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hazelfoureyes · 7 months ago

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A Doe in Fall (Part 3)

⟢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 3 A tragedy

So enraptured with Alastor, you forgot how you left work on Saturday. Tommy didn’t forget. And he made sure you remembered. Unfortunately for him, and fortunately for you, your paramour made a habit of helping quicken karma’s balancing act.

「warnings/promises: immediate physical assault (let’s be up front about that), allusions to sexual assaults having happened in the past to non-reader characters, HumanAlastor x FemReader, penetrative sex, Protective Alastor, bruises, somewhat graphic descriptions of murder, mentions to coerced prostitution, sex near a corpse (words that have the FBI watching me), stabbing, knife, bad burlesque names, gambling, my own new HC for the Radio Demon’s origins, another deer reference thanks to @n-after-me , chin quivering, Tommy doesn’t know French and it shows, posted early for @jazzmasternot, wrath」

Minors DNI 🤺

You walked into the theatre for rehearsals with a pep in your step, body still humming. It was like the usual adrenaline rush Alastor brought couldn't fade this time.

But it did, when Tommy grabbed you by the hair out of your makeup chair and threw you into the wall.

You couldn’t react, head ringing after it left a small indent in the drywall. Unlike before, you didn’t try to stand. Make him work for his second hit. And he did. Leaning down he yanked you off the ground by your arm and dragged you to your feet.

“Do you think you’re funny?” He shook you, you were sure you could feel your brain jostle. It was rhetorical, but you replied anyway.

“No, Tommy.”

“No. Exactly.” He backed you up onto the make up table, head pressed into the mirror. “Mr. Wilson was not happy. He pulled his contribution. I know you don’t have that kind of money. Do you know what you’re gonna do?”

His fingers dug into your cheeks, “No.” You genuinely didn’t. He was talking to you like you had been in the loop on whatever it was he had been doing on the side. All of this was as shocking to you as your actions were, apparently, to him.

“You’re gonna take whatever meetings I make until that money is back.” He let go of you and turned to leave but changed his mind. Coming back, he swung his fist and clocked you on the left side of your face.

You didn’t see it, but you heard the other girls running and pulling Tommy off of you, yelling and pleading for him to calm down.

“I worked really hard for you!” He shouted, jerking his shoulders out from under the hands of the other performers. What was he talking about? You hadn’t discussed any of this, asked for any thing from him. “I waited for a high roller for you. Real classy guy. Just wanted a private show! That was it!” He spit, “No, every Tom, Dick, and Harry is welcome now to ask for your time.”

You just held your face, unsure if you had the right makeup to hide the bruise before stage call.

“Well?! Say you’re sorry.”

You considered not saying anything. No response. When you looked at him, you could see the half a dozen other girls staring back at you, just say it. We have to rehearse.

“I’m sorry.” Eyes cast to the floor.

“For what?”

It hurt when you rolled your eyes, “For being ungrateful?”

He shoulder checked a few girls on the way out. A couple came to you.

“He’s got some gambling debt, he’s just using us to get ahead.”

“I have some stuff to cover that up for tonight.”

“He usually cuts us in.”

Tears stung your eyes, you were angry and humiliated. You could work elsewhere, with a little luck. Take a job at a diner out of the area where no regulars would stir up trouble. Maybe leave until Tommy got his debts paid off or whatever was motivating this recent streak of cruelty. But you didn’t want to run away. No one applauded waitresses. Maybe if you made yourself as unattractive as possible, no one would request you. Dirty your teeth, talk about other men, speak crudely.

“What exactly was he talking about?” you asked no one in particular. The girls were quiet for a beat.

“Well ya know, private shows for clients who can afford it.” High pitched and nasal, Florence spoke as she searched her make up station.

“That’s it?” Incredulous.

“Sometimes. You know how it is… woman left alone in a room with a man who has too much money or ego or drink. Doesn’t always stop at a dance.” Minnie had much more experience than you, “It isn’t our jobs. It isn’t normal. But, well, ya heard about New York right? They’re trying to make burlesque outright illegal…”

“Gotta enjoy the art while it’s just misunderstood.” Florence wiped down your mirror before setting her supplies down for you. “Come on, let’s get you fixed up.”

By the time patrons began to stream in, you had blood staining the white of your left eye. Nothing you could do, but maybe at a distance it wouldn’t be noticeable. The bruise under your eye from his fist was easy enough to cover. The contusion from where your right cheek hit the wall was a little harder.

Luckily, the stage offered a buffer of space and the rest of the room was dark.

During your show, you tried to keep your eyes moving so the red sclera never stayed in one place too long. For the first time, the cheers did nothing for you. You felt your chin quiver, fighting back tears. You wanted to scream, to tell them to hate you and leave. Stop fucking clapping.

Ruth was naturally the first to come to you after your performance, “Want me to do the tour with you? Arm in arm around the hall.”

You took her up on the offer. It lightened the load, her taking charge of the conversation when people approached or bought you drinks. Luckily the bartender always poured the performers weak cocktails and watered down liquor to keep their heads on straight.

Ruth’s companionship afforded you precious time to plan, to consider how quickly you could find new work or at least a way out of this.

“What a treat. Two for one. Can I buy you both a drink?”

Ruth turned first to greet the customer, “Ooh yes sir! Gin and tonic, please and thank you. Autumn?” Your stage name drew your attention back to the world, turning finally.

“Alastor.” It fell from your mouth like a lead balloon.

He smiled down at you, his hand offering a little wave, “Hello. Surprise.”

Your face fell, a frown pulling down your chin. It took you too long to recover, batting your eyelashes and turning the corners of your lips up unnaturally.

“So you do have a beau!” Ruth slapped your arm, “I’m Skye, Skye Scraper. Pleasure to meet you, Alastor.” She extended her hand, Alastor planting a kiss on the back of it, concealing his smile at the name.

You tried to keep your eyes on the floor, head turned slightly away from him to obscure the neon sign of an eye shouting, ‘Weak!’

Unfortunately for you, Alastor wasn’t an oblivious man. Unless he was dancing or drunk. “May I have a moment alone with her?” Alastor asked Ruth. Ruth looked to you for your okay, and you just nodded. She gave a little nod of her own to Alastor and slinked away.

“Are you unhappy to see me, dear? Did I overstep by coming by unannounced?” You hadn’t heard him worried before, it pained you.

“No, no! I am… so happy to see you. I just had a long day.” You scanned the room for the darkest area to bring him. A booth would be best, you could keep him on one side of you. You gestured with a nod of your head.

“Ah, I kept you out too late.” Alastor didn’t move.

“Not at all, come on let’s sit down.” You reached back for his hand without looking at him, but when you pulled he still didn’t move. He remembered the way you pulled at the hand of that man in the alley the first night you met. Desperate to escape somewhere.

“Is there a reason you won’t look at me?”

Lie.

“Uh, no, I’m just embarrassed about this heavy stage makeup.”

Alastor paused, hand slipping from yours to adjust his sleeves. It was a nervous action, an attempt to self soothe, but you didn’t know that. “I should have asked before coming.”

“Alastor, it’s not…,” you kept your eyes down at your hands.

“Then look at me.”

Would he think you were incapable of protecting yourself? His pity would kill you. Perhaps he would decide a second rate burlesquer wasn’t worth making time for anymore.

You could intentionally wound him, say you don’t want to see him so he leaves. But that sword was double edged and you weren’t sure you’d survive that either. You weren’t making it out of this.

You finally looked at him. He leaned in, “What happened to your eye?” A slender finger gently tilting your chin upward.

Lie.

You thought too long for an answer. Why were you getting worse at lying? It used to be one of your best shields and swords but now you were so slow on the draw you were left defenseless. Vulnerable. His hand took yours, gently pulling you into the lobby and through the glass doors of the theatre.

Under the bright lights of the marquee and the street lamps, Alastor inspected your face. He reached into his pocket for his handkerchief, wetting it in his mouth before wiping the makeup off of your under eye.

“Alastor, people are staring.”

His eyes fell down, soft hands lifting your arm where a bruise was already formed. You hadn’t noticed that one.

“What happened?” He wasn't looking at you when he said it, instead cautiously wiping the makeup off your cheeks in search of more marks.

“The truth or wh-“

“Always. Never give me anything else.”

You sighed, and explained, “Tommy, the manager, he’s been shifting tactics for bringing in money because he owes some big bads a lot of debt. Private shows with performers that sometimes get hands on…,” his hands stopped moving but his eyes didn’t meet yours, “I never asked to be included in it. I wouldn’t do it. I was rude to a man Tommy introduced me to and I ran off Saturday. Yada Yada. He got me as soon as I got to work.”

Alastor didn’t reply, just turned on his heels and marched back into the theater. You chased after him, “I don’t need you to fight my battles!” You tried to get in front of him but he walked right past you.

“Not about what you need, dear, it's about what he deserves.”

Alastor asked the bartender for Tommy, who pointed to the short but stocky man talking to a group of guests. Alastor approached so quickly Tommy didn’t have time to greet him, instead just backing up until he fell ass first into a booth. Alastor boxed him in, one hand on the wall and one on the table, towering over Tommy as he sat.

“I hear you sell dancers by the night.”

You paced the lobby nervously. Would you be fired? What would Alastor say? Would Tommy hit him, too?

He re-emerged, “Come to my car, please.” He didn't stop walking as he said it.

You followed a few blocks down to his car, parked on the street. He opened the passenger door for you and closed it behind you. You wanted to ask if you were going somewhere, but thought better of it. A tight u-turn, he pulled the car into the side street where you’d first met each other.

Wordlessly he got out of the car, you opening your door before he could. Popping the trunk, he set the folded canvas inside a paper bag. Checking first, he placed it inside one of the tin trash cans.

You stood, waiting for an explanation.

Finally he stopped and made eye contact with you. “You have a date tomorrow, with me. Bring this to the apartment above the theater before Tommy and I arrive.” Opening your mouth to speak, he didn’t stop to let you add anything. “Preferably near the bed.” He closed the trunk, “Wear red, please.”

You searched his face for some kind of discernible emotion but found none. Those constricted pupils again, an animal staring back at you from behind a pair of glasses. There was no reason to ask him, it was obvious what was going to happen. Did you want to stop it?

Did you want to see it? Alastor at work?

“Okay. On all the points.” You looked back at the trashcan, “Canvas hidden near the bed. Wear red.”

“The extra clothes can go anywhere out of sight.” He leaned down, kissing your forehead, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Your voice cracked a little, “Wait, you’re leaving already?”

He nodded, “I can’t stay here.” Before getting into his car he turned and added, “Don’t cover the bruises tomorrow. He should see them.”

You nodded in return, “Are you doing this for me?” So quiet you almost hoped he didn’t hear it.

He paused, one leg already in the car and his back to you, “No. I’m doing it for everyone.”

You watched his car light up and leave the alley.

It’s not that you felt abandoned, you felt…. Stranded. You had to go back in there, alone, and put on the normal act but under abnormal conditions.

So it was happening. You hadn’t seen the first time. Just felt it. You didn’t see the second. You were going to actually see a man die. Not just a man, someone you knew. Someone you used to consider a friend of sorts. Before he got into whatever trouble was driving him to act like a flesh peddler. Could you do it? Could you watch a man be killed? Was that even what Alastor had planned?

Tommy found you the second you were back in the room, hand pressing too hard on the bruises he left on your arm. “You have a meeting tomorrow after your show. If you don’t show up,” he yanked you close, putrid breath of dead teeth you’d never been bothered by before this moment and bad booze assaulting your senses, “I will fucking kill you.”

You almost started laughing, bringing your hand to your mouth to hide your smile. “Okay Tommy.”

Fuck it. He was going to die anyway, might as well make it a date.

Ruth saddled up beside you as soon as Tommy was out of earshot, “Look at that smile. Quickie in the alley?”

Disgust, “Jesus, Skye, I was gone like, 5 minutes.” She shrugged. “Why does everyone think — is everyone fucking their daddies* in the side street?” She nodded. “Well, I’m not.”

“Prude.” She joshed before linking your arm in hers again, “We’ve got at least another hour of schmoozing. Tits up!”

Your smile came effortlessly that night, a thrum of excitement keeping you light on your feet. Not excitement for death, but for the very concept of being closer to Alastor. Would you see it happen, in front of you? Or would he have you leave? Either way, you were an active participant with a task list.

He trusted you, even if in a small way. Trust was so rarely given from the people who mattered. Men trusted you often; to be sweet when they tell you they were embarrassed about something, to lie when they ask if you orgasmed, to not steal their cash when they blacked out with their pants still on. Pulling it from strangers was one of your greatest pleasures. But it was easy. You were skilled.

Yet again, like so often now, Alastor was the exception. He didn’t toss himself at your feet. He stood tall in front of you and on his own terms offered you the things you wanted. You didn’t have to pretend to be demure, you didn’t have sit on his lap in silence and nod and laugh. Just yourself, as much as you could allow yourself to exist in the world. No tricks. If his trust was presented wrapped in a bloodied bow, well, you would thank him dearly and wear the ribbon round your neck like a trophy.

Many men spoke to you, but luckily your participation in conversation wasn’t something they really cared about. As they spoke, your eyes were looking past them and into the future.

However there was a sense of dread when you lied in bed that night. The excitement of getting closer to Alastor had melted into the fear there was no going back from this.

Something in your chest stung, a thorn growing from somewhere unknown. Three encounters (that he knew of) and already it seemed your thoughts were more Alastor than yourself. No person had ever made such an impression before. You didn’t like it, but it made you happy. Which is why you didn’t like it. Tying your happiness to another person was a reckless thing to do. You’d seen your mother and half sister both use a man’s attention as a replacement for being happy with themselves and it made them brittle and hollow.

Thinking of what would happen the following night, oddly, you were reminded of losing your virginity. You were a “late bloomer” and were terrified you’d never be you again after. Like something would be taken from you. You fell asleep to that thought, of what you’d lose.

Then you woke, uncharacteristically early, feeling none the bit rested. No dreams. No nightmares. A few seconds of darkness and suddenly it was morning. With the extra time you had you wandered into a department store before going to the theater.

When a sales woman approached you, asking what you were looking for, you were too tired lie.

“A red dress.” You didn’t have the makeup at home to cover your marks, and gave up being worried about it.

Unfortunately, it seemed it wasn’t so odd of a sight; a woman with a black eye.

“What’s the occasion? Apology dinner?” The woman fidgeted with the hangers while looking at you.

You grimaced, “No, a murder.”

She howled, “You are a hoot! Don’t we wish, huh? Let me pull you some options.”

You put the dress on the top of the paper bag, having hidden it under your make up table the previous night. Your fingers were trembling, applying your makeup needing deep breaths and concentration.

“Ruth, can you do my lips?” You turned and handed her the brush.

“The eye looks better.” She took your chin in her hand and painted your mouth a pretty shade of red.

“Thank you.” You offered her a smile but she didn't let go, “What?”

“You ever seen a cornered raccoon? Like one got in the house and your mom boxed it into a corner with a broom?”

A nod, yes, actually, you had.

“Who’s got the broom?” She asked. You knitted your brow, not understanding. “Who’s got you in a corner? Is it Tommy?”

You took your chin back, deep breaths. “No brooms. No corners. Just rattled still from last night.” Not a lie, surprisingly. “You thought of a raccoon? Really? Is it because of the eye?”

When you took your bow for the evening and turned to escape the stage lights for the darkness of backstage, you found Tommy leaning just outside the dressing room.

“Get changed, doors unlocked upstairs. Room 504.”

Grabbing the paper bag you ran through your mental checklist. Wear red, take off your make up, hide the canvas by the bed. An odd to-do list for murder.

The theater had two floors of modest apartments above it, the owners keeping two of the open for the theater’s use. One was for the owners should they ever visit New Orleans, and the other was multi use. Storage and a crash pad for performers or Tommy when he worked late.

The bag crinkled as you hugged it, looking over the small apartment. Boxes, decorations, a modest kitchen and a bed. The bathroom was quite large, a tub and shower head. Was this where the other performers went?

Why hadn’t anyone said anything sooner? Why didn’t anyone leave yet?

Taking a second, you got to work. You opened the canvas and slid it under the bed, the smallest bit of edge sticking out for easy retrieval. Dizzy with the quickly settling reality of what you were doing, you sat on the floor for a moment. Trying to calm your breathing, you closed your eyes.

The fear of the unknown was suffocating you. There was a possibility Alastor failed and ended up hurt. Or, that he changed his mind and Tommy left you two to just hold hands on the bed for a sex-appropriate amount of time.

You patted your thighs and stood up. No time now for a panic attack. Alastor had a change of clothes in the bag, neatly folded and tied in twine. They were set onto the shelf above the closet.

And finally, yourself. Your dress was on and you stopped to wipe the make up off your face in the bathroom mirror. Still bruised, still nasty. The dress was nice though, carrying some of the weight for your battered mug. Red cotton, sailor neck and little gold buttons down the front. Flashy, brighter than the dark number you usually wore.

Would he like it? Most men looked for how a dress accentuated your curves (or hid them) but you had a feeling Alastor didn’t care so much about that.

You took your seat at the edge of the bed, thin mattress sagging from your weight.

The clock ticked, until finally the door opened and you saw something you hadn’t seen before and knew you’d never see again. Tommy and Alastor.

“Here she is. Autumn, this is Mr. Cerf. He's asked I stay in the apartment, apparently word of your attitude already spread among the upperclass.” Tommy wagged his finger at you in a playful way that was entirely out of place.

“Look at her. Pouting. Not very excited, is she?” Alastor smiled at you, softly. You felt for a second that maybe you entirely misunderstood. He looked calm, normal. Even peaceful.

“It’s always nice when they fight a little. But she won’t cause you any trouble.” Tommy patted Alastor’s back, who immediately shirked away.

“Do you like it when women try to fight you off, Tommy?”

A dry laugh, “Ya know how it is. They gotta act like they don’t like it so people still respect ‘em.”

A hum. Alastor’s smile falling entirely. A shadow settled over his face. “I see. That does make things easier.” He slipped on his short black gloves. “I always tell her she looks lovely in red. She rarely listens to me, but I’m happy to see she did tonight. It’s a special occasion.”

Once, you thought. You didn’t listen once.

Tommy nervously chuckled, looking from Alastor then to you, “What?” Alastor grabbed him by the back of the neck, pushing him to the ground and onto his knees. Hand fisted in his hair, knife pressing across his throat.

Alastor dug his knee into the small of Tommy’s back, “Tommy, I think you owe the lady an apology.” You let your feet find the edge of the canvas and slid it out with a kick. It glided across the wood and stopped where his knees met the floor.

“I’m sorry! Fuck, I’m sorry.” Tommy was staring at the waxed fabric in front of him.

You felt your eyes sting with tears, a smile breaking out against your will. “For what?”

“I—,” his eyes searched the room for an answer, your words bringing a pulse of Deja Vu, “It’s about yesterday?” He seemed to relax a little, “Come on. I said sorry. ” Looking back to Alastor. “I didn’t know she had a guy.”

Alastor yanked his head back to look him squarely in his eyes, “Wrong answer.” He pushed him down onto his stomach, “Come on Tommy. I like when my victims fight a little, too.” Sensing the taller man towering over him with the knife, Tommy scrambled onto his back to look at Alastor. Tommy started shouting, ��Hey!! Someone!” But there was no one to hear him. That was the beauty of the space he always brought his dates to; it was too loud to hear anyone scream.

Funny how that works both ways.

Alastor shrugged, “Well that didn’t last long.” As Tommy backed up, trying to get traction on the slippery canvas and failing, Alastor straddled him. Tommy’s hands came up, one pushing against Alastor’s face, the other against the arm holding the knife. Alastor put both hands onto the knife’s handle, staring down into Tommy’s eyes as he inched closer to the man’s neck. “You look scared, Tommy. Are you scared?”

The other man shouted, eyes trembling as he watched the knife come down.

Alastor pushed through, metal sinking into Tommy’s throat. No pause, he withdrew and sank it again and again. Tommy’s hands fell from Alastor’s face, flailing slightly at his neck before slumping down. He was frenzied, stabbing at his chest and upward with wide eyes. You recognized those constricted pupils. They made sense in this setting. Alastor was panting, taking a second to split the skin from ear to ear in the middle of his melee.

You brought your knees to your chest, watching the crime unfold. Was this anger for you or truly for everyone? No one ever got so angry for you before, if you could be so conceited as to say this was for you. Your mouth opened and you spoke without thinking, no filter. “You look like an angry God. A jazz demon of wrath.” You smiled, the morbidity not lost on you.

Alastor stopped, frozen as he stared at you. For a second, he had forgotten you were there. He was always alone during these hobbies of his. Until recently. You looked like an angel in red and gold. Had he dyed your heavenly robes crimson? Or had you been made that way?

He dropped the knife, peeling his gloves off and stepping over Tommy’s decimated torso before kicking off his shoes.

You scooted back onto the bed and opened your arms, welcoming a strange after-kill cuddle. Your reward.

Alastor took off his bowtie, then his shirt. It took you a second, not realizing what was happening until he began to unbuckle his belt. “Now?!”

He nodded, “Yeah.”

“What the fuc— okay,” your hands flew to unclasp your stockings and roll down your panties. You mumbled to yourself, “Jesus Christ.”

As he crawled over you, warm gloveless hands tracing along your legs, hips, waist, you looked at up him with your now dilated pupils, “It’s murder? You need murder?”

He laughed, embarrassing you a little, “No it isn’t that.” His face nuzzled into your neck, “You’d go to hell? For me?”

You froze, you hadn’t really seen it like that.

“You’d damn your eternal soul,” his hips pressed into you, an unfamiliar hardness there that made you gulp, “just to spend time with me?”

How were you so heated over an erection? A dime a dozen, men practically threw them at women who offered them the slightest smile. Yet feeling him so hard against you, something you had been practically praying for, made you weak. A trembling virgin all over again.

Don’t lie, he always told you to be honest so you decided to try it out even if it made you feel at risk of harm. Your hands slid up and into his hair, gripping gently, enough to elicit a groan from him, “Well I was worried heaven wouldn’t have jazz, so… yeah.” You had to always say something a little in jest, to hide from the vulnerability of honesty, “This seemed like a better option.” The truth was, if you had to state it plainly, you would dive head first into hell in exchange for his smile. To hear his laugh. To feel his breath over your mouth. You were quite sure hell was more your scene, anyway.

