#I know this was not the scene but this came to my mind

[simpingforheros]

Safe

Pairing: Gotham Knights! Jason Todd X Female! Reader

Summary: Being a mercenary isn’t easy. Being a lab experiment turned mercenary isn’t easy either. Being a Bio-engineered mercenary in Gotham city with a reformed Red Hood isn’t easy at all.

Warnings: Hurt Comfort, Angst with bittersweet ending, Enemies to Friends??, Female Pronouns, Mild Violence, Horrible Fight Scenes (I’m sorry), Reader is basically Black Cat but little different, implied OOC! Amanda Waller, Mentions of Death, Torture, PTSD, and Panic Attacks.

Author’s Note: I guess I’ll give y’all a break from my Toxic! Jason agenda. But I’m not giving y’all a break from calling y’all out on being slanderous to my underrated, unproblematic princess that is GK! Jason. He may not be as pretty as the other ones, but he got a better relationship with his family than y’all have with y’all’s daddies (jk I’m sorry). Also yes, the reader is Black Cat coded because I love her and I want to see Jason with a cool feline counterpart of his own.

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Fuck. FUCK!

Chanted through her mind as she realizes what the hell she has just done. This whole assignment was a set up from the moment that job listing hit her burner phone. Her clawed gloves raked through her hair as she desperately took in her situation.

Months after the death of Batman, criminals became bolder with their crimes despite the lurking remains of Batman’s legacy. New villains and mercenaries came in to either assist Gotham’s veteran rogues or building their own empires among the shadows of the bigger evil’s crimes. However, Y/N didn’t fall into either category.

Originally a lab rat for Amanda Waller to find a cure for her terminal cancer, the cat like mercenary became a quick popular option among gang leaders and the low life to hire to do quick jobs without minimum risk. Of course the cat like persona wasn’t due to her stealth…

A blast rings out of the previously locked door as the girl’s head snaps back. Her body collapses as the roar of victorious laughter fills the air.

“You see how that bitch’s head just snapped back like a twig?!” Victor Sionas laughed through his leather mask as his golden firearm flashed in the fluorescent light of the value.

It was supposed to be a quick heist, minimum risk on her end. Just grab a hard drive with 6.8 Billion dollars worth of stolen and encrypted medical documents and financial records and leave before Black Mask realized she was there. An easy heist for a fair reward.

Victor’s ranting and raving filled the safe in loud echos as his assistant tries to listen to her pager for their normal disposal team. As the crimson slowly sets into the concrete, a faint green glow began to form around her body. The harsh grit releases her life force as it recedes back into her skull.

Amanda Waller wasn’t normally a desperate woman, but when it came to her life, she didn’t care what criminal she had to deal with to get her life back. Even the League of Assassins…

As the pair was about to leave to attend a meeting of some kind, Y/N didn’t know or care to know as her ears ring back into tune. Her body jolts up as she springs back to life in an instant.

As her eyes meet Sionas’ shocked stare, her lips curled into a wicked smirk. Her E/C eyes shined with a new madness as she flexes her adamantium tipped claws, ready to rip out his throat.

Victor quickly raises his gun ready to shoot again as she swipes at his wrist. The appendage falling to the floor as his screams drowned out the echos of his false victories.

“I guess it was an easy job.” She comments before her claws strike again.

Maybe she should ask for a raise to make up for her dry cleaning?

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The crime scene was a bloodbath.

Police scrambled and crawled the building as lights and tape marked the massacre. Every surface, furniture, rug, and plant were all tagged, sprayed, and searched for any bodily matter that could lead you to the person behind this horrific crime.

Black Mask’s gang. A once prominent gang in Gotham city who survived fights between Batman and The Red Hood were all dead. Eviscerated. Slaughtered.

All of the dead were clinging onto weapons as either distinct claw marks either craved them to ribbons or they were killed by their own weapons. Whoever did it clearly attacked the ones who attacked first.

The only survivors were the ones who didn’t attempt to fight the assailant. Victor’s assistant was the only one that was harmed among them with a deep set of scratches on her face with a look of horror in her eyes.

A look Nightwing and Red Hood didn’t like to see even from a criminal.

“And you said you didn’t know why this happened?” Nightwing asks skeptical of the woman’s reliability.

The woman eagerly nods as she sputters out, “We caught her in the safe and Sionas wanted to teach her a lesson…we heard her reputation was only with stealing…not this…”

Jason growls as he grew inpatient with her stuttering, but he takes a deep breath. ‘Be Patient…’ He reminds himself before something made his ears perk up.

“It was like magic or something! Sionas shot her point blank in the head and she just came back to life in an instant!! That’s when she went crazy! We just wanted to get her back for stealing from our off shore accounts. We didn’t know that she was a…monster.”

Fuck.

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Fire. Fire is what it felt like. It crawls from the deepest part of her mind and spreads through her veins like a fever. Her vision tunneled in as memories of all her previous deaths haunting her brain surged forward as her body acted on instinct. Out of fear…

It took three days before the madness faded this time. That was probably the longest time she was trapped in that state since she escaped Waller. Those three days were a fog as she only remembered the splitting head ache from the gun shot and her costume covered in blood.

Once the new broke on a ‘maniac’ who killed the Black Mask’s gang, Y/N knew she couldn’t leave Gotham yet until the buzz died down. She already knew the Bat’s sidekicks were looking for her, so she used whatever cash she had left to hide out in a cheap motel room.

“Fuck….” She groans as her trembling hands dropped her cell phone. Her eyes tried to dart around the aisles of the gas station she was currently hunting for food in. The remaining madness caused her senses to be on high alert and her anxiety to be high.

If she was back home, she could hideout in her apartment with her cat for a month before finding another job listing, but she was trapped in Gotham in a ratty motel.

So venturing to the crummy gas station for some junk food and beer is the next best thing. At least the disinterested cashier doesn’t pay her any mind. 4am on a weekday with a case of beer probably made her just appear to be a normal tweaker.

(Y/N) adjusts her sunglasses and makes sure her silver hair was well hidden under her zip-up’s hood before she brings her items to the counter. The zit faced teen gives her a look over, not hiding the attention he gave to her exposed cleave from the tank top she had showing.

“Ma’am, we don’t allow sunglasses inside the store.” He creaks out. Her (E/C) roll as she takes her sun glasses off. The door chimes as someone enters the store, but her attention was focused on the cashier. When he finally scanned her beer, his cracking voice asks,

“Do you have ID, Ma’am?”

Her hands go to her sweatpants pocket and only feels the cash she brought. Her mental anguish grows as she sighs in annoyance. Her fake id was in motel, and she technically doesn’t exist so she never had a real id.

Deciding to turn up the charm, she smiles sweetly at the teenager as she says, “I’m sorry, but I left my id back at my place. I’m sure you can tell I’m old enough, right?”

Her cleavage seemed to not work its charm as the teen rudely says,

“I can tell you’re old by your hair lady. But I need ID.”

Her eyes widen as a faint glow of green shows as she snaps at him. “I’m not old! I’m 24, you little p-!”

She stops herself as she takes a deep breath as she feels the madness subsided. She really didn’t wanna kill a kid over some cheap beer.

“Fine…I had a bad day so just get me the snacks.” She admits in defeat as she pulls out a hundred bucks. Just as she was going to pay, a hand drops some beef jerky and a case of beer on the counter beside her items. A deep voice cuts the air and causes a shiver to crawl up her spine.

“Add her stuff and beer to my order.” A thick, veiny hand presents the cashier with his ID and a credit card as she turns her head to see who it was that saved her evening.

Before her was a man who stood well over 6 feet tall. His shoulders were as broad as an old oak tree with muscles strong enough to take one down. His face wasn’t particularly the normal standard for attractiveness, but the strong jaw and scar gave him a handsome roughness that made her stomach tighten. It didn’t help that his nearly buzzed hair gave him a military sense, but his eyes were what made her heart stop in her chest. The beautiful green eyes that glowed an unearthly hue that she was familiar with.

She sees it in her eyes everyday. The scar of the Lazarus pit.

(Y/N) almost forgot where she was before the cashier cleared his throat. Her focus returned back to the counter as she grabs her stuff. Before she could run off, something made her stop to wait for the man. Whether it was curiosity or stupidity, she didn’t know.

Maybe she wanted to see what his deal was? Was he with Waller? The League of Assassins? Can he tell she was from the pit too? How different were they? How many times did he die and come back?

The opportunity to speak with someone who may can relate to her outweighed her wariness from her situation. But it was curiosity that killed the cat, right?

As the man starts heading for the door, she follows as she says,

“Excuse me?”

His eyes meet hers as a small smile as he says,

“Hey, I’m sorry for stepping in over there. I understand when stuff isn’t going your way.”

A warmth takes over her face as she says shyly, “No, it’s fine I just wanted to thank you. That was really sweet of you…”

As the two walk out, the stranger's friendly demeanor drops a little as he mumbles into the empty night air.

"So, you're the one who killed Victor Sionas..."

Her breath releases as she hears the pin drop. Her eyes dart around the parking lot as she sees the only vehicle is a old school motorcycle. She doesn't have any weapons and she wasn't sure if how skilled he was or if he had gained powers just like her from the pit.

With a frown, (Y/N) gruffs out, "Yeah...what are you gonna let me enjoy my last beer before you turn me in?"

She looks up to the man as their eyes meet. His eyes studying her as she keeps a tight grip on her bag. Maybe if he charges at her, she can swing the bag to his head and throw him off...

"No." He answers simply as he heads towards his bike. Her eyes widen in disbelief as she sputters out.

"No? I just admitted to murder and you're letting me go??"

"Yep." He answers over his shoulder as he loads his things into the compartment under his seat. Irritation fills her being instead of the relief she should have felt. She stomps towards him as she fusses,

"What's your deal? You buy me a beer and casually ask me if I commit murder? And you're gonna just leave? Did the pit mess you up that bad??" She snaps at him as she stands face to face, face to chest with him. Her eyes glowed eerily as he was filled, and a familiar shiver went down his spine.

His hands clap onto her shoulders as he pulls her close to him. A wave of coldness filled her body as the eerie glow covered his hands. The familiar feeling of the Lazarus pit filled her as he leaned into a whisper.

"The only reason I'm not hauling your pretty ass to Arkham right now is because I understand that it wasn't you when you killed them, Kitty..." His eyes glowed momentarily as a sad look briefly flashed into those green pools. "A petty mercenary who had no history of mass murder on file doesn't just jump to it without warning. The Lazarus Pit fucks up people to their core, so trust me when I say that I understand better than anyone how you feel..."

'Understand? How can he understand?' Her mind unravels as she looks up at him in disbelief. Has he ever woke up afraid of what he might have done the night before? Worry about when someone would come and shoot him in the head or stab him just to see if he could come back without being submerged anymore? Did Waller use him to heal her at the expense of his own pain just to throw him away to fend for himself???

Rage flashes through her as she roughly pulls away from him. Her bag falls to the asphalt as glass shatters. Her eyes are wild as old memories filled her. "Don't you dare say you understand me? You don't know shit about what I had to go through?"

His eyebrows frown together as he grimaces. A look of recognition and guilt flashes before he says to her. "You're right. I don't know what you went through before you died, but I do understand how you're feeling. The anxiety, the rage, the blood lust...I wanna help you."

She laughs bitterly as she figures out something about him. He only died once and was brought back. The skunk stripe in his hair should have given it away when she realized he was similar to her.

"Which time?" (Y/N) asked as she turned around and walked away. "I've died plenty of times to know that you will never understand..."

And she leaves the man alone in the parking lot as she storms off to her motel, not caring if he sees where she went or not. Her heart was beating out of control as she felt the wavering thoughts of going back to him and either hitting him or hugging him.

‘Maybe I need to rest some more….’

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Silence filled the museum as the dust bunnies and art laid undisturbed during their rest from the public eye. Her footsteps were a minimum as she walked through the shadowy parts of the building, trying to find what she was sent to retrieve.

After another week of hiding out, a job was directly pinged for her on the job board. Her eyes squinted at it at first because the offer was a little bogus to her.

‘Steal a painting, retrieve the hard drive inside, and bring it to the disclosed location in exchange for 2 Million dollars in unmarked bills.’

2 Million for a petty thief job that would have more suited Catwoman instead her seemed pretty unusual. But, at this point, her phyiscal cash funds were running low and she still was afraid of using her offshore accounts now that she knows that some zombie like her knew who she was.

Her masked eyes scanned the building’s plaza until she found what she was looking for. A large flowery portrait hanging just beyond the fountain. Her head tilts as she looks at it from afar.

‘Pretty… I wonder if I can find a print of it to buy to hang in my living room…’ Her steps remaining slow and cautious until she reaches the fountain. She looks under where the painting hung, trying not to get too close to it. There was no tag or podium that held the artist’s name or any indication that it was an actual art piece. It was most likely some print from a furniture store catalog or Etsy.

Her eyes rolled as she realizes that the listing was another trap. Obviously from someone who didn’t know shit about art or how to buy mercenaries on the black market.

As if on que, her ears buzzed as she heard the pure instinct take over as she whips around. Her hand immediately stops the staff about to hit her in the face as she elbows the smaller opponent in the stomach before slamming her fist in his cheek to knock him back. The guy gets thrown back a couple of feet as he gasped for the air she punches outta him.

She looks to the guy as she twirls his staff absent mindedly in her hand. His costume and smaller physique gave it away as to who he was. She remembers seeing a tv show story about him the previous night on the news. The boy wonder, Robin. At least the third version of him.

“Hey, tweety bird. You good?” She asked in a nonchalant tone. Her eyes unamused as she watches the kid cough up a lung as he looked up at her in shock that she wasn’t attacking him like he expected her to.

“You know, it’s dangerous to be on job listing boards like that.” She scolds him lightly as she walks around him and grabs his arm, gently helping him up and sitting him by the fountain. “There’s actual killers on that board who would have happily tried cutting you up for pulling a shitty fake job like this.”

The sidekick glares at her as he was already confused as he just witness the girl he was sure killed an entire gang just casually scold him. “Like how you did with Black Mask?”

Her eyes flashed with guilt before the nonchalant personality appeared again as she focused on throwing the staff up to make it spin. “It was self defense. He and his gang had it coming for all the child drug peddling and the lives he ruined.”

A heavier drop down of three other figures caught her attention as she looks around. Nightwing, Batgirl, and Red Hood were surrounding the fountain, blocking her in. Her anxiety rising as she hides it with a now playful smile.

“Damn, didn’t realize little old me warranted for the whole family to come get me.” She says playfully. “Don’t worry I promise to be out of y’all’s city soon.”

“You still have to pay for your crimes.” Batgirl says as she steps forwards slightly. The feline mercenary tilts her head as she looks at them with now false concern.

“Me? A defenseless street cat?” She asked before laughing. “You can certainly try.”

Nightwing steps closer as her shoulders square up. Her defensive stance rising as she observes him. Way too lean to be the guy she met, and she can tell his face was more pretty boy looking.

“We wanna help you… but you still have to pay for what you’ve done even if you didn’t mean to.” He says softly.

‘So they know…that just means they are gonna be more defensive instead of offensive. They can’t risk killing me when they know I could rampage again.’ Her eyes shine as she laughs coldly at him.

“Oh, you wanna help me rot in prison?” She says as she finally looks at the Red Hood.

Right build, right height, and she’s sure if she can knock that helmet off, right face. That’s the man she met a week ago that affected her so badly. She knew she couldn’t let him get a good grab on her or she maybe toast.

She turns her now glowing eyes back to Nightwing as she smirks. “I think you would be better off letting me leave or else you can see what I actually do when I mean it.” She bluffs.

Movement nearly catches her off guard as Robin tries to rush her again. The staff in her hand flies into his face as she tries to move as Batgirl flies kicks her in the face. Her ears ring as the warm feeling of blood starts to run out of her nose. The cat catches the bat’s fist before she whips her in the face with another punch. She used the disorienting blow to slide under her legs and give a good kick to her knee. The distinctive pop and her cry lets her know she did dislocate the bone.

She remains in her crouched up position, ready to pounce. She can feel their eyes observing as her broken nose begins to heal as it disgustingly pops back into place as the blood retreats back to its original place like it was on rewind. Her wild eyes looks to them and makes notes of their stances.

Nightwing was ready to pounce on her. He stared at her like she was the wild animal that he knew she was. It was a look she was used to.

The Red Hood wasn’t even in an offensive or defensive position. He stood with his back straight as he watches her. Damn his stupid helmet from seeing his eyes, she wanted to know what he was thinking about. Was he bluffing too or was he trying to get a good feel on how to catch her.

Before Nightwing can start advancing on her, Red stops him with a step forward and raises hand. Nightwing looks confused as he asked him.

