffed, placing the half finished top onto the floor and turned her head to look out the marui, watching the waves dance in the afternoon sun, eclipse would be upon them soon and she planned to take Sylwaì and Syatxì to see the bioluminescence of the ocean. They were able to swim, being fast learners, and often had swimming lessons with Ao’nung and other Metkayina babies. Their teacher said they fit right in, it made her happy they were accepted as apart of the people despite their obvious differences.

“mmm” a mumble interrupted her train of thoughts, she looked at the source and saw Syatxì crawling his way towards her. “mmma”

“Kaltxì ‘itan” she picked him up and nuzzled her nose to his, smooching his forehead. The twins have grown quite well, now able to move about and starting to sound out words, Ronal said it would be soon they will begin to walk and talk. “Hmmm, your hair needs to be braided again” ___ talked to herself, looking at the slight exposure of her sons queue and turned him around, getting to work.

Her nimble fingers skilfully crossed over sections of hair at the crown of his head, creating a pattern that her mother taught her in a time long passed. Tying off the end of the braid the mother looked to the setting sun, purples and oranges erupting in the sky, it was almost time to take them outside.

___ stood from her seated position, picking up her son and balancing him on her hip, head swivelling to her rolled out sleeping mat and seeing Sylwaì sat up and waving around a carved out toy of an ikran. His mother smiled and walked towards him, “come on baby” she squatted and scooped him up, settling him on her other hip.

Even when the Pandoran skies darken and eclipse has taken place, the village of Awa’atlu is still active with its people. She smiled and greeted some weavers who walked by her on the elevated platform, she assumed they are going towards the forest to look for more materials. “Have you seen Ronal?” she asked them before they left her sights, the Tsahìk agreed to join her on her expedition with her own son, seeing that this bonding activity will prove beneficial for all.

“She is on the beach the last we saw” one of the men shrugged and pointed in the direction of the east end of the shoreline, waving as ___ thanked him and strolled towards the direction she was pointed to.

But as she arrived on the beach, there was no Tsahìk, or anyone for that matter. The beach was deserted save for a few Na’vi children running around by the mangrove roots. ___ chirped in confusion, yellow eyes darting left and right as she walked closer to the waters edge. “Ronal?” she called out, her sons humming and bouncing with contained excitement.

“I am here” a head poked out of the deeper ends of the water, a grin slowly forming its way onto the Metkayinan’s face. She brought up Ao’nung who squealed when he was swung in the air, laughing at the exhilaration he feels. “We arrived early and my son was impatient, I apologise flower”

Flower.

It was a nickname that Tonowari originally came up with, comparing her to one of the fauna he spotted while deep diving outside the reef. When he brought it back and showed it to his mate and friend, the Tsahìk instantly adapted to call ___ it, why would she not? When the petals were the most prettiest shade of dark blue and the middle was a gorgeous colour of amber, like her eyes. Oh Eywa.

The former Omaticayan flushed slightly but shook it out of her mind. ‘She is just being nice’ she told herself. If only she knew.

___ slowly waded herself through the water, feeling soft wet sand underneath her toes. Her ears wriggled at the sound of childish giggles from her two sons, their tails being touched by the slightly warmed sea. Soon their bodies were enveloped, saved for their heads which ___ kept above water. Even though they may have been good in their lessons, she knew their body is still not well suited for the reefs, more for the forests. So she took great care to watch over them better than the Metkayina children.

“Sa’nu!” Ao’nung cried out, seeing the bluer Na’vi getting closer to them. ___’s heart froze up slightly, eyes going straight to her Tsahìk with pointed down ears. She did not expect for the boy to call her mummy, as she is not the one who mothered him.

Ronal’s tail swished harshly under the water, a bashful look overcoming her face. She knew she was partly at fault, she always brought the boy around the women and her children, never made it clear who ___ was to her. Ao’nung saw a women who was close with his mother and decided that she too would be worthy of the title.

She did not bother correcting him.

“I am sorry-“

“You do not have to be. I saw this coming. Ao’nung does take a large liking to you ___. But I apologise if it makes you uncomfortable” Ronal turned towards the walls of her village in the sea, watching the small fires lit on the outskirts where the canoes continue to row.

“Kehe. It does not make me uncomfortable. I just did not expect it” ___ did not see the grin that formed on the others face.

“Za’u. We will go deeper with ilus” Ronal made a call and a small swarm of creatures swam over to them, clicking and singing in happiness. Ao’nung reached out to tap one on the head with his four fingers, squealing when the tiny ilu nudged his round tummy.

___ let Sylwaì and Syatxì make tsaheylu with the smaller ones, knowing that it is normal to do so gives her comfort. Ilus are like pa’li, but more sociable and safer to bond with.