“I’ll be sure to fill your afterlife with jazz every day, dear.”

How could he make hell sound so sweet?

“It’s a deal.” Fingers playing with his hair, basking in the warmth of skin on skin.

He leaned up, eyes scanning your face as he always seemed to do in these intimate moments. The feeling spreading down his chest was one wholly foreign to him, one he was struggling to put into his own words. You hadn’t run away. You opened your arms for him even still, welcoming your own damnation in exchange for… affection? Attention? Him? The reason didn’t matter, not to Alastor, and not now to his growing need. You didn’t even push him for more than he wanted to give, not yet needled him for details, secrets, sex. Could you really just be there for Alastor? Take him for what he was and what he wasn’t?

His mouth was salivating at the thought you’d give him anything. Reality was, you already had. His finger caressed the purple welt on your cheek. You were given pain and he returned it ten fold to its owner. A demon of wrath. He felt his cock twitching, underwear tented around him.

You smiled up at him, wiping a little streak of blood from his jawline, “You look quite pretty in red yourself.”

His head came to rest on your collarbone with a shaky sigh.

Had you said something wrong?

“Please, you’re already pushing me to my limit.”

Making a show of it, you zipped your mouth and pretended to toss the key. You wanted to reach down and pull off his remaining bit of clothing, to rub yourself against his manhood. But, you weren’t sure if that was something he would appreciate. You didn’t want to ruin his experience, to make him regret offering you something he so clearly didn’t need to give.

He removed his underwear, watching you unbutton your dress and pulling your arms free. Your bra, garter, and stockings were still on. Somehow he found it more scandalous than if you were completely naked.

Your breath was shaking, uneven as the excitement took control of you. There was a not totally unfounded fear you'd black out from hyperventilating.

Alastor lined himself up with your heat and pressed in, making a hard to decipher face as his brow knit up and he bit his lip. You were already so wet, not a hand or mouth needed from him. He wondered if you shared more than an acceptance of justified homicide; your body so relaxed and welcoming to him.

With a few shallow thrusts, he was fully sunk into you. You may have let out a cry. An emptiness you hadn’t clocked was suddenly gone. Was this what Zeus meant when he said the two souled humans were too powerful and tore them apart to weaken them?

Was this sex, or love? The word made you nervous. But—- if he offered it to you in both palms, you’d suffocate yourself in his hands.

He began to move in earnest, thrusting in and out slowly. You had expected the frantic moves of a horny virgin. Instead he was moving with control, hips rolling into you like waves gentle and steady where the lake met land, not slamming like many men before him.

Had it been any other dick, you’d whine and begin moving yourself against it for that needed speed. This was Alastor. Dripping pleasure into your open mouth like a drought-breaking summer shower.

You didn’t recognize your own sounds, already panting and moaning as a warmth spread from the place where his cock was sliding around inside you.

Alastor tried to keep calm. Even when his body was sensitive, he wasn’t used to the mental work needed to fight off his orgasm. Usually he had the opposite issue, struggling to stay focused enough to finish. Mind wandering to more productive chores.

But you were so wet, so accepting in body and mind. He watched your eyes close, one hand gently clawing at the blankets, the other reaching down to touch his lower stomach every time he thrust back in. For the first time in a very long time you really truly wanted to remember who was at the other end of the dick you were enjoying.

Languid moves. Swollen cockhead hitting the bottom of your walls, the top, the end, pushing still a little further.

“I’m sorry,” Alastor leaned down over you, kissing at your jawline, “For making you wait so long for so little.”

His rhythm picked up then, burying himself deeper into your sopping cunt and dragging out enough to pull back that quiver of his release.

You shook your head, lips tingling. “Nothing little here.”

He attempted a laugh, losing his breath. He wanted to last longer, to make the experience worth your while but he could feel you dripping down his balls and it weakened him with alarming efficiency. Finally the frenzied speed you witnessed earlier was turned to you, you brought your legs up, holding at his sides. “Darling I need to-,” he moaned into your ear.

“Please stay.” You clung to his neck, nails grazing at his shoulders.

Alastor’s voice was soft and sweet, a small moan and a gentle grunt. His legs spread more, trying to get every centimeter of himself into you. Hips now grinding in a small circle, but not losing any of the comfort of your warmth. You felt him still pumping that welcomed heat into you, and you tightened around him, drawing out your own moan. He hissed, “Sensitive.” Your legs were shaking like leaves in a storm, no orgasm but the pleasure nonetheless intoxicating.

The front of your brain felt like static, perhaps from the lack of oxygen as you had uncharacteristically lost your breath under Alastor.

Like losing your virginity, after the fear faded and you were able to find a moment for introspection, you found yourself larger than before. The edges of your canvas expanded out, new parts of yourself unfurling for you to explore. Nothing had been lost, only gained.

Alastor kissed at the dark circle under your eye, at the bruise of your cheek, he lifted your arm and kissed gently at the purple and blue spots there too. He had lied, and he wasn’t sure why, but maybe he’d find the will to admit it to you someday.

He had left yesterday to keep from strangling Tommy in the center of the theater, finding himself in a rage. He rarely felt anger. His killings always about retribution, about karma, about righting the scales. He needed to leave to keep from losing his composure.

He lied to you in the alley, unable to look you in the eye when he did it for fear you’d see it. You always seemed to see him with a clarity others didn’t despite such a short time together. He struggled to hide from you and it was as exciting as it was frightening. A testament to your similarities.

He hadn’t done it for everyone. No. His personal moral code fell to pieces when he saw your bloodied eye and bruised skin. He would have killed Tommy even if he had been a good man, even if you’d been the instigator. None of his murderous rules mattered. And it scared him.

(Next Part Next Week, orz)

*slang for boyfriend, often a rich one

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay /

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan ,@valkyrie-expeditions

#alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader smut #hazbin hotel smut #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x you #hazbin #the radio demon #human!alastor #human alastor

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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 3 months ago

Note

if I remember right, a year or two ago you made a list of recommendations for the Edinburgh Fringe. Any recommendations for this year? Already got Steffan on the list, obviously

I did! Okay, okay, here's what I've got this year. Caveat: I personally have not been up there yet (I'm going in a few days), but these are things I saw in preview/have heard great things about.

Steffan Alun: Free Standup, but at What Cost

Venue 156: PBH's Free Fringe @ Banshee Labyrinth - Banquet Hall, 21.30-22.30

Back again! Eighth Fringe, this. The show is an hour, but that includes a 15 minute warm-up act, then Steff for 45 mins. He does this so that reviewers won't come and ruin the vibe.

Anyway this year he talks a bit about being Welsh and how he is therefore grumpy with Bristolian Tesco self-checkout machines

Jake Baker: Rule Breaker!

Venue 78: PBH's Free Fringe @ Canons' Gait - Lower, 16.30-17.30

I love Jake, he's lovely. He's a gentle soul and has an excellent delivery style; very warm and deceptively witty. Normally he goes with Just The Tonic and is given a searing hot basement in the sky that smells of mould for a room, but this year he's in Canons' Gait, which is much much nicer.

His blurb: A rule-breaker, a risk taker, a wave-maker and a convention-shaker – all phrases never before used to describe Jake Baker. But when a frustrating game of Alan Turing-themed Monopoly leaves him questioning the laws of the game, he finds himself turning that analytical impulse to bigger things.

Stephanie Laing: Rudder

Venue 300: Underbelly, George Square - The Wee Coo, 14.50-15.50

This show is particularly Tumblr-friendly, actually; it's described as 'neurodiversity-led'. However, it's a show with a content warning, although all the ticket page is saying is "themes" (insert Stephen Fry meme here); so, <SPOILER> she talks about withdrawing consent while sleeping with a FIB, and him continuing anyway. She talks about it in a very gentle way, avoiding Big Words, and it's very heavy on aftercare </SPOILER>

Her blurb: A comedy dance show about balance. Stephanie has a history of falling over a lot, accidentally kneeing herself in the face, and falling in love with total kn*bheads. In this show she uses a mixture of stand-up and dance to talk about bodies, sex, dancing, liking yourself, consent and healing. Also, there are cartoon bears and burlesque.

Erin McKinnie: The Faff Chronicles

Venue 108: Hoots @ The Apex - Hoot 4, 16.50-17.50

An Edinburgh local! Good solid standup for those who like such things. New-ish, but one to watch, she's very good. Don't be surprised to see her take off

Her blurb: What a faff! Erin McKinnie, a rising star on the Scottish comedy circuit, talks about faffing through early adulthood – from rogue adventures to living the "below-deck life" on cruise ships – she finds the funny in every bizarre encounter in this uplifting show that asks: Do we really need a life plan? Or... are we all just winging it? A brilliant, snort-worthy giggle-fest about exiting your 20s, facing life indecision and chasing answers for those big questions, all the while trying to convince your mother that this is a real job...

Alexander Bennett: Emotional Daredevil

Venue 24: Gilded Balloon Patter House - Coorie, 18.20-19.20

Dark feelings show with a really positive, optimistic message and a fun concept. It uses audience participation, but that's not compulsory, you're safe.

Blurb: I'm the emotional daredevil, and for my next feat, I need someone's help. A show about risk, for the unsatisfied and traumatised, from a Chortle Award nominee

Alex Franklin: Gurl Code

Venue 61: Underbelly, Cowgate - Delhi Belly, 20.25-21.25

Alex does a fun thing each year where she takes her publicity budget and rather than spending it on publicity, she hides it somewhere in Edinburgh and then reveals a clue to its location every day. This tells you something about her, I think

Her blurb: In 2024, trans girl Alex (me) started HRT. Now she (me) feels the most alive she's (me's) ever felt; and she wants to make you feel alive too, or die trying. A ludicrous, musical, chaotic, joyful show about the colours of the world becoming slowly brighter and giving people furniture via the tube. Also being trans.

Character Building Experience

Venue 49: Bedlam Theatre - Bedlam Theatre, 20.00-21.00

It's a D&D show - the MC Sasha Ellen makes a bunch of 40-minute simple campaigns and a selection of pre-rolled characters to do them, and then gets three comedians each time to play them. You know the drill. Good quality fun, and different each time, since you'll never see the same campaign/comedian mix.

2 Truths, 1 Lie

Multiple venues and times (search the EdFringe app or website to see them all), but I recommend catching the 3pm show on either the 25th or 26th August at Venue 108: Hoots @ The Apex - Hoot 1 for reasons I shall not share here (ooh, mysterious)

Fun panel-like show! Often MC'd by Steff, especially if you catch one of the 3pm shows. The format is:

Three comedians each declare a statement. Two are true, but one comedian is lying. The MC doesn't know the liar, nor does the audience. The audience gets to ask questions of the comedians; at the end, they vote on who they think the liar is.

(The prize for winning is a smug sense of satisfaction.)

Anyway, once I'm up there I will possibly have more, but currently, that's my list

#comedy #asks

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tiredofthehumanlife · 14 days ago

Text

Oh baby my baby you're in your seventies and can't beat the dementia allegations

Can you say "Jesus Christ ell could you make a longer tilte"? And I'll tell you yes I could've but I didn't for your comfort you're welcome btw

Barbie dolls: Five Hargreeves x gn!reader

Word: 2.9k

Summary: uh right so you were with five during the apocalypse and then it's like set in season 2 but you like forgot all about your life and shit and five findz you and yada yada it's cute I think

Warnings: I said you were born is 2006 BUT IT MAKES SENSE I DID MATH FOR THIS OKAY OKAY YOU GUYS ARE THE SAME AGE, I made a timeline if you need it, you're married to him, five makes a half joke Abt you being an escapee from the insane asylum, it's a lil sad bc Five loves you and you don't even remember him but whatcha gonna do?, you ogle a stripper/burlesque dancer I KNOW THEY AREN'T THE SAME BUT LEAVE ME ALONE I DODNT EVEN KNOW HOW TO DRIVE, five ogles a stripper/burlesque dancer, open ended ending bc I got tired of writing about a season we've all already watched, that's it I think

Something has always felt off. You couldn’t remember anything before five months ago. There were faces around town that made you tilt your head because you were sure you knew them. Even the people you lived with hadn’t met you before five months ago. They found you standing on the sidewalk down some road, looking around like you’d never even seen a town before. They let you in. You got a bed and a roof all for free. They were taking care of you out of the goodness of their heart. You didn’t have the guts to not give them anything back so you got a job within your second month of living there.

It was a fine job. You worked in a diner. It wasn’t anything crazy. It had milkshakes and a fine paycheck. It had red booths and a box pattern on the floor that you pretended was hopscotch when it hit a lull. Sometimes customers were rude but you spit in their food sometimes so you considered the world balanced. It was just a diner in the simplist terms. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Something about it all just seemed off. You’d get songs stuck in your head that no one knew. You’d get Deja vu about things you couldn’t place. You’d see people stare at you like they knew you and when you walked by they seemed sad. You didn’t know who they were. You’d get this feeling like you missing something. You were homesick for a home you couldn’t remember.

You were currently listening to your coworker telling you about his day as you scribbled into your server pad. You had a flower in the bottom corner and you were starting a new spiral. The bell above the door rang. You kept listening to your coworker.

“Sit anywhere you’d like and we’ll be right with you.” You said, eyes still on the pad. Your coworker paused his spiel. You looked up from the pad to see what made him stop. A man who appeared to be your age walked straight across the diner floor. He was in a school uniform that you didn’t recognize and his eyes were set on you. His hands were shoved in his pockets as he walked to the counter in front of you. He sat in the barstool right across from you and smiled at you. He looked you up and down before sighing.

“Hi.” He said it like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. It sounded like he was seeing an old friend again. His face gave you that same sick stomach feeling. You tilted your head, staring at his face to see if you could place it. Nothing.

“What can I get you started with?” Your coworker said, picking up your slack. The man glanced over at your coworker and rolled his eyes before looking at you again.

“Have we met before?” You asked, leaning onto the counter to give him your full focus. His smile fell a little, sitting back. He gestured to his chest subconsciously.

“You don’t- you don’t remember me?” He asked, looking hurt. You shook your head.

“No, I had a mishap five months ago. I can’t rember anything before that, so if we’ve met I’m sorry I’ve forgotten.” You said, shoving your server pad into your apron. The man’s eyebrows furrowed. He hummed.

“That is horrific news.” He muttered. You shrugged.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m not sure what to do now.” He said, looking down at the counter.

“You could order and I’ll give you my number before you leave so you can call me and maybe reinform me?” You said. The man looked up and nodded. He sighed and tapped the counter.

Days later he was standing in the bedroom that was temperaily yours with a blackboard behind him. He turned to the blackboard writing something at the top. He pulled back and let you read it. ‘Your life for the past 50 years’ You snorted at his joke, looking over at him to see if he was laughing too. Your smile fell at the very serious look in his eyes. You tilted your head to the side. He pressed his lips together and shrugged.

“Right, first things first. You’re in your seventies.” He said, clapping his hands together. You stared at him, realizing you might have let a crazy man into your home.

“Right. You can tell by my loafers and shaw.” You muttered. He shrugged.

“Second thing my name is Five.” You actually laughed at that. You had officially let a crazy person into your home. You leaned back on your bad, staring at the ceiling to laugh harder.

“Course I’m seventy, and your name is Five. What’s next you’re going to tell me you’re a time traveler?” You joked, snorting again at your own joke. “Five” avoided your eyes and sighed. You gasped.

“You are going to tell me you’re a time traveler.” You said, staring at him in shock. He turned back to the blackboard. His hand shot out, making a line across the board. “Five" drew a small vertical line at the start. You heard the chalk writing and then he pulled back. On top of the vertical line was ‘Birth (2006)’. Your eye twitched.

Hours later the board was full to the max, Five was breaking a sweat, and you felt like your head was going to explode. You stood from the bed, pacing back and forth as Five pulled off his top blazer and rolled up his sleeves. He really was selling the substitute teacher look now. You huffed and faced him.

“So just to recap, We got stuck in the apocalypse for 45 years. Then we were hired by basically an assassination team. Then we time traveled back to the ‘present’ which at the time was 2019. Then we didn’t stop the apocalypse and time traveled again so we didn’t all die. Your time travel shit knocked my memories out of my ear or whatever. We got trapped in the 60s and you just got here. There are 5 other people in this town who are also time travelers. You and your siblings have superpowers. And there’s another apocalypse coming. Is that right?” You said, counting on a finger at each new event. Five hummed, tapping the chalk against the side of his face and turning back to the board. He looked at the chalkboard covered in white lines. It was honestly hard to look at and you were curious as to how either of you were still standing up right. Five clicked his tongue.

“Oh! Also, we’ve been married for decades. Coming up on 36 years or something along those lines. It’s a little hard to keep track with all the time travel but once I get my hands on a calendar I can let you know specifics.” Five said, adding another note to the board. You stared at him for a moment. He turned around and gave you a small smile.

“Well, isn’t that wild? What a life huh? You know not to be rude but if all of this is true, and that’s a major if, why would I want to go back to a life like that? I mean running from apocalypses, apocalypsi? Ends of the world. Actually, I'm an assassin. I know it’s a lame life but I think I’d rather work at the diner.” You said, sitting down on the edge of the bed again. Five chewed on his lip, setting the piece of chalk down. He settled next to you sighing on his way down and making you believe the 70-year-old spiel a little more.

”If you want to stay here, you can. I won’t stop you. I’m not going to force you to come with me. I just want to remind you that your life here would only last 10 more days.” He said. It was subtle and quiet but you heard the break in his voice at the end of his talk. You hummed and stared at the carpet. You looked over at him to see a dusty white patch on the side of his face. His head was dipped down like he was trying to hide the fact he was crying. You reached over and wiped the chalk off the side of his face. Five turned his head away from you, wiping at his eyes. When he faced you again you were holding out a tissue to him. He pulled back, staring down at the tissue.

“Where’d you get that?” You scoffed, waving it at him. He snatched it out of your hand.

“Stop asking me questions, I’m clearly in a fragile mental state. I just learned I’m 70 and married, it’s a lot to take in. Especially now that I know I have to help stop the end of the world for the second time apparently.” You muttered, looking back at the carpet. Even though when you first walked into the room you felt like you were going to throw up just looking at the color now you thought you might miss it. Five sat up.

“You’re not staying?” He whispered, scared if he pulled his tone up you’d change your mind.

“Well, I don’t know you. I used to. And when I did, I trusted you enough to marry you. And not divorce you for the thirty years after that. I think if I had my memories, I’d trust you enough to follow you to the end of the world.” You said. Five sighed and looked at your lips. You had no idea what it felt like to stare your lover in the eyes and see unrecognization staring back at you. You felt an awkward pain of ‘I don’t really care but I should’ hit your heart. You leaned back and reached your hand out. You awkwardly patted his shoulder. He pressed his lips together and nodded.

“Yeah, it’s you. It’s still you.” He muttered before standing up. He held his hand out towards you. You looked between his face and hand, staying seated.

“Right.” Five dropped his hand and spun around towards the door. He gestured over his shoulder to follow him. You looked at the chalkboard and assumed he didn’t care enough to fix it. You followed after him.

“Where are we headed?” You asked once you were both halfway down the street from your temporary home. You should’ve asked earlier but you were focused on keeping pace with him. Five glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

“Strip club.” He said blatantly. You clapped your hands together once.

“Ah. What was I thinking? Of course, we’re going to the strip club. Perfect first date if you ask me.” You said, waving your arms in the air. As a lady in short heels and a blue dress walked past you, you spoke to her. “Where are you off to? We’re off to the strip club! I think I’ve associated myself with a madman!” You said, shaking your head around and throwing your hands up. Five reached back for you, pulling you away by your elbow. The woman looked at you both with disgust as she slowly walked backward away from you both.

“So sorry. They’re an escape from the asylum. I’m taking them back now, pay it no mind.” Five said. He gave the woman a polite smile. You turned back to him gasping and holding your finger up.

“That’s what the P in Marsha P. Johnson stands for!” You said, facing ahead again. “Oh, how I love that woman.” You muttered. Five kept his attention on the woman.

“See? They’re making up historical figures. Cuckoo.” He waved his finger around next to his ear and faced the front again. You smacked his shoulder. He pulled you away faster, picking up his pace.

Initially you thought he was kind of kidding when Five said you were going to a strip club. But you were now starting to realize you should stop assuming he’s joking about things. You sighed in the rather uncomfortable chair as you both sat near the stage. Your chairs were pressed together, by Five no less. The second you made it inside he was shoving a chair up against the other one, the armrests pressing into each other. You watched the lady on stage, wondering how much money she was making and wondering how hard burlesque would be to pick up. Five leaned over the arm of his chair, his hand hovering over his mouth as he spoke into your ear.

“You know this isn’t our first date right? Not even a date really.” Five said, watching you intently as you turned your head to face him. You were so close you could easily count the number of hairs forming his peach fuzz on his face. You didn’t because that would be a waste of time but you could. You shrugged.

“I mostly said it as a joke but yes I would assume our first date wasn’t to burlesque. Seeing as it was the apocalypse.” You said, shaking your head and looking back to the woman. You thought of dropping the conversation but knowing the specifics of your relationship would be so nice.

“What was it though? For research.” You added an excuse like he didn’t fully know you were lying. Five shrugged and stared at the floor.

“We had a table and chairs made out of these rocks we found. It was hard work getting it set up but we had an apocalypse dinner. Which basically consists of Twinkies and other food that cannot perish no matter how hard it tries. It was actually quite nice. We didn’t really have a whole lot of time to just be normal people so even just sharing a Twinkie over our rock tables felt refreshing. Our dates after that were really just us sharing the same dirt pile as our bed and keeping each other alive. Then when we got back to 2019 I actually took you for a half-decent date. We went out and got takeout from the greasiest place imaginable and ate it at my father's extremely expensive table.” When he spoke a smile met his face like an old friend. He kept his eyes on the floor because he knew even though you were sitting next to him you wouldn’t return the nostalgia ridden smile.

“You really loved me. I can’t believe I just realized that because you talked about Twinkies.” You said, looking at the floor like it could feel your surprise too. Five hummed.

“I love you, not loved. It’s not in the past.” Five said, staring at you to make sure you saw the severity. You furrowed your eyebrows when your stomach swarmed. You raised an eyebrow.