“What are you doing?” He seethes to him. “We gotta take her down, she already hurt Robin and Batgirl.”

“Out of self defense.” The Red Hood clarifies before chuckling. His modulated voice making the feline theft frown. “If she was dangerous like you think, she could have sliced Robin’s throat with those claws of hers when he first attacked. You guys were attacking first and she responded with non lethal force.”

Her eyes glared at the man as she stands up, slightly agitated. “So? Maybe I just don’t wanna kill a kid?”

Red tilts his head as he turns his attention to her. “Calm down, Kitty….if you surrender, I promise I won’t let them send you off to the pound.”

Nightwing looks at Red in horror as he basically promised to protect a wanted criminal. He didn’t seem to concerned by it. He even surprises his team by removing his helmet as he looks to the one they were chasing.

“I found your file on Amanda Waller’s network. Took me three days, but I know what she did to you, (Y/N).” The man she knew from the gas station.

The images of all the torture she endured flashed through her mind all at once as she remembers all Waller put her through for the sake of her cure.

Multiple executions to test the powers of the pit. Torture and savage punishments for the slightest disobedience. The nightmares and madness that fueled so many panic attacks. The feeling of her organs stolen to be put in that evil woman so she can use her healing factor to win against cancer while she spent days slowly dying and coming back to life over and over until her new organs regenerated back into her.

“Why?!” She snaps at him as rage filled her again. Her confusion over his insistence to help her made her so angry. Why would he wanna help her? Just because they were both dunked in a pool of Ra’s bath water?

“You’re the feared Red Hood! You’ve done worst shit than I’ve ever done and you are trying to act as my savior?!” She yells at him as she stomps towards him.

Nightwing tries to step between them, but Red keeps him away as she finally stood before him. Her hand rips off her goggles, revealing her face to him as she pokes into his chest. Her own chest tightening as her body shook. Her breath was tight as angry tears rolled down her face.

“Answer me, dammit! Why do you think you can save me?!”

“I don’t think I can save you.” He answers honestly. “I wanna help you save yourself…”

A look of grief passes over his eyes as he looks at the shorter woman. A memory of someone she didn’t know making his resolve strengthen.

“I was trapped in a state of anger for so long that I pushed everyone away that was trying to help me…it wasn’t until I lost the one person that tried to save me that I realized how much it meant to have someone just hold a hand out for me…” He says as he grips her shoulders. The expected coldness didn’t meet her. She felt him. The warmth seeping through his gloves into her suit. It felt…comforting….nice.

Her vision began tunneling as she felt her chest hyperventilating as she cries. His gentle words finally breaking her as he mumbles to her. “Let me help you fight the madness so you won’t be alone anymore…”

Her knees buckling as a sob broke through her. The warmth of his arms wrapping around her and pulling her into his chest made her cries so gut wrenching. Robin, Batgirl, and Nightwing watch in shock as they watched Jason, not only be the most gentle he’s ever been with someone, but see a stray tear fall from him eye.

As the two remained tied together as an unspoken bond was formed. A bond between two lost souls forcibly brought back into this world now feeling safe in each other’s warmth.

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Author’s Note: I’m gonna make a part 2 to this one because I actually like it. Let me know if you like this, if you hate it, or whatever. I’m trying to clear out my drafts so expect more Jason and other characters coming out either this week or next week.

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@simpingforheros fanfic. I DO NOT CONDONE THE COPYING, STEALING, OR REPOSTING OF MY FANFICS ON OTHER WEBSITES WITHOUT MY CONSENT.

[ninjatrashpanda]

(Please say to Me) You'll let Me be your Man

Written for @bucktommypositivityweek Round 2! Day 3 is "Missing Moments." Read on AO3 here!

“So, what is your coffee order, anyway?” Evan asked, lightly bumping his shoulder against Tommy’s. He was smiling that brilliant, adorable smile that Tommy already could feel himself falling for, (He felt like a teenager, and found himself genuinely enjoying it. Maybe there was something to that Katy Perry song after all.) which almost made him a bit weak in the knees.

“Black, no sugar.”

“Ah, okay. So that’s a red flag.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, feigning shock as he nudged Evan back, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “A red flag? Just because I don’t drown my coffee in cream and sugar?”

Evan laughed, the sound light, warming Tommy up from the inside. They were strolling down the street, neither of them having been willing to part ways after their coffee conversation. (Coffee date? Had it been a date? Had it turned into a date after they had cleared the air?) The sky was a soft, sunny blue, the kind that was usual for Los Angeles, but no less beautiful, and the gentle breeze blowing around them was just cool enough to counter the swelling California heat.

Tommy honestly could get used to this, could see himself settling down with Evan (and maybe that was a little hasty, considering that this was only their second date, but hey, he was forty and wasn’t getting any younger), and honestly, that thought excited him. After he came out, he’d at first thrown himself into the casual sex scene, Grindr profile and all. He’d already been in his early thirties by that point and figured he should make up for lost time. Plus, dating as a firefighter-slash-rescue pilot was a pain anyway. If there was one thing he’d never lied about during his Closet Era™, it was that while his scars attracted people, him getting them freaked people out. It had been true for the women he tried dating in his twenties, and it was true for the few men he occasionally tried to actually build something with inbetween hookups and friends with benefits situations.

But as the years went by, Tommy had started to yearn. He'd found himself longing for something real, something steady, something with someone he could see himself getting married to and maybe even raise a kid or two. Someone who understood what his job meant to him, who could handle knowing that every day bore a risk, who didn’t try to talk him into switching careers.

Someone who could see past the tough firefighter persona and not get weirded out by the guy loving RomComs, monster trucks and craft beer.

Evan seemed like that kind of guy. He was a fellow first responder after all, so he knew first hand how deep the commitment to the job could run, and right from the beginning, he’d just seemed so genuine and sincere that Tommy hadn’t been able to help the butterflies in his stomach. Of course, he had also thought Evan was cute pretty much right away (Just like a teenager. Katy Perry was actually a prophet.) but had brushed it off at first. There’d been more pressing matters at hand, never mind that he’d figured Evan was straight.

Even after they’d kissed for the first time, Tommy hadn’t allowed himself to get his hopes up. He’d been in these situations before, where things just looked right on paper only to crash and burn shortly after, and when Evan had very decidedly not been ready for a relationship with another man at their first date, well, Tommy had been able to shrug it off. Good thing he hadn't gotten overly attached, or Evan shoving him back into the closet the way he did would’ve hurt a lot more than that single, sharp sting in his chest that it had been.

When Evan had called him and asked to meet so they could clear the air, Tommy’s first thought was to decline. It had been less than a week, and it was bound to be awkward. But then he’d figured he kind of owed it to Evan to hear him out, and it had somehow ended with Tommy being Evan’s date to his sister’s wedding.

“Yes, actually, being a coffee demon is a red flag,” Evan said, wiggling his eyebrows with a smirk. “Everybody knows that those who drink it black are super pretentious. I bet you post on Facebook about all the young whippersnappers ruining coffee with syrup and whipped cream.”

Tommy chuckled, shaking his head at Evan’s quip. This was another thing he more than appreciated about Evan, his sense of humor, and the casual way he managed to make Tommy feel welcome. Tommy liked to think himself quite sociable, that he could make people comfortable with him, but Evan was in a whole other league in that regard. He seemed to have some kind of aura that put people at ease.

"Oh, you caught me," Tommy said, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. "Every morning, I log on and rage-post about how the youth of today don’t appreciate the subtle notes of bitterness in a proper brew and how society will crumble over it. It's part of my morning ritual."

Evan laughed again, the sound washing over Tommy like warm summer rain. It was amazing, really, how easily Evan’s presence filled up all the little spaces that Tommy hadn’t even realized were empty. “Besides,” he continued, patting Evan on the shoulder, which caused a pink blush to spread over his cheeks. “Chimney told me about one of your red flags. You don’t watch movies?!”

Evan scrunched up his nose and playfully shoved Tommy. “Hey, that’s not a red flag, it’s just… a quirk. Every time I sit down to watch a movie, I just get bored and want to do something else.” Then, with a slight smile, he added, “Unless I have the right kind of company.”

Tommy felt his heart do a little flip at that, a warmth spreading through him that was both unfamiliar and strangely comforting. Evan didn’t really like movies, but he wanted to watch them anyway. With him. Together. Probably cuddled together so close they’d be about to fuse into a single person. It took all of Tommy’s willpower to not throw Evan over his shoulder and carry him to the nearest movie theater.

“Oh, so now it’s up to me to educate you, huh?” he teased instead, nudging Evan again. He could already imagine it: the two of them on a couch, a bowl of popcorn between them, his arm around Evan’s shoulders, the two of them laughing or crying or raging over some silly RomCom Tommy would undoubtedly choose. (Not ‘Love Actually’ yet. Evan had to experience that movie during Christmas time, under a warm, cozy blanket with massive cups of hot chocolate with marshmallows.)

“I mean, you brought it up,” Evan said, his grin softening, eyes meeting Tommy’s with an earnestness that made Tommy’s breath hitch. “Plus, you actually know where to start. I’d have no idea.”

Tommy chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief at how easily Evan could tease him and be earnest all at once. It was this effortless mix of playfulness and sincerity that drew Tommy in. He'd spent so long compartmentalizing his own life—work, family, dating—and here was Evan, breezing into his world with the potential to make everything feel seamless.

“Alright, I’ll pick a good one for next time. Prepare for your mind to be blown,” Tommy said, his tone light but his gaze lingering on Evan’s face. He let the moment stretch, comfortable in the shared silence as they continued their walk. The city bustled around them, but it felt like they were in their own little bubble, untouchable by the noise and chaos of everyday life.

Evan smiled back, a soft, almost shy smile that made Tommy’s heart stutter, and tentatively reached out to Tommy’s hand, but then quickly pulled back at the slightest brush of their fingers. The contact was brief, but long enough for Tommy to feel a jolt of electricity run through his body. Evan, red-faced, cleared his throat. “I, uh, I’ll hold you to that. But just so you know, I’m picky.”

“Noted,” Tommy said, trying to sound casual, but he couldn’t help the way his voice softened. He hadn’t even thought about it, but now that it had almost happened, he really wanted to hold Evan’s hand. He fought the urge to grab it though. Evan had said he wasn’t sure what he was ready for. Showing PDA with a man might’ve been too much. “We can hold hands. You know, if you want to.”

Evan looked up, eyes widening slightly as if Tommy had read his mind. He hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering between Tommy’s face and the space between them, before slowly extending his hand again. This time, Tommy met him halfway, their fingers brushing once more before finally interlocking. Evan’s grip was tentative at first, like he was still testing the waters, but when Tommy gave a gentle squeeze, Evan relaxed, his thumb brushing lightly against Tommy’s knuckles.

Tommy’s heart raced, and he could feel the slightest tremor in Evan’s hand. It was a small gesture in theory, but Tommy knew that this was monumental for Evan. He had only just discovered and come to terms with his sexuality, and had completely freaked out just a few days ago when their first date had been crashed by his best friend. Holding hands with another man in public was big for him.

“You good?” Tommy asked softly, glancing sideways at Evan. He tried to sound casual, but there was an edge of vulnerability in his voice. He needed to know that this was okay, that Evan was comfortable and not pushing himself too far too fast.

Evan nodded, his cheeks still flushed but his smile genuine. “Yeah, I’m good. Better than good, actually.” He took a deep breath, as if he was trying to solidify the moment in his mind, etching the feeling of their joined hands into his memory. “It’s…nice. Really nice.”

Tommy felt a swell of affection that almost took him by surprise. This was new territory for both of them, and it was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. He was used to charging headfirst into danger, running into burning buildings and flying into storms, but this, this simple act of holding Evan’s hand, felt like the bravest thing he’d done in a long time. It was vulnerable and honest, and it was everything Tommy had been afraid to hope for.

They continued their walk, the rhythm of their footsteps syncing as if their bodies had quietly agreed on a shared pace. The sun wandered further across the sky, casting long shadows that danced across the pavement, and Tommy couldn’t help but steal glances at Evan. He was struck by how natural this felt, like they’d been doing it for years, like they hadn’t literally just talked about how they didn’t really know each other maybe an hour ago. Tommy wondered if he should count this as a sign. He didn’t even believe in God, or any other deity, but still. The universe telling him he was doing something right was a nice thought.

Evan glanced up, catching Tommy’s eye, and gave him a sheepish smile. “You keep looking at me like that, I might start thinking you like me.”

Tommy snorted, squeezing Evan’s hand again. “Oh, I’m pretty sure it’s more than just ‘like’ at this point. But don’t get ahead of yourself, alright? We’ve still got a whole list of red flags to go through. Might be a dealbreaker or two in there.”

Evan chuckled, his eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and something warmer, deeper. “I think I’m willing to risk it,” he said quietly, his voice almost lost in the hum of the city around them. “Besides, we’ve got time, right?”

Tommy nodded, feeling the weight of those words settle into his chest. They did have time, and it was a luxury Tommy wasn’t used to indulging in. His job was unpredictable, and he’d seen too many lives cut short, too many futures that never got a chance to be. But here and now, with Evan’s hand in his, the future felt like something he could reach out and touch, something he could build, slowly but surely, step by step.

“Yeah. We’ve got time.”

[whatswrongwithblue]

The Hunt Pt. 3

Read on AO3.

Part 1. Part 2.

Summary: Alastor x Reader (reader is afab, uses she/her pronouns.) Date nights in Hell are done a little differently, especially when you're dating The Radio Demon.

Trigger warnings: Reader and Alastor in Hell for a reason. Mentions of sexual abuse and child abuse. Murder. Horror. Explicit scenes of cannibalism.

“I don’t like this new guy.”

Angel Dust huffed and sat down on the sofa, planting himself firmly between you and Alastor. You scooted over, allowing for more space between you two but Angel just shifted closer, apparently not knowing how to read body language. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Alastor’s smile widen and strain, but his eyes quickly darted back to his newspaper.

You rolled your eyes, knowing when it came to the hotel guests, Alastor forced himself to be on his best behavior, less they tattle to Charlie. And Angel was really no threat, neither to your safety or to the sanctity of the unusual relationship between you and Alastor. He just had no sense of personal space.

“You like this new guy?” Angel asked, peering over your shoulder to look at your book. As if he read.

When you didn’t answer, he leaned back into the sofa, crossing one of his set of arms and his legs.

“Well I don’t like him,” he repeated.

“You didn’t like Sir Pentious, either,” you countered with a disinterested tone of voice as you turned a page in your book.

“Yeeaaaaah, and I was right about him, wasn’t I? At least at first. I doubt this new guy is gonna turn out the same.”

“Sir Pentious still wasn’t exactly what I would define as a threat,” Alastor said, still not looking up from his newspaper. “But it did allow for at least a fraction of entertainment around this drab place . . . for a little while, that is.” He sighed as he trailed off, sounding disappointed.

“Well I don’t like him. My gut tells me he’s a big fat liar.”

You finally sat your book in your lap and gave Angel your full attention.

“He said his sin was pretty much drugs and sex. That doesn’t add up? Not to . . . you?” you asked rather pointedly.

Angel, in his usual unashamed manner, wasn’t offended by your insinuation. “It would check out if it was believable. But this guy, he’s fucking sleezy. A total creeper. I may like my dick and my coke but I’m not like . . . like . . . . evil about it, okay? I give off slut vibes. He gives off like rape-y pedo vibes.”

At this point, Alastor folded his newspaper neatly in his lap over his crossed legs and began tapping on the microphone top of his cane, looking between you and Angel Dust.

“Well this is all rather interesting. You mean to tell me, your spidey senses are tingly?” Alastor asked, smiling his trademark sinister smile and waving his fingers through the air.

You chuckled a little, making a mental note to ask when Alastor had learned about Spider Man.

“If only there were a way for us to learn the truth about our new resident, hmmmm?” Alastor said, eyeing you up and down. “A way to find out what his sins in life really were?”

You met Alastor’s stare, a silent understanding floating between the two of you.

Angel Dust, totally unaware of the sudden tension in the air, stood up with an exaggerated sigh.

“Yeah,” he snorted, “if only.”

___

Unfortunately for Charlie, Angel had been correct.

Fortunately for you and Alastor, you now had a new fun idea for your next date night.

One touch was all it took. One touch was all it ever took.

You weren’t exactly a psychic. You couldn’t read minds. But a handshake, or a pat on the back, a brush of an arm on a busy sidewalk, even with a full layer of clothes on, could give you a sense of the things a Sinner had done in life that got them to Hell. It was a very unique power as you had never met someone else in Hell that wielded anything like it, but until Alastor had found you, you had thought it was pretty useless. Just another thing to overwhelm your senses and make you want to avoid people.