The boys little fingers grip the tiny reins that connect the animals queues together and slowly swam off to find Ao’nung while their mother established the bond herself on a much larger ilu, following closely behind.

The family dove under the surface, watching as the reef became alive with bright colours. Even though ___ has seen it all before, Pandora never fails to take her breath away. She turned her head to the left to sign to her companion. “Where should we go?”

“I think it is time I show you our spirit tree”

If the Omaticayan was out of the water she would gasp with delight. She has heard from the elders that their spirit tree lies within the cove of ancestors not far from their village, they told her that unlike the giant tree she was used to back in the forest, it is more like a large bundle of sea weed. She was most excited to see it and wanted to venture out herself, but she knew that she needed permission from the Tsahìk or be accompanied by another villager. This may be her home now, but the spiritual tree is something that is most sacred.

Ronal saw the growing excitement on her face and grinned a rare smile.

This will be a night neither one would forget.

The cove of ancestors was better at eclipse, she has been told. But seeing it in person surpassed all expectations. Sylwaì was now huddled in her arms, while her other son and Ao’nung stayed with Ronal, the two small ilus having a chance to take a well deserved break.

“Look down there, flower”

The glow of the spirit tree shone a bright purple and pink hue, its leaves swayed prettily in the deep ends of the waters, curling and twisting to create a giant mass of virtue.

“It is beautiful. Unlike anything I have ever seen”

“Srane…” blue eyes clashed with yellow and the world came to a standstill, if the children were not here, she would surely confess her feelings.

Ao’nung noticed the tree and immediately wriggled in his mothers hold, wanting to go down and see for himself, splashing in the water and swimming to the very top leaf.

Ronal sighed and rolled her eyes slightly at the interruption but smiled a little, diving after him while still holding Syatxì, not waiting for her friend to follow.

After taking a large breath, the two at the surface dove down and followed after the others. Going towards the more shallower tip of the tree to ensure the children would not eventually lose their breath.

“Make the bond” Ronal signed, connecting her hands together and then taking Syatxì’s queue, touching the pink tips of the braid to the tree. “And do not worry, Eywa will give them air”

___ nodded in trust and did the same to Sylwaì and then herself. Feeling a familiar calmness wash over her, watching the colours around fade into a tunnel.

The eye of Eywa.

The lush green grass and tall trees of the forest was not what she expected when she opened her eyes again. But to be honest she did not expect anything.

Laughter filled her pointed ears and she turned around, following the sounds as her feet guided her towards a pretty river with a large waterfall just a few meters up ahead. She recognised the area, it was one from her childhood, an area nearby home tree that her mother and father always took her to.

“My my, you certainly have been busy”

“Sempul!”

___ cried out and crashed into the man who sired her for as long as she lived. She was devastated when her parents went off to fight in the war, both being strong and respected warriors in the clan, but she mourned so much when she found out that they did not live. ___ did not get a chance to see them for a long time since her pregnancy and her arrival in Awa’atlu, not until now.

“Mawey ‘ite. Mawey” Her father pulled back and brushed his daughters loose hair from her face, noting the lack of braids. “Healthy grandchildren. Eywa had blessed us with a wonderful family, one that we hope will grow even larger?”

The young women blinked once. Then twice. Confusion fulling her face. “Sempul…What do you mean. I have not met anyone recently. Not since…”

“Those kalweyaveng. They did not deserve you daughter” ___’s mother approached from the water, holding her grandsons on her hips who played with her beaded hair. “We are glad you have found refuge with the reef Na’vi. They have been kind to you, yes?”

“Srane”

“Of course they have Hìfey, you have seen the way the clan leaders treat her. I would not be surprised if they get together soon. That will happen yes?”

“Father!”

“Kehe. He is right ‘ite. They treat you like a mate, her son calls you mother. Do not give me that look. We see and hear through Eywa” Hìfey rolled her large eyes and smiled softly, watching as silent tears welded in her beautiful child’s eyes. “My heart, there is no need to cry. Tell them how you feel”

___ sniffled and turned back to hug her father once more for comfort. “What if they reject me. Treat me like Jake and Neytiri. What if they cast me out. I cannot let my sons live as an outcast forever sa’nok”

Hìfey shared a look with her husband, one of understanding, a look that needed no words. “Daughter, I refuse to believe that would happen. Have faith my child. Everything will be alright, trust us. Trust Eywa”

And with that, her eyes closed in complete bliss. Heart slowing down as a bright light washed over her vision, she will tell them how she feels.

It is time for a new beginning.

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#*ੈ✩‧₊˚ yawnetu #avatar the way of water #atwow #x reader #tonowari #ronal #polyamourous #OC #metkayina #avatar x reader #avatar the way of water x reader #ronal x reader #tonowari x reader #angst #fluff

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