“I wish I could tell you I love you back but I don’t know you in that way. I don’t even remember your favorite color.” You said. Five hummed and rubbed the side of your cheek with his thumb.

“It’s okay. I know you love me, even if you can’t remember it. I’m almost entirely certain we fall in love in every single timeline. Not to mention we’ve had plenty of time together. I know you inside and out. I know the color of your 13th birthday cake. I know what you look like when your body has aged 50 years. I know all I need to know about you to love you till the day I die and onward. You know these things about me but they’ve settled like dust in your brain. Someone just needs to kick it up and you’ll know my favorite color again. You’ll know what it was like to share a Twinkie over a rock table.” Five said, his thumb dipping down to your neck. He pulled his hand away, holding his head up with his hand instead.

“How could you say something so nice while a woman’s tits are shaking on a stage next to you?” You asked, glancing at the now mostly naked woman on the stage. You looked back to Five. His eyes were fully set on you. His head was tilted in a way that made you think he was thinking of you before you lost every memory. He pressed his lips together.

“I’m looking at someone gorgeous, why would I waste my time letting my vision slip to her breasts.” Yeah, Five might feel that way, but you don’t. You looked past him, dropping your jaw when you saw the move she made to slip her stocking off. With your dropped jaw, Five turned his head too. You both stared at her as she started to lose more clothes. A man stood behind Five’s chair. You reached out to Five, hoping he was down for conflict. The man leaned down towards Five’s ear. He whispered something and looked over at you. He smiled and gave you a light wave. You awkwardly looked around your surroundings, staring at the floor again.

“They lost their memory. It’s okay though, I have a theory it’ll come back. Family meeting on the corner of Commence and Knox by the way, today at 10 pm.” Five said before standing up.

“Come on, love. We have four other people to find.” Five said. Snatching your hand off the chair and dragging you away. He must’ve realized he was holding your hand by the time you left the building, dropping your hand immediately.

“She was about to lose her pants.” You said. Five smiled but pretended he didn’t, sighing and shaking his head. You snorted and followed after him.

#number five #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #five x reader #the umbrella academy #tua five #tua s2 spoilers #tua s2 #tua season 2 #max hargreeves

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thatlotuscookie · 11 days ago

Note

Can you do a oneshot where burlesque!reader enchants prohero!bakugo by her performance (bakugo is undercover and needs to watch a birlesque show to capture a villian) and ends up asking out the reader

I hope you have fun with this req 😭😭

✧･ﾟ: a/n : thank you so much for this fun request! I had a blast writing about Bakugo getting enchanted by our burlesque performer<3 I love the idea of him being all serious and focused on his mission, only to get completely distracted by Y/N's performance. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

✧ Title: ✧ A Night to Remember ✧ ✧ Character: Katsuki Bakugo x Burlesque!Reader, Fem!Reader ✧ Genre: Romance, Humor, Fluff ✧ Rating: T ✧ Summary: After a mission leads him to a burlesque club, pro hero Bakugo finds himself enchanted by the captivating performer, you. ✧ Content/Tags: Burlesque!Reader, Bakugo crushing hard, Soft!Bakugo, Love at first sight lol ✧ WC: 733 words // 4291 chars

The dim lights of the burlesque club flickered, casting shadows that danced along the walls. The air was thick with anticipation as the audience murmured, their excitement palpable. Katsuki Bakugo, disguised in a casual hoodie and jeans, leaned against the back wall, eyes narrowed. He was here on a mission, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the atmosphere.

The club was known for its captivating performances, but tonight, he had one goal: to gather intel on a notorious villain rumored to frequent the shows. Little did Bakugo know, he was about to be mesmerized in ways he never expected.

As the lights dimmed further, the spotlight illuminated the stage, revealing a stunning figure draped in shimmering fabrics. The dancer moved with an elegance that caught everyone’s breath. Her name was Y/N, and as she began her routine, the world outside the club faded away.

Bakugo's heart raced—he had seen countless things as a pro hero, but this was different. Y/N moved like liquid gold, her confidence radiating from the stage. The sultry way she danced, each movement deliberate and captivating, drew him in, against his better judgment. He found himself lost in her performance, forgetting all about the villain he was supposed to be watching.

The music pulsed around him, and Y/N's eyes locked onto Bakugo's for a brief moment. A spark ignited between them, and he felt something shift in the air. The crowd cheered as she tossed her hair back and spun, the sequins on her costume catching the light in a dazzling display.

As her routine reached its climax, Y/N climbed onto a platform, her silhouette framed by the shimmering lights. She captivated the audience, but Bakugo felt like she was performing just for him. When she threw a wink his way, his heart skipped a beat. The playful glint in her eyes made him forget about everything else, even his mission.

When the performance ended, the applause erupted like thunder, but Bakugo was still reeling from the show. He needed to regain his focus, but something about Y/N had woven itself into his thoughts.

After the show, he waited, pretending to be disinterested as he observed the crowd dispersing. His heart raced as he spotted Y/N backstage, chatting with her fellow performers. This was his chance, and he couldn't let it slip away.

Gathering his courage, he approached her just as she stepped away from the group. “Hey,” he said, trying to sound casual despite the pounding in his chest.

Y/N turned, her expression shifting from surprise to a playful smile. “Hey there, mysterious stranger. Enjoy the show?”

“It was… impressive,” he admitted, feeling slightly sheepish under her gaze. “You’ve got some serious skills.”

“Thanks! I love performing,” she replied, a hint of pride in her voice. “But I’m glad to know it caught your attention.”

Bakugo rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find the right words. “Listen, I—” He hesitated for a moment, his heart racing. “I know this is sudden, but would you want to grab dinner sometime?”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, a look of surprise crossing her face. “You’re asking me out?”

“Yeah, I am,” he said, his voice steady despite the fluttering in his chest. “I mean, you kind of enchanted me up there. I’d like to get to know you better. If you’re interested.”

A smile broke across her face, genuine and warm. “I’d love to. When?”

“How about tomorrow?” he suggested, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. “I know a great place that serves awesome food.”

“Tomorrow sounds perfect,” Y/N replied, her smile widening. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve got planned.”

As they exchanged numbers, Bakugo couldn’t shake the feeling that this night had taken an unexpected turn. He’d come here to catch a villain, but instead, he’d found something—or someone—who had captivated him far more than he anticipated.

“Alright, then it’s a date,” he said, trying to keep his cool. “Just… don’t expect me to be all charming and suave. I’m more of an explosive type.”

Y/N chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. “I think I can handle that. And I’m sure you’ll surprise me.”

As they parted ways, he felt a thrill of excitement. Maybe this mission was just the beginning of something new, something thrilling—just like Y/N’s performance. And for the first time in a while, he was looking forward to what came next.

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obessedwithfictionalmen · 8 months ago

Text

Co-Stars pt.5

Callum Turner X Actress! Reader

Summary: The story of one of the song Y/n wrote for a movie.

Warning: Mention of toxic relationships/ use of Y/n/ crying/

‘’Y/n, recently we’ve all rewatched Burlesque, and did you write all the songs?’’ The interviewer asked. ‘’Yes, all of them’’ she answered. ‘’What was the inspiration for Bound to You? It’s obviously a personal song and important for the movie’’ Y/n remembers what the inspiration was. It was Callum. Him and all the time that he proved to her that love was possible again.

Sweet love, sweet love, trapped in your love

I've opened up, unsure I can trust

My heart and I were buried in dust

Free me, free us.

The first time they talked about each other’s trauma was on the set of The Only Boy Living in New York, they talked about how Y/n got out of a toxic relationship, scared to love again. She was afraid to trust anyone again, but Callum told her how the person that is going to love her won’t hurt her, like her ex-boyfriend did. That day, she started to trust him, still afraid of rejection, but she trusted him.

You're all I need when I'm holding you tight

If you walk away, I will suffer tonight.

The night when she first cried in his arms was when she had a nightmare that he died. ‘’Please, be there when I wake up, I can’t lose you!’’ she cried. ‘’I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here in the morning. I promise Y/n’’ he said, hugging her tightly.

I found a man I can trust

And boy, I believe in us

I am terrified to love for the first time

Can't you see that I'm bound in chains?

I've finally found my way

I am bound to you

I am bound to you.

She fell in love with him when he did a big gesture for her. It was as a friend, but Y/n couldn’t believe he would do that. They were both working on Inside Out, she’d talk about Heath Ledger’s musical performance in 10 Things I Hate About You, then Callum tried to recreate it, singing the same song, but they weren’t in public, but still, Y/n fell in love with the British men that day.

‘’Bound to you was about Callum actually, about how I fell in love with him over the years and how he was always there for me, since day 1’’ She smiled, they’ve announced their relationship a month ago and the internet has never been more in love with a couple. The British men was next to her, listening to what she had to say about her song. ‘’Callum, how do you feel about that?’’ He smiled. ‘’I didn’t know that, but it’s really big, to have a love song wrote about you. I’m actually just remembering the lyrics and I’m really touched.’’ He smiled. They both looked at each other, love sparkled in their eyes. ‘’I love you’’ she mouthed. ‘’I love you too’’ he replied.

@Official_Y/n

@Official_Y/n: Throwback when I wrote my song 💚 #Burlesque

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@User7291: That green dress!!!!

@CallumandY/n4ever: Stop the fact that this song is about Callum!!!!

@Austin_Butler: This is so cute!!!

#Spotify #callum turner #callum turner x reader #callum turner imagine #co star #the only boy living in new work #burlesque

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multi-fandom-things730 · 1 year ago

Text

Welcome to Burlesque

Summary: Y/N is a burlesque dancer who works at Taz’s club. She and his son Hook start developing feelings for each other as they navigate the complicated world of organized crime.

Warnings: mob au, guns, blood, injuries, fighting, cussing, violence, angst, fluff, Jack being a little traitor, club environment, burlesque club, creepy man not taking a hint, drinking

A/N: should I have been writing a speech for college today? Yes. Did I? No. I wrote this💀😂 this burlesque idea is a little thing I came up with while listening to the burlesque movie’s soundtrack😂 and I thought it would be something fun to combine with a mob au. There will be a part 2 to this, and I hope you all enjoy!!!!! 🤍And thank you as always to @99hook for helping me brainstorm and come up with different little ideas for this fic💛💛✨

Working at Taz's burlesque club was a dream come true to Y/N.

Was it a little bit shady? Yes.

Was she aware of the business the Senerchia family was in? It wasn't very hard to figure out being in the club as often as she was.

But did she care? She probably should have a lot more than she did. But she couldn't bring herself to.

Taz was undoubtedly one of the kindest men she'd ever met; at least to her anyway.

Maybe not to everyone else, but being one of the club’s most popular dancers had its perks.

The two ended up spending a lot of time together, as she performed almost every night. And Taz preferred conducting his business at the burlesque club to anywhere else.

He knew it was safe, and there were back rooms disguised as extra dressing rooms he used when business had to get a little messy.

Y/N knew it wasn't the most conventional dream to have, but she had wanted to be a burlesque dancer for years.

When Taz bought the business from the previous owner, Y/N watched as many of her coworkers left when they realized who their new owner really was.

She knew she probably should have gone with them, but she just wasn't willing to give up on her job.

She loved the club so much; she couldn't imagine working anywhere else.

And it may have also had a tiny bit to do with Taz's handsome son.

Y/N and Hook both remembered the first night they met vividly, and they knew they wouldn't be forgetting anytime soon.

Hook was sitting in a private booth in the corner next to his dad at the burlesque club.

Taz had bought it a few months ago, but he hadn't bothered to come by until tonight.

His dad was dealing with a customer who had put his hands on one of the dancers here, and wanted his men there to help him 'take care' of the problem.

Say what you wanted about Taz, but he and his people did not take that lightly.

The man showed up every Friday night, so they watched the performance while waiting for him to show his face.

Hook was itching for him to show up, ready to beat the disrespect out of the man's body.

But his mind was pulled away from the soon-to-come beat down when a song he vaguely recognized started playing.

It was an older song, but he couldn't quite put his finger on the name.

But when the curtains reopen, Taz laughs when he sees his son's eyes widen and he inhales sharply.

"That's Y/N" Taz informs with a smirk. "She's the most popular dancer here"

"She.. she's gorgeous" Hook mumbles.

Taz laughs and claps Hook on the shoulder. "Don't go getting too distracted, we have business to take care of tonight"

Hook clears his throat and nods, but his eyes quickly trail back to the woman on the stage.

His eyes scanned up and down her body as she sensuously moved across the stage, and her melodic voice floated around the room.

He was so enthralled by her that he didn't even notice when his father's men started shifting around the room.

It wasn't until Taz nudged his side that he snapped out of the trance Y/N had lulled him into.

Later that night, Y/N was sitting at the bar with a drink in her hand.

Her eyes stayed on the stage, watching her friends perform with a smile across her red lips.

"I recognized the first song you sang"

She spins around in her seat, and smiles at the handsome man who had spoken to her. "Yeah? Did you like it?"

"Mhm" he nods, and slides into the empty seat next to her. "But I can't remember the name of it"

"A guy what takes his time. Originally sung by Mae West" Y/N informs.

"You a big fan of her?" Hook asks.

"Very much so" Y/N replies with a grin. "She's such an icon"

"I have to admit, I'm unsure of who she is" Hook says with a sheepish grin.

"She's only one of the most famous sex symbols ever" Y/N says with a giggle. "She even was the first to say the quote 'Why don't you come up sometime and see me?' Rather scandalous for 1933"

"Extremely" Hook concurs with a chuckle, before sticking his hand out. "I'm Hook, but you can call me Tyler"

Y/N was caught off guard by that. Of course she knew who Hook was, but she had heard how he didn't let many people call him Tyler. She even heard a few stories of him beating people up who disrespected him by calling him his real name.

But weirdly, it caused butterflies in her stomach. She placed her hand into his and sent him a sweet smile. "I'm Y/N"

"It's a pleasure to meet you amore" He lifts her hand to place a kiss on her knuckles, and that combined with the Italian nickname had a bright blush flushing Y/N's cheeks.

"So" Y/N clears her throat before her face changes to a serious expression. "Is the problem taken care of?"

"What are you talking about?" Hook plays dumb, and if she wasn't already in the know she probably would have fallen for his charming smile.

"You know what I'm talking about" Y/N stares directly into his eyes, annoyance creeping into her gaze. "He comes here every Friday, and all the girls are scared. Taz told me it would be taken care of tonight. Was it not?"

Hook stares at her for a second, unsure of what to say. He couldn't believe she knew. Furthermore, he couldn't believe his dad was the one to tell her. And even further, why did she seem so fine with it?

Taz, who had been behind the bar checking inventory and eavesdropping on the two, decides to walk over and help his seemingly frozen son. "Good evening miele"

Y/N smiles at Taz, and leans over the bar to kiss his cheek. "Hello Taz. I was just asking Hook if the problem was dealt with, but for some reason he seems to be unable to answer me"

Taz chuckles. "Don't worry about him, he's not used to talking to such a vision. He was dealt with earlier tonight, during your performance actually"

Y/N chuckles. "Good"

"It's getting late, and you spend enough time in this club as is. Tyler, why don't you take Y/N home?" Taz proposes.

"No, that's okay. I don't want to impose" Y/N immediately replies.

"I don't mind at all" Hook finally speaks up. "I'd love to give you a ride"

"Then it's settled. Because there's no way I'm letting you walk home this late" Taz says sternly.

Y/N just smiles. "How'd you know I was walking today?"

"It's my job to be observant Y/N. And I heard you complaining about your car not starting" Taz answers. "So until that's fixed, you are getting a ride from someone. It's not safe to walk around here"

"Alright, just give me a few minutes to get my stuff" Y/N gives in. She stands from her seat and smiles up at Hook.

"Thanks Hoo.. Tyler" she corrects herself, and gives his arm a light squeeze as she walks by him.

Taz smirks over at his son, who is looking down at the bar in an attempt to hide his red cheeks. "Tyler? You just met her and she's already allowed to call you Tyler?"

Hook doesn't answer, which causes Taz to laugh.

"You know, she's a good girl. I think you would be good together" Taz says.

"Really?" Hook asks softly, looking up at his dad.

"Mhm" Taz hums. "But she's not like those other girls you go out with. You can't flash her a smile and she immediately agrees to go out with you. You're gonna have to put some work in. And it better be good, or I won't let you"

Hook chuckles. "You're not gonna let me?"

"No" Taz immediately answers firmly.

Then Y/N walks out with her bag. "I'm ready to go"

Taz walks out from behind the bar and gives her a hug. "Have a good night Y/N"

"You too Taz" she smiles as they pull away.

Hook walks over and takes her bag from her.

"Thanks" she says, and Hook just nods before placing his hand on the small of her back to guide her out of the building.

That next morning Y/N woke up to a surprise.

Y/N furrows her eyebrows, and stops making her coffee when she hears noise coming from her driveway.

She quickly grabs a jacket before walking outside to see what was going on.

But a smile spreads across her lips when she sees Hook in her driveway messing with her car. "Good morning handsome"

He looks up and flashes her a sheepish smile with red cheeks from her compliment. "Did I wake you?"

"No, I was already up" She answers. "What are you doing?"

"Fixing your car" he says with a proud grin. "I already figured out what's wrong with it. The battery's dead"

"Is that bad?" Y/N asks, not knowing much about cars.

Hook shakes his head. "It's an easy fix. I'm gonna jump-start it and it should be good as new"

"Well, thank you so much" Y/N smiles. "You didn't have to do all this, but I really appreciate it"

"It's not a problem" Hook brushes it off. "I'm glad to help"

"Come inside when you're done. I’ll make breakfast"

And she did. The two talked and laughed the entire time.

It started becoming a routine for them to have breakfast together.

At first, Hook left after breakfast. But then he started staying a little later. Then he started staying for lunch too. And by the time he stayed for lunch, he may as well have stayed long enough to drive her to the club for her shift, right?

Taz couldn't be more excited watching the two of them walk in together every night, including tonight.

As usual, they walked in right at 5:00, making the most of every minute.

"One of these days you're gonna get here at 5:01, and you're gonna be the one in trouble Tyler" Taz jokes, making the two laugh.

"Don't worry Taz, I'll make sure I'm always here on time. I can't let my favorite Senerchia down" she laughs, and walks over to pat his arm.

Hook pouts, but his lips turn up when she pecks his cheek as she passes him on the way to the dressing rooms.

"How's it going son?" Taz asks once Y/N’s out of sight.

"I think it's going good" Hook answers. "I can tell she's hesitant though"

Taz nods. "Just be patient. She's used to men playing her, just keep showing her you aren't like that"

Later that night Hook was sitting in a booth with his best friend, Jack Perry.

He was standing up and applauding as Y/N left the stage, but not before blowing a kiss towards him.

He pretends to catch it before sitting back down next to a snickering Jack. "What?"

"Nothing" Jack raises his hands in surrender. "I can just tell that you really like her"

"Yeah" Hook mumbles. "But I don't know if she likes me like that"

"You told me you spend time together everyday" Jack replies.

"We do" Hook shrugs. "But whenever I try to kiss her or hold her hand, she always pulls away"

"She's probably just nervous bro" Jack pats Hook's shoulder. "I mean, with her job, she's probably had to deal with a lot of scumbags"

Hook nods. "I know. My dad said the same thing"

But before either of them can say anything else Skye, one of the other dancers, walks over to the table. "Hey Hook. I'm sorry to bother you, but there’s this guy at the bar messing with Y/N. He won't leave her alone, and she said she could handle it, but he's not stopping"

Hook immediately stands up, and scans the bar.

He spots Y/N almost immediately, and the guy next to her who is way too close for his liking.

"Thanks" he says gruffly to Skye before taking off towards Y/N, Jack following close behind.

Hook walks over, and places himself in the space between them. "Hey amore"

He can see the relief on her face as he gently pushes her to stand behind him. "Hi Ty"

She holds onto his arm as Hook stares the guy down.

"Excuse me, we were talking" the guy rudely says, clearly not knowing who he was dealing with.

"It's best if you'd leave man" Jack says from his place next to Hook in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

Y/N knew that if looks could kill, that man would already be six feet under from the glare Hook was sending him. So she pulls on his arm, indicating she wants to leave. And he almost does, until the guy opens his mouth again.

"I just said we were talking" The guy repeats.

"You were talking" Hook snaps, pulling away from Y/N to step closer to him. "She wasn't"

"Oh yeah?" The guy stands up, making both Jack and Hook tense up, clearly ready for a fight.

"You got a fucking problem?" Hook demands.

"Ty, Ty let's just go" Y/N says, grabbing onto his arm again. "Please?"

"Yeah, just go" the guy taunts, and Y/N's eyes widen when he pushes Hook.

Chaos happens so quickly after that. Hook immediately pushes him back, and then his fist connects with the guy's jaw.

Jack joins in, and holds the guy still while Hook rains punches down on him.

"Tyler! Tyler stop!" Y/N yells as the bouncers run over and pull the three men apart.

Y/N latches onto Hook's arm as the bouncers drag the guy out.

"Are you two okay?!" She exclaims, quickly scanning them for injuries.

"I'm all good" Jack says. "I'm gonna head out, that was enough excitement for me for one night"

But as Hook wrapped his arms around Y/N to comfort her, he didn't realize what was going through Jack's head. Unbeknownst to Hook, he had just revealed to Jack his weak point.

Y/N headed to work later than normal a few days later. She wasn't supposed to work that day, but Skye was sick and Y/N offered to take her shift.

Hook had some business his father needed him to deal with, so he wasn't there to drive her.

Y/N was headed into the club when it happened.

All of a sudden she was grabbed from behind. She kicked and screamed as loud as she could as the men attempted to drag her into the trunk of their car.

She managed to scratch the hand of the one holding her mouth, causing him to let out a pained yell and loosen his grip.

And with her mouth free she screamed for help; she screamed for Hook.

Anthony, who was one of Hook's friends and Taz's men, heard a scream from his place at the door and ran outside.

Once the men saw Anthony running towards them with his gun out, they dropped Y/N and scrambled to get back in the car.

Y/N let out a yell when she fell onto the pavement and hit her head.

She was in a daze as she just laid there on the ground, watching as the car sped off and blood landed on the ground, dripping from her head.

Anthony kneeled next to her and pulled her into his arms. "Y/N? Hey, you're okay now. I got you"

She curled into his chest as he pulled his phone out and called Taz.