But Alastor had shown you the beauty of it. Had expanded upon the bloody urge for vengeance that had landed you in Hell yourself and taught you how to relish in it. He adored you for your passionate need to punish the worst of Hell’s residents and as a bonus, the flashes of violence and carnage you received from Alastor’s past never bothered you. His demographic of victims matched yours perfectly.  

That morning, you had placed yourself in the kitchen at just the right time for the new resident, your new prey, to come waltzing in for his morning coffee. Your fingers had brushed each other’s as you handed him a full mug and you had been left forcing a smile as you tried not to lose your breakfast over the images that flashed through your head.

His whole life. He had been a wretched monster his whole life. First his sisters, then a few girlfriends, then his wife and own children.

He was a predator of innocence. A destroyer of sanctity and lives.

The other residents at the hotel may have their problems, but this man was evil incarnate. And you suddenly understood his fascination with Charlie.

Well, this vile creature was about to find himself on the menu for yours and Alastor’s next candle lit dinner.

____

You had to wait until Charlie and Vaggie had a rare night out together. Alastor and you had agreed it best not to let Charlie know what happened to her new project resident; best to let her think he just skipped out on her redemption program and ghosted her.

Once you told the other residents the truth about your powers and their new roommate, they were all pretty much on board with helping. Especially Niffty. And even Lucifer was fine with it. He still wasn’t keen on most Sinners and agreed that it was ultimately in Charlie’s best interest if this particular demon just . . . disappeared. He made it clear he wanted nothing to do with it though and would be up in his apple shaped tower, seeing and hearing no evil that may occur that evening.

As evening came to Pentagram City and the bright red sky of day turned to the black-red, starless sky of night, the residents of the hotel found themselves in their places, like player pieces on a game board.

Husker at his bar, Angel and Cherri in the lounge, Niffty seemingly vacuuming a hallway, Lucifer ignoring everything up in his room, you down in the kitchen, and Alastor placed a few doors down from your prey’s room.

The stage was set and it was time to play.

____

A scream tore through the hotel.

The prey sat up in bed, heart pounding, breath coming in rapid gulps, hoping it was just a nightmare. This place was supposed to be a sanctuary. He didn’t intend on any kind of redemption, but the stupid antics of the place were worth the safety from the harsh streets of Hell.

Another scream rang through the night and the prey knew it hadn’t come from his dreams.

He thought about staying in bed and keeping the lights off but what if the screaming came closer? What if Heaven had sent someone down here to deal with the hotel once and for all? Then he had better make his escape while he could, right?

Quietly, and in the dark of his room, the prey tip toed over to his door and slowly opened it, wincing when it made a little creaking noise at the halfway point.

He peered down the hallway and it appeared empty. Completely ordinary. The lights were on, giving it a soft and comforting illumination. Everything appeared safe and sound.

Still on edge and suspicious, the prey stepped further into the hallway, clearing the threshold of the doorway.

His bedroom door slammed shut with a BANG behind him and he instantly turned around, trying with all his strength to turn the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. He began to slam his body into it, mad with fear, and he thought for a second the wood would actually give, when shadows began to spread from the doorframe like inky water.

He stepped away until his back hit the opposite wall, staring in horror as the shadows spread along the wall.

And then the lights began to flicker, the soft rhythmic sound of buzzing filling the air as the electricity fought for its life, before the lights burned out completely, leaving the prey bathed in darkness.

Another scream came from down the hallway, echoing around the walls and making his ears ring.

A wet, tearing sound.

Quiet.

And then . . .

thump thump slide

thump thump slide

thump thump slide

The lights began to flicker back on and in the little glimpses the flashing light allowed, the prey could see the outline of a now familiar deer demon, only much taller than usual. Alastor’s antlers were spread out in full glory, nearly touching both walls of the hallway as he went. His face was contorted into a monstrous grin that glowed like his radio dial red eyes, and he was covered in blood.

thump thump slide

thump thump slide

With every two steps Alastor took, he paused to drag the body behind him, leaving a crimson trail in his wake.

“Ah, hello there, my kindly fellow resident. Would you be interested in playing a game with me this evening? It seems I’m out of other options when it comes to . . .” he glanced down at the demon body he was still pulling alone behind him, “. . . participants.”

The prey swallowed and began taking small steps backwards.

“Hide and seek, doesn’t that sound fun? And the rules are very simple. You see, you hide, to the very best of your abilities. And I seek the second course to my dinner this evening.”

“I-I-I’m pretty tired, A-alastor. Mr. . . . Radio Demon. I think I’ll pass.”

“Oh! Hahaha! I see we’ve had a misunderstanding. My mistake. You see, I only asked you if you were interested. The participation, however, isn’t voluntary.”

The prey found his voice, sounding much bolder and braver than he felt.

“Charlie won’t let you get away with this.”

Alastor dropped the arm he had been dragging the body with, letting it fall with a thud to the carpet below, before he sized up his meal.

With a darker, deeper voice, he answered, “you’ll be gutted before you ever get the chance to breath her air again.”

The prey ran for his life down the hallway, screaming for help as he went. At first he didn’t consider the fact that it should have been impossible for him to outrun Alastor, or for him to make it out of the hallway alive. But as every turn brought him to another hallway rather than the set of stairs he should have found by now, he came to the horrifying conclusion that he was being toyed with. That somehow, with his powers, Alastor had corrupted the very space of the hotel itself, leaving him in a maze of never ending hallways with no possible way out.

He ran until his breath gave out and his sides cramped up with stitches. Stumbling along each new hallway, he nearly vomited when he came across the blood trail left behind by the body Alastor had been dragging. Only this time he was coming up to it from the opposite direction, as if he was following Alastor’s footsteps. Which should have been impossible, since that way was supposed to lead to a dead end. When he turned back around to face the direction he had just come, he saw that it was indeed a dead end, rather than the open-ended left turn he had just made.

 And then the sound of a vacuum cleaner running came from the other end of the hallway. It was completely unexpected and sounded foreign to his terrified ears, but the prey wandered towards the sound, hopeless for another route to take. And perhaps Alastor wouldn’t murder and eat him in front of another hotel resident.

He found Niffty with her back to him, mindlessly vacuuming the hallway. Although it was late at night and any sane person wouldn’t be cleaning at this hour, he didn’t question it with Niffty. The woman was strange and erratic, though he was drawn to her air of innocence. He knew that in Hell, the image of innocence was usually a lie. In fact, it was a lie he was leaning on more and more himself these days. But he was willing to suspend belief when it might lead to a little fun and he had been hoping for an opportunity alone with Niffty since he first saw her.

Those kinds of thoughts were far from his mind when he glanced her that evening.

He was still new to the hotel and though he had seen the news footage of Niffty wielding the knife that killed Adam, he hadn’t yet seen her murder sprees of the roaches, and she appeared weaponless at the moment. The prey was very wrong in his beliefs that she was relatively harmless.

Clearing his throat, he tried to get her attention but either her hearing was very bad, or she just couldn’t hear him over the sound of her vacuum.

He tapped her on the shoulder.

Niffty jumped in her skin for a second before turning around to see who had startled her. When she looked up at him, her one eye looked annoyed and disappointed in him, but she flipped the switch on the vacuum and turned it off.

With a hand on her hip, she gave him a once over, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“You’re not the fun kind of bad boy.”

“Niffty, I need your help,” the prey panted, ignoring what she had said. He often didn’t understand the things she was prone to prattling off about anyway.

Niffty shook her head in disgust.

“Don’t you know the rules of hide and seek?”

The prey could feel the blood draining from his face as understanding dawned on him.

Niffty brought a giant needle seemingly out of nowhere, brandishing it so that it gleamed in the dim light of the hallway.

“You’re supposed to run and hide!” she cackled and raised the needle above her head but the prey was already off, running back in the direction he had come from, never minding that the hall seemed to change before his very eyes, turning into a completely different hallway.

It split in the middle, the stairs that led to the front lobby coming up just to his right, and he sprinted down them, losing his balance and falling the last half of the stairs.

He rolled to a stop on the hard marble of the lobby, looking up at the disinterested forms of Cherri and Angel, and spying Husker in the distance.

“H-help,” he gasped out, but no one even glanced at him.

“No can do,” Angel said and took a sip of his drink.

“Yeah, fuck off,” Cherri agreed.

Husk simply lifted his middle finger and went back to cleaning glasses.

They were all against him, he realized. Stumbling to his feet and clutching his side, he shuffled to the front door.

He half expected it to be locked from the inside but to his great relief and astonishment, it opened. Warm dry air hit his face and he had never been so glad to smell the sickly scent of brimstone air before.

The prey ran across the threshold with no hesitation and with a blink, found himself running head first into the large kitchen island.

“Fuck fuck fucking fuck!” he screamed out as the edge of the counter slammed into his gut, knocking the wind out of him once more.

“Language,” you tutted from the opposite side of the island, where you stood chopping vegetables and herbs.

“Fuck you,” the prey huffed. “Fuck you and your fucking psycho boyfriend.”

“Now that’s no way to talk to a lady,” Alastor’s voice said from the doorway. “I’m afraid that’s a trespass I can not forgive.”

You smiled at Alastor as he walked into the room, past the prey, and came up to your side, admiring the prepping you had accomplished for your dinner in such a small amount of time.

Indeed, just about everything was ready, save the last ingredient. You even had the candles lit and the placemats set.

“Oh my God,” the prey cried.

“I know!” Alastor exclaimed, picking up a sprig of thyme. “Fresh herbs! In Hell! A rarity, but my darling is fantastic at finding these little gems.”

“You’re both insane,” the prey said, backing away from the island and towards  the door.

He tried the knob but of course it was locked from the inside. There truly was no escape.

Urine ran down his legs, soaking the front of his pants, as you and Alastor began approaching your dinner, walking down either side of the island with matching smiles on your faces.

“You see, my little sweetheart here has quite a lot of trauma to work through,” Alastor began. “And dealing with Sinners with your particular vices, helps her process. Oh yes, we know all your dirty little secrets. She always finds those out and reports back to me so that I may . . . satisfy both of our needs.”

The prey closed his eyes and promised himself he wouldn’t scream.

But the second the claws and teeth were on his skin, scream he did.

____

Your hands were covered in blood up to your elbows and you were sure the lower half of your face wasn’t doing much better. But this was indeed the best dinner you and Alastor had shared in quite some time.

“Really my love, you out did yourself finding these,” Alastor said as he sprinkled fresh parsley onto the slab of thigh meat, raising it up to his mouth and with an unnatural hinge of his jaw, swallowed it in one loud gulp.

You smiled, beaming as a result of his praise, and used your knife to take another slice out of the heart on your plate. Blood oozed out of the severed aorta as you cut into the cardiac muscle, the crimson juices overfilling your plate and spiling onto the table below.

“I have my ways,” you said with pride as you took a hearty bite out of your meal.

“Indeed you do,” Alastor hummed, and reached for the body laid across the table in front of you, ready to tear off another piece of meat.

As his claws tore away another chunk of flesh, the door to the kitchen slammed open and there stood an enraged Charlie, catching both of you literally red handed, coated in blood with your prey gutted and half eaten in front of you.

She took a second to look at the body and then her eyes darted between you and Alastor. Then with a large exhale, she screamed, “What the actual fuck is going on!”

Author's Note: I am sssoooooo sorry this took so long to come out. My wife is in school and we share a laptop so I've had limited access to write. And pregnancy brain has me in a fog and sleeping on most of my down time anyway. I hope you all can forgive me!

Tag list: @cosmiccandydreamer @itsaubreyofcc @thereallsaturnstar @anngray1369 @l3rittany @littlebluefishtail @saccharine-nectarine @everwolf-20 @chewiii-13 @yunecardelia

[archiveikemen]

Liam Evans 2nd Birthday Campaign: Story

Epilogue [His POV]

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

It was the first time I found myself unable to look at someone because their existence was so dazzling.

Kate: Nn, Liamm

(Cute…) 

I reached between my lover’s legs as she laid below me with tears in her eyes, enduring the pleasure. 

Liam: Like it here?

Kate let out a high-pitched cry of pleasure when I sank my fingers into her wet spot. 

Kate: Ahh, that spot— 

(Cute, cute, so cute.)

As I pumped my fingers in and out of her, she came so hard that she was in a daze.

Seeing her melting from the pleasure made me want to give her even more. 

(Seriously, how can you possibly be this cute and loveable?) 

Kate looked like a cat begging for food when she rubbed her cheek against my hand that was positioned next to her face. 

Liam: ! 

Kate: Liam… already…

It was awfully lascivious.

Liam: Yeah, I’m already at my limit too. 

I was only pretending to be composed because I wanted her to be impressed, even just a little bit.

(But that pretence falls off right away.) 

When in front of Kate, any attempts to act cool were meaningless.

As I reached for my belt, Kate spread her arms wide. 

Liam: Sorry, I don’t think you’ll be getting any sleep until past noon.

Laying on the white sheets scattered with rose petals, she gave me a gentle smile.

Kate: I don’t mind as long as we’ll be sleeping together.

(You’re truly so kind and doting towards me.) 

In place of a reply, I hugged her tight and gave her a breathtakingly deep kiss.

Then I entered her, surrendering myself to the euphoria. 

…

Tom: Thanks, Liam. You’re a great help.

I was standing on stage after practice to help Tom install the new lights. 

Liam: Nah, I was also curious to see how the new lights look. 

Liam: But they’re rather hot, so I think we could consider thinner costumes. 

Stage lights shine brightly on the actors, but they also give off heat, making us feel hot being under them. 

Tom: I see… I’ll discuss that with the costume team tomorrow.

Tom: This is the kind of lighting that best makes our lead actor shine like a star. It was worth every penny of that high price.

Seeing Tom pretend to cry and worry about his wallet made me recall my birthday a few days ago.

Liam: Like a star…

At that moment, I couldn't contain my smile when I thought of Kate’s dazzling smiling face. 

Tom: … You took a day off on your birthday this year. How did you spend it? 

I looked up to see Tom wearing a soft smile as though he knew I had a great birthday. 

Liam: … I had a wonderful time. My lover celebrated with me, and my friends threw a party too.

On the night of my birthday, Kate took my hand and led me to the dining room where everyone from Crown had gathered.

(Victor whipped up a luxurious dinner spread, and Harry and Will prepared presents for me.) 

Colourful streamers popped out from party crackers, filling the room with vibrancy and joy. 

(Last year, I would've been too afraid to accept that happy scene.) 

But with her smiling next to me, I had the courage to embrace that happiness. 

Tom: From that look on your face, I can already tell you had a good time. I’m relieved to know that.

Tom: I’d appreciate it if you could also fly back here to celebrate with us too next year. 

While holding the keys, Tom smiled and I gave a vague smile in return…

(When that day comes, I’ll definitely fly back here like he said.)

Once you’ve gotten a taste of happiness, you can never forget it.

(I long to see your smile again and hear your congratulatory words.)

…

I parted ways with Tom and walked through the streets at night.

(It’s quite late, so Kate’s probably already asleep.)

I had let her know before leaving the castle that I’d be return late, so she definitely went to bed first.

The hands on the clock tower struck twelve, I lost count of how many nights I’ve spent walking alone like this. 

(In the past, I’d go out drinking, partying, or doing dangerous things with Al.) 

But ever since Kate and I started dating, my nightlife decreased dramatically and before I knew it, scouting potential date spots became my norm. 

(Maybe I should look around and plan our next date for the weekend.)

I turned around and went past shops I planned to visit with Kate.

(Here and…)

(This shop too.) 

Liam: That should do it. 

After checking out various places, I was on my way home again.

It had been two hours.

(We’ll have a meal together first, then we’ll check out that shop for some trinkets, after that we’ll go grab a snack…) 

As I was planning our date while walking in the night, the lightness of my heart was shown in my footsteps. 

(Kate will definitely like that shop.) 

A smile formed on my lips when I imagined her reaction, and the smell of modern roses reached my nose. I reached into my pocket and inside it was a pink pouch filled with the rose petals Kate showered me with on my birthday. 

(I was right to turn it into a sachet to carry around with me.)

I narrowed my eyes contentedly when I gently shook the sachet and caught another waft of the roses. 

(I’m sure that this scent will fade away too.) 

But you taught me that there’ll always be next time. 

(Like petals falling off a flower, happiness will eventually come to an end.)

(But I’ll live in the present as though that day will never come.)

— As long as you continue shining brightly at the centre of my world. 

Liam: … This won’t do, I need to see Kate right now. 

I put the sachet back into my pocket and quickened my pace. 

The stars twinkled in the sky. 

…

Without knocking on the door, I sneaked into Kate’s bedroom and saw her sound asleep on the bed. A smile formed on my face.

(She has such an adorable sleeping face… I wonder what kind of dream she’s having.)

From the slight upward curve of her lips, I thought that she must've been having a pleasant dream and laid down next to her.

Before I met Kate, my heart that never once felt full was always dull. 

But after meeting her, I continued being afraid of experiencing happiness and regretting having ever been born.

(... Even now, I still can’t bring myself to say that I’m glad I was born.) 

The scars in my heart remained, and they would never disappear. 

(But despite that, you saved me.) 

Kate smiled happily as I tucked the strand of hair that had fallen onto her cheek, behind her ear.

Kate: Liam… welcome home…

Liam: Sorry, did I wake you? 

I quickly moved away, but Kate stayed fast asleep… 

Liam: … Was she sleep-talking? 

She snuggled up against my chest with a tender smile. 

Liam: … Do you see me even in your dreams? 

Despite not receiving a reply, I wrapped my arms around her and held her close. 

Liam: That’s not fair. I want to see you in my dreams too.

Even now, I’m still afraid of sleeping.

(Because I can never have happy dreams.)

But being by your side makes me feel like I won’t get nightmares.

Liam: I wanted to feel happy and needed by someone, and yet I wasn't prepared to receive happiness. 

Liam: That’s why there were so many moments where I couldn't bring myself to take your hand. 

There were multiple instances where I wished I had taken your hand.

Liam: But because you didn't give up on me, I started believing that I shouldn't give up on myself either. 

Time and time again, you reached out your small hand towards me; and that’s why I can be here right now, expressing my love for you. 

Liam: That’s why, this time, I’ll be the one to hold your hand no matter how many times. 

Liam: If it slips away, I’ll tighten my grip. If we miss each other, I’ll run after you. 

Liam: Even if you give up on yourself, I’ll never give up on you.

Liam: With the rest of my life, I’ll repay you for everything you’ve done for me.

Drawn to her warmth, sleepiness started to wash over me. It was a rare occurrence. 

(It still scares me to give into my sleepiness, but…)

For some reason, I had a feeling I would have a pleasant dream that night.

Liam: Good night, Kate. See you in my dreams. 

As I hugged her tightly and shut my eyes, I saw with my mind’s eye an image of her showering me with petals.

— Tonight, too, the brightest star in my universe was shining brilliantly in my arms. 

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 10)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

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

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds 📍

Part 10 Good Deeds

Alastor takes you out as promised, but work/hobbies call him away. Not that you mind, you have your own hobbies to pick up.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem!Reader, references to racial violence, reference to a word that’s now very much a slur, Hate for Aubrey, inaccurate portrayal of how easy it was to drink, oh yeah murder, mentions of a dismembered body, bloody shoes, physics hijinks with a corpse, these idiots in love, gators aaaaaye baby, domestic fluff?? Kind of?? Did I do it?!」

I think about Emmett Till often. Though his heinous murder came after the time this story is set, what happened to him wasn’t an isolated incident. So it is referenced here in a sense, because I can’t stop thinking about him when I think about racial violence in the south both what it looked like before and what it looks like now. I don’t say anything explicit and change the act, but it is still important to warn you. If you don’t know about the tragic death of Emmett, here’s a site with links to articles and essays. Be careful, it is awful and his deceased and battered face will come up on some links, as his mother wanted the world to see what they did to her baby. It’s an image I cannot forget and I rightfully shouldn’t. I know it’s off to have such a heavy topic before this love story but this case is the kind that would motivate such a killer as Alastor, and I don’t want to miss an opportunity to remind us of Emmett’s short life even if it’s done in a silly fanfic surrounded by nonsense. So forgive me for perhaps an odd real life addition, I’d be disappointed in myself for not addressing it when Emmett has been on my mind every time I think about the era someone like Alastor could have lived in. An era that did exist and people did live and suffer in.  An era not far removed from us, my father was alive when this happened.

Part 10 - Good Deeds

minors if you interact I will interpret that as a deep hate for me as a person so MDNI 👌🏼

“I’ve got to speak with the valet, go on ahead and find a table you like.” 

You didn’t want to do that at all, but knew Alastor wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want it. Well, he didn’t really ask, did he? He was certainly in his element, the shining and towering hotel every bit as pristine as his own public image.

It was as if every head in the room spun around to look at you. Everyone’s hair freshly styled, jewelry shiny and heavy, clothes immaculate. Your dress was lovely, no doubt, but no one looks at the elephant in her tutu at the circus and proclaims, “A ballerina!” This was, rather obviously, not your scene.

Alastor had presented the dress to you so sweetly, though. You woke up to find it hanging on the closet door hook, the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. He had either waited for you to fall asleep to hang it or woken up before you for just the reason. It was red, his favorite color for you. The latest fashion, loose and straight. No corset. The neckline showcased a large, flat bow. 

“Partly a gift for me,” he had said as his hands slid down your sides when you had gotten dressed, “Such softness shouldn’t be hidden behind rigid boning.”

You settled into a large seashell shaped booth, the back coming up and over like you were the speck of sand yet to form into a pearl. The table was small, a glittering pattern under its shiny veneer. Everything was…glistening. Even the darkness past the windows seemed to be sparkling back at you. A few people turned to look you up and down, smiling and beginning to speak to their group before even turning back to them. 

You could wither, or bloom. So you learned back as if you were bored, legs crossed and feet gently shaking with anxiety or boredom, you hoped no one could sus out which. 

It was so odd. In your usual haunts, newcomers were greeted with curious smiles and maybe the tiniest suspicions. You were being picked apart to the bone by sharp stares and even sharper tongues, no matter how silent their jabs were to you. 

“They’re probably jealous.” Your head snapped up, when had Alastor made it in? “They look at you and know, ‘oh, that’s the kind of woman my husband would rather have a conversation with.’” You laughed, you absolutely could have stolen the attention and more from at least one of these women’s husbands.

“Perhaps they recognize these earrings, gone missing from their jewelry box earlier this year.”  You weren’t above accepting a woman’s stolen jewelry. It was her husband's fault anyway, might as well enjoy it. 

Alastor’s finger came to your chin, lifting your face further into the light, “Give em a good look, darling. I want them to eat their hearts out.” The blush that swept across your features was so fierce, the difference in temperature between your cheeks and your arms caused a chill to run down to your shins. He took a seat beside you, scooting up close and flashing that smile. A smile that had you chasing him into dark alleys and grabbing dead men by the ankles. 

A waiter came by, placing a drink in front of Alastor and asking what you’d like. You were so used to being in such spaces with the kind of men who answered for you that you didn’t reply immediately. When Alastor brought his drink to his lips, you realized it was you who was expected to speak. 

“Oh! A corpse reviver please.”

The man smiled and left with a nod. Alastor choked, hitting his chest with the fleshy part of his palm, “That was intentional, wasn’t it?”

You danced in your seat, “I’ve never been somewhere that has the stock for it that I was…allowed to order what I want.”

Alastor set his drink down and leaned back, shoulder pressing into yours teasingly, “I can’t imagine anyone disallowing you a thing.” With a sigh, you reminded him of the things you did to get your marks drunk and off their guard. You were surprised when he nodded like he remembered. “I saw that! You would sit so quietly on their laps. I remember thinking you were much more boring than you had initially made me believe.” You recoiled, and he shot you a look, “Who stalked who first, hm?” 

With a huff, you let it go. You weren’t actually sure the answer to that anyway. Focus let free from Alastor, you began to notice the looks were back. But no longer cutting into you, but wide and devouring. A few smiled at Alastor, some tipped their heads to him and offered a look of recognition. “Aren’t you popular.”

“I haven’t been out in awhile. They’re probably curious.” He took another sip, “Should be, atleast.”

A prideful smile slid up your face. You uselessly tried to mask it by licking your teeth. 

Something that happened when in public with Alastor that was unlike you was the tendency to become small. Not shrinking to provide him space; it was a turning in of your shoulders and touching of your knees in a subconscious effort to curl into a little ball of joy. Actively fighting the tug, you leaned back and opened your chest. An exercise in mental focus. 

“It’s weird. How you can be friends with my kind of people and….well, whatever is happening here.” Your hand waved at the room before you both. 

“My friendship with these people compared to our friends at the dives is…. A light bulb compared to a fire. One was manufactured to fit a need, one exists somewhat naturally.”

Tall and slim, body flat from collar bones to knees, a slip of a woman entered the room and you felt a shift in the atmosphere. Her hair was short and pitch black, fashionable to say the least. A few heads turned, a few upturned lips shifted into sneers. Side glances, hushed words, intentionally heard huffs. You turned to Alastor to find his face was as confused as your own. 

“Who is that?” You said it low, not knowing if she was friend or foe. 

“That would be Mrs. Aubrey Debreaux. Popular socialite and frequent hostess.” A sip of his drink, speaking about her like a character in a novel. “This icy reception is news to me though. She’s usually the life of the party.”

“She’s a real wet blanket now…Your circles seem really fickle. Always a bit of gossip.” You realized as soon as you said it that, well, that was the point. Alastor needed the gossip, and, well, he clearly enjoyed it.

“That’s what the wealthy do. Gossip and pretend the drama is as stressful as someone looking for their next meal.” Swirling his drink absentmindedly, his eyes followed Aubrey through the hotel bar. When you asked if he knew everyone there, he said it was his job to know people.

“Your job is in radio. You host a show, Alastor.” You laughed through your nose.

“Well, my other job.”

“I’d call that a passionate hobby.” Your hand came to rest half on his and half on the booth bench low and hidden, not wanting to monopolize, but he quickly took it and held it on the table. Another struggle to keep your shoulders from drawing inward.

The room moved on, forgetting you both were there and eventually about Aubrey too. Or so you had thought. When you drink was starting to mellow you, you turned to Alastor to admire the view. You’d come to enjoy that silence, the kind that only existed between people comfortable enough to know they didn’t need to entertain each other to enjoy each other’s company.

He was scanning the bar still, elbow on the table as he rested his chin there. From a distance of space or familiarity it could be seen as boredom. But up close and personal, you could see the wheels spinning behind his eyes.

“Golly, when in Rome!” Alastor hooted and grabbed you by the hand with one of his and carried his drink in the other, “Let’s go gossip. Bring your drink.”

He pulled you into a group of four people in a circle talking. They opened and let you both in, smiles warm. A clamor of excited ‘how long has it been’s, ‘how are you’s, and ‘you look well’s.

You’d expected him to ask for gossip like he’d said, but realized that’d be pretty conspicuous. Instead he waited, and when Aubrey passed by one of them rolled their eyes and he had his opportunity.

“What’s that look for?” He asked. 

Everyone got quiet and passed a glance between them. Finally a woman in a beaded dress and finger wave bob piped up.

“She reported a young boy touched her on the street.” Alastor watched Aubrey cycle through the groups as the friend spoke. “Grazed her hip with his hands, made a comment about white women as he did it.”

Alastor’s head whipped back around. “He got taken away that night.”

You gasped, hand coming to your mouth in sincere horror, “Just for touching her? Is he still in jail?” 

The woman’s lips pursed together, no one looking at you.

“Bless your heart. He didn’t touch her and he didn’t make it to the jailhouse, sugar.”

Suddenly the way everyone was looking everywhere but at each other sunk in. 

Panicked, you looked to Alastor. His expression was still, like the calm waters of a deep and foreboding bay. What horrors lie underneath? His tongue wiped across his teeth, and you reached out to take his drink from his hand. The action snapped him out of his daze for a second, expression softening a tad as he nodded a thank you.

If he shattered that glass now, people would remember. And when Aubrey went missing they may recall Alastor’s dramatic reaction. You knew his smiles intimately, the ones that were true and the ones that were illusions. The expressions of joy and the mask for his rage. The smile painted on his face now was nothing short of shallow.

You spent so many days in a bubble with Alastor, shielded by his grace or by the accepting and illegal circles you ran in that you sometimes forgot the reality of life. A dark privilege you hadn’t seen until you were the one looking naive for once. 

That’s right. The world was a bad place, of cruelty and injustice. Not just for you, or for parts of you, or for sides of you. Not just for women with smart mouths or a love of dance. No matter how safe the comfort of your friends and the dark halls you all commiserate in, no matter the like minds and mixed complexions of your peers, you were all just one cruel voice from being dragged into the night. Just a single accusation from being a whispered story in a glittering hotel bar. A headline no one would write. 

And some of you would be mourned more than others. 

You took a second, blinking rapidly to dry your eyes. 

“Apparently, she did it to get Hubert to leave his mistress’s apartment and come home.” A short man whose name you never got took a drag of his cigarette, “Worked. He’s been yapping all week about the state of New Orleans society and the importance of protecting the fairer among us.”

Alastor was quiet still, lips tight. You’d seen the photos in his home. You’d never discussed it, no need. Things can’t become normal if you’re always pointing them out. Plus, that was his piece to share. 

“Glad to see most of us here aren’t too keen to welcome her. I’d hate to have to find another bar.” Someone said, glancing around the room. “George just started making my martinis right.”

“Care to dance?” Alastor abruptly turned his entire body to you with a slick swivel on his heels.

You nodded, offering small polite goodbyes and setting your drinks back on the table before turning to him.

His open palm was outstretched and offering you a dance. You spread your hand over his and felt him hold you firmly before pulling you into him. 

He held you so close, much closer than anyone else on the dance floor. A scandalous lack of distance between you two. Quiet, Alastor’s eyes were distant. You were in front of him but he wasn’t seeing you. You let the song carry on a little longer for appearances before sighing into a smile.

“Why are we dancing when you have work to do? You have your tools.” Looking up at a man was rarely a view you enjoyed but the way his eyes slid down his nose and landed so sharply on you made it worth it. A look that said he’d devour you if he didn’t adore you so much. Your hand snaked behind his back to touch the hidden outline of this trusty little knife. He briefly wondered if this could be considered foreplay, the way he felt your hand on his lower back and running over his weapon. Much more intimate than he’d ever let anyone else be.

As your bodies swayed, the lights slid across the curve of his eyes and lit that bright honey brown color like a diamond twirling in the sun. The facets of his irises mesmerizing you. 

How terribly did you love him? 

How far would you fall for him?

“This would be a long one. You’d be waiting… could be a couple of hours. I need to be out of sight before she leaves.” A chill. Oh, you’d forgotten for a second, Alastor was a killer. He didn’t do it for ‘justice’ alone, he enjoyed what he did. Immensely. His voice had a note of giddiness and anger that didn’t mix well, but was oddly arousing. 

“Correction, I’d be dancing for hours. Drinking. Letting handsome men waste their money on me.” 

“Oh? Can they buy me a drink, too?”

You brought up your pointer finger, “You remind her of her humanity, and I’ll get a man to buy you a drink.” 

He linked his finger with yours. “I’ll need to give her special attention. She’s earned it.”

You loosely understood this wasn’t attention like you’d be given. This was attention that ran opposite affection. 

“I’m not here to be in your way, Alastor.” A quick kiss to your hand, one you hoped no one else saw. While no one here would be bothered by Brady, you still wanted to keep some semblance of confusion on what you two were to onlookers. 

His laugh was louder than you expected, a few heads turning, “Impossible. I’m always going wherever you are, dear.”

Would you never get up again?

“I’ll stay at the bar. If they close, I’ll just go to Beth’s.” Your fingers lingered in his, “Be careful. The best good deeds are done in the dark.”

A kiss to your nose. So gentle despite the topic. You could imagine it, the violent death of a woman. You could hear the sounds. Hers, his, the knife’s. A pang of guilt set in before you could remind yourself why this woman was going to die. A tiny smile settled on your face, he offered you a gentle command in return, “Understood, honey. Be safe.” 

You let him kiss your hand again and bow out of  the dance. You were doing it, it dawned on you as you watched him walk away. Truly kissing him goodbye at the door as he went off to work. The closest you’d ever gotten, atleast. 

He stopped by a group and said some quick goodbyes, apologies for leaving early, and left the hotel bar. 

You knew he had killed women before, Alastor was all for equality, but a part of you worried. Women tend to scream louder, and be heard more often, than men. A man screams and people just…keep walking. What would he do? Where would he do it?

With a sniffle, you let the jealousy of just what he would need to do to get her alone flutter away. Taking a seat back at your table, you sipped your drink and watched the others dance and chat. How odd, they could sway in such large places with big windows and bright lights with no fear of cops. Your scenes were dark, dusty, never seeing the sky. 

“He left ya?” One of the earlier women came by, someone you vaguely remember him nodding a ‘hello’ to at some point in the evening. 

Thankfully you were still quick on your feet. “Well, we came separately, of course we’d leave separately.”