Less than ten seconds later every one of Taz's men in the club came running out with instructions to find the people who did this.

Then Taz himself ran over and kneeled next to them. "Hey hon"

"Hi Taz" she mumbles, sending him a weak smile in an attempt to assure him that she was okay.

He smiled back and brushed some hair out of her face. "You're gonna be just fine miele"

Anthony picks her up and carries her to Taz's car. He lays her down in the backseat before sliding in next to her.

Y/N was still a bit in and out as Anthony pressed a cloth against her bleeding head, but she heard Taz call Hook.

"Son, something's happened at the club"

"What do you mean? Are you and Y/N okay?" Hook asks urgently.

"Yes, we're all alright. But Y/N was hurt, son"

It was silent for a moment, but Y/N heard when Hook's breathing started getting heavier. "What happened?"

Y/N knew that tone. It was calm, too calm. She knew that he was furious, and it worried her that he would go out and try to find the people.

"I want you to come to the house before I tell you all the details"

"Why?!" Hook immediately snaps.

"Because I know you son" Taz replies firmly. "And the minute I give you any details you're going to go out and try to do something"

"Of course I am! Someone hurt Y/N! I am gonna hunt them dow-“

"I am not telling you a damn thing until you're at the house and that's final. Y/N will be there" Taz says with finality before hanging up the phone.

When Taz pulled into the driveway, Y/N was surprised. "You brought me to your house? I thought only the inside circle knows where you live"

But Taz just turns to smile at her. "That's right"

Y/N smiles after that, before sitting up with Anthony's help.

"Don't get ahead of yourself Y/N" Anthony says.

She just nods, and lets him pick her back up and carry her inside.

"Lay her down in the living room, I've got the doctor coming over" Taz tells Anthony, who nods and does as told.

Y/N thanks Anthony after he sits her on the couch, and he smiles and nods in return.

She looks around the room, and her eyes stop on a picture perched on the mantle. It was Hook and his dad when Hook was little. A smile grew on her lips as she stared at the photo.

"I love that picture too" Taz says as he walks into the room with a cup of water.

She thanks him for it as he sits down next to her.

"He hasn't been that carefree in a long time. I suppose that's my fault. Dragging him into this life" Taz sighs.

"No, I don't think it's your fault. He's told me how much he wants to be a part of it. I don't think you could have done anything to stop him" Y/N replies with a sympathetic smile.

Taz nods. "Thanks, hon"

It's then the door swings open and hurried footsteps echo through the house. "Y/N?!"

Y/N winces at his loud yell, and Taz stands up to meet Hook in the doorway. "Hey, her head is still hurting. No yelling, and be gentle with her"

Hook frantically nods before running over to her.

He kneeled in front of her and cupped her face between his warm hands.

Y/N leaned into his palm and closed her eyes. "I'm okay. Don't worry"

"You're not okay" Hook breathes out. "You don't have to lie"

"I'm okay now" she insists. "You're here now. I know nothing can happen to me"

Hook's lips turn upwards slightly, before he reaches up to pull her into a hug. "I was so worried"

"Don't be. I'm tough" Y/N replies.

Hook pulls away to press his forehead against hers. "Yes you are. My strong girl"

The two smile at each other, and sit like that for a moment. Hook was so thankful to be able to sit there and listen to her breathing while holding tightly onto her hands, reassuring him that she was okay.

Then Taz walks in with the doctor.

Hook sat next to her as the doctor cleaned up her cuts, and held her hand the entire time.

Meanwhile, out in the hallway, Taz was talking to his right-hand man; Tony Schiavone.

"I wanna find the people who did this" Taz says in a dangerous tone. "I want them found and brought to me; alive. Understood?"

"Yes" Schiavone nods. "Out of curiosity, what do you plan to do to them?"

Taz just smirks. "I think I'll let Tyler decide that"

Y/N woke up the next morning with a very sore body.

Every time she moved pain shot through her, and she had a terrible headache.

She slowly pulled herself into a sitting position, and took a second to brace herself before sliding off of the bed.

She looked to the bedside table for her phone, and smiles when she sees more than just the phone. There was medicine, a cup of water, a little bag of her favorite chips, and one of Hook's hoodies folded up.

She reached over and slipped on the hoodie, taking a moment to savor the smell of Hook's cologne that now swirled around her, before taking the medicine. Then she got out from under the extremely cozy blankets and left the bedroom.

She went to the bathroom and brushed her teeth and hair before venturing out into the hallways.

She felt a little awkward making her way around the Senerchia house- well, more like mansion. She was a guest and didn't know her way around very well, but she was really hungry.

She let out a quiet cheer when she found the kitchen, and walked over to the fridge and pantry to see what they had. Y/N pulled out the ingredients to make pancakes, bacon, and eggs. She knew Hook would probably freak out over her cooking after just being injured, but she wanted to do something nice for them.

For absolutely no reason, the Senerchia's had taken her in and accepted her as family. Taz had done so long before she ever even met Hook.

Many people would be angry that they had been attacked because of the Senerchia family, but Y/N wasn't. She knew the lifestyle they lived, and she made a choice to be in their lives anyway. She just wished Hook realized that too. Y/N knew Hook would beat himself up about it for months to come.

As everything was cooking, Y/N was trying to figure out how their coffee machine worked. But she was stumped.

"Something smells amazing" she turns around and smiles when Taz walks into the kitchen.

"Thank you. I hope you don't mind, I just wanted to do something nice for y'all" Y/N says.

"I appreciate it" Taz smiles back.

"I was trying to make you guys coffee too, but I can't figure out this machine" she laughs, making Taz laugh too.

"You've done more than enough this morning" Taz walks over to the pot and takes it from her hands. "Let me make the coffee at least"

"What a great team we make" Y/N grins, before heading back over to the stove.

"I assume you're feeling better this morning?" Taz asks.

"I don't feel great, but definitely better than last night" Y/N answers. "Got a splitting headache though"

"That'll clear up in a few days" Taz comforts.

Y/N nods. "Thank you for taking care of me last night"

"Hey, you're one of us now" Taz says. "You will be protected from here until forever"

Y/N couldn’t stop the bright smile that took over her face, until the next words that come from Taz. "Unless you decide you don't wanna be part of this life of course"

"What are you talking about?" Y/N immediately asks.

"I'm not gonna lie to you Y/N, most people don't make it long-term in this world. The danger, the not knowing if someone will make it back home, the threat of the cops, it's not an easy life to live. And I know Tyler hasn't asked you to officially be his girl yet, but I know he wants to. And when he does, I just want to make sure you know that you have options. This incident.. I can't guarantee it, or something worse, won't happen again. I wish I could but I can't. You know we're gonna do everything we can to make sure no one lays a pinky finger on you ever again, but.. if it all becomes too much for you, I need you to know that I can get you out. I can send you away, somewhere even Tyler won't know. You can get a fresh start away from all of this"

Y/N stares at Taz for a moment, letting his words settle, before she smiles softly. "Thank you so much Taz, but I won't be needing any of that. Ever. I'm here for the long haul as long as Tyler will have me"

Taz just smiles back, incredibly happy to have Y/N as a part of their family.

Now all he needed was for Hook to man up and confess his feelings to Y/N.

Taz knew he was scared; scared of the danger it would put Y/N in. But it seemed that the danger was already present. And seeing it first hand had shaken Hook. The original plan that night was for Hook to finally ask Y/N to be his girl. They told Y/N that Hook had something Taz needed him to do; when really he was out getting some gifts for her. He had dinner reservations at her favorite restaurant, and he was going to pick her up from the club early and take her out. But of course, the night did not end the way Hook had hoped.

Then Hook walks into the kitchen, and his eyes widen when he sees Y/N cooking. "Y/N! You don't need to be cooking, you need to be resting!"

Y/N just laughs as he puts his hands on her arms and guides her to sit down at the kitchen island. "I'm feeling okay Ty"

"No, you need to rest amore" Hook says, and leans down to kiss her on the forehead before taking her place at the stove.

Jack sighed from his seat at the burlesque club.

He watched as Y/N performed, the gears in his head turning rapidly.

His plan to kidnap her had failed, and he was actually kind of glad about it.

He had realized since that night a few things. And the biggest one was that Y/N is fiercely loyal to Hook and his family. Even after almost getting abducted she stuck by his side, perhaps closer than ever.

He realized if his plan had worked, she wouldn't have told him shit about Taz's operations.

Jack couldn't ask Hook; they were friends, but he'd realize what was up if Jack started poking around.

But anyone who was an enemy of the Senerchia may kidnap Hook's girl to try and get information to take them down.

But Y/N wouldn't crack, Jack was now sure of it.

So he decided on a new plan:

Psychological warfare.

He didn't need to take Y/N from Hook, he was gonna make her want to leave.

#aew #aew hook #aew hook x reader #hook aew x reader #hook x reader #hook imagine #hook aew #send hook #aew x reader #aew fanfiction

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risingsoleil · 14 days ago

Note

Imagine Lin calling tenzin master while he was training with korra and he got super hard and needed to fuck her right there right know but suddenly korra decided not to be lazy today and wanted to train more😂😂😂😂

Let's set the scene!

Lin has reunited with him on his search for airbenders.

Something a little different and with EXTRA SPICE 🔥🔥🌶️🌶️

Tenzin is so annoyed he's been reduced to practically....a...a...burlesque dancer! And Lin agreed that he should be the star of the talent show!

He sent her a glare before he ripped his robes off in front of everyone. Hmph. The entire time he can feel her eyes staring and appreciating every flex of his muscle as he shows off his airbending skills to the crowd. If she gets turned on by this, he's going to play hard to get.

No one still wants to be an airbender.

So he tells Korra that they're going to train.

"Whaat?! We already did it earlier!"

"A performance doesn't count as training."

"Tenziiiiiiiiin."

"Show me the fourth form."

Right when Korra starts to fall more in sync with Tenzin, Lin peers into the airship. She stomps her foot into the ground, and a smile begins to curl on her face. The kids are old enough to handle themselves and she doesn't need to supervise them now.

"Tenzin."

"What is it?" he asks with a hint of irritation, without looking at her.

Lin traced her teeth with her tongue. So he's brooding? And playing hard to get?

Alright, Tenzin. If that's how you want to play.

"I'll be inside the airship, Master. Come inside when you're ready."

Tenzin freezes and Korra manages to blast him in the face.

"Hahaha! I got you!" Korra rolled her shoulders and put her hands up. "Try and get me, Tenzin!"

"We're done with training now. Go hang out with your friends." Tenzin looks back at the airship and Lin is already gone. He waved his cape dramatically behind his back.

"Being a sore loser? Don't think you can win against the Avatar?" Korra goaded.

"Yeah, ok whatever! Just go hang out someplace else. And don't bother me!"

Korra can barely argue because Tenzin is almost floating to the airship, and he slams the door shut. She frowned. "What's his problem now? He's either grumpy or excited that we found more airbenders."

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

He slammed Lin against the metal, lips crashing against hers intensely. Her thigh crawled above his hip and Tenzin gripped her, nails digging into the thick fabric of her trousers. He bent a bit and picked up his wife, without breaking the kiss. Her legs wrapped around him and he threw her on the long seat.

His robes began to peel off and fall to the floor, along with Lin's.

She lay down and Tenzin followed on top of her, kissing down her neck and over her breasts. The hitches in her voice made him harder.

"Remember the last we did this in an airship?"

Lin arched into his mouth, wrapping a leg around him. "We have proof of that..."

They weren't too keen on talking. Their body language was enough to understand what the other needed.

Tenzin fucked her hard and rough, nibbling on her neck as she cried out loud and clenched around his cock.

Before she could recover from that orgasm, he pulled her into his lap until she properly straddled him. Tenzin gripped her hips and pounded into her, pushing more, sensitive, higher gasps and moans from Lin. His mouth latched onto her breast, sucking hard and stroking her nipple with his tongue. Lin curved into him and grinded as best as she could to his speed and intensity.

Finally, he felt his own orgasm building up and he exploded into Lin, forcing her down on his cock.

When he felt himself soften a little, he pulled out, the flow of his cum dripping out of her.

"Now sit on my face."

Lin's face was pink, eyes heavy. "What?"

"I need to taste us."

They sank to the floor and Tenzin guided Lin to hover above him. Lin's legs felt weaker and her strength slipped away from her when Tenzin's tongue lapped and sucked on her clit.

"Fuck!"

Her eyes rolled back as a lighter and lazy orgasm quaked within her.

She leaned back off his face so she wouldn't accidentally kill her husband.

"On all fours, Lin."

"You want more? Tenz, you--"

"On all fours, Acolyte."

Sluggishly, she rolled over on her knees and hands. Tenzin knelt behind her and the tip of his cock stroked her--wait, is he hard?! Already?! Did he take an aphrodisiac without her knowing?

Just when she thought he would plunge into her and fill her insides to the brim, Tenzin lifted her knees completely and wrapped them around his hips instead. Lin yelped in surprise at her entire lower body now above the ground.

Then, he filled her and she gasped.Their fluids made it so easy for him to slip inside. Lin rested her arm on the ground and bite into her flesh as the clapping sound filled the room and the squelching sounds of their union helped Tenzin fuck her easily.

Something must have been uncomfortable, since he paused and as Lin attempted to catch her breath, Tenzin began to stand. His hands anchored into her hips and Lin placed her palms on the ground.

He kicked back into motion, nails digging into her skin. Lin's held on to him tightly with her thighs. With her body at a slight incline, the blood flow rushed to her head and then she felt it again.

"T-Tenzin, please, I don't know if I can..." she mewled, her vision growing stars.

"Just one more time," he grunted. "Last time..."

Lin closed her eyes, the hot pulsing and pressure in her core escalating once again. When it reached its cusp, she allowed it to possess her. This time, the dizzy spell of pleasure and all the blood flow in her head pushed her into the Spirit World.

As she descended slowly from the ecstasy, she heard Tenzin grunt and groan before stilling and twitching inside her again.

He lowered her legs and cradled her on the floor, pulling her into his arms. Their heartbeats raced and hammered in unison, sweat sealing them together. Lin's eyes fluttered closed.

"What just happened? she asked incoherently.

"We...we made love..."

"No," she coughed. "You made love to me..."

"Because you made me...perform...shirtless...in public..."

"You didn't have to strip," she pointed out, chuckling.

Tenzin closed his eyes, the scent of her hair filling his nostrils and luring him to sleep. "Bumi said I had too...you didn't argue..."

"Because you look very good. Can you blame me?"

"Yes," he moaned. "You make me feral."

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

** spicy reference is standing wheel barrow position **

#linzin #lin beifong #tenzin #tlok #multiple spicy positions #nsft #extra spicy

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agendabymooner · 1 year ago

Text

melody || lh44 x ofc (1)

Summary: With her sharp eyes focused on her audience, a burlesque performer who went under the name of Melody returned to Rythme Romantique, an entertainment lounge which exclusively caters to the wealthiest people of Monaco — or in this case, to the people with a status that are recognized by all. Her three exclusive performances were meant to be a closure for her connections in the principality. Still, a certain Formula One driver saw it as an opportunity to reconnect with his former flame after two years of her absence. Felicity Vos learned that this was a rich man’s world and that he could do whatever he wanted, but she also realized that the agreement they settled on years ago was corrupted the moment he expressed his love for her.

Content warning: Age gap, use of explicit language, possible mature content (not in this chapter), mentions of past sugar daddy/baby gone romantic relationship, possessive!asshole!Lewis mentioned, burlesque (2010) movie vibes, really shitty French-translated dialogue.

Note: I have not watched Burlesque for a good while but I listen to shitloads of songs that give performer/singer/showgirl vibes??? I hope this works out lol. Enjoy xx

masterlist

i. million dollar man

"you're screwed up and brilliant look like a million dollar man. so why is my heart broke?"

Felicity Vos couldn’t remember the last time she made her presence known in the principality. She lived in Monaco for years as a nobody — she was just some 24-year-old woman who hoped to get through the day before she put on her best costume and makeup for work. She only performed to put money in her pocket. Living in Monaco wasn’t cheap, after all. She did everything she could to maintain her private space, working at the lounge every night to get the biggest tips from the wealthiest people in Monaco.

Nothing more, nothing less.

She couldn’t remember the last time she was a nobody in Monaco. Had it been for her natural beauty and the typical streetwear of the principality, she would’ve stood out already, and everyone would know that Formula One’s mysterious “lady seducer” made her return to Monaco.

She hadn’t wanted to gather that much attention now. It was bad enough that her three nights coincided with the Monaco Grand Prix weekend. She couldn’t bear the thought of being hounded by journalists curious about her absence/being for the past two years.

I was just a nobody, she told herself. She wasn’t even anyone’s ex-girlfriend. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a stable relationship with a man.

But everyone in the F1 community knew that she was something. That was for sure. The man's popularity and their agreement pulled her away from the anonymity she craved after ending things with him.

2019

The first thing that the bartender, her friend René, had spewed out just as she finished her performance had something to do with the beehive hairstyle she sported and how it coincided with ‘Fuck Me Pumps’ by Amy Winehouse, whose iconic style included the mentioned hairstyle.

René told her Melody was the complete opposite of Amy Winehouse with her tattooless skin, bright blonde hair, and wide-set eyes. But Melody’s voice, René told her, was meant to sing about the men who’d fuck women over.

Then her attention turned away from him when a server approached the speaking young adults, leaning over to tell them both about a lone man sitting on an empty booth, asking for Melody’s company as they all peered at the dimly lit corner booth. They couldn’t see if he was looking in their direction, but Felicity (Melody) could tell he was attractive.

It wasn’t unusual for clients or audience members to request a sit-down time with the singer of the night, so Melody merely asked her coworker to serve them some drinks before walking in his direction.

His genuine smile and curiosity certainly pulled her closer if you were to ask her. She knew who he was. Lewis Hamilton. This place was Monaco, after all. What kind of a caveman would you have to be to not know who Lewis Hamilton was? Even the Neanderthals would ask for an autograph should they see him pass by.

She sat with him and asked how he was liking his stay in Monaco after the new year. In exchange, he provided answers and asked her certain questions.

Is your name really Melody? Mmm… such an in-depth question for a stranger, don’t you think?

Do you just sing Amy Winehouse? She was my inspiration, after all. This is how I pay tribute. Do you have a request? Perhaps I can sing it next time you visit— not that a man like you would be dead seen entering such a place.

How about you? How are you liking Monaco? Whoever said that this place was for easy living would be a liar. I get paid more than I used to, but university and rent still beg for more.

How long have you been doing this? Four years. Singing and dancing at the same time takes a lot of practice.

She was thankful to have been the performer to put on the middle show of the night. She hadn’t needed to worry about being the performer of the night, and her conversation with him seemed to have lasted until the end of the show.

She expected him to not return after that night, with him leaving her two hundred euros in cash and tipping the servers the same amount— she would’ve expected him to hand this as a form of a farewell gift.

But he offered those as a welcoming gift. Because by the next night, Melody’s eyes shifted to where he sat, only to find him leaning back against the booth seat. His head was slightly bobbing as musicians hit those 4/4 beats. He sat there while she sang beautifully, her hair teased into a beehive hairstyle, and her body wrapped around loose strings of pearls and rhinestones.

He returned the night after that… then after… he returned for days. Apparently, Monaco had been so boring for him that he chose to spend his time listening to the beautiful voice of Melody. He later confessed that he couldn’t seem to get away from her.

But instead of offering a date, he offered to fly her to Australia for the first round of the racing season. Fuck that. He offered to pay and give her everything— in exchange, she travels around with him during his races as a “partner.” He said it would benefit both of them if they entered this agreement. She would get the money, and he would have an increase of positivity in his image.

Her mouth quickly slipped out the word “yes,” the next thing she knew, she was saying goodbye to her coworkers of four years. She was always welcome to perform should she decide to, and would pay her good money for her rare performances.

Then her flat was fully paid for the next six months. Right after that, she was driven to a department store to find some clothes and bags to pack for her endless trips. She had gowns tailored and altered for her in case she needed to be in attendance for his formal and black tie events.

She was only meant to be there as an eye candy, one that would hold hands with Lewis as he made his way down the paddock to the Mercedes garage. She had no name besides Melody. She was only Melody, and she was alright with that— she wanted to keep the privacy that she had left, after all.

She was good at avoiding journalists and their questions about Lewis’ past relationships and his title as the Mercedes playboy. She often stayed put and kept her attention trained on him as he raced or Roscoe, who had grown dearly in her heart. She had never gone as far as sharing a conversation with his coworkers, only offering them a small smile before she walked off with a refresher in hand. The only one she seemed to have a good conversation with besides Toto Wolff was his teammate, Valtteri Bottas. But even then, she could feel his body radiate in possessiveness that she didn’t know he had. He’d always hold her close.

He hadn’t even realized that Melody shifted from a nobody to a somebody despite not having a surname. It was quite a shame she had to embrace someone’s fame and be under scrutiny for it.

PRESENT

“Am I seeing things, or is it really the woman who brought the glory in the Ryhtme Romantique?” Felicity shook herself out of her thoughts as she turned around and grinned, watching as René outstretched his arms. She squealed at the sight of him and jumped into his arms, earning a grunt from him as he said, “Mon dieu, ma fille, is this how Zurich and New York had treated you?”

“This is how I greet people I miss,” Felicity exclaimed. “Not that you feel the same towards me, arsehole.”

“Such language,” René scoffed mockingly. “I know I haven’t heard you speak like that before.” They both fell silent before laughing at the joke. She seduced like a siren, yet she swore like a sailor, René once told her.

The 28-year-old woman waved it off, “Tell me you haven’t picked me up in Nice just so you can bring up my lack of manners? Otherwise, I’m walking away.”

“Gah, and who’ll pick you up?” René grinned, now grabbing her suitcase and pulling it next to him. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to go to Monte Carlo knowing that they’ll hound you when alone. People aren't that subtle when it comes to you.”

“That right?” Felicity asked. She'd only performed once throughout those two years of her “relationship” with a Formula One driver. She freelanced because of how much she had missed it. She remembered having to convince him to allow her to do it for once, and she swore she never craved for something more than the lounge's music and atmosphere.

“Yes,” René answered her, “you made your character known by everyone. Everyone knew Melody, not Felicity. Melody became a household name after her one-night appearance when everyone learned about her from Formula One. Wealthy people saw talent… and yeah. Now they’re eager to spend much money just to see you.”