A laughed, “Of course.” She leaned down, touching at your hair for a second, curiously, “Don’t hold your breath. But, it is nice he got you in here, huh? Must be a treat for you.” 

Your own laugh was just as abrupt as Alastor’s earlier, your hand coming to hide your smile. All you could muster was a nod. Yes, you stood out. Yes, you didn’t fit in with these people for many reasons. But, it wasn’t your first time in nice spaces. First time not pressed into a man who’d been made to believe he was more important the whole time, but still. 

It took two more drinks for Aubrey to leave. But there was a problem. As she was trying to bow out of the room, a man kept hooking his fingers under the loose belt of her boxy drop waist dress.

With practiced skill, you took note of where her eyes lingered on him, how her hand came to his arm but didn’t actually press him away. Not earnestly.

The pushy man saw it too, every little soft ‘no’ was a half ‘yes’. And Aubrey seemed to like that. It was almost ironic, given what she had done, how she egged on the younger man before her now by pretending she didn’t want him. His hand landed on her hip forcefully, her hand on his chest gingerly. He leaned in close, she pulled away barely.

The next act was the most classic to women of your era. The false exit.

Aubrey whispered something, he nodded eagerly and his many hands returned to himself.

She smiled at the back of everyone’s heads, as nearly no one would look her way, and she slipped out the doors.

You couldn’t stop yourself from shimmying as you slid from your booth. Barely a step away, you leaned back and grabbed the last sip in your glass. You swished it around your mouth like listerine, and swallowed it. Before you got too close, you pinched your cheeks until your eyes began to water.

You’d just found a way to make yourself useful.

“Whoopsie Daisy!” You giggled, shoulder colliding with the man’s chest as you stumbled past.

“Watch - ooh, hey,” the free hand that had come to keep you from getting closer quickly softened, curling around your waist. The same hand that’d just been on the socialite. You were sure to look up and sigh into him, your breath soaked in alcohol. “You okay, doll? Had a bit too much?”

With glassy eyes you nodded, closing them and letting your head nod lazily, “I lost my thing!” You laughed, hitting his chest.

“Your what? I happen to be a thing.” 

How quickly he forgot his target when easier to pick fruit appeared.

“No, silly!” A practiced hiccup, “my little…”

“Your little…?”

Your fingers wiggled in the direction of your hip.

“Purse!” A beaming grin. He asked if you needed help finding it. “Well, how else am I gonna get another drink!” The hand on your waist fell to your hip and slunk lower. 

“Oh well, I could help ya with that.” He leaned in, looking around first as if he had a secret, “I have a room upstairs.”

You tutted, “No no, I am a married woman!” He lifted your left hand, turning it over in a dramatic search for a ring. “Well, engaged…” you diverted your gaze. He lifted his hand to his brow then and scanned the room like a sailor to the horizon. “He’s working late.” You whined.

Why did his kind of man always want the taken woman? Did they think the chase was more meaningful then? Did they feel like they’d won some tug-of-war with an invisible, unaware opponent?

Maybe they were hardwired to hoard resources.

You let him seat you at the bar, and when he ordered you a drink you asked to know your savior’s name. William.

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Alastor was none the wiser, smoking a cigarette under the streetlamp just off to the side of the hotel awning. He didn’t smoke often before you, but he found the lure of sitting on the porch passing a pill between you both too hard to fight. And soon enough the habit grew from a drinking pastime to just… something to do with his hands.

As Aubrey appeared, waiting for her driver to retrieve the car, Alastor tossed the butt to the street and walked up on her.

“I’m quite cross with you, Aubrey.” His tone was smiling as his hand slid behind her neck and tugged her away from the safety and lights of the awning.

“Oh! Alastor, I’m actually waiting for my car.” She struggled to keep up with his pace in her heels, weakly pointing back to where the valet had stood earlier. She resisted a little, the palm on the nape of her neck silently shutting her down.

“Nonsense. We have business together.” Alastor let his hand fall to her upper arm as he yanked her into the closest side street. “I hear you’ve been a very bad girl.”

Aubrey huffed, pulling back against him once, then twice, but ultimately acquiesced when she could see his car down the street.

“Fine, you can drive me home then.” A misplaced giggle, her survival skills dulled by ego.

He tossed her roughly against the car, hand gripping her face tightly. She tried to say his name, but his hold was so firm her jaw was locked.

“You’re going to get into my car now.” Alastor’s eyes had lost their pupil, an expanse of a seemingly endless dark brown in the heavy shadows left by the lamp’s light. When he let her face go, she rolled her eyes and pulled open the back seat door.

That wasn’t what he had meant, not there, but he closed the door behind her and got into the driver’s seat. He hadn’t brought the tarp tonight, not expecting to need it, so maybe the backseat was his best option regardless.

When he pulled away, she reminded him he didn’t know her address.

“I’m not taking you home. I told you. I have a bone to pick with you.” Alastor found himself incapable of putting on a ruse for her. His patience was entirely lost in his unraveling anger.

“Oooh? A bone, you say. Well, well.” Aubrey leaned forward onto the front seat, hands snaking down his shoulders and chest so she could nip at his ear, “Finally letting me have a ride.”

He had to set his right hand in the darkness of his lap to hide the tremble, a disgusted rage manifesting in uncommon ways. 

As her fingers found the buttons of his waist coat, Alastor struggled to see the road in front of him. His vision was going white, and then red. His blood pressure was so high he was nearly blind. 

And when two hot fingers broached the small space between buttons of his dress shirt and touched the bare skin of his chest, the car came to an abrupt halt. The force threw her into the backseat. 

Alastor slammed the front seat door shut before opening the back and caging her in. “I can’t stand another second of your existence.” She crawled backward, making room for him. “I’m going to fucking kill you.” 

Aubrey settled her back against the opposite door, “Oh, the petit mort.”

His head hung low in frustration, a growled  “No, the big one.” as he raked his fingers through his hair to keep from punching his own car seat.

“So I’ve heard.” She pulled up the hem of her dress slowly.

“For fucks sake Aubrey! I’m not using double entendre!” His hands wrapped around her neck. “Must I really remind you of what wrongs you’ve committed?!”

A brief panic finally came, “Wrongs?? Excuse you.”

He could have sworn the snap in his brain had been audible to her as he lost his last bit of patience.

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“Excuse me.” You settled back into the seat, having taken a bathroom break to down some water in secret. You weren’t trying to actually end up blacked out.

“Anyway,  that's how we secured the riverside house.” William leaned into you. You tried to sip your drink and found it empty, having managed to finish it absentmindedly while he rambled on about himself earlier. As you stared at him you let your eyes lose focus and drift into plans for the morning. You’d like biscuits. Alastor had some sausage he’d picked up the other day, maybe a little gravy and some eggs. It’d be like a Sunday meal nice families ate after church. You assumed. Out of the peripheral of your daydream you saw him tap the bar twice and hold up two fingers. “Charge to 1033.” He said. With the clarity of someone who wasn’t pretending to be drunk you quickly held up three.

William shot you a confused look.

“One for my darling.” He made a show of looking around, the bartender pausing. You gave him a confirmation nod, “Three, please.”

“And is he in the room with us now, Helen? I’m beginning to think he’s imaginary.”

It seemed a fine enough name to give him.

“No! But I made a promise. Or…,” you returned the lean, head resting on his shoulder, “are three drinks a little steep for you?“ With a huff, he pulled out a pair of C notes and set them on the bar. The bartender nodded, reaching for the top shelf. You whistled at the sight. Too much money for the total seven drinks he’d ordered, if you weren’t somewhere Alastor frequented you’d have slipped them under the lip of your stockings when the man wasn’t looking. He was charging the room anyway, the large bills were just for show…

“One reviver for the miss, one brandy for the sir, and a rye whiskey neat for the beau.” The bartender set the drinks down on red napkins. The whiskey sat between you both, and after a beat you realized you hadn’t actually told him what to make for Alastor. And come to think of it, your last drink hadn’t been a reviver at all but a brandy ordered by William.

“Ya know I stood up another woman to help you,” he said it into your cheek, stealing your attention by breaking your line of thought. His arm around your shoulder curled to hold you closer, “Don’t I get a reward for that?”

His breath reeked of sickeningly sweet brandy, the taste sticking to the back of your throat. Your head tilted back so you could look at him down your nose, right hand coming to rest on his thigh.

The heat of his body was radiating through the fabric of his pants and made your stomach turn. How many hot and sweaty bodies had you had the pleasure and displeasure of touching?

A smirk painted your face, remembering seeing sweat sticking to Alastor’s forehead the last time he fucked you. What had you done for that reward? Ah right, the somehow shocking act of not withholding praise for how well planned out his greenhouse was. How impressive he was to you in so many ways. You could have lingered on that recollection, on how Alastor set down his coffee and kissed you. And how he didn’t stop until you were both left undone and flustered. But movement stirred away the pleasant memory to bring you back to an unpleasant reality.

His hand roamed down your arm, uncomfortably warm palm on your exposed skin. 

“Oh, I know you did.” You said.

William chuckled, absolutely no idea what you were talking about and not particularly giving a shit. “Did I mention I have a room here?”

“Ten thirty three.” You repeated. 

He looked genuinely shocked, “How’d you know that?” The man was absolutely mystified.

“I— you just…,” your mask slipped in the face of such abject stupidity, “Lucky guess.” William drank his brandy slowly, mentioning you should bet on the ponies together. You nodded. 

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Alastor didn’t care for strangulation. It took so much time and wasn’t particularly satisfying. No pleading, no screaming, no blood and gore. Just…. someone flailing beneath you and turning purple. Boring. 

He brought up the accusations before he began to squeeze, and her panic transformed to relief. “Oh that?” She tried to sit up, but he pushed her back down, “Are you really miffed at me about that?”

“Yes, Aubrey! You condemned an innocent child to a horrid death!” His hands loosened, all of his neurons firing off to feel pain in his own heart. 

She rolled her eyes, “I wouldn’t call them children. You seem so upset, hun. Did you have a mam-?”

The rest of the word was barely squeaked out of her, he couldn’t let her finish it. He wasn’t sure what face he made. But whatever it was, it scared her. The carefree way she’d been handling the interaction finally died, and he could register actual fear in her eyes then. 

But the rage just … withered. How many children had his mother loved and doted on before her last, much kinder position? How many Aubreys had she raised. It was nothing short of an overwhelmingly violent sadness that laced his finger together around her neck and tightened, the full weight of his body coming down to crush her airways. He wanted such sentiments to be smothered out of the world like the air in her lungs. If he killed enough, could he make a dent in their influence? He could try. For her. For his mother. 

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“Ya know, I could take real good care of you. If that’s what’s stopping you from coming upstairs.” 

With a deep breath, you gulped the drink halfway down. “Your fella doesn’t need to know. I could even get you your own place, you could wait for me there when he’s late with work. Have dinner ready. Slip off my shoes like a good girl.”

“Trust me; you’ve got a better chance of her smacking you with your shoes than slipping them off like a maid.” Alastor was resting his elbow on the bar behind you, head leaning on his hand. “Hey doll. That one mine?” He pointed at the glass.

“Oh? Alastor is the fiancé?,” William gave off a snide laugh as he was interrupted, Alastor standing up and walking to come between you two, “This guy?! Everyone knows he’s a frigid bitch. You must be a dive alley-cat if you’re—,” Alastor’s fist connected with the man’s jaw, eliciting a sickening crack. He needed both hands to keep himself from falling down with William as he was knocked back out of his bar stool. Alastor’s feet slipped on the spilt brandy, causing him to seize the stool for momentary support.

Alastor took the glass of whiskey with his non-dominant hand and downed it. He cooed, “Top shelf, Georgie?” The bartender nodded. “Good choice. Picked a worthy sucker, sweetheart. Ready to peel?”

You watched William try to stand, glass stuck to his palm. He did manage to get on his knees, shouting at the staff who stood motionless and unphased behind the counter. They didn’t say anything at all, oddly, until Alastor extended his swelling hand to you.

“Have a good evening, sir.”

Alastor flashed his signature smile and guided you out of the hotel bar. You only got a few steps before quickly running back and snatching one of the 100$ bills from the counter. William would’ve taken it back from the bar anyway. What a waste!

When a waiter offered Alastor a warm and familiar look you had to wonder, did people really not know what he did in the darkness of the New Orlean’s alleys? Did a part of them not feel some kind of debt to him? Or was he just painfully friendly when socializing?

“Just to be clear,” Alastor let the doorman open the lobby door, “It’s not the accusation of sex work that compelled me to sock him. It’s the implication you’d be cheap.” He waved the valet from the car and opened the door for you, “If you chose to sell your companionship at true worth, his daddy’s money couldn’t even buy him a kiss.”

“Aww,” you smiled at him through the thin windowpane, “Would you really be so cavalier about such a job if I did?”

“Would I? Gosh that’d make retirement much quicker for me.” He slid into the driver's seat and the door shut with a sharp ting. As he took hold of the wheel he reclined to let his hand settle behind you on the backrest, and then you three were off. 

“Oh by the way, Aubrey’s in the backseat.”

You turned slowly, first coming into view were her tiny, shining silver shoes. Your eyes kept traveling; stocking covered calves and then the bottom of her dress just past her knees.

Alastor’s coat draped over her torso and shoulders caused you to flit to him, confirming his jacket was gone, and back to her. 

Her face looked like that of a sleeping passenger. 

No blood.

When the car was a few blocks from the hotel, you leaned back and lifted the jacket. Her abdomen was clean, the white of her dress pristine. At first her neck seemed clear of cuts or abrasions until you rode past a streetlamp and a beam of light revealed the slowly forming collar of bruises.

Special attention.

For a hair of a moment you began to gently cover her again, before remembering her crimes and dropping it on her unceremoniously.

“Trunk not good enough for her?”

“Got interrupted. Booked it back to you.” He shook his head and patted the seat in tandem.

What luck that just as he felt sure she was too far gone for revival, he let go over her neck and sat up in time for someone to notice him. Fishing in his jacket draped over the seat, he found his cigarette case just as—

“What exactly are you two doing?” An officer was flashing his light through the passenger side back window.

Alastor froze, Aubrey motionless between his legs and a cigarette dangling unlit between his lips. “You startled me, officer! We were just canoodling. But she’s gone and fallen asleep before the main event.”

The officer’s brass light shone down but couldn’t reach the dead woman’s face past the shadow cast by the car door and glass. “She alright?”

Alastor’s eyes drifted down to the deceased socialite, “Truth be told sir, she’s had a bit too much of the giggle water.” Fishing your lighter from his waistcoat pocket, he lit this cigarette before setting the jacket over Aubrey like a gentleman.

“Alright y'all better get lost. Tell your moll this ain’t ladylike.” The officer tapped the window with his knuckle and when she didn’t stir just left with a huff.

Alastor was quick to leave the backseat and drive off, circling around at the next block to head back to the hotel.

“Is… everything alright?” You asked, very obviously concerned.

“Peachy! I just said we were necking before she passed out drunk.“ he leaned over and kissed your cheek, “Anything exciting on your end?”

Patting his leg you beamed up at him, “Always so quick on your feet! I don’t know why I worry so much.” His face lit up and you wanted nothing more than to launch into a praise filled rant that fueled his smile. But, you moved on to the question at hand. After a moment to think, you remembered ‘the best good deeds are done in the dark’. “Nope! Just got tipsy on William’s dime. An odd woman did touch my hair…,” you recounted every second, leaving out why you chose William, to Alastor. You hadn’t meant to, and he hadn’t actually asked, the evening’s events just seemed to flow out of you. The way he always added little comments and nodded made it feel like a conversation and not just you rambling. 

When the car was pulling into the driveway, you asked Alastor if you could drive it behind the house. Puzzled, he put it in park and let you sit between his legs. You started slowly, but quickly began to accelerate. As you approached the house you turned sharply to the left, right side tires ever so slightly leaving the ground. A sharp correction to the right to straighten out. One of his hands clutched you at the waist, the other gripping the seat.

He tried to form some kind of words but they came out a jumbled and panicked mash of sounds as you barreled toward the greenhouse. 

You slammed your foot on the brakes and Aubrey flew off the back seat and hit the floor with a loud thud.

“Ha!” You slapped the wheel, “I’ve been wanting to hear that sound the whole drive!” 

He used both arms now to squeeze you appreciatively, “You’re just the bee’s knees.” Alastor nuzzled into the back of your neck, truly feeling his heart flutter. You made him skip a beat. So many days and nights not even imagining such a pairing.

The best scenario he could think up was a partner who wouldn’t ask questions, who didn’t care to know, who was maybe a little too naive but otherwise capable. Even in his wildest dreams he hadn’t dared to think someone would exist who could support him.

And not just in the killing, which was a hurdle of course, but the other parts of him. The little sacrifices you made for him without complaint. 

What did he do for you, he worried. Your body was his on the occasions he wanted but never did you ask for him. You shared the housework equally. Yes he drove you around but your skills with the car were still new. Insignificant things, like making your coffee when he awoke first and waiting for you after work. With the detective still looking for connections, he couldn’t even properly introduce you or flaunt you around to his circles.

Like a flash of lightning taking down a tree, insecurity shook him. What on earth was keeping you there? Of all the people in New Orleans, how was he any more worth your time than the next?

If anything, he was nothing short of troublesome. His hold on you twisted from thankful to desperate.

Even the lovely evening out he had promised you, he’d left you alone in a strange place. A stranger had bought you more drinks than he had. 

“Would you like to go to the woods with me tonight? To dispose of Aubrey?” His lips swiped across the fabric of your dress as he said it.

The sudden advancement into his hobby took you by surprise. You hugged his arms against you, “Really? Are you sure?”

“If you don’t want to…”

“Is that what I said?”

“Well, no….”

“Don’t put words in my mouth! I absolutely want to go!” Your arms squeezed his.

He chuckled into your shoulder and gave your hip a pat, “Let me get her packaged up. You go rest your feet and I’ll come get you when I’m ready to go.”

You watched from the kitchen, the light he hung from the greenhouse ceiling setting the entire space aglow. When he finally emerged, his sleeves were rolled up past his elbows and his hair was falling into his face, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose before he could push it back into place. He waved from the porch, and when you made it out to him he was already pulling out small bundles.

“We’ll bury the pieces in separate places.” He dragged out a small trash tin with the lid already clapped down. “And this goes into the water.”

The packages were like Tommy’s, but smaller. They fit easily into the trunk, and beside them he snuggly fit the metal bucket.

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

The Ford was parked down a dirt road far from sight, taking a parcel at a time and a shovel, you followed him into the woods. 

You had to ask, why not just his land? Wasn’t that safer? Easier?

“Well, a skull found out here is easier to act shocked about than on my property.”

The ground was still soft, but you could imagine it was rock solid in winter. “Isn’t this dangerous? Aren’t you slowed down in the colder months?” You kept your eyes open wide, adjusting to the pitch black of the forest. The trees were too close and too full still to see the stars. But soon they’d brown and die, revealing the sky’s light. Revealing Alastor.

“Eh it’s mostly busy during mating season because the hunters come out in numbers. But in general I avoid being here in the very early morning hours.” He paused and you reached out for the shovel for your turn, “It’s not too bad overall.”

“They mate in fall. It’s almost fall now.” You widened your stance for balance and began to dig. 

“Yeeees but I’m not alone!” He chirped.

“Fine… just, don’t come out when I’m not able to join you. Just wait or, I don’t know, burn them or something.” You tried to dig fast, wanting to spare his injured hand another turn.

“Very ineffective, brings too much attention and the body never burns all the way. It’s still identifiable in many cases.” Alastor said it quickly, as he’d had nearly a lifetime to think of these things and test them. 

You huffed, “Well, fuck. Okay. Still.” You leaned over and offered your index finger, not looking at him as you did. He laughed before wiping his hand clean on his pants and hooking his with yours. 

A small scream erupted from you, startling him. Your short heel sunk into the dirt when you leaned to lock fingers. The sudden loss of balance startled you. “Sorry… flat shoes. I need flat shoes…these are gonna be the death of me.”

Alastor’s hand came to his heart, pounding in his chest, “Of us. My heart nearly stopped.”

You dug many holes, all of them quite small in radius, just wide enough to slip in what you needed to. After each was deep enough by some standard you didn’t know, he would untie the twine around the package and let the contents spill out and down into the little cylinderical pocket of dirt. 

The first package had her hands. Then next was her feet. Her arms in pieces and then later her legs. The hips, the chest and shoulders, and finally, her head. You were grateful for the darkness, not wanting to see her face now that it was no longer attached to her body. 

The brush was so thick and the woods so dense that you found it hard to distinguish the burial spots once they’d been filled in and covered up. He explained most people came out there with a purpose, not really noticing some disturbed dirt here and there. It’s not like they’re people sized.

“You’re just something else, ya know that?” You said it into the shadows and didn’t see him wince. But you somehow, accidentally, knew to clarify, “I’m always so impressed by your way of doing things. You’ve really thought it out well huh? I know I should worry less but it’s hard.”

Because of the shade you didn’t see the way his shoulders relaxed. You never made him regret your inclusion.

Alastor carried the bucket as you slowly made your way through the darkness. You could hear the sounds of bugs, though you couldn’t see any.  The water surprised you, his arm coming to stop you from walking into the bayou.

“In winter they’ll get really still, so I slow down then too. But we still have time, it’s not too cold yet for them.” He took off the lid, the smell of copper blossoming from the tin.

With practiced moves, he tossed the viscera as far as he could into the small inlet marsh of the river. 

Within seconds the water frothed and rolled with the snapping of powerful jaws.

“Gosh they’re so neat.” You said, reaching out into the darkness for his hand. You couldn’t see him looking at you as you watched the prehistoric animals dispose of his crimes.

He wanted to kiss you. To confess every little happiness you filled his formerly hollow chest with. But he held back. He knew better. He’d tried before, once. When he thought settling was better than nothing. It ended terribly. It was better to just exist beside you for as long as you’d entertain his company. If you knew, he thought, of all the futures he imagined with you, you’d just feel tied down by his hopes. You weren’t a small bird he could hold in his home. 

You promised to not get in his way. The least he could do was not cage you with his love. He wouldn’t hold you back.

“Alastor.”

“Yeah?” He said dreamily.

“I think… ” You fought the urge to scream at the sensation between your toes, “Aubrey dripped into my shoes.”

Alastor yanked the bucket away from you, the angle he haphazardly held at it with a single finger to hold your hand having caused the liquid remains to leak out.

“Ankle boots. Ankle boots, no heel.” You muttered, the shoe rinsed off in the water with a paranoid speed now squishing under your sole. The action was enough to draw attention to your shore, long and round snouts moving toward you in the night as you got rid of Aubrey. It was time to go. 

The drive home was dark and silent. The bucket and tarps rinsed with the gas can full of water he always kept in the oversized, custom built trunk. It had taken longer than you had realized, which just brought up renewed worry for his sleep schedule.

When you finally made it home and into the bedroom, he mumbled it was too late to shower. A coordinated grumble between you that you’d both just wash the sheets in the morning. Alastor sat on the end of the bed and bent down, your hand coming to his shoulder to stop him. 

Exhausted, aching, and quite confident you smelled of sweat coated dirt with the tiniest hint of dead Aubrey mixed with alive William (blood and brandy, respectively), you lowered yourself to your knees. You untied the waxed laces of the right shoe, made of a shiny brown leather, and slipped it off. 

Alastor felt his throat tighten as he had to blink to keep tears away. You always seemed to listen when he spoke. Really listened, even when he was just being playful. Another tiny sweetness piled onto the mountain you were currently burying him under. Another ounce of inadequacy tipped on his self measured scales.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Hush, I don’t have to do anything.” You said it and he laughed breathlessly knowing he’d heard it before and praying he’d hear it forever. “I want to.”

You set the left shoe beside the right. When you didn’t stand but instead stared at him patiently, Alastor undid his pants and lifted his hips to push them down. You folded them neatly beside his shoes. Feeling up his legs as if you couldn’t see them there in front of you, you found his sock garters. 

“Keep the socks, please. It’s getting chilly.” He undid his shirt and folded it on his lap. 

When he was in just his underwear and socks, you looked up at him and wondered if he knew. That this was the closest to expressing “I love you” you had ever been. The act itself perhaps far louder than any words could be.

Sitting back, he patted between his legs like he had in the car. As you sat, he undid the buttons down the back of your dress. Why were so many women’s clothing items made in a way that required two people?

In the mirror above the dresser you took in the sight. When the dress fell to your waist he kissed your shoulder and met you in the reflection.

“Quite a pretty couple, if I do say so myself.” He rested his chin where he had just kissed and smiled at you. “What did I do to deserve your attention?”

“Affection,” you corrected. “Aubrey got attention.” He nodded slightly. “I think it’s karma.” You watched his brow arch. “You’ve earned me. Whatever that means, or looks like. We were put together for a reason.”

It was the sappiest thing you’d ever said and a year ago you’d have laughed in someone’s face for saying it. If a character in a novel spewed it out in a confession you’d have closed the book. But you meant it. Every single word was part of the fact this was supposed to happen. The idea that any timeline existed where your paths never crossed gave you the shivers.

Alastor closed his eyes, exhaustion catching up quickly as comfort opened the door for it. That didn’t make any sense to him at all. Why would anyone, god or the devil, give him something good just for the sake of being a good thing. He was very plainly bad. There must be a catch. That fear he felt before, the fear of wanting something too much, reappeared. Turning its ugly head to him as if called by name. 

Why? He could feel something, someone, setting their sights on him. 

When he opened his eyes, you were there still, looking at him. A smile too sweet. He felt the compulsion to tell you to run. That if this was his karma, it would end the way he deserved. And he didn’t deserve happiness. He didn’t deserve you.

But instead he leaned down, lifted your dress, and unclamped your garters. He wanted to be selfish. He wanted to cling to what good he had now. Even knowing he couldn’t possibly get to keep it. His fingertips delighted in rolling down the delicate nylon. He watched the red stained end loosen around your toes, a mental note to burn them before he continued his undressing.

“Lift your hips, my love. I’ll get you all ready for bed.” As he pressed forward and bent into you so he could slip off the stockings he turned to look at the you in front of him, “And I’ll keep you warm.”

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

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

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @fizzled-phoenix , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl @smoky000

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby

@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

[mae-lou-ron]

Back to Sleep

Summary: After some bad dreams interrupt your sleep, you find some unexpected comfort in your beloved partner, Tech.

Pairing: Tech x gn!reader

Word Count: ~800

TWs/Tags: pretty G rated, hurt/comfort, waking from bad dreams (no details), fluffy practical Tech in a newish relationship

A/N: AHHHHHH okay okay okay so the plot goblins absolutely infested my brain after I saw THIS ✨incredible✨ artwork of our darling Tech by @ghostymarni 🫶🏻

This is completely self indulgent because, well, I love him, your honor. I was also inspired by the scene in the episode of Schitt’s Creek where Alexis tells David about her breakup with Mutt and realizes she needs a hug 😂

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey, Tech?" you murmured into the room he was occupying.

Tech hummed softly in acknowledgment. "It is late and I am in the middle of repairs—what do you need?" he asked quietly, not looking up from his project.

You didn't take offense to his demeanor when interrupted; it was just how his brain worked. His mind never ceasing its search for information and solutions. Sometimes that meant extracting himself from your sleepy cocoon to pursue whatever pathway his incredible mind had opened up to him in the middle of the night. But when you didn't respond for a moment, it shifted his unwavering attention to you, immediately noticing your slightly disheveled state.

"I just…" You paused again. "Maker, this is so stupid," you muttered under your breath, unsure if Tech heard you or not.

There was no room for anxiety in your gut now that the mortified butterflies had taken over. Things were still fairly new with you and Tech. You appreciated that he wasn't one who typically relied on physical affection to convey his feelings—and neither were you, really, but right now you were still a human with a rattled nervous system.

You heard the sound of tools being set down gently and the quiet thump of his approaching footsteps.

Your face was burning with embarrassment. You weren't a child, clearly, you should be able to console yourself and go back to sleep, but you were here now and had his undivided attention. Something that made your chest flutter wildly whenever you had it.

The toes of his boots came into your view as he stopped in front of you. "Sarad?" Tech inquired, his voice softening. "Is something the matter? You seem… unsettled." He offered. The warmth he always radiated displaced some of the chill that had set into your bones, and you instinctively leaned forward into him a little more. "Did I wak—"

"I had a nightmare—" you blurted out, inwardly groaning. Your eyes flicked up to his briefly before focusing on the middle of his chest. “I woke up and you…”

"I see," he said softly after a moment, adjusting his goggles as he regarded you. "You were seeking comfort after your bad dreams had woken you?"

"It's nothing—I was just a bit anxious when I woke up, but it's… it's nothing," you said again, standing on your tiptoes and giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. "I'm fine, I really should go back to sleep…and don’t to stay up too la—" you rambled, still talking yourself out of your needs and taking a step or two back the way you came, but Tech’s hands on your shoulders stopped you.

"Your heart rate is elevated," he said plainly, peering at you. "You are flushed and speaking more quickly than usual." Tech lifted the back of his hand to gently run along your heated cheekbone. "…and you are avoiding eye contact with me, so I can deduce that you are, in fact, not 'fine’, my dear," he said softly, his fingers trailing down your chin before he pulled them away.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked genuinely. “I know that helps you sometimes,”

You shook your head, furrowing your brow. "It's just the same one I told you about," you confessed, biting the inside of your cheek, trying to determine yourself what it is you were seeking. His hand was back at his side, but you wished it was still caressing your face.

"I think I might need a hug…" you said warily, as if you were unsure of the words that came out of your own mouth. "…or something?" You added, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Ah," he said, his eyes darting back and forth processing this information. He did that sometimes. You couldn't help but smile at seeing the brain you adored at work for you. "I understand," he added before walking back to his workbench—making it seem as though he didn't actually understand at all. You took a few steps in his direction as he pulled over a nearby chair and sat down.

Confusion was visible on your face. You told him you needed a hug, or something, and he immediately went and sat down? Possibly to continue the task you had just interrupted? But he didn't start working; he just looked at you expectantly.

"Come here, sarad," he said gently, shifting in the seat and patting his legs.

You smiled slowly, now understanding, and tiptoed over to him, gingerly taking a seat in his lap. He pulled you to him tightly, encouraging you to relax and lounge fully on him. He kissed the top of your head and ran his hand up and down your spine as you curled into the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent of clean soap and mechanical ozone.

"This is nice," you sighed contentedly, feeling the tension in your chest releasing.

"Good," he quipped, brushing your face with his fingers again. "Rest. Fall asleep if you wish… I shall be here."

"Thank you," you murmured, curling your arm around his waist and closing your eyes. Tech's hands eventually left you to resume his task, but he pressed his lips into the top of your head every so often, reminding you he was still right there with you. His warmth and the steady thrum of his heart soothed you, while the sounds of his gentle tinkering and even breathing lulled you back into a peaceful sleep.

When you awoke, you found yourself back in Tech's bunk, but this time he was wrapped around you, snoring softly into your shoulder.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Hey S! My mind is in the gutter again (when is it not?) and I mean after all these years Anthony (Mackie) must’ve walked in on Chris and Sebastian doing the dirty.

So imagine: They’re filming catws and I don’t think that Chris and Sebastian would have told him about their relationship. Yeah, maybe they know that Anthony has his suspicions and they’d be okay with him knowing, but they just haven’t had that talk yet, y know. And Anthony’s a smart man, he already knows, gives them knowing glances (we’ve seen them enough in interviews). But then, they go film on a different location and they stay in hotel rooms. It’s already late, maybe they all went out for drinks after filming and Chris and Sebastian got back earlier to have some fun of their own. When they check in and they go to their room, they don’t open all the doors, because they’re too busy getting each other naked and finding the bed.

Anthony on the other hand also came back, he got the room next door. He does open all the doors and sadly, the hotel forgot to close the door that intertwines the rooms (like for families and or people who want a really big room?) and there right in front of him. Is Sebastian riding the living hell out Chris, moaning at Chris’ dirty talk. Anthony screamed like a 9yo girl (he would never admit it) traumatized by the sight, but happy for his friends.

From that moment on Anthony’s their proud supporter and he will forever tease them about their sex life.

Okay so sorry for that, but I needed to get that out and I really want a better writer (like you, Sir;)) to write this.

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

Hey! Lmao, fair enough, I fucking feel that shit. I live in the gutter at this point. I do not leave. And as far as poor, poor Anthony having to put up with Chris and Sebastian's shit...

May I interest you in this semi-recent ask answer from Minnie (@musette22) on this exact subject? Because, fuck yeah, you're not the only one thinking about it, lol. Also, though, I will add to that ask answer with another fic rec from Minnie that sort of fits the bill. Depending on how you look at it, haha. Technically Mackie doesn't walk in on them, he's already there when they get started, but still, I love the fic! It's "Intervention" by musette22 on AO3. Highly recommend!