This helped her grow a backbone, somehow. She continued to press on the topic, “And by that…?”

“It will be a full house,” René had already placed her suitcase in the car trunk before he stood with his chest puffed out. “One hour of you and Amy Winehouse on the stage in three nights is worth my mortgage for my house in North America.”

Felicity chuckled and shook her head, making herself comfortable in his passenger seat with the seatbelt buckle snapping.

“So,” Felicity leaned back against her seat before turning to the man beside her, “what did I miss in Monaco?”

“I thought you didn’t miss Monaco?” René laughed, starting up his vehicle.

Felicity scoffed at the comment, “I missed Monaco.”

She just didn’t miss the man that she met in the principality. After all, she would have remained as nothing if he didn’t treat her like she was the only one. She preferred her life before she met him. She liked the way of living she had in Monaco before him.

2019

She probably should have settled for less, but what should she do? It was the only dress that he liked on her. She felt she would impose the mermaid white dress with the intricate baroque style and pearl details, but his praise and encouragement told her otherwise.

Besides, with her making a bet that lasted for an entire season, she really couldn’t chicken out of it now that Lewis got his 6th world championship. She really couldn’t disappoint him like that.

So she became the woman of the awarding night. Wrapped around her neck was a layered pearl choker, letter L carved into gold with three teardrop-shaped pearls dangling off it, much like Anne Boleyn’s.

Unlike the first time she appeared at the paddock, she walked into the event hall with her smile dazzling the crowd— even those photographers who seemed eager to capture the moments of the couple arriving hand in hand. She didn’t feel discomfort at all, not after all those months of feeling lost in the paddock while she tried finding her way around the Mercedes area. Angela Cullen had never worked this hard to guide someone, but she never saw Melody as an obligation or responsibility. She loved the girl, in fact.

She was known to be quiet by the drivers in the grid. She didn’t feel comfortable speaking to everyone during the entire season as she saw how most of them looked at her. Nobody even knew who the fuck she was, just her first name- her stage name. Sebastian Vettel was kind enough to walk up close and introduce himself to her as if she hadn’t known him already. He was the closest thing she had to a comfort zone that wasn’t just Bottas, talking to him here and there whenever they passed by one another in the paddock.

If she was being honest, she felt as if nobody knew what her job entailed as “Lewis’ partner.” Sebastian understood at the very beginning what she was to the Mercedes driver but had said nothing against nor about it. She already didn’t feel comfortable with the other drivers staring, so if he was to say anything about her relationship was just another level of friendship he’d have to reach.

The only thing that Sebastian had offered her was, “If you’d like to have a friend that isn’t just Roscoe, I’ll be at my motorhome. Feel free to stop by anytime!”

So by the time she arrived at the awarding with Lewis, her eyes brightened at the sight of the German driver. Sebastian waved at them, making the girl wave back eagerly.

Lewis chuckled quietly, “I didn’t know you and Seb were friends.”

Melody giggled in the same volume, “He considers me his best friend as of this moment. I suppose that happens when you’re not being looked at or linked to Sir Lewis Hamilton.”

“Cheeky girl,” Lewis grinned, his touch feeling familiar to her skin as he held her soft hand. Pulling her closer, Lewis greeted everyone they’d passed by. Melody merely nodded in their direction while her smile didn’t reach her ears, barely looking away from Lewis as if he was the only man she could focus on.

She probably should have settled for less, but Lewis wanted her to shine as much as he did that night. He was a 6-time world champion, after all. If he was shining, he made sure that she was, too.

PRESENT

With her embellished leotard and shoes sparkling under the spotlight and her face coated with confidence and seductiveness, her eyes zeroed in on the men who had just walked into the intimate environment of Rythme Romantique with a sultry smile. Some of them nearly recoiled at the expression she gave them.

“Formula One driver had reserved tables for tonight,” René told her earlier today, “some might come back tomorrow and Sunday after their race. Their managers told Lita about you and how they’ve wanted to see you perform since they learned about you from the Mercedes team.”

It wasn’t anything fearsome if you were to ask Melody. She only offered them a welcoming (yet seductive) smile, but perhaps they considered it quite daunting and intimidating. It wasn’t as if she was inviting them to her bed.

She supposed that it was because of the fact that they’d stepped into her turf. She was in their place once— being in the paddock and feeling out of business? Yeah, she understood what they felt. Somehow.

“Oh my,” she purred, eyes trained on each driver as some of them visibly gulped at the sight of her. This Dolce & Gabbana did wonders on every man she had encountered at the beginning of her performance. She was only halfway through the hour, and from what she had counted— there should be about eight men who were nervous at her presence.

Her eyes shifted from the Ken-esque man (with his blond hair, blue eyes and pretty face) to the pair of green eyes that stared right at her and her figure. She crouched down to get to their level seeing as she was a stage higher than them.

She did a headcount for a moment. She could see familiar faces— but most of them were older. A grin on the man behind Ken told her that it was Daniel Ricciardo. And the man next to Ricciardo was Max Verstappen. The 2021 World Champion.

“Isn’t this a sight to see,” she chuckled almost breathlessly, her breath softly nearing her bedazzled microphone. She stared at the green eyes ahead of her, “Première fois?” First time?

The man nodded and replied, “Oui.”

“Et tes amis? Ont-ils déjà été ici?” How about your friends? Have they been here before? She asked, looking at the men behind him.

“Certains d'entre eux vivent ici,” some of them live here. The man replied.

“Est-ce que c'est oui?” Is that a yes? Melody asked with a raised eyebrow, leaving the audience to laugh.

“Peut-être,” maybe. Charles Leclerc shrugged with a smile. She let out a giggle for a moment before nodding.

“Bienvenu,” Welcome. Melody winked. They all found their seats, but she couldn’t find the one she was looking for as she was doing a repeated headcount. Then she remembered that the corner booth had been changed to a reserved area when she left. She could only imagine who sat there. It was a seat reserved for the man who only came to the lounge to speak with her.

Her eyes flickered at the table before turning at the drivers, “Welcome to Rythme Romantique. I hope this show eases the tension of tomorrow’s qualifying race.”

“And I hope you’re not offended by the end of this show,” she giggled quietly, “because I’ve had men walk out of shows because of Amy Winehouse.”

“What kind of fuckery are we?” She sang, her hips swaying as she gestured at the drivers with her gemstone-covered gloves, “Nowadays, you don’t mean dick to me.”

Her blonde hair swung as she looked toward the corner booth, “I might let you make it up to me.”

“Who’s playing Saturday?” She winked at the drivers, hearing as the men cheered and pointed at themselves. “One of you better get a pole this time.”

“Mr. Destiny, nine and 14. Nobody stands in between me and my man. 'Cause it's me and Mr. Jones…”

“Me and Mr. Jones…”

The live band had put on an end to the song and her show, every man and woman standing to applaud her. She took a deep breath before letting out a sultry smile, taking in her audience's applause and whistles. Her painted lips puckered up, and she blew a kiss to the audience, her foot picking up the fur coat that she discarded at the beginning of her show to put it on. She offered the drivers one more ‘good luck’ before walking off and heading to the bar.

She hadn’t felt this good about performing at the Monaco Lounge since the last time she appeared in 2020. That extravagant entertainment hall at Hotel Ritz didn’t make her as happy as it should have. The richest of the richest gave her the attention and money she dreamt of when she became an adult, but something about this place made her… happier. Or rather, better about herself.

Sharing a conversation with René hadn’t lasted long enough when a new server walked up to them to let the two know about the guest in the corner booth.

René looked at Felicity with worry as he said, “You really don’t have to go, City.”

“No, no,” Felicity waved off his concern, “he paid to speak and see me. I can’t really disappoint Lita now, can’t I?”

“You’d really let your heart break like that again?” René asked her, “What if he’s actually got a girl this time?”

Felicity merely stared at him, indifference written all over her face. Quite a facade, her face covered. René sighed exasperatedly, “Alright. I’ll get you the rum and coke. Felicity, you can back out anytime.”

“I know,” Felicity nodded, adjusting her corset with a sigh. “I’ll walk out if I want to. He lost me once, and I’ll make sure he knows he can lose me again.”

No amount of alcohol could make her feel as relaxed as she wanted, so she settled for one glass of rum and coke only. There were a lot of things that could have happened within two years, and that didn’t exclude him.

But god, his face remained as young as it was four years ago. It didn’t age as the years went on.

She sat across him, the marble table the only thing separating them. He watched as she made herself as comfortable as she could be. She could tell that a smile threatened to show on his face, keeping his composure as much as an ex-lover could when they met their former flame for the first time in years.

“Lewis,” she nodded curtly, her eyes trained on him before it shifted to the server who dropped off her drink and his. Felicity offered the server a grateful smile before it disappeared just as the younger woman left the booth.

He grabbed his drink and spoke, “Mel.”

She nearly winced at the nickname. Nobody called her Mel but him.

“When did you fly back?” Lewis Hamilton was known for many things - and being civil to anyone was one of them. She remembered how he always had to keep a straight face in the same room as his former best friend. Nico Rosberg had a fairly long history with him that ended poorly, so for him to show indifference? It was a Lewis Hamilton signature. It didn’t surprise her that he’d ask this as if he hadn’t broken their agreement long before she did.

“Just earlier today,” Felicity answered, her voice was equally indifferent. “I flew to Nice and was picked up. I couldn’t miss the ride at the French Riviera.”

“You’ve always liked the scenery,” Lewis chuckled, sipping his drink before setting it on the table. “You did amazing.”

“Thank you,” Felicity nodded.

“Like you always did,” Lewis continued, not even caring about the small expression that eventually fell off as he spoke.

“Hm, really?” Felicity almost scoffed with a shake of her head. “Last time we were together, I wasn’t even allowed to be near a stage.”

“You were with me,” Lewis pointed out, “flying worldwide. As you wanted and had agreed on.”

“I had to get drunk enough to get up the bar counter and sing my arse off just so you’d have no control of it,” Felicity reminisced, grinning at herself when she recalled the moment.

Silverstone GP afterparty, the year 2020. She wasn’t as drunk as he was, but she grew enough backbone to ask for a microphone and Christina Aguilera’s Candyman on the bar’s speakers – max volume. She remembered her feet moving like they were all swing dancing and being hoisted off the bar counter by Daniel Ricciardo while they all drank and her voice hit the falsetto. The drivers were rather impressed regardless of the amount of alcohol they consumed. Lewis wasn’t as impressed as the others. He’d seen it before. He hadn’t appreciated how easily she made friends with the men around her – so seeing her shy away from them the next race was a win for him.

“I couldn’t stop you even if I did,” Lewis laughed as if it was a normal conversation. “Everyone’s way into it.”

Felicity almost laughed at his face. He stopped her when she agreed to become his company, practically handing her her year’s worth of rent and salary just as she nodded. He stopped her rhythm from flowing, but she allowed it as she wanted to live an easier life. One where she didn’t have to be taunted by her family’s constant words of discouragement. It turned out that being someone’s pretty young thing wasn’t as easy if you fell for the unattached man.

He leaned back, observing the sight before him before asking, “Did Switzerland and America treat you right?”

Her head shot up at the question before asking in return, “Do you want the truth?”

“Yes, please,” Lewis answered genuinely. He hadn’t expected to last an hour in the bar, let alone thirty minutes in the same booth as her. He could remember how his lack of commitment and false confessions destroyed her, and he wasn’t sure he could see her in that place anymore. But he stayed in his seat, watching as she practically inhaled her spiked drink before she settled it on the table.

Crossing her legs, she wrapped her coat tightly around her body as the temperature at the booth decreased. She replied, “I was more than surprised that you found someone who could immediately fly me to another country just so I can sing far from the principality.”

Felicity could remember the email sent to her by some management in Zurich and New York. They were interested in meeting with her because of a recommendation from a musician who had seen her perform more than twice. It didn’t take her long to realize it was Lewis’ doing. She had ended whatever it was a week before the email was sent, so it was his doing. But rather than fuming at the thought that he was more than willing to send her away from Monaco, she immediately contacted them and took whatever they had to offer.

“I lived here for four years,” she scoffed, “before I even met you. This was my home. I can’t even consider my flat in New York as such.”

“What’s your plan then?” Lewis asked. “Are you planning to return to Monaco then?”

“And return to this lounge? Where most drivers would probably frequent in when they learn that Melody’s back in town?” Felicity snorted, “I’d rather not.”

“Why not?” He asked, “You love this place.”

“I do,” she stood up, noticing how his eyes became more cautious as she cleared her throat, “I am tired of the chasing I had to do, though. It’s not always me who has to work on it. Sometimes, they have to chase the woman, too. It’s not a one-way street for me anymore. Good luck tomorrow–”

“Wait,” her goosebumps rose when she felt his hand touching her skin, turning back when he pulled on her wrist as she watched him stand. He pulled out an envelope, leaving the package in her hand as she gripped it lightly. Lewis nearly stammered, “Invite whoever you want.”

“I’m not going, Hamilton,” she couldn’t even shove it back to him as he held her wrist, squeezing it lightly as a sign of plea. Just be there tomorrow. And Sunday.

“It’ll only be two days,” his voice might’ve shown nothing of desperation, but his eyes pleaded with her. “Two days of racing and your shows.”

She sighed exasperatedly. She was already exhausted from having to pretend that this was okay. She really hadn’t wanted to see him. But this was Monaco, and this weekend was the principality’s race weekend, so she could have at least prepared herself mentally.

“I’ll see what I can do,” was all she muttered before pulling away from him as she walked out of the booth with a murmur of, “Good night.”

She was certain that this jetlag of hers wouldn’t wear out. Not when this weekend was a case of clusterfuck that was going to leave her restless. She wasn’t excited to know what would come her way at the very end of this week.

PS. what did you think? Send me an ask!

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the-cat-at-the-theatre-door · 21 days ago

Note

Hello there! I am currently in rehearsals for a production of cats! I am a disabled soprano and a more feminine person visually. I was wondering if mayhaps you’d have any advice or suggestions for playing the part with more feminine characteristics.

Also we are not actually cats in our production but we are representing the unhoused community of New York, a good chunk of our ticket sales are going to shelters and whatnot, very good cause. But it has made finding my character a tad difficult without the feline aspect.

I hold great respect and love for the part and I want to do him justice. Thank you!!

Hello! Congratulations on being cast in a production of CATS, and I hope your rehearsals are smooth sailing - it's always exciting to be part of a production of anything, and while the work is hard, the result is always worth it for, if nothing else, the experience alone.

Hmm, I'm not sure which part it is you've been cast in, unless I missed something - that might help the suggestion train a little, though I'm hardly any expert. Realistically, there is no real *wrong* way to perform a part in CATS since so much is left up to interpretation. There are baselines that give general suggestion, of course, but one of the fun parts really is taking that limited suggestion and building whatever you'd like on top of it. Playing whatever part it is with what we would classify as more stereotypically "feminine" characteristics, quite literally just means it's an interpretation of that character who happens to have more feminine characteristics - it would not otherwise make them any less the character in question. Plus dance (particularly Gillian Lynne's styles of "cat dance") very often relies on softer shapes and more fluid movement. I'm sure you'll do the character justice!

Irt finding the character to be difficult without the feline aspect (which honestly I find the restructuring of it representing the unhoused community of New York to be quite fascinating, as CATS does have underlying themes of class relation that would work interestingly here) - I find it helps to think in these terms: Old Possum's is a collection of poems about regular/extraordinary individuals - the catch (and the underlying joke) is that they are felines, so realistically they aren't actually doing any of the things the omnipotent narrator is saying they are doing. They are doing feline approximations of thievery and magic and going to gentleman's clubs and "adjusting picture frames" and working on trains. Removing this aspect of felinity does remove a level of humour and maybe a *touch* of charm, for certain, from the characters themselves, but what that really just means is that what these characters are and do no longer sits in a realm of implication or fantasy - it sits in reality.

Yes, Skimbleshanks actually does work on a train, and seems to be frequently gone (and seems to work like three people's jobs). Yes, Bustopher Jones actually is an aristocrat who frequents gentleman's and dinner clubs (so the fun part of that is what connection does he have with the Jellicles where they continue to be his infrequently visited social circle - or is he actually telling the truth about where he is on the class ladder, or is he putting on airs?). Yes, Gus was an actor of some acclaim who seems to mostly remember his theatre days but is too old to continue or feel like much use to anyone, and Jenny trained soldiers at some point, and Grizabella was a burlesque performer or flapper or any other sort of thing in that field you can imagine that is now washed up (due to? sky's the limit), and Jerrie and Teazer are cat burglars. Etc. etc. etc.

So, much like you already would partially do when they're cats, all you really need to do is dig into the humanity of the character you are playing. Who is this person if not a tongue in cheek cat joke? How did they end up where they are (in this case, for example, in the context of unhoused communities in NY). Perhaps you can add additional context to these - why are these people doing what they do? Why are they gathering together? What commonality do they have?

All in all - holding respect and love for a part always shines through in the care you show. I wouldn't worry too much about doing him "justice", anon - I would worry more about enjoying the experience and putting your own spin on a multi-decade legacy! Have fun with what you have, and it'll turn out.

#jellicles ask because jellicles dare #anonymous #speaking of #i've always thought CATS would make an excellent au non-replica production that is representative of the immigrants of the 1940s in NY

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tabbyhoney · 8 months ago

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Gorgeous

This story was inspired by "Fear of you" from @sleepwalkersqueen so go check the original out.

Note: Wuhu! Finished Chapter Two and Number Three is already in the making:). A little fun fact I had to rewrite this chapter because for some odd reason, Tumblr posted this and I panicked and had to delete it, it was a sad day. Hope you guys enjoy it and a big thanks for all the positive feedback♥

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Warning:curse words, still not a therapist so things may be more of an artistic choice than helpful, not sure if there are more warnings needed(tell me if I missed something)

Chapter 02

The world was filled with glowing lights and the sound of an excited crowd. The sweat dripped down my skin like the silver tears of a mystical being.

The movements of my body acted like an instinct I always had. My voice was caught by the microphone near my mouth and filled the stuffy room with a sound I remember so clearly.

When I looked to the side for a mere second I could see my best friend feeling exactly what I was feeling. The Ecstasy flooding through our veins pushed us to a performance unlike any other.

The feeling held up as we walked off the stage, my heart pounding in my chest as I tried to have a relatively steady walk.

Sitting down at the makeup table with the biggest smile I had ever seen on my face. My friend still hugged me tightly from the side, rubbing her head against my shoulder.

"That was the most amazingest show we ever did! And your singing Amaya!" Minori chimed happily.

"It really was, still can't believe I was allowed to sing, considering how strict the rules are here" I chuckled.

"I can already see one of those fancy managers seeing you and biting each other's heads off to get ya"

"I won't get my hopes up too high, I like sharing the stage with all of you afterall"

"Oh come now! You deserve more than an underground Burlesque bar to perform in. You have the talent to be more" Minori pulled up a chair beside mine, letting her body fall down on it like a doll.

"Like I said I will not get my hopes up too high, I still have my Psychology studies to focus on"

"I really can't seeya taking care of other peoples problems"

I roll my eyes with a smile before starting to redo my makeup.

I flinched when Minori started yelling suddenly.

"He texted!!!" She yelled and started shaking me violently.

"The big guy?" I ask while holding her in place on her shoulders.

"Yes! He texted, he wants to see me again"

"Just be careful, I don't trust the men coming here, especially not that one, heard he is a big fish in the undergound"

"I am sure it will be fine!" She said in a calm tone giving my shoulder a light tap to calm me.

Even with Minoris reassuring words the uneasiness I felt remained in the back of my head.

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

With a big thud, the door closed behind me, crashing in the locks like thunder. Like usual the room was empty except for a table and a chair placed in the middle, cold and unwelcoming.

With quick steps, I let my bag fall to the ground and sit down on the chair. Placing my coffee mug on it before correcting my posture and clicking my pen.

"Good morning" I greeted happily, eyes looking at the man sitting in front of me.

Still looking half asleep, probably hadn't been too long since they woke him up or perhaps he couldn't sleep. Even if one would think having been here for a year you would get used to the light always being on.

"How has it been?"

"You sound like a robot" he rasped. Chuckling ever so lightly, but this time a lot more tired than usual.

"And you sound half asleep so I guess we both have our issues to work out"

"Nah, have been awake for too long no issue"

"Did something happen?" I ask as my ears perked up in interest.

"Did no one tell the arrogant little princess?" He laughed in the most taunting way I ever heard him laugh "I had another mock execution"

I wrote that down before looking back up to him again.

"Well I am glad you are still here"

"Fuck.you"

"If you feel ready we can continue this or maybe we can talk about the-" I said ignoring his remark.

"Keep wishing I'll tell you anything" he snarled.

My mouth stayed open for a second before closing. Tapping my fingernails against the clipboard, take a deep breath as I try to find the correct words to use.

"Why is it that you still don't trust me? Not even a little bit?" I asked staring into his eyes with genuine interest.

"Aye, I have no reason to trust you. Besides I already have the number two as my lapdog"

"So you trust Endeavour because he proved one time that the conversations are private?"

"At least he proved it, unlike some humans" The way the word human rolled off his tongue sounded like the worst insult ever given to anyone.

"Very well," I say before rummaging through my bag. Taking out a yellow Bento box with some duckling stickers on it.

I opened the box and was met with the smell of rice, chicken, and some nicely cut vegetables.

"It is highly against the rules to give prisoners any kind of nutritious food, with the reasoning that they should not gain strength. I could lose my job for a simple thing like that" I explain already separating some chicken, rice, and a few vegetables on the box lid. "Real funny if you ask me".

I stand up to walk around the table and place the homemade plate in front of him. After that, with a quick motion, I loosened the chains so he would be able to eat for himself.

"It's poisoned," he said looking down with a suspicious eye on the food.

"Trust me it isn't"

"Prove it"

"No thanks"

"Then I won't eat it"

"It isn't poisoned. It wouldn't make sense for me to do so"

"At least one bite of the chicken" he argued.

I could feel the uneasiness creep up my spine.

"I don't eat chicken. My boyfriend made that for me so there shouldn't be any poisonous substances in it"

He stared at me for a moment. If it was because of the chicken or my boyfriend I couldn't tell.

His mouth opened and closed a few times before he was able to find the correct words.

"You have a boyfriend?"

The question didn't surprise me but it still felt rather stupid to even bring this up, on my part. Giving people, especially villains, a weak point is never good.

"Yes, now eat up"

"How? You sound way too arrogant for any man wanting to be near you, let alone fu-"

I stared at him wide-eyed. Feeling rage bubbling up inside of me that I try to suppress. I blinked maybe once, maybe twice before saying the most honest thing I could in that moment.

"First of all fuck you. Second I thought I told you to eat so please do before I decide to practice force-feeding on you"

"Please do" He laughed leaning his head to the side. "Would be my pleasure to bite your finger off"

"I won't do it"

"Hah! Knew you were jus-"

"Because that is one of the worst things I have ever seen done here and I don't want to practice that"

He stayed silent with an unreadable expression. After some time in silence passed he started to slowly eat the food. Very slowly he started chewing on each bite like he would need to leave if he finished too quickly.

I let him finish his food before packing it all away again, leaving his chains loose like I was not scared to be hurt by him.

"Did you have a partner?" I ask while drawing ugly little baby birds on my paper.

"I still have"

I stop mid-drawing to look up to him again. Leaning against the armchair tapping my chin with the pen lightly.

"Can I ask for their name or is that too much?"

He hesitated, that was clear with the way his gaze went to the side and his teeth biting his lip.

"Nitsuki" he mumbled.

I decided to not write that down, in favor of not accidentally sending an entire squad to her doorstep. Afterall she didn't exactly do anything harsh.

"What's your boyfriend's name?" He asked while looking at me with his piercing eyes. He sounded calmer again.

"Riku. What did you like about her?"

"She was calm, always. Couldn't read her for shit"

"That's what you liked about her? That's not the best trait to have if you ask me, sounds like she never cared much"

"I didn't ask you" he spat, clearly offended by how I spoke about her.

"Sorry. How did you two get together?"

"Why does this matter?"

"I am merely curious"

"Aye of course... It wasn't special, just met her and knew I should marry that girl"

"Wait hold on for a second!" I raise my hand in a waiting moment. "How long did you know her for you to decide to marry her?"

"Not long?"

"Are you braindead? You can't marry someone you just met, especially not if you can't even read her at least a little bit"

"Hawks mate for life, there is no undoing of falling in love and it was the right choice"

I didn't buy that, it sounded more like a one-sided thing and I haven't even got a lot of information.

"You may be a mutant but don't forget you are also human"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" He glared at me with rage in his eyes.

"It means exactly what I said. Someone who may be half-hawk doesn't mean they share every single trait. To put it simply, there is no one true mate for you, because that would be a trait for an actual hawk not a human like hawk"

I didn't know what I had expected to happen after my words. But perhaps him jumping at me trying to claw my eyes out with his talons wasn't really on my mind, especially since I was sure he had quirk suppressors and all that important safety stuff.

The only good side of this happening was that he still had chains and they were still too short to reach me...

...Once I moved two steps away from him.

My chair was falling to the cold ground with a loud noise that rang in my ears. My eyes were wide open from the shock, I could feel my body tensing up.

Breath

Now I knew for sure that I pushed his buttons too hard too soon. Even my instinct told me to run call it a day and a success but for some odd reason, I wanted to stay just a little longer.

I decided to sat down on the floor, crossing my legs. I closed my eyes for a second, only breathing and trying to blend out his yelling. Never thought he could become this aggressive.

Even if I wanted to blend out his yelling I still needed to listen to him to calm him.

"You have no fucking clue what it is like to be born a mutant!"

"You are just a dumb fucking bitch who does everything for money!"

"you don't know shit about me or my life!"

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

The scene right in front of me made me sick to my stomach. I didn't even look properly since I only got here but when Endeavour called me and told me about a motel where Shinyo probably was and what happened I couldn't shake the feeling of what I would do if it was true.

My eyes scanned over the crowd of people and the barricades from the police. With small steps, I started walking inside the crime scene, the motel where it happened.

Endeavor was standing at the side talking to policemen. As I walked over to where the body was lying.

Some police officers made sure I knew the rules before allowing me to take a closer look.

I don't think any words would be able to describe the pure horrific, disgusting horror lying in front of me.

No one would blame me for not looking too long.

I turned around on my heel and walked over to Endeavour.

"Endeavour," I said looking up at the big flame hero "Can we talk?"

"Hmph" he puffed and walked with me to the side, steps so heavy it felt and sounded like the floor would break.

"Why am I even here? We both know it wasn't him"

"We know that yes, but he was here I am sure. And since I can't calm the public alone I need someone who worked with him on a different level"

And again it sounded like I didn't had much of a choice

Getting some fresh air after talking and getting into a nice little restaurant was a good idea. Sitting down on a table and being greeted by an...

Abnormally large chef was a good thing happening.

"What can I do for you little lady?" He asked with a gentle smile.

"Oh just something to eat, as long as there is no meat in it everything is fine" I lean back in the chair stretching my arms.

"Of course!" The chef said and disappeared into the kitchen.

Beside me the restaurant was empty. It smelled of various different foods and spices that bundled up into a mouthwatering experience.

"Is it okay if it tastes like meat?" He yelled from the kitchen. What a sweet considered man.

"It is, as long as it isn't chicken" I answer.

When he placed the food in front of me I thanked him nicely before starting to eat the noodle soup he prepared.

The TV was running quietly in the background and I heard him humming while he was cleaning a table.

The soup was delicious. I never was the best at describing food or perhaps it was the strong taste of pork that filled all my predatory senses with delight but this noodle soup was the best thing I ever ate.

"It's really good" I tell him while swallowing a bite.

"Oh thank you! I tried to make it something special, rarely does someone ask for something without meat" he explained happily.

The news had a tendency to replay itself quite often. Hearing them talk about the motel crime and linking it to Shinyo I groaned annoyed.

"Seriously, they can't even listen to people telling them facts"

"Huh? What do you mean by that? This is horrible what happened, especially since he escaped prison..." The chef said in an odd tone of voice. I can hear his heartbeat going up.

"It wasn't Takami. I worked with him for five years in prison and Endeavour agrees"

"Wait what?"

"Believe it or not but that man is actually a pretty decent guy, if we forget about his crimes of course, and general mental problems," I explain while continuing eating "But now I wanna know why you look so pale and sound like you are hiding something".

"Oh uh... It's nothing" He stopped cleaning and looked over at me with an uneasy expression.

"You sure? If he was here I would appreciate it if you told me"

"I can't"

"The threat he gave you will not hold up if you tell him Howashi asked"

"I uh... But my... My son..."

"Trust me"

He tapped his foot nervously on the ground while playing with the towel in his hand. He cleared his throat and nodded.

"Alright... Yes, he was here with his little son. I gave them something to eat and a sewing kit, he had a wound he closed with uh... His son together."

"Did he say where he would wanna go?"

"No, I am sorry I don't know"

"It's fine, thank you very much."

I finish my food and walk up to him to pay.

"Keep the change, as a payment for the food he for sure didn't pay for"

"oh no no no! I gave it to them for his son"

"It's fine, really."

With a last wave goodbye, I left the nice restaurant I plan on visiting more frequently. Pulling out my phone and typing a message for an old friend of mine I haven't talked to in years.

I wonder what dumb thing Shinyo is doing now.

#fear of you #mha #shinyo takami #takami shinyo #thief takami #mha endeavor #mha fear of you #mha foy #bnha fear of you

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hazelfoureyes · 13 days ago

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A Doe in Fall (Part 13)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

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

Late? Yes. Buuuuut

If ya missed it:

Oct 19th Kinktober Day 19 - Proffer smut💦 Oct 13th Kinktober Day 13 - Handled smut💦

Where we left off: Autumn got released from the station to learn Alastor is at an unknown place called the Golden Dish.

Part 13 The Release

Two idiots meet on a sidewalk, one is drunk and one is stressed. Angst ensues. First Half is reader’s POV, second is Alastor’s POV.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem!Reader, two parts in one, still not smut cuz we’re waiting for the special moment, surprise Latin, Alastor drunkenly remembers his accent, angst, first fights, muffled confessions, bare feet, too much alcohol, Mimzy is her own tag, I promise she’ll be back」

MDNI 🥃 😵‍💫

The Release (Autumn)

Your relief Alastor wasn’t there was clouded by the slight hurt Alastor wasn’t there.

Any ability to mask your true feelings left you with the exhaustion of being arrested at work, in front of customers and companions alike. This was made obvious by Johnny’s slight pat to your shoulder, “Want me to walk you there?”

You shook your head. Everyone already knew too much.

“It’s not too far, I think… I’ll be fine.” You could imagine Alastor’s panicked face. Had you ever actually seen it though?

With a wave, you left Johnny and began the walk to, presumably, the Golden Dish. It was cold, already the night bringing a chill. Eyes to your feet, you realized you were still in her shoes.

Where had she walked in New Orleans? Where did she meet Alastor’s father? You had to wonder what he had looked like. Surely he was handsome. Was he kind to her, like Alastor was to you? Or had it been a one night stand?

A small smile, she didn’t look like the type but looks could be deceiving. Alastor didn’t look like the kind of man who kissed bloodied cheeks and tossed heads into holes.

Flipping the card over again, you lifted it to the light.

Tentatively you brought it to your nose and gave it a sniff. No perfume.

The list of possibilities ran wild.

You knew he wasn’t a virgin, and he’d mentioned before he’d been happily coupled with others before his preferences became their frustrations. But you’d never stopped to really imagine it past a fleeting image. Alastor kissing someone else. Alastor going down on someone else. Did he enjoy it as much as he enjoyed you?

It wasn’t necessarily jealousy, but your stomach did a little flip. Did they properly express their gratitude? Doubtful. How many times did he acquiesce to his partner’s wants and then be treated like it was the expectation and not an exception of his affections?

It wasn’t as late as you had thought and the streets were busy. It made you feel a little safer. Not having a purse helped that.

You weren’t entirely sure where Rosseau was, and after stopping a very lovely looking couple, you got hastily pointed toward the water. Anxiously, you kicked up your pace. The closer you got, the more nervous you were to see him. Not knowing how he felt, be it angry or worried or a mix of the two, was doing you in. Turning left, you practically jogged down the street in search of The Golden Dish.

On the first pass, you didn’t find it. You crossed the street and tried again, getting more of the buildings into sight. Nothing.

Crossing back, you found the door with a shiny golden number three.

The restaurant looked nice, but it wasn’t the Golden Dish. The name above the door was Grano D'oro.

You leaned into the alley, hoping maybe there was a man waiting with a secret door. It was pristine; no men, no trash, no mystery liquids.

Taking a moment to smooth your hair and adjust your dress, you walked in.

The entrance was lavish, the floor a black and white marble and fixtures that shined like gold. A man stood behind a host stand, looking at you expectantly. When you were within a few feet, he asked if you had a reservation.

“Uh, no. I’m looking for Alastor.”

“Does Alastor have a reservation?” He looked down, presumably at a paper of names, and then back up at you.

You looked past the parted red curtains into the dining room. “I don’t think so…ah! I have a card.” You handed it over and he gave it a look, flipping it over before nodding. “Just a moment, miss. Please wait here. You’re welcome to use the ladies room to clean up.”

From insulted to panicked, you realized you’d forgotten about your face. Pushing the heavy wooden door open to the bathroom, your reflection caught you off guard. Your eyes were encircled in black, scleras red, blush smeared into your hairline, and your lips were soft around the edges from misplaced lipstick. You looked like a wreck in human form.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” you grabbed a tissue from the nearest stall and wetted it under the faucet, removing every bit of make up you could. The skin under your eyelashes still had a darkness to them and nothing could be done for the bloodshot eyes, but you let that go. You did away with the lipstick entirely, and most of the blush was out of your hair and off your cheeks. Now you just looked tired.

Mortified, you remembered the couple you’d stopped and asked for directions from. They must have thought you’d had a fight or were some loon. Hell, maybe that was why no one stopped to bother you.

With one more glance at your disheveled appearance you sheepishly returned to the entrance and peeked into the dining room again. Everyone was dressed so nicely. You could imagine Alastor fitting in quite well. The host returned, not saying a word and sans Alastor. Before you could find the courage to ask him anything, a hand smacked your arm from behind.

“I thought you’d be more fatale and less femme. Anyways, your deadweight’s in the alley.”

A small woman with bleach blonde hair had snuck up behind you, seemingly from the outside, “He’s got his card back. He’s your problem now!”

She brushed past you and disappeared into the restaurant.

“Have a nice evening.” The host dismissed you. A confused pause, the series of events had been so fast you were left quite literally spun around.

When you tentatively turned back to leave, you saw Alastor stumbling onto the sidewalk.

“Hey! Alastor.” You half shouted, Alastor seemingly unaware of his surroundings. Apparent in how he nearly collided into a group passing the restaurant.

He turned, smiled, and rushed towards you. Taking your head in his hands he kissed you on the lips, and when you pulled back he leaned in, tongue pressing into your mouth.

You screamed into his mouth, pushing him off. Looking back briefly before dragging him away, you saw the host staring at you through the clear windowed door. He was not impressed. As much as you enjoyed his kisses, it was out of character and out of class to make out on the sidewalk.

Parks were different. Parks were made for such things.

“What has gotten into you? You taste like a fucking distillery.” You reached the corner of the street and stopped, “Where’s your car?”

He was drunk. Completely smashed. Normally you wouldn’t care, drunk Alastor could be quite cute. But you’d been prepared for and in need of someone to talk to. Someone to ease the mess of feelings in your gut. Instead you were handed a job as caretaker and impromptu driver. You’d have to wait until the morning for any kind of sympathetic comfort.

He hadn’t even mentioned the arrest yet or asked you how you were. Yes, he looked elated to see you. Eyes wide and adoring when he took you by the face. But you needed more than adoration now. And instead you had a mess of a man struggling to maintain his balance.

On the safety of his porch, or perhaps together at a bar, it’d be just fine.

But this was neither safe nor fine.

Alastor pulled his arm from your hold, “At that little park. Audubon.” He pointed west, saying it with a perfect accent. “Anyway, I’m gonna kill him. Maybe right now! Did I tell ya? I know where he lives.” He crossed the street without looking.

You had to run to catch up to him, his long legs carrying him further and faster than you. It took a second to understand who he was talking about, clearly he’d been having a silent conversation until now. “Alastor. You’re drunk. No.” You managed to get in front of him, eyes surely begging.

“Alastor, yes. He’s got two kids, a wife. He stays out late, obsessin’ over us no doubt.”

“Alastor!” He stumbled past you and toward the park. “Hey. You can’t-,”

He wheeled around on his heels, hand pointing a sharp finger at you.

“Who are you to stop me? To tell me,” a pause as he lost his balance and leaned too far to the right, catching himself with a sneer to his own legs. He turned back and continued on his way, “what I can and cannot do.” You stopped. The sound of his mother’s shoes no longer snapping behind him made Alastor pause his clumsy march and look back at you. “Are ya really not comin’?” His sharp tone had shifted down to a whiny, almost pleading one.

“Who am I, Alastor?” In the past you’d try to hide when you were wounded, as prey animals often do. But you were different from who you were before. Already, you were changed. Hiding yourself from him felt like betrayal, so you’d abandoned it some time ago. Your chin quivered, hands gripping the sides of your dress in stress. Your eyes were pleading with him to not do this. To not throw you away so easily. Diminish you with one slurred sentence. It felt like a dare to your pride. A choice, your self respect or his attention. It was a rhetorical question, as the answer would be a revelation to an entirely different quandary.

He laughed, “Now who’s drunk?” Your arms crossed your chest and your eyes narrowed further into slits.

“I thought you’d stop if I asked. I thought I was your equal in this.”

“Well!” He gawked, “This is different. He isn’t like the others. Mister Detective Kenneth Brady is-,” he practically yelled it into the night.

“Shhh!” You hissed, a couple crossing the street to put distance between you both and themselves, “Give me your key. You can’t drive like this.”

Alastor stared you down, his height finally mattering in a way you didn’t like.

Your eyes narrowed further, Alastor. Unspoken and yet screamed across the sidewalk. You weren’t scared of him, of his height or his sharp eyes or the fact you knew he so often carried a knife beneath his vest. No. Because he was a smart man and a smart man would never be so stupid as to physically harm you. Not unless he planned to kill you. And Alastor wouldn’t do that unless you were honestly bad.

The only way he could ever truly hurt you was with that cutting muscle behind his teeth.

He tried to straighten his back to gather some kind of dignity and perhaps a show of dominance but stumbled backwards. He caught himself again with the brick wall beside him.

Mind racing, you had to think of alternatives. Fight him for the keys? Cut into his tires? Just leave him to his own selfish devices?

He could afford to fix the rubber tires, you thought. You couldn’t afford him running off the road.

“If you want me to come with you, I am driving. Make your decision now.” You put your hand out, an indication there was only one answer you expected. When his eyes flitted from your palm to your face and stared blankly, you closed it. “I won’t let a man waste my time when I’m just trying to help him. You’ve got me confused with someone else.”

Turning around, you walked the way you’d both just come because truth be told you had no idea how to get home from where you were. You just needed to get away from him before you said something you didn’t mean. Before he said something you couldn’t forget.

You’d barely gotten five steps when you heard a clank to the ground. Turning just enough to see behind you, you noticed the car door key on the sidewalk. Alastor’s grin wide and childlike.

Never had you felt true anger for him before. The water rising in your chest raged against your ribs and you were sure you’d drown in your own fury before long. Another second of imagined possibilities — kick them into the storm drain, throw them into a bush, take them and leave entirely.

Before you could pick one he stumbled over while bent in half the entire time, scooping the keys and holding them out for you to take.

A list of names flew over your tongue but stayed behind your clenched teeth, snatching the keys from his hand and leaving him to struggle behind you.

The walk was silent, Alastor several paces behind you with his hands in his pockets.

He slumped against the passenger side window the entire car ride home. You struggled with the shifting stick, and he didn’t offer any help. A petulant brat pouting into the glass.

As soon as you’d gotten into the house Alastor made a sloppy beeline to the sofa and fell face first.

“You’re mad at me.” You said from the doorway, dropping his keys into the bowl beside the door. It felt odd, you were the one who had every right to be pissed. But he was showing it in a much more egregious way. His anger made the least sense to you.

“No. I’m mad.” He grabbed a pillow and tucked it under his head. “Full stop.”

Obviously, but why? Not an ounce of compassion could be managed for you? When you were the one who’d been humiliated and dragged from your place of work in handcuffs?

“You’re acting like a child. Go to your bed. I’ll sleep here.” Sleeping alone in his bed didn’t seem right.

“You’re talkin’ to me like a child.” He closed his eyes, apparently in a fake sleep.

“You really don’t see the connection between those two things?? Atleast— go to the guest bed.” His mother’s old room. You absolutely didn’t want to sleep there.

“No.” He didn’t look at you.

You stared for a moment, disbelief painted on your face as your own frustration swelled again.

“Suit yourself. I don’t have patience for this, Alastor. You’re acting like a brat when I’m the one who had the hard night.” You turned to go upstairs before coming back, something your mother always did in arguments that you hated, “And I really don’t appreciate the way you’re treating me. We’ll talk in the morning.”

He didn’t even stir.

After placing his mother’s shoes at the end of the bed, you got undressed and properly washed your face. It wasn’t until you were under the covers, alone, did you begin to cry. It was mostly anger, if you were honest. But a good dose of self pity mixed in. Practically running to find him, after thinking about just him for hours before, and to be met with a drunken child was disappointing beyond measure. And the disrespect of tossing his keys…

The bed felt so big and so foreign now. Just sitting in it made you feel like shit. A stranger, unwanted in someone else’s home. You could remember the uneasy feeling you had when your mother would leave you with friends when she had work. How every inch moved felt like you were brushing into poison ivy, it wasn’t your space, you didn’t know the rules or the norms. Now you felt you no longer knew your place in Alastor’s home.

If you weren’t scared you’d never see him again you’d have just walked the several hours home. Knees to your chin, you didn’t bother with wiping away your tears. It added to the wallowing you were experiencing.

What did he mean? Why would he say it like that? Had it been a lie the whole time, that he’d stop killing if you asked him to? Alastor had never hissed quite like he had then.

It felt like a lie, and now you questioned everything. Maybe while you worked he was out killing people. You never pushed him much about what he did while you were away.

A secondary thought simultaneously played with that one. No, you’d have noticed him at night taking care of the body. Your face slipped past your knees and pressed into the tops of your thighs, as quickly as the fear receded your melancholy swept back in.

Fine, but if he lied about stopping then you didn’t mean as much as he claimed.

Which was fine, you lied to yourself. You just needed to know the parameters so you could stay within them. Not take things too seriously. Not expect too much from him.

Not give too much of yourself.

A second wave of tears, chin trembling.

Idiot.

Maybe Brady had been right. Were you just some dumb dame? You’d done so much for him and now with some liquor you were just another person to him.

Then a sickening feeling made your throat tighten. Had getting arrested made you no longer attractive? Perhaps he blamed you. Being publicly dragged into a police station was the closest he had ever been to being found out and it was your fault. Fuck, even his name. That had been you who said it so casually.

You didn’t want to be somewhere you weren’t welcomed.

Slipping out of bed, you pulled your bag from the closet and sat it on the dresser.

You couldn’t believe you had wanted to tell him you loved him. How long had you choked back those words for your own personal safety, just to be in a man’s home far from your own with no real way back. You pulled your dresses from the closet, and paused.

Alastor had been lovingly removing your stockings just a week or so ago.

After tossing innards into the water. He’d showed you where he buried the only evidence of his expansive crimes. He trusted you with things he’d never shown anyone, something you felt sure of given his freedom.

Glancing up through tear-heavy lashes, you saw your reflection in the mirror and remembered how he kissed your shoulder and undressed you. His promise to keep you warm.

A shiny and sunlit movie played of him slipping off your shoes and putting yours on his feet.

Your mother had always said you were too quick to give up when things didn’t come easy. You resented that, but now it was ringing painfully true.

You put the dresses back, tossing your bag to the floor and kicking it halfheartedly under the dresser.