Imagine, yes, though, I will 👀

(This was going to be actual smut, but then I couldn't help myself, and it turned into crack, so, my apologies. But I think I had more fun writing Mackie getting punked, anyway 💀💀)

Anthony has been dragged around on his fair share of film sets and he's been in the middle of fucking nowhere for that shit before. Thank you, no thank you, Hurt Locker, in the middle of the goddamn desert with practical explosions that blew them back onto their asses. Literally.

So, he thinks he's pretty damn lucky to have it nice and cushy this time as far as filming locations go. First in Cali, L.A. babyyy, then Washington D.C., and now Ohio. Sure, Ohio is a fucking abyss in the middle but Cleveland isn't so bad. It's nice. The location, the film budget, and his friends. It's all nice. Chris is a good buddy, Sebastian he hasn't seen much of but he's getting to know more every time he does and they have a scene together, and Scarlet, well, Anthony wants to see a hell of a lot more of Scarlet. Maybe before the movie and press are up he can convince Chris to tell him the secret to working on too many fucking movies with the same person. Yeah, that'd be good. He's gonna do that. That's a good plan.

He's set up good. He's got a good life. And he's had a good fucking night, following Evans around in downtown, club to bar to club to club--who knew Cleveland would have so many places to party, goddamn--after a day of relentless filming.

At some point after tipsy but before outrageously drunk, where Anthony is now, Chris and Sebastian split off from the group and disappeared. Anthony didn't let himself worry about it, they got it covered, and knowing how Chris gets when the lights go down, he was probably just off to a different place with some new friend he made and charmed the pants off of. It's no big deal. Everybody's having a good time.

Everybody was having a good time.

Now, he's been shuttled by taxi back to their newest hotel in their string of hotels over these past months of filming and stumbling into the lobby, falling into the elevator, and toddling toward his room as he shoves his hands in all his pockets, searching for wherever the hell he left that keycard. He's got it somewhere. It's a little hard to find, though, when his world is spinning off its axis and he's warm and loose with liquor. His fingers buzz and feel good, but can't really grab anymore.

It takes Anthony a few minutes, swaying in front of his door, to get into his room, but he does eventually. And, for another few minutes, he thinks that's it. That's all the fanfare for the evening, y'all. No more gaggles of lighting and film crews, no more well-meaning but pestering PAs, no more directors calling cut to confer, pressing their heads together like a two-headed expert, no more crowds of sweaty, writhing bodies, dancing, singing along to music loud enough to make his ears ring, rowdy shouts for "shots, shots, shots!" or cheering calls chug whatever is left in your glass. Just him and his hotel room.

After giving up on finding the lightswitch, Anthony's trying to figure out where the fuck his suitcase got dumped by one of the personal assistants without tripping over it or smacking into it first. Fuck it, he'll settle for just not smacking into the corners or walls, never mind his suitcase. It's fucking fine. He can just strip out of his shoes, socks, and pants, fiddling with his belt and dumb, drunk fingers, rip his shirt off, and he'll be good. The pile of clothes he leaves behind like a shedded snaked skin is sober Anthony's problem. That's a morning issue (just like the pounding headache he knows he'll have, but it's fine, tomorrow's Saturday anyhow).

But, his mission to get naked and fall into his hotel bed, ruining the nicely done sheets, and pass the fuck out is interrupted by two things that filter into his conception of the spinning world at once.

One) Someone is knocking? Hitting? Something? Squeak, squeak, squeak, it happens again and again and again. It's probably someone knocking on his fucking door at whatever ass o'clock it is but why the fuck now. It can't be call time already.

Two) His lights are on. Motion sensors? That, or, he hit a switch as he fell into the wall, slapping his hand out to catch himself. What the fuck.

While Anthony is trying to blearily figure out both of those things that hit him at once like a backhand across the drunk, uncoordinated face it comes to him. The understanding, that is.

Ah. Boom. Figured it out. Easy as shit. He's smart as fuck. There's an open door in his hotel room and Chris and Sebastian are fucking so hard that the bed over there, in that lights-on room, is hitting the wall.

Wait--

There's an open door in his hotel room?

Wait.

Chris and Sebastian are fucking?

They're fucking in his hotel room?

What.

Anthony reels back immediately after having just pushed off the wall in the first place, falling back against the drywall and slapping both hands palm-down onto the wall, needing support while his head spins faster than the world around him. He gawks at what he sees, blinking his blurry eyes hard, trying to figure out if what he's seeing it real.

Unfortunately for him, it is.

There's an open fucking door in his hotel room that leads straight to Chris and Sebastian in their room and Chris and Sebastian are all sorts of tangled up.

There's Chris, lazing back against the headboard of the bed. And there's Sebastian, straddling Chris' lap, his legs quivering, his arms trapped behind his back, caught in one of Chris' hands by the wrist, and his neck arched, head thrown back. Sebastian's bouncing in Chris' lap, moving so fast that he's really just a fucking blur of horny movement.

He's riding Chris hard.

So hard, that that's what the fucking noise is. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Their poor bed is screaming out for help under their enthusiasm, the springs squeaking beneath them, so loud they're nearly the same volume as Chris' voice, rumbling smooth and pressed into Sebastian's throat that's blushing bright pink and looks to have been mauled (oh my god, makeup is going to hate them). Sebastian throws himself into that too, not one to be outdone in his performance, and moans, guttural with its depth yet needy and high in pitch, "d-AH!-daddy!"

Anthony's eyes go so fucking wide they probably fucking bulge out of his head.

Oh. my. god.

This is blackmail material.

Anthony takes a single hysterical, terrible, hilarious second to recognize what the fuck he's seeing--the white-boy fuck he's seeing--and then, instantly, lurch forward the handful of steps he has to make it through, off-balance to get to the door. When he's finally close enough, Anthony slaps a hand out, gets it around the door handle, and slams that fucking door shut, sealing their rooms off from one another. Giving everyone the privacy they all desperately need.

Oh my god, he thinks again, dizzy.

Anthony ends up leaning back against the door he's just rushed to shut, needing support before he falls to the floor in a mess of drunken limbs and fucked-up reaction timing. His heart is beating out of his chest, double time with his alcohol-thinned blood rushing faster, faster, faster. It pumps loudly through his ears.

Chuckling in horror and pure hilarity, Anthony reconciles that he's never gonna fucking look either of them in the eyes ever. again.

What the hell.

He can't believe none of the staff thought to or paid enough attention to shut that door! What are the chances of that? That needs to be on the room clean-up checklist! What if there had been a fucking murderer next door? What if his suitcase and shit were dropped and the person next door just walked through a stole it? Also, fuck, he can't believe neither of them told him! Not the staff, but the idiots fucking next door. He's known Chris for, like, forever. Relationships--friends with benefits, serious, or otherwise--are important!

And, hold on, numbers zoom around in his head, too fast for his drunk ass--when did the first Captain America come out? When would that have been filmed then? How long ago was that? Did they start messing around then? It's gotta be right? And if it is, then it's been a good fucking while. Why wasn't he told? He wouldn't go gossiping, Chris knows that. He wouldn't loved to know. He would've cheered Chris on, he's cool, man. They're friends! Tight friends. That asshole, leaving him out of the loop.

Asshole is the wrong fucking insult to think of because then he's seeing the two of them together all over again in his head and hearing the noises Sebastian was making and, ugh, Anthony shakes his head to get rid of it only, leaning more so back up against the slammed-shut door, Anthony can hear them.

They're laughing.

They're laughing, those shameless motherfuckers.

Laughing and probably kissing because the sounds go quiet for a second but then they're back. And then Sebastian's distinctive, uncontrollable giggle that he gets going sometimes when he's tired and loopy and Chris is making dumb, shitty jokes is there. Half that giggle and half-gasping, moaning sounds that make Anthony have no choice but to pound on the door with his fist (which is probably the liquor talking, if he's honest, there are other options), shouting, "I'm gonna call the front desk and file a noise complaint, you loud fuckers! I swear to god! I am!" He's teasing and his voice is slurred from the drinks he had tonight, so there's no real threat, but it's annoying that those dicks (again, wrong fucking word for his mind's eye) don't take him seriously at all.

In fact, to make matters worse, Sebastian has the gall to sass him back through the wall, loud and almost joyful as he verbally sticks his tongue out at him, "m'kaa-ah!-yy! Mmm-hmm! You, you do that!" Reacting sharply, moaning-gasping more, to whatever Chris is doing to him.

Helplessly, Anthony laughs at him, shaking his head.

What is his life?

How did he get here?

Why are these his friends?

At least, for the most part, they do seem to try and keep it down as much as they can after that. No problem, though, Anthony is already planning to spend the time they keep him up workshopping all the embarrassing jokes he can make at their expense tomorrow. He can't wait to see their stupid faces when he knows and prods at them but no one else does. It's gonna be fucking hilarious. He's hilarious. He'll show 'em. Those assholes.

Bonus:

this video of Mackie [indirectly] calling them kinky

and this picture because it's so funny to me

[totallynotsloughjykk]

ask and you shall receive. here's another rant I love love LOVE the way complicated situations are set up in TGCF. they're so well thought-out and genuinely hurt. the characters are all really fleshed out and the relationships between them? favorite thing in the series I know this is my 3rd time bringing up mu qing but this was the first thing I thought of. the 33 gods scene was a shitty situation for xie lian and mu qing's relationship because: 1. xie lian was at his lowest point. he had barely any support and he was trying to cultivate in hopes of regaining his position in the heavens or at least some peace of mind. 33 gods come to kick him out and he sees his (2nd after feng xin which will be saved for another rant) closest childhood friend among them which brings him some relief only for him to support them 2. mu qing was barely building up his crumbs of a reputation and he came across the worst possible scenario while trying to form some connections within the heavens. he's not heartless so he probably also felt like an asshole for what had just happened (also the parallels between them. sob.) but he couldn't actually do shit because his reputation would just go back to zero in an instant if he tried to take xie lian's side it was a lose-lose situation in the end + mu qing's poor communication skills. another one of my favorite examples is quanyin as a whole yin yu doing his best to be kind and fair only for it to backfire terribly. the command he gave quan yizhen while he was wearing the brocade immortal was a moment of fury of frustration that cost him his entire godhood. he grew mixed feelings for him after the whole incident and.. pretty much quan yizhen's entire godhood on the other hand, quan yizhen had no idea what happened or why yin yu avoided him. he cannot possibly hate him and it's frustrating for yin yu. he never understood or got the hints yin yu was desperately trying to give him. imagine your most reliable, loved person telling you to go die and avoiding you for something you don't even know

in conclusion, mxtx is amazing at putting characters through terrible things

[va1kyr14]

POTENTIAL SPOILERS AND THEORIES UNDER THE CUT

Don't read if you don't want to know any theories, bare in mind these are simply theories that have come from my brain and not spoilers, just some pieces that came to me after the trailer, so if you wanna continue, crack on.

So after spending another day thinking of theories for S2, one thing came to my head about the Caitvi reunion....

What if Wawrick comes into contact with Caitlyn and Vi knowing its Vander, (lets be real we all know its him at this point) comes in to stop anyone hurting him. I have a theory that her and Jinx will meet in the interim between the Caitvi breakup so she will be there too.

Caitlyn is shocked to see Vi in all her pit fighter get up, a fight ensues and Vi gets hurt causing Cait to become sick with worry and run to her side. Jinx tries to control Wawrick but he escapes and Jinx goes after him. Ambessa being with Cait will tell her to leave Vi and thats where she realises Ambessa is just using her for her own gain.

Caitlyn then takes Vi to patch her up, in that time when Cait is cleaning her, King Princess is playing to her wiping away the grime, blood, and everything else, washing her hair and slowly unwrapping her hands and delicately taking care of her when the song is playing. (This would do me in if that happens).

Then makeup sex occurs really slow and sensual and just leaving everything out there.

Cut to some other scene I haven't though of yet...

Then it cuts back to them in bed the morning after, they talk it all out and confess their undying love for each other (Yes I want this to happen haha) and then we see Vi become one of the enforcers again in her new get up to fight Noxus because somehow in all of this Zaun and Piltover join forces against Noxus (I mean Ambessa wants weapons and is probably making everything worse from the trailer.)

I have more theories on what happens after this but jEsus if anything like this happens I will be actual putty in Riots and Fortiche's hands.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Can you write fuego with a pregnant wife?

Hi!

I thought that I had done quite a few of them, but... apparently not ^^' Admittedly I took some inspo from my own long fic (aka Embers -series) for this, and basically used a scene as a basis. Anyways, hopefully you like it ^^

Pairing: Fuegoleon x f!reader Genre: Romance/fluff Fanfic type: Oneshot Length: ~0.9k Contains: pregnant reader, marriage mention, Fue gets kicked by the baby in the face, a lot of fluffy feels

Fuegoleon had always deemed himself to be a family man. Granted that he has other aspirations as well, and hadn’t had a partner for such a long time, which was why such a status and aspect of his life had been placed on the backburner for the time being.

Not that it had particularly stopped thinking about the future, and the family he might like to have. A wife. Kids. Maybe a few. One was too few for his liking, but he wouldn’t push for more if his partner so wished.

It was a personal preference if nothing else.

But. It had existed in a daydream for a time longer than he could tell.

Until he had met you.

Not that the images had flashed through his mind clear as day from the very first moment he had laid his eyes upon you, but rather… it was like a gentle, comforting sensation. The knowledge that this… this would be it. With you he could go on to build something.

What he had felt, was a kind of familiarity. Like this was how it was supposed to be, and nothing less would suffice.

A part of him wanted to rush. To just move together. Get married. And have the titles of husband and wife. But another part of him held back. Because that seemed more courteous. Something that one does. Bids their time and takes slow, tentative steps to the ever after. Not marry the woman he met less than a year ago.

Though people did do that.

But people, aside of royalty, were more free to make such actions. And he didn’t wish to place such scrutiny onto the two of you. Because it would just be unwanted attention. Rumours of a bastard child possibly.

Senseless gossip.

Attempts to tarnish a reputation.

No matter how displeased even the mere idea of it made him, he chose to abide the customs. Little steps. One by one. And yet with each day he tried to show his devotion, even if with words, scattered here and there, a passing touch, lingering gaze. Some if which came without a thought, because it, too, was easy; as natural as breathing.

And now…

As you sat there, in the arm chair with rings in your ring finger, and a baby bump on your tummy, he couldn’t help but smile.

Because it was his whole world that existed in that chair. And he made a point to cherish the moments where he could know, with absolute certainty, where the two of you were; away from harm and trouble. In the sanctity of your shared living quarters.

“Come here,” you told him with a whisper while stroking your stomach.

He perked up, eyes opening just a little wider, as he made his way across the room and crouched by your chair.

“The baby is kicking,” your tone was hushed, delicate and tender, as if you were speaking out a secret that was only for the two of you to know.

His eyes shifted between your expression, gorgeous and loving like the first rays of dawn, to the little bump in which your precious child resided.

He placed his hand onto your stomach, and waited.

Waited for a moment longer, eyes attentive and curious.

“Come on,” you cooed. “No need to be shy, kick some for dad too.”

‘Dad’… he thought as the corners of his lips tugged further up.

One of the most esteemed titles he could be granted.

“Come on,” you encouraged again, as if your child could hear. But… somehow it didn’t seem to make a difference, if they could, or could not. After all, they didn’t have the language to comprehend for a good while still. So, you were speaking because… speaking to your own child was one of the most natural things to do.

Your precious miracle.

“It’s alright,” he chuckled and pressed his cheek against your tummy. “You are far better acquainted with your mother,” he mused while closing his eyes. “But I can’t wait to meet you to-“

*Bump*

A kick right to his nose.

He jolted back.

You raised your hand to cover your mouth.

“Feisty,” he said while holding onto his nose. “And packs a punch already.”

There was a laugh that flowed from your lungs; equally amused and concerned.

“Are you okay?” You asked while placing your hand onto his shoulder.

“I am,” he chuckled before placing his cheek against your stomach again. “It seems we’re having a true Vermillion here,” he mused to himself with a wide smile again. “But no kicking or punching your mother,” he told, sternly, to your bump and the child. “Understood?” He quirked an eyebrow.

And… almost as if to reply, there was another kick, but this time against his hand. A much softer one this time.

“Good,” he smiled while closing his eyes.

You placed your hand onto his head, and let your fingers stroke through his silken hair, as your eyelids closed half way at the tender sight before you.

Because this… this really was him, at his happiest. While holding you, and being held by you; when he was with his family.