Lying down again, you tried to take deep breaths. He’d said he wasn’t mad at you. Was he not allowed to make mistakes? Could he not be angry around you without you taking it personally even when he said it wasn't for you? That was unfair of you. You were expecting a drunk man to speak clearly and with well thought out perception of how he’d be heard. The reasons for his drunkenness were unknown, and when you stopped to consider things more, you’d never just out right told him how you felt. Until you were upset and going up the stairs. Admittedly, to your defense, he was very drunk.

He owed you an apology, that was absolutely expected given the way he’d spoken and tossed his keys, but he’d done enough to earn the right to explain himself before you just up and left in the middle of the night.

The idea of him waking up to an empty home and a migraine almost brought you back to tears. Alastor’s distaste for being alone had become clear, in the way he used to go out often just to have dance company, how he so quickly pulled you into his home and lap. You’d feel his heart break from across the river if you up and left while he slept.

Johnny had said he was a mess before, clearly he did care to some degree. You’d trusted him this long. You’d killed a man for him. You could give him a night to be an ass and hear him out in the morning.

But if he didn’t apologize, if he didn’t seem to understand how selfish and unkind he had been to you… You rolled onto your side and tried to straighten your legs but felt vulnerable like that. Pulling them up again you curled into a ball and focused on deep calming breaths. It would be fine. The best way to find out if someone was worth trusting was to trust them. Alastor had been worth so much more than you’d expected a person could be. This was just a hiccup.

Thinking back on past relationships, you realized most first fights were also your last fights. If you and someone had friction, it was easiest to walk away and try again. There was no expectation of a picture perfect romance, not at all. But once someone disappointed you, it was hard to see them again in a positive light. Throwing things away had always been simpler than putting in the work to fix them. Once you’ve done that, you’ve shown someone your hand. You’ve shown them they mattered and they could use that against you.

People who knew they were important to you could hold that over your head and push just how much they could get away with.

Alastor, what more could he do? What on earth could he possibly get away with? He had no interest in stepping out, and he couldn’t easily date when his hobbies and home were crime scenes.

The person with the most to lose was him, you realized. Maybe not lose you, you didn’t pretend you were that important to him. But his life away from iron bars and cuffs was now dependent on you. If he had always been a few too many drinks away from fucking that all up, he’d have been caught a long time ago.

He would make it better. He would say whatever really happened in the morning and fix it. You could trust that and let your eyes finally close. Alastor hadn’t failed you yet, and you believed he wouldn’t start now.

When you woke up, it was early. Unnaturally early for you. But stress did that. Whatever the opposite of Christmas morning, that was the mechanism pulling you out of bed as the sun was just beginning to rise.

He was still asleep on the couch when you crept down the stairs. He looked like shit. Which made you feel a little good. If he looked perfect it’d be immensely dissatisfying. You tried to open the back door quietly but the old hinges whined and the swollen wooden door snapped against the frame when you let it go.

Sitting on the top of the porch steps that led to the backyard, if you could call such an expanse that, you tried to take in the wet cool air. It was officially fall. Soon you’d have to pull out your coat. Your toes wiggled against the flaking paint of the steps, you still needed to go home and get your shoes.

A groan and you doubled over, you were assuming so confidently that you’d still be staying with Alastor. That was a good thing, right? Or…. you weren’t sure. You had no healthy relationships to look to for guidance. Rolling your back up, you looked up at the dark cobalt sky fading into baby blue, a color that matched the ceiling of the porch above you.

You heard the creak of the screen door and felt the old wood bend behind you as he finally stumbled out. He plopped down beside you, before lowering himself to his right side and resting his head on your lap. He stared out at the greenhouse like you did. Your hands twitched to touch him, but you kept them to your sides.

“You are my darling.” He said with a raspy voice hoarse from an intoxicated dehydration. You finally looked at him, but he didn’t meet the gaze. “That’s who you are.”

“You sure didn’t make me feel like your anything last night.” Your tone was cold and sharp, spoken like a stranger scolding another. Stay strong, you thought. Make him understand how he made you feel before, even if you were already cooling off.

You saw the fabric of your white slip turn a storm grey beneath his face, tears tumbling across the bridge of his nose before seeping into the night dress.

“I know. I’m sorry. I was so,” he sighed and you took your opportunity.

“Drunk.”

“Enraged.” He whined, eyelids coming to act as a poor dam, “And drunk.”

“And disrespectful.”

He groaned now, shoulders tightening in shame, “That too.”

You understood he was angry. Did he think you weren’t? You’d been humiliated. You’d been interrogated.

“I want to split his skull with an ax.” His fingers were playing with something beneath his closed thighs, hands pressed between them. “I’m sorry. I— you were not wrong.” You caught a glimpse of the bright yellow handkerchief being wrung between sweaty palms with nervous fingers when he finally opened his legs. “I didn’t know what to do with myself when your manager said you’d been arrested. I almost drove my car into the station doors.”

“So getting zozzled and shouting the personal details of a New Orleans detective into the night seemed… the better option? When I had already had a difficult evening?” You felt a flame in your chest again. “When I needed your support? Comfort?”

He nodded, slick and smooth face gliding over the silk. A sob, choked and broken as he buried his head again into your lap. “I’d never felt so helpless, I just…I responded very selfishly. I’m sorry.”

The heavy and hot indignation finally began to cool in you, and you let yourself run your fingers through his hair.

“Will you ever let me kill him?” He asked your thighs.

You thought for a moment. The safety in Alastor’s killings were the degrees of separation between him and his targets. The plausible deniability. The lack of obvious motive. If you could find that same safety net when killing Brady, then, sure. “When he’s no longer a threat to us. When no one will be shocked to hear he’s dead.”

His arms came to hold onto your legs, soft pads of his digits stroking the skin beneath your clothing.

“He went too far.” Alastor muttered, moving his head enough to look at you from the corner of his eyes.

“And he knows your name.” You added, the arrest being of equal importance if not less.

“I’m beginning to think it doesn’t matter.” Alastor inched his body closer to you. “I’ve never been a bigger failure in all my life than last night. In every way. To myself and to you.” His head turned, the soft and sharp features alike of his face burying into your lap. A gentle shake of his shoulders as he lost his fight to not weep openly into you broke your heart. He let out a weak and muffled series of sounds, followed by a louder and clearer, “Do you want to leave me?”

Wincing, you remembered how close you’d been to doing just that. It was good though that he asked. Indicating Alastor knew how serious you took the way he had acted the night before.

You pulled his head up by the back of his collar. With your first good look at him in the crisp orange morning light you could see his lips were red and raw from nervous chewing, his hair lacking its usual shine or form. The right side of his face was wet. Tears new and old began to reroute and slide down his high cheeks and pointed jaw. They met at the very bottom of his chin, for the first time in their short lives, and dropped onto you in little couplings. Falling like they were made to always do just that. Just now. Just for him. A fate you could understand so naturally it was bordering on unnerving. A love story you were sure you were playing out.

How rarely you’d seen a man cry. In the past perhaps you’d have been put off. Cringed. Considered it a pathetic show of weakness and lost respect for them. But all you could feel now was a pain so deep and all encompassing it felt as if your skin was cracking off. A dry river bed in the heat of summer. What had been there before? Disgust? Indifference? Even his tears were of a magnitude more important than anyone else’s. Every piece of him mattered more to you.

Leave him? Of course not. No matter what he did, dead or alive, monster or man, you would never hate him enough. And that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. No, that absolutely wasn’t a good thing. A dangerous something he could never fully be told.

Oh.

Ruth’s words on the roof crawled from their grave and tugged at your ankles.

You were in that worst kind of love; Unconditional.

Fireworks were out of the question but you could manage something for him. You had to tell him. Things were too far gone now and you couldn’t be sure how much time was left now that Brady had a name.

“Give me a little time. I’ll show you how stupid of a question that is over our first fight,” Your thumbs wiped away his tears. The handkerchief came back to view, so you gingerly took it and dabbed the sacred lacrima from his cheeks. You took his head between both hands and stared unflinching into the sweet, sun kissed brown of his eyes, “I never want to leave you. Even if I do, even if somehow I’m convinced to go, you’ll have to rip your heart out of my cold dead hands or I’ll take it with me.”

“What have I told you? Don’t mention those things. The spirits are listening.” He attempted a gentle smile through his tear stained cheeks and you couldn’t stop yourself from kissing him. How could someone so good with a knife be so soft?

Another torrent of tears from him and a reply so earnest and so sure your body leaned back with surprise, “But, it’s not mine anymore. Isn’t that obvious?” He half whispered it into the ether.

Please, you begged whoever listened when you prayed, don’t weaken my self respect. Straightening your back to summon some form of resolve, you voiced it.

“If you ever speak to me like you did last night again, with that sharp tone and cruel words, sober or not…” you trailed off, begging him to not make you say it. Don’t force you to make threats you didn’t want to keep. Things you’d be ashamed of not following through with. Little self failures you were genetically predisposed of committing.

“You can take my heart with you.”

A wonderful reply.

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

The Release (Alastor)

When Alastor didn’t see you at the side door or back street, he dared to walk around the block to the front of the theater. He was surprised, like many others, to find the doors locked.

A trickle of fear dropped down his spine. Worst case scenario didn’t quite exist as some ladder of concerns, he just felt tremendous fear you were dead. That was the only rung. Had someone been watching you, that he didn’t notice as he was too preoccupied with watching Brady?

“Alastor?”

His eyes snapped from the marquee to the young man poking his head out of the doors.

He nodded, “Johnathon, right?” Alastor moved on autopilot, hand coming to shake your manager’s.

“Johnny. Come inside.”

Alastor didn’t move. Hand still in the air between them. Johnny registered the distinct lack of light in Alastor’s eyes. He took a deep breath in, Alastor looked like a photograph of a man before him. There but, just a facsimile of human.

“She’s okay. Come on.” He gestured firmly, Alastor blinking back to life and slipping in.

Ruth hopped from her seat at the sight of the tall paramour.

“The bastard arrested her! Prostitution.”

Alastor’s mouth opened and then closed. He swallowed, then smiled, and his head did a little tilt. Ruth looked from him to Johnny. Alastor’s rolodex of canned responses spun infinitely around in his mind. Nothing was catching. There wasn’t a facial expression or comment or body posture in existence he had prepared for this conversation. Because he hadn’t ever predicted such a situation.

“He did it in front of everyone. He made a real scene of it.” Johnny leaned against the bar and tapped a cigarette, “I told her I’d fill you in.”

Brady had arrested you. You’d been arrested.

“Prostitution?” Alastor finally spoke.

Ruth shook her head, “Yeah but absolute bullshit. She doesn’t have any want or need for extra money.”

Alastor nodded. It wasn’t his worry. His eyes quickly flitted around the air to the concern of the other two, searching his memory for any sense.

The man he punched? What was his name again? No. He didn’t know where you worked. He didn’t know your name.

But, perhaps— no. He blinked away his runaway errands list.

“Any idea of the bond? How much should I bring?” He patted his pockets, fingers fumbling when he fished out his wallet. “I could get more, but I’ll need to go—,”

He was in disarray, a tremble in his hands making him pause and stare at his own body with a loss of recognition.

“I’m not sure…” Johnny said it slowly, “Ruth could you grab her bag from the back for me.”

When she was out of ear shot Johnny set his hand on Alastor’s, who was still staring in confusion at his own limbs, and made him lower the wallet.

“Hey, I was there that night you cornered Tommy into the booth. I saw you two. The night he hit her. Tommy was a real piece of shit. And I’m glad he’s gone.”

Alastor’s eyes met Johnny’s and he wondered what he looked like to the other man. He felt the corner of his frozen smile twitch but he managed to keep from reacting otherwise. How many missteps had he taken?

For a moment, time stood still and he imagined dragging Johnny into the alley by his neck. Then Ruth. Who else needed to go? He’d carry them all away into the dark.

“I'm no rat! I didn’t tell anyone anything.” A beat as he tried to read the face Alastor was making. A small tight smile and wide eyes that made Johnny’s skin crawl. Was he angry? No, his brows weren’t scrunched up. Was he suspicious? Maybe. Whatever feeling a trapped fox feels when the hound is close. But Johnny didn’t register that. “Just, ya know, I’m glad someone told him off. He was shaking like a leaf after. Anyway,” a nervous clearing of his throat, “I don’t think you should go to the precinct. I’ll go, I’ll pay the bail with some cash from the safe. You two can pay it back.”

No response. Alastor’s thoughts a tangled ball of red wool yarn, every time he tried to pull out a coherent reply the knot seemed to tighten and stiffen. He leaned back a little, trying to fit more of Johnny into his view. Wanting all of the smaller man to be seen.

“I feel kinda responsible. I should have spoken up when I learned what he was doing.” Johnny offered a smile of his own, something about it made him look younger than he was. “Just tell me where you’ll be, I’ll send her that way when she’s released. Maybe in the morning.”

“Responsible for what?” Ruth smacked Alastor’s arm with your small black handbag.

“For her arrest. I should have done more.” Johnny thanked her for the bag. “Where should I say you’ll be?”

“I’ll wait in my car.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll go crazy like that, just find somewhere quiet and have a drink.” Ruth turned Alastor around and pushed him towards the doors.

“The Golden Dish. I’ll be there. Just,” Alastor stopped to pull a card from his wallet and hand it to Johnny, “Tell her to give the host this card and ask for me.”

“Well, go have a drink, try to just… try to stay calm.” Ruth’s words barely entered his mind as he stumbled out into the night. Thoughts came so quickly and in such a multitude that Alastor found his head entirely empty, unable to latch onto any single one.

He was unlocking his car door and then he looked up — he was across the street from the station. How he got from the theater to here was unknown to him. Clearly he had driven, but with what mind he had no idea.

Long fingers gripped the steering wheel, knuckles an uncomfortable white with the force. How much would it take to snap the wheel? Had anyone ever tried before?

A deep breath, he didn’t remember holding it until his head began spinning. In the mess of thoughts, he saw flashes of what he could do. Questions to narrow down his options. Did the rooms have windows? Could he climb in one and drag Brady out?

But he didn’t know how many people there were. How many rooms. Where Brady was. Where you were.

Deep breath, he was holding it again and the thought of you being grilled by a cop made him involuntarily gasp for air.

There was no fear you’d say anything. It simply didn’t exist. Even trying to conjure the idea of you telling anyone who he was and what he did was ridiculous to him. A dark part of him knew that notion was born out of a blinding fear and not out of true trust. Because if you did such a thing, it’d mean he’d been wrong about everything. That he couldn’t trust his own decisions anymore. What would he do if you did confess?

Well, he was quite sure he’d die. Perhaps not literally. But Alastor as he was would wither and disappear. He’d be someone —- something entirely different.

But he didn’t stop to think about that. Because it wasn’t a possibility.

With a full body tremble, Alastor leaned back into the seat and ran his fingers through his hair. He felt torn down the center. Half of him was marching into the station and doing…. He wasn’t sure. The rest was just black.

Half of him was driving away to go hide in a glass of whisky until you were released.

What would you want him to do?

He started the car and headed toward the river’s edge, hoping to find a parking spot not too far from the illicit bar.

Alastor made a beeline for the bathrooms just past the entrance of the Grano D'oro. His hair was mussed, his pupils constricted. He drew his bottom lip in and began chewing it nervously, hands pushing his hair back into some form of style. A cough to clear out his tightening throat, he straightened his bow tie and suit jacket. Staring at his reflection, he flinched. An unsettling feeling in his bones that if he stared long enough, it would take on a life of its own.

Something wasn’t right. His nightmares were back and following him around in his waking hours. Terrors of losing his control over himself. Deep seated insecurities about his work.

Alastor approached the host and explained his card was on loan to someone who would be by later. Normally it didn’t work like that, no card meant no entry. But Alastor was a regular. The man nodded and led Alastor into the main dining hall.

Alastor offered passing pleasantries to a few people and smiled as he was escorted past them to the private dining section of Grano D'oro. Separated by another large but closed curtain, the host moved it aside and let Alastor enter. The hall had a few doors but two large doors swung out from the kitchen.

Through the kitchen, with a smile and another nod to the staff who all sang his name as he walked by, Alastor made it to the barely visible door to the side.

Finally, he descended the stairs to the very lively and very lovely bar of his dear friend, Mimzy.

She clapped her hands enthusiastically at the sight of him, taking him by the arm and dragging him to the counter.

“Little late for you isn’t it? Shouldn’t you be at home with your heart.” She dragged out the word, eyes rolling not at the idea of you but at the idea of someone being more important than a night out.

Alastor plopped onto the stool and came to rest both elbows on the bar, “Should be.”

“Fight?” She was already wiping down a glass for him, his head was in his hands which was… a new sight. Sloppily, with some splashing out and onto the bar top, she poured two fingers and slid it to him.

“Worse. Arrest.” His hands curled around the cup and he considered not drinking it at all. His mother warned him to never drink alone and never drink when upset. He fudged the first rule often. But he really did follow the second.

“Oh fuck.” Mimzy added two more fingers to the glass. “What for?”

He stared into the whisky before taking a large mouthful and forcing it down with a burning gulp, “Prostitution.” He croaked.

“That’s not illegal.”

Alastor’s stress was momentarily broken and he looked incredulously at who could be called his closest friend, “Yes, it is, Mimz.”

With a hand on her hip she looked up in thought, “Huh…. Well, ya learn something new every day!”

Alastor held the glass with both hands now, “You do know alcohol is illegal, right? Production and consumption?” He watched her face sour, hand moving to gesture at the windowless room they were in.

“Duh. Why else would I be in this makeshift box?” It was rhetorical, Alastor rolling his eyes and lowering his face to his glass.

Nervously he chewed on his bottom lip, biting red lines into the soft pink flesh. Mimzy stared, unnoticed. She couldn’t remember the last time he looked sad. He did sometimes open up when drunk, perhaps smiling through a pitiful story. Or dancing when she knew he was bruised in either his ego or his heart. But, normally, for Alastor, he kept the obvious and plain emotions kept tightly buttoned up.

“So, why are you here all long faced? Did you arrest her or something?”

Alastor’s fingers found their way into his hair again, “I might as well have. It’s my fault.”

It was, without a doubt in his mind, his fault. He pulled you in. He killed your boss without any care for what you thought. He made you a shield and a target, stupid. Alastor couldn’t argue against it.

You’d been forced to lie for him. To sneak and hide from police for him. He was no better than the spineless men he often chased. How could he be so selfish? It stung his chest and his eyes, the thought of you so sweetly sitting beside him just to be dragged into a police station. It was his fault.

Mimzy hummed, pretending to wipe down the counter, “Then fix it. If you fucking did it, then make it better.”

Yes, obviously, but, “I don’t know how. I-,” Another forced mouthful of whisky, “I roughed up her former guy. For mistreating her. He’s been going around causing trouble now, lying about her. He doesn’t know it was me.” A lie that roughly summed up the trouble. Enough that he could vent, perhaps get third party insight. Though, admittedly, Mimzy wasn’t his first person to turn to for advice.

“And you can’t just,” she made a fist with her thumb stuck out and dragged it across her neck in a cutting motion, “get rid of the issue?”

Killing Brady would solve everything. And it’d feel good. It’d feel….ah, he leaned back, letting his chest open and fill with the shadow of satisfaction, it’d be the best kill yet. How would he do it, he wondered. It’d have to be special. Slow. Perhaps even over the course of days. Oh, or better yet, perhaps he could show Brady exactly how he disposed of his targets. Piece by piece, taking from him and letting him watch as he buried his parts in deep holes. Giving him all the answers to his questions before snuffing out his nagging life.

Lost in thought, he didn’t see Mimzy walk away and come back with a different bottle. The big guns, she thought.

“That a no? Weeell,” She poured herself a glass, “Maybe go talk to the guy. Put the fear of God in ‘em! Let him know if he tries anymore shit,” she waved her finger around, “he’s gonna eat dirt.”

A threat….scare him?

No one would believe Brady, he considered. If someone pulled him back into the shadows of his tree lined street with a blade to his throat and gave him the warning of what was to come if he kept this up….Did he have any allies in this at work?

“But you can’t do nothing. She’s your gal, right? Arresting her is like….it’s like throwing a drink in your face. He’s embarrassing you.”

A lump rose in this throat, the two large gulps of drink metabolizing and carrying away his ability to remember not to take advice from Mimzy.

In fact, as he took a slower sip of his somehow still full glass, he thought she was quite right. Brady was testing his pride. Hurting the closest person he had to get at him. This was villain activity.

If he didn’t reply, he’d be saying he didn’t care at all about you. He’d be the man Brady told you he was. A coward using you until you weren’t convenient anymore. Alastor’s leg began to bounce against the stool’s foothold. Yes, yeah, he had to act. Someone was challenging him. Someone was swinging you around in front of him, taunting how weak he was that he couldn’t even protect you.

Either Brady thought Alastor was all bark and no bite, only attacking men alone at night, or, worse, he thought Alastor was using you.

Alastor stood quickly, but paused as his head sloshed to the left and he leaned with it. Steadying himself on the bar he looked down at Mimzy.

“Ah, he’s at work.” He stated it plainly, as if Mimzy already knew this.

“Oh, then just enjoy some drinks and jazz while you wait! When is he off?”

“I don’t know…but, she’ll come get me when she’s released. So….after that?” Alastor was already losing sight of the lie he had told her earlier. He didn’t notice her top up his glass for a third time.

“Perfect! Now, gossip. You gotta fill me in with the trashy news. You haven’t come by in so long.” She leaned across the bar, swirling her glass clumsily, big eyes blinking.

“Don’t try to distract me. I’m in no mood for such trivial things, Mimz. My love was arrested. At work no less. I’m useless.”

The very notion of thinking about anything but you made his stomach turn.

As the time ticked on though, that turning was quickly becoming more of a reaction to the liquor and less to do with his stress.

The only person who knew how much he’d downed was Mimzy, who kept track on his tab with an out-of-character diligence. When the host knocked on the door, she opened it to receive Alastor’s card and knew you must have come for him.

Getting him up the stairs was difficult, but he was too drunk to let him go through the restaurant. The fine people upstairs had no idea liquor was being served in their fancy dining hall. So Mimzy let Alastor lean on her as she pushed them through the back doors and to the storage room. Opening the trash shoot, she pushed the man out and let him trip through the small opening.

“This way, big guy,” She tugged him by the lapel through the alley and toward the street.

She saw you standing there, looking into the restaurant expectedly, and told him to stay put. Mimzy slipped his card into his suit pocket and bee lined to you. You looked different than she’d expected. She wasn’t really sure what she was expecting…actually, on second thought, she had just imagined a female Alastor. Alastor with a perm and an empire waist dress. A little out of fashion but classy.

She smacked your arm with the back of her hand and left you to him.

Alastor stumbled onto the sidewalk, the lights blinding compared to the dark and smokey illicit club down he’d just fallen out of. He’d never used the back door, and he decided, somewhere in the mess of his thoughts, he didn’t particularly care for it.

“Hey! Alastor!”

His head swung around at the sound of your voice, it was you. You were free. Shrugging off his panic like a heavy fur coat he rushed to you, taking your face in his big hands to kiss you. Grateful. He was so grateful you were back. He couldn’t let Brady take you again. How could he show you how seriously he felt?

What did people like? Kisses. People liked kisses. And passion. And touch.

He’d translate his determination into lavishing you. When you made a yelp and pushed him away, he was confused. Why weren’t you happy to see him?

Icy cold fear dripped and trickled down his ribs that Brady had said something to make you believe you were just collateral. You pulled him by the wrist, not looking at him, and he felt sure he had made a mistake in not going to the station.

In the mud that was his thinking, he was sure this was the issue. What an idiot. He never let others tell him how to act or live, and yet he let some manager keep him from seeing you? He let a pissant like Brady take you and whisper poison into your ear.

He had to fix it. He had to make it better.

“Where’s your car?”

Ah, his car! Yes! Alastor had the power to make this all better immediately. Why didn’t he do this an hour ago? He couldn’t remember…. Alastor took his arm back, pointing you toward the park, “At that little park. Audubon.” It was a lovely little park, he thought.

Your breath against his body when you and him first entertained affection came to his mind so intensely he thought maybe he had been pulled back in time. He paused, remembering the last park you both sat in, covered in blood and trembling.

He needed to make it up to you.

“Anyway, I’m gonna kill him. Maybe right now! Did I tell ya? I know where he lives.” The stalking and studying was part of the fun, it made the meal tastier. And he had been sure to study Brady. When his work ended and you were busy still, he learned everything he could about the nosy cop.

Unfortunately, most of what he learned was that Brady rarely went home at a normal time and he was relentless in his pursuit of information about you both. Many nights he shadowed the detective and heard Brady pestering and questioning locals about missing people and illegal going-ons at your theater. It wasn’t because he wanted to clean up the streets, that was obvious. Those nightly walks were a pig sniffing around in the mud for a kernel. All he needed was a good enough accusation to rush in and shut shit down.

“Alastor.” Your voice saying his name pulled him back to the present, he paused for a beat to figure out where he was, he had thought you’d both been in front of the restaurant just a second ago.

“You’re drunk. No.”

You slipped in front of him, making him nearly collide into you. No? Yes! What did drunkenness have to do with anything? Perhaps you didn’t understand. He did the work! He knew exactly what to do and where to go. Ah, of course. You didn’t know. How could you? He never told you what he did while waiting for you to finish up at work.

“Alastor, yes. He’s got two kids, a wife. He stays out late, obsessin’ over us no doubt.” Raising his head, he felt a swell of pride. Don’t worry, dear. I’ve not made mistakes this time.

You hissed his name as he moved past you, if he was quick he could catch the bastard before he got into his house. His road was lined with trees, shady and quiet. It’d be so easy. Fuck, it was even better suited for his hobbies than alleys and parks. How odd.

“Hey. You can’t-,”

The word set something off in him. Can’t? Why do people keep telling him what to do or not to do?! Why were people always fucking giving him limitations?

Brady had done this. You’d never– He was just trying to clean up his mess. Why did people think they could dictate his life so freely? Why did what he wanted to do not matter, even though he was just trying to be a good man?

“Who are you to stop me? To tell me,” He whipped around, losing his balance as he tried to recorrect. Alastor paused to stare down at his legs. Et tu, crura? Even his own body was betraying him. Saying his desires were moot points. Fine, fuck it. He barely needed legs to drive anyway. If he could just do things the way he always did, you’d see how capable he was. Brady would see how fucking stupid he was. Tommy could rot in hell harder if that was an option.

Ah, it was quiet. How long had he been in his head? Had you said something and he didn’t hear? Oh you had stopped walking. “Are ya really not comin’?”

You had told him to not go alone, to always have you nearby when he killed. You not coming made no sense at all.

“Who am I, Alastor?” Your voice was high pitched, he could hear your throat constricting. The reason wasn’t known to him though. People often did that before he killed him.

What an odd question. Had you used your stage name so long you’d forgotten your true one. He laughed, what a silly thing to ask! “Now who is drunk?”

When your arms crossed and you glared back at him, his head cocked to the side. He wondered if you were playing around. You often pretended to be cross with him to make him pull you close and make you smile.

“I thought you’d stop if I asked. I thought I was your equal in this.”

Not a joke. Well yes, of course you were. But this wasn’t that.

“Well!” Alastor searched the sidewalk for the words, “This is different! He isn’t like the others. Mister Detective Kenneth Brady is-.” He was getting mad. Not at you, persay, but at the entire mess before him.

“Shhh!” You seethed, “Give me your key. You can’t drive like this.”

What?

Oh, so now he can’t drive? Your trust in him had been so eroded with just one private meeting with Brady. And did you shush him?

Alastor, don’t go to the station.

Alastor, don’t clean up the mess you made for me.

Alastor, don’t drive.

He didn’t want to fight with you. To argue or assert dominance, but…he stood up straighter to simulate sobriety. It failed, his hand jutting out to brace against the wall for stability. A failure that added to a growing pile of failures.

He caught himself and stared back at you. No. It was his car. Alastor was putting his drunken, clumsy foot down.

“If you want me to come with you, I am driving. Make your decision now.”

When your hand came out for the keys he looked down to it and then back to you. What was that? What were you doing?

You closed it, “I won’t let a man waste my time when I’m just trying to help him. You’ve got me confused with someone else.”

Your turning and walking back forward the restaurant made his eyes roll. Oh, the keys still. He pulled them from his pocket, fine, have them. I give up. Failure pile growin’ every minute.

He tossed them into the space between you both, smiling to himself. You wanted the keys, he thought, there you go.

But when you turned around, he could feel the rage rolling off of your body. Alastor couldn’t pinpoint what it was about your face that was different than usual, but just beneath your skin he could see a you he’d never met before. One he didn’t care to meet.

Fuck.

He’d fucked up.

A flash of embarrassment sizzled in his stomach before he lurched forward and grabbed the keys, offering them to you properly.

He followed behind, too stubborn to show you the way but unwilling to be without you.

Leaning into the window, he stared at the city as it rolled by, until it turned to water and then to woods. The air was stiff and suffocating. He hated it. Why were you so mad at him?

Alastor couldn’t understand what had happened. He was so happy to see you but immediately you pushed him away and dragged him off like a child being taken to the headmaster. What had happened at the station, he wondered. There was no way to ask now. The mood was too heavy, and he was too insolent to be the first one to speak. You were mad at him. You didn’t trust him. You, probably, we’re fed up with the complications of his company.

The pain behind his sternum was akin to a splintering rod; stiff, solid, and biting every time he moved. No one had ever made him feel this way before. He couldn’t put his finger on the feeling though, it was sadness, and it hurt, but there was something deeper. Something underneath these shallow reactions that dredged up a vague sense of mourning.

Regret?

He slammed the car door behind him and fell into the sofa as soon as he could. Nothing went right. The day had started so wonderfully… you’d felt like a part of himself he’d finally found. And now….

“You’re mad at me.” He heard the keys hit the bowl. Thank you, he thought.

Yes. No. Not at you. Not with you. Just, mad. Mad at Brady. Mad at Tommy. Mad at liquor as a general concept. And, the most upsetting, mad at himself. Had he ever been mad at himself before?

“No.” He sucked in a breath, “I’m mad. Full stop.” He hugged a pillow, he just wanted to be left alone now to wallow in the expanse of these new and awful sensations bleeding into his guts.

He thought it and immediately winced. Not alone alone. Please, if anyone had been listening, please disregard it. That wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t mean that at all.

“You’re acting like a child. Go to your bed. I’ll sleep here.” Your voice was stern, talking down to him.

“You’re talkin’ to me like a child.” He felt small and stupid. Closing his eyes, he sighed and tried to settle mind. Everything was swimming. Literally. His thoughts and the room were liquid and floating up into the atmosphere. Alastor was confident he would follow them up.

“You really don’t see the connection between those two things?? Atleast— go to the guest bed.”

Connection? Yes! You were treating him like a naive child, talking to him like a confused child, pulling him like a disobedient child, holding out your hand to him like he was a selfish child.

“No.” If he opened his eyes he was 90% sure he’d vomit. If he could just bear through the spinning he’d be okay.

“Suit yourself. I don’t have patience for this, Alastor. You’re acting like a brat when I’m the one who had the hard night.”

He turned his head into the pillow to conceal the frown.

Patience… there it was. You’d lost patience with him. And you’d been so patient for months now. Waiting in bars and cars while he killed. Waiting for him while he threw body parts into holes and snapping jaws. Waiting for weeks beside him for inspiration to strike and for him to seek your intimacy in more serious touch.

He heard you make it three steps before returning, “And I really don’t appreciate the way you’re treating me. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Alastor’s eyes welled with tears that soaked into the soft yellow pillow. He held his breath until he heard the floor creaking upstairs to let his body shiver with the sob. He’d had you all morning. And he’d kissed you goodbye at work… and then he came to get you. But you were gone.

He was scared, and angry.

And he got angrier and angrier and now— he couldn’t piece anything together.

Rolling onto his back he held the pillow to his chest.

Eyes fixed on the ceiling he listened to you prepare for bed. The water ran. The bed groaned. As the liquor took him away the floors creaked again and he hoped maybe you’d come join him on the sofa. Even in silence. Even angry. Just be there so he knew you weren’t done with him entirely.

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

When Alastor woke he was alone, the sound of the back door shutting startling him into consciousness. The only evidence he had slept and not just shut his eyes for a couple minutes was the light through the curtains.

For the briefest, sweetest second he felt excited to see you. It was eclipsed near immediately with the nauseating reality that you’d had a fight the night before and you’d told him…. It was hazy. Clenching his eyes shut he searched through the drunken darkness of the night before.

He had to work backwards. You said you’d lost patience. He was treating you poorly. You’d driven him home. He’d thrown his keys at you.

Alastor groaned, feet kicking the end to the sofa in anger. He had tried to make you pick up the keys off the ground, when all you had done was try to take care of him.

He remembered you tugging him along the sidewalk, before that… you kissed. No, he kissed. He could distinctly remember trying to lick his way into your mouth. On the sidewalk. In front of a very nice restaurant. The yellow pillow was pulled to his face to muffle his scream.

Drinking was the first mistake, continuing to drink was the second. And now you were upset with him.

He was to blame. It was so obvious now. Not just for the arrest and the negative attention but for the entire evening going tits up.

Throat tightening, a tingle began in his fingertips and worked its way up his wrists.

Stupid.

Selfish.

Useless.

Throwing the pillow into the chair opposite the sofa he tossed his legs over and sat up. He couldn’t breath, chest heavy. As his lips began to feel like they were stung with tiny needles, he spread his knees and lowered his head between them.

Not now, he yelled at himself, you’re making this about yourself again. Just like last night.

He’d wanted to fix the problems he’d made so badly but stupidly he’d just burdened you further.

There was no future in that moment. All the little daydreams of you and him were suspended and in jeopardy. Until he spoke to you, had the talk you told him was required, he had nothing.

For all he knew, you’d made up your mind already. How odd. He himself was the cat in the box. He could already be dead and not even know it.

Alastor couldn’t stand another second of not knowing his fate. Lost in the panic he hadn’t considered at all what Brady had said to you. Taking the steps two by two he found the bed empty. Before turning, vaguely remembering hearing the screen door earlier, something caught his eye and made the world spin again with renewed terror.

The handle of your bag peeking out from under the dresser. It had been in the closet, he had emptied it and put it there for you so he knew that to be a fact.

He closed his eyes, bile rising in his throat. Was it full of your things? Were you just waiting to tell him to take you home?

He couldn’t find the courage to check. Rushing past it like it could come to life and grab him by the ankles, he went to the nightstand beside his side of the bed and opened the drawer, the bright yellow of your handkerchief calming him just a sliver. If he kept it, you’d have to come back. He could call you and remind you to come back for it. And then he could convince you to stay. His mother always said he was good with words. If you forgot it at his house when you left he’d have a way to bring you home again. Fresh tears welled, the backs of his hands smearing them into his hairline.

The handkerchief smelled faintly of you still. His bottom lip was sucked between his teeth and the skin picked and pulled. Still carrying the piece of fabric, he leaned over the stairs railing to see you as you sat on the back porch.

Sitting on the second to last step of the house, he took a moment to collect himself. Being so frazzled, so undone, wasn’t like him. That foreignness just added to the panic. Bringing a hand to his chest, he opened his shirt to run his fingers down his sternum and to the left. A beating heart, evidence he was the survivor in every encounter he’d been in. But now, half a house between your and his back, why did he feel the most in danger? Rarely did fight or flight kick in, the last time he felt it was rolling around with that man who’d tried to choke the life out of you.

No strange man here now. Just strange feelings.

The pounding under his fingerprints became sonorous. It was becoming harder to ignore the obvious.

Deep breaths, he had to prepare his responses. The only way to begin was with an apology, but after that he wasn’t sure where things would go. So he had to make a plan.

Alastor hoped you’d forgive him, and accept the apology. At which point he would love to imagine himself doing something respectful like kissing your cheeks and thanking you for your mercy.

If you didn’t accept it….Alastor had never begged a day in his life, but he could see himself begging you to stay. Perhaps hugging your ankles and promising things he didn’t have. There was no longer an impossibility in what he would do, which was alarming. The idea of him being so pathetic and pitiful was nauseating, however there was no one and nothing that could stop that if you got up and left.

There was no way to run his lines for this. Like many other interactions with you he couldn’t bring the usual tools with him to battle. Either with your wit or point of view, or perhaps today your wrath, you always disarmed him.

But that was what made you worth the risk. It began as entertainment, but soon enough the dome of your stage extended out and around him, sheltering Alastor in the warm light of your presence. And now as he looked around the railing of his stairs, he was scared to see the exit lights flicker on.

Walking out the backdoor, he wondered if he would be allowed back in or if the door would lock behind him.

He knew the exact moment he fucked up, and knew he had to begin there. Barefoot, still in yesterday’s clothes while you were in your night dress, he let himself drop to the space beside you before tentatively bringing his head down to your lap. He avoided eye contact, not yet ready to confront his adjudicator.

The pain in your words from last night were just now beginning to sting his eyes.

‘Who am I?’

“You are my darling,” It wasn’t until he said it that he realized he hadn’t opened his mouth and spoken yet, his voice was harsh and throat dry. Who were you? It would be easier to list who you weren’t to him now. “That’s who you are.”

No unit of time existed small enough to measure the pause between what he said and your reply, but it felt like a gorge separating his breaths.

“You sure didn’t make me feel like your anything last tonight.” He couldn’t remember ever hearing you take such a tone; cutting and cold. Was there no longer warmth in your heart for him? He had been so drunkenly blinded by his own feelings he hadn’t stopped to think about how you were viewing his little tantrum. Maybe he hadn’t ever really had anyone around whose opinion mattered very much.

And he’d made you feel like nothing to him. The mountain of derelictions crumbled under the weight of perhaps his biggest failure of the evening, an avalanche of embarrassment and shame washed over him and he didn’t try to impede his tears. Men were only supposed to cry on their wedding day and at funerals, but he supposed this day could still go either way. Could still be as pivotal to his happiness.

“I know. I’m sorry. I was so,” what word could sum it up?

“Drunk.”

“Enraged.” a high whine caught in his throat, clenching his eyes now as the embarrassment took over stronger than he had thought possible. He felt stupid now saying he was just angry, “And drunk.”

He couldn’t entirely blame the alcohol, but he wouldn’t disagree with you now.

“And disrespectful.”

Alastor folded in on himself, shoulders drawing in to try and curl up small enough that he ceased to exist in any meaningful way. Disrespectful. He had, he’d disrespected you in public and in private. The stunt with the keys came back and he thought he may just die from the mortification of what he’d done.

“That too.” His hands nervously wrung the handkerchief beneath his closed thighs. What a terrible morning juxtaposed with the prior day’s bliss. A sigh, soft and weak. He remembered who was the catalyst for his buffoonery. “I want to split his skull with an ax.”

Argh, it wasn’t about him. “I’m sorry. I— you were not wrong. I didn’t know what to do with myself when your manager said you’d been arrested. I almost drove my car into the station doors.” He was beginning to wish he had.

“So getting zozzled and shouting the personal details of a New Orleans detective into the night seemed… the better option? When I had already had a difficult night?” He flinched at the rising anger in your voice, the rhetoricals were scolding and biting his pride like a nun’s ruler to his knuckles. “When I needed your support? Comfort?”

Perhaps the death blow. All he could do was nod and accept his mistakes. But, it hurt. Not to admit them, but to confront them. Another tidal wave of emotion hit and he had to bury his face back into the cool silk of your nightwear. He couldn’t understand how he had fucked it up so badly.

No, he had to find words. “I’d never felt so helpless, I just…I responded very selfishly. I’m sorry.” Two words did nothing, they tumbled from his mouth like feathers. Weightless. When the heavy guilt in his chest was threatening to drag him to hell with one misstep, ‘I’m sorry’ was just crystals of salt dropped in the gulf. Actions were all he had left and he wasn’t sure yet you’d give him the time to show you.

When your fingers grazed his scalp and combed his hair from his ears he shook with relief. A tender touch that promised you didn’t hate him, and his cortisol levels immediately plummeted. He felt safe again, enough to ask what was pestering him still.

“Will you ever let me kill him?” his lips ghosted over the mercy of your thighs.

As you thought, his fingers ran along the edges of your handkerchief. Feeling the stitched edges with precision as a distraction from the stress of waiting.

“When he’s no longer a threat to us. When no one will be shocked to hear he’s dead.”

No longer a threat… what did that mean? When Brady moved on from you both, or was simply made incapable of doing you harm. He could expedite that, somehow. He was sure of it.

His arms wrapped around your legs and caressed your thighs through the silk, “He went too far. Turning his head up, he got you into his peripheral.

“And he knows your name.”

Oh. That … was expediting, wasn’t it? It was bound to happen.

“I’m beginning to think it doesn’t matter.” He pulled himself closer again. Brady was nothing compared to the threat of losing you. “I’ve never been a bigger failure in all my life than last night. In every way. To myself and to you.” What a joke he was. How high and mighty and curated he tried to be that he forgot the point of it. A shield he turned to you was just a barrier between what he desperately wanted by his side. His tears returned with renewed vigor, the complete breakdown of his manicured image was a tell tale heart he couldn’t smile away anymore, the greatest weakness he was never so happy to call his own. Muffled by your clothing and inviting lap, “I just love you so much…” he choked and then sucked in a deep breath to try and get control of himself, shifting his face to the side again to watch your face for an immediate reaction to his question, “Do you want to leave me?”

He didn’t want the answer. He knew better than to ask. But – if you did, he didn’t want to keep you there. He couldn’t let the moment pass without finding out if you were just putting up with him. If you felt trapped, like Brady promised you that you would. When you told him those things, the silly things the detective had said before, you always laughed. You said it was so ridiculous. But, now, there was nothing funny about the idea. He couldn’t promise himself he wouldn’t keep that little yellow fabric in his hands even after you parted, but he could swear to not try and guilt you back into his arms.

When you lifted him off of your body by the collar he couldn’t understand the emotion behind it. You were inspecting his face so carefully, but there was no sign of disgust or anger or even adoration to signal how he should feel. The teardrops tickled his cheeks and chin and fell unimpeded to your legs.

Your eyes kept moving over his features, until a small tug of your lips to the side crept into a smile. Soft and obviously natural.

“Give me a little time. I’ll show you how stupid of a question that is over our first fight,” The pads of your thumbs were soft as they slid down his cheeks and gathered the moisture there. When he pulled the handkerchief to his lap, you took it and used it to further dry his face. He exhaled a broken breath when you took his face in your hands and stared into his eyes. “I never want to leave you.” His body again trembled with relief, blinking away the nth torrent of tears, “Even if I do, even if somehow I’m convinced to go, you’ll have to rip your heart out of my cold dead hands or I’ll take it with me.”

Stop. Don’t say that. “What have I told you? Don’t mention those things.” Death. Leaving. Goodbyes. “The spirits are listening.” They were always listening, watching, hoping to grab a hold of anything you said without precision and deliver you the reality you mused. He didn’t want to lecture, but he couldn’t let it go. Shh, don’t say such things. He could feel the dried tears crack as his eyes crinkled with his smile, a smile that he nearly failed to switch up to return the kiss when you pressed your lips into his. A first fight? He’d never had one of those. Typically he never got that far. Things fell apart the second someone was unhappy or unsatisfied.

Take his heart back? His mind finally processed the words. It was yours. The morning had proved to him he couldn’t claw it back if he truly wanted, and if he was further honest with himself, he didn’t want it. It was better off with you. He felt the air cooling the once body-warm tears, he whispered what he felt was too vulnerable to say at full volume, “But, it’s not mine anymore. Isn’t that obvious?” His eyes looked down at your feet pointed in towards his own. Was this pathetic display not making it glaringly evident he was a man turned inside out? Guts in his hands and heart in yours?

You sniffled and sat up straight, bringing his attention back to you.

“If you ever speak to me like you did last night again, with that sharp tone and cruel words, sober or not…” Your words got slower until you stopped, an almost wild look in your eyes he could read as pleading. He shook his own head subtly, unconsciously swearing he wouldn’t.

If he ever forgot himself and you again, like he had let his rage and weakness do the night before, he didn’t deserve your forgiveness or grace anymore. A woman too good for him.

Because he couldn’t ever get it back now, “You can take my heart with you.”

A sickening fact.

His body was a tool, and he’d use every tool he had available to make you understand what you meant to him. Would you feel different now, now that he knew you loved him? Would he find your body warmer, more inviting… Could he make you scream your love for him?

Later, he would have to bookmark that idea. The confession was too fragile still, a crystal figurine to precious to even take out of the box.

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