[ckret2]

God your fic is fenomenal i was daydreaming about it right now and book 2 yelling at ford came into my head and then a scene where book 2 and ford are arguing and bills in the middle translating/adding his to cents and book of bill just the suportive bf on the side of book 2 no idea how acurate this is(probably not even a little) but its funny my mind like formated the argument like a kid yelling at their parent on why they hate them like "you book marked my pages" gives "you hit me/broke my phone" and arguing that ford was bad dad and idk why bill was like jumping in like "yea ford you suck how could you freze your son for 30+ years that shit parenting" this was a verry funny day dream and i love your fic and art so much its consuming me (this was probably wish fufilment/me projecting on book 2 haha its ok book 2 my parents also had a messy break up)

I.. please tell me if i should of kept this to myself

"yea ford you suck how could you freze your son for 30+ years that shit parenting"

You wanna know what really makes this hilarious? Bill's the one who convinced Ford he should freeze the book and taught him how to do it.

[actuallythatgirl]

The Final Battle Alastor X Reader PT 2

Part one part two

The final battle, but instead of Alastor taking the hit, you do.

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

I drift in the void, weightless as if submerged in an ocean of silence. A strange calm settles over me, the voice of my thoughts echoing faintly in the distance. But just as quickly as it came, the peace is shattered. I'm yanked from the darkness, violently thrust into a blinding storm of white and green. My eyes cracked open, half-lidded, struggling to focus as the colors swirled and clashed in front of me, chaotic and disorienting.

Pain tears through me—sharp, burning—centering in my stomach. Each ragged breath feels like it's being forced through broken glass. Something—no, things—slam into my body, one after the other, and a high-pitched ringing fills my ears, muting everything else. I can’t tell where I am or why this is happening. My mind is slipping; I am desperate to understand but unable to.

I want to give up. My body screams for it, for an end to the suffering, for a release—a second death. But death won’t come. I’m trapped, suspended in this unrelenting agony. I lay there, barely conscious, while objects continued to strike me as if I were nothing more than a target. The brilliant lights continue to dance across my vision, mocking my helplessness.

With what little strength I have left, I lift a hand to my face, fingers trembling as I try to wipe away the blur clouding my sight. For a moment, clarity breaks through the haze.

Fuck. He’s pissed.

Alastor’s eyes burn with a ferocity that sends a chill down my spine, the usual smugness gone, replaced by something primal, deadly. His whole body thrums with murderous intent, his gaze locked onto Adam like a predator ready to tear its prey apart. The air around him seems to crackle, the danger radiating off him in waves. 

Before I can make sense of it, the darkness swallows me again.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I wake up gasping for air, only to choke on a mouthful of dust. Each breath feels like inhaling broken glass. Groaning, I roll over, fighting to pull myself off this godforsaken ground. My hand weakly pushes my hair back from my face as I force my eyes open. The brightness stabs through my skull like a knife—how is it this bright in Hell? It feels like the sun is hanging right overhead, taunting me.

I push myself onto my knees, muscles trembling, and try to stand, but my legs give out, sending me crashing back down. “Fuck me,” I mutter through clenched teeth, spitting dust. 

I look around, desperate to make sense of the scene. The rooftop is a wasteland. Debris and shattered bricks are scattered everywhere, all except for the outline of my body where I must have been lying. Black streaks stain the ground—ash, maybe. I force myself to focus, the world swimming in and out of clarity. My eyes drift upward to the platform above, and then I see him.

Adam. His body is skewered, impaled on a jagged piece of railing, limbs hanging lifelessly. He’s dead, his form nearly torn apart, and the sight is more grotesque than I expected. It’s over. 

A weak cough cuts through the silence, jerking my attention to the source. My whole body tenses, bracing for a fight—but it’s not an enemy. It’s Alastor. 

He’s sprawled out on the ground, barely moving. His clothes are tattered and torn in places, and the usual sharpness he carries is gone. He’s lying face down, one arm stretched out toward me, almost as if he was reaching for something. For me. I can’t see how badly he’s hurt, but I know.

It’s really. Fucking. Bad.

“No, no, no, no.” It’s all I can manage to choke out as I crawl over the debris, the sharp edges slicing into my hands and knees, each movement a fresh agony. I try to reach him, but my progress is slow and painful.

Alastor must hear me because he lifts his head, his gaze meeting mine. He looks halfway to death, blood trickling down his face and staining his lips. His eyes hold a deep emotion I can’t quite decipher, a mixture of pain and something else—something unsettling.

“Don’t. Move.” His voice is strained, almost a command. The usual static is gone, replaced by a raw, urgent tone.

I’m caught off guard but remain still, the words striking me more deeply than I expected. Alastor’s eyes lock onto mine, intense and unyielding. “You’re hurt,” he says, his voice sharp, but beneath it, there’s an edge of fear. It’s as if he’s terrified that if I keep moving, I’ll only hurt myself further.

Despite the blood and pain, he forces himself off the ground, stumbling toward me. Each step seems to torture him more; his body is wracked with pain so severe it’s almost audible. 

“You’re hurt too,” I say firmly, my heart aching at the sight of him. I silently beg him to stop, to stay down, to avoid pushing himself further.

“My dear, you are in far worse condition,” he replies, his tone carrying a hint of taunt. The words are sharp, but there’s a wince of regret in his eyes as he speaks, a flicker of guilt he doesn’t voice.

Alastor stumbles closer, his movements pained but stubbornly determined. His usual elegant demeanor is shattered, his suit tattered and smeared with blood and grime. Every step seems to cost him dearly, but his pride forces him forward.

“Stop!” I almost shout, my voice breaking. “You’re in no condition to move!”

He halts a few feet away, his face contorted with pain yet still managing to hold that infuriatingly calm and composed expression. He offers a strained, almost mocking smile that fails to reach his eyes. “I’d be remiss if I allowed you to suffer alone, dear,” he says, his voice grating with effort.

I see the strain in every line of his face. His usual self-assuredness is overshadowed by the harsh reality of his injuries. He’s pushing himself beyond his limits, driven by his own twisted sense of duty.

When Alastor finally reaches me on the roof, he collapses onto his back, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He stares up at the sky as if seeking answers from the heavens.

“My dear?” he says, his voice strained but carrying an undertone of concern.

I look over him, desperately trying to assess his injuries, my own body trembling from the effort and pain. “Y-Yes?” I manage to reply, my voice shaky.

Suddenly, Alastor’s hand shoots out, grabbing my face with a firm grip. His eyes, usually so calculating and controlled, are now wide with a fierce, almost frantic intensity. “Why. The fuck. Would you do that?” he demands, his voice cracking with a mix of frustration and disbelief.

I feel like I’m pinned, every part of me caught in the gravity of his gaze. This is the moment where my actions are laid bare, and the weight of my decision hits me with full force. How do I even begin to explain this?

I could try to articulate the tangled mess of emotions swirling inside me—how I’ve been in love with him, how the fear of losing him drove me to act recklessly, and how I knew he’d be angry but felt I had no choice—but saying that out loud feels impossible, too raw and exposing.

Instead, I sigh, the words caught in my throat. “I… I”

Alastor’s eyes narrow, his frustration evident in the sharpness of his gaze. His grip on my face tightens slightly as if trying to force the answer out of me. “I want a real answer,” he says, his voice low and harsh. “Not some pathetic explanation.”

I am NOT going to answer that question. I would rather die. “I'm sorry… I can't give you the answer to that question.”

His eyes flash with irritation, his jaw clenching. For a moment, I brace myself for a harsher reaction, expecting him to snap. Instead, he releases my face abruptly, letting his hand fall away as he glares down at me, his expression unreadable.

“Can’t or won’t?” His voice is icy, the static of his usual tone creeping back in. “You think I’ll just let that slide?”

The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air. I feel the sting of his disappointment, but I can’t bring myself to explain—not now, not like this. I'd rather face whatever wrath he has in store than expose the raw vulnerability behind my decision.

As the silence stretches between us, I can feel the tension thickening. Alastor’s question echoes in my mind, but I can’t find the strength to answer it. His eyes remain fixed on me, his irritation growing with every passing second.

“You think avoiding the truth will keep you safe?” he asks, his voice steady but laced with simmering anger. “I’m not the type to let things go so easily, my dear.”

I swallow hard, the weight of his words pressing down on me. He’s not wrong—Alastor never lets anything slip through his fingers without fully understanding it. But I can’t tell him, not here, not now.

When I don’t respond, his expression a mask of cold determination. “If you won’t answer, I’ll find out on my own. But don’t think you’ll like how I do it.” The threat is veiled behind his usual charisma, but the meaning is clear. 

Alastor’s eyes, though still sharp with frustration, soften slightly as he holds my gaze. The anger in his expression seems to waver, revealing a deeper, more vulnerable side of him. His eyes remain locked on mine, filled with a mix of pain and confusion.

“Threats like this are why I don’t say,” I say, my voice trembling with a mix of hurt and defiance. “I risked my life for you, and now you’re threatening me? After everything that’s happened?”

Alastor’s grip on my face loosens, and he visibly struggles with his emotions. His usual confidence is replaced by a troubled expression, and he seems momentarily lost for words. The anger in his eyes fades, leaving behind a raw, genuine concern that he can’t completely mask.

“I... I’m not used to this,” he admits, his voice rough but softer than before. “You’ve put yourself at risk for me, and... it’s not something I can easily overlook.”

Seeing him like this, vulnerable and conflicted, breaks my heart. Despite everything, I can’t just stand by and let him suffer. I need to help him, no matter how he feels about my actions.

“Please, let me help you,” I say softly, stepping closer to him. “You’re hurt, and you need care. I know you’re angry, but I can’t leave you like this.”

Alastor’s eyes flash, and he wipes some of the blood from his face, clearly trying to regain his composure. “You’re making this far more dramatic than necessary, dear,” he says, his usual mocking tone creeping back, but there’s something underneath it—a tension in his voice he’s not fully hiding. “You’ve taken quite a hit yourself. You should be resting.”

“I’m fine,” I insist, even though every inch of my body protests. “You’re barely on your feet, Alastor. Just let me help. Please.”

He laughs—low and soft, the sound of it more strained than usual. “Help me? You’re the one who decided to throw yourself into danger. How thoughtful of you. But you need more care than I do.”

His attempt at deflecting falls flat this time. I can see how much it’s costing him just to keep up this facade. “Stop pretending, Alastor,” I snap, my frustration finally bubbling over. “You can’t just brush this off. You’re hurt. You need to let someone take care of you, for once.”

He pauses, his eyes narrowing, but not in anger—more as if I’ve struck a chord he wasn’t prepared for. His lips twitch into a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m quite used to taking care of myself, darling,” he says quietly as if admitting something he usually keeps buried. “That’s how I’ve survived. It’s... easier that way.”

I step closer, my voice softer but firm. “You don’t have to now.”

For a moment, it seems like he might argue again, but instead, he sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.” He takes a shaky breath, wincing. “But if I’m to let you help, you’ll be sitting down first. You look like you could collapse any moment.”

I shake my head, trying to hide how shaky I feel, but before I can argue, he cuts me off with a raised hand. “No more protests. Let’s both stop pretending we’re invincible, hmm?”

The tension between us seems to ease, and though there’s still that stubborn glint in his eyes, there’s something softer now—an unspoken understanding. 

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

@junieshohoho @martinys-world @1infp1 @alastorsgirl48 @tmntfangirl15love

[1moreff-creator]

Regarding your revised Eden!Culrpit Theory Post:

If you're okay answering this, why do you believe that people who believe Hu is the culrpit have to be reading her actions in bad faith? You said that Eden taking the tape means there's more physical evidence for her being the culrpit so arguments about her putting on a facade come from less of a place of bad faith.

However, Hu's wire is involved with the crime & there's no explanation for how it got there. 'Nico took it' but we don't necessarily know that or how, so there's arguably no less reason to assume Hu could be involved as well.

This isn't meant to be inflammatory either, I genuinely just want to understand what you meant by that; I'm impartial one way or another but I don't understand why you would need to be reading Hu's actions in bad faith while you wouldn't also be doing the same for Eden.

ty for answering if you do, and if not ty for reading anyway. ♥️

Hey! Yeah, honestly, I feel I expressed myself pretty poorly in that section of the post you’re referencing, in fact I’ve decided to edit it because I believe it came off as more aggressive and meaner than I intended it to. So it’s fair of you to ask for clarification.

CW: Eden!Culprit, discussion of murder attempt

Technically speaking, both theories revolving around Hu trying to kill someone and Eden!Culprit require some level of “bad faith reading”, in the sense that suspecting anyone of murder is going to make you look at most of what they say in a negative light. So I was wrong to use that term with Hu. I think a more accurate way of saying how I feel about it (and keep in mind this is just my opinion) is that “the level of scrutiny Hu and her lines are placed under is not justified by the concrete evidence of the case(s).”

That should make my feelings a bit clearer. I see the tape’s disappearance from the gym as near irrefutable evidence that Eden is the culprit, so I’m willing to bend and twist her lines of dialogue to fit the evidence. Dialogue has an openness of interpretation that the tape, in my opinion, doesn’t, though I get why that’s not how everyone feels about it.

However, I don’t quite see an equivalent for Hu. The wire in the Ace crime scene doesn’t incriminate her any more than the turpentine used incriminates Rose, or the letter written to Arei (by itself) incriminates Eden. I can pretty confidently say that either Ace or Eden took the tape from the gym; I cannot confidently say that Hu took the wire to the gym.

Despite Nico being caught mid-murder attempt (and they admit they did try to kill Ace), Hu is nowhere to be seen; none of her dialogue afterwards implies she was there; none of Nico’s dialogue points to her being there (their secret quote doesn’t count, we don’t know if that’s gonna be said this chapter or not); unless there’s some method theory I’m missing here, I’ve never really seen a method that requires Hu to be there alongside Nico, and Nico never denies being the one to take the turpentine, meaning they must have been involved since the start. You get the idea.

You need to somehow get around all of that if you’re going to believe Hu is involved in the Ace case, plus the fact that a lot of her dialogue seemingly contradicts the notion at first glance. Meanwhile, the only assumption Nico!SoloAceAttacker requires is that Nico, somehow someway, was able to take the wire at some point; and given there’s precedent to believe they can and would do something like that (turpentine), I find it quite easy to believe.

Obviously, it’s a matter of opinion. To some people, the wire is a smoking gun that proves Hu’s involvement, the same way I feel about the tape for Eden. And I guess, in that case, I can’t really blame them for reading Hu’s dialogue in a different manner. For me, though, the wire has perfectly acceptable workarounds. And I feel Hu being involved in either crime scene makes far more assumptions than simply saying Nico did everything themselves, which then by Occam’s Razor makes me inclined to believe the latter.

Thanks for the ask, and sorry if anyone felt hurt or offended by my original wording, it really wasn’t my intention.

[imogenkol]

— WIP WEDNESDAY

tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton and @neonshrike thank you lovelies!!

Sorry for the double Imogen x Bix today, but I am especially Unwell about them lately. Very first “I love you” anyone?

Bix got out of bed and collected her discarded clothes off the floor of the ship — clothes that Imogen had started to nearly trip over whenever she got up during the night — and dressed herself as she made her way to the vanity. 

Imogen sat up and watched her mechanic freshen up for the day. It was a routine she witnessed a dozen times or so now, yet she drank in every detail and every movement until she knew it by heart. If she shut her eyes, she could calculate precisely when Bix would move on from washing her face to combing her hair. 

That was her favorite part. Imogen was infatuated with the way Bix brushed her hair back before she braided or pinned it up. Perhaps it was the slight flex in her arms when she raised them. Or the perfect sculpt of her jawline and neck once they were exposed. Or the serene concentration on her gorgeous features as her fingers wove strands of dark hair with seamless practice. 

“What?” Bix asked without a glance in Imogen’s direction. Right on cue. 

A newer addition to her routine, though her tone had gradually shifted with each new day.

It started a little playful, like she expected Imogen to drag her back into bed for more of their intimate indulgences. Of course, that craving was always at the back of Imogen’s mind when she watched her. How could it not be? But lately, she started to watch her simply just to watch her — to admire her. An intention that neither had much experience with. 

Then the question came out exasperated. Bix never did like it much when Imogen's eyes lingered on her while she worked. Or so she said. In reality, the mechanic did not appreciate the distraction while she was on the clock. During her own time, they rather enjoyed the little game of poking at each other until someone’s composure cracked and they would finally give in. 

This was not one of those times. There were no expectations. There was no tension in the air. 

For the past weeks, Imogen had no answer for her. She could not adequately explain why she felt so enamored by such a mundane scene and Bix grew impatient with her. 

Imogen wondered if the explanation was more straightforward than she previously thought. She wondered if this was what love was — to be utterly fascinated by the most monotonous actions simply because the one who holds your heart is doing them. Because they turn the unextraordinary into extraordinary. 

If that were the case, then she may finally have an answer for her. 

“I love you,” Imogen said. Her heart leapt into her throat after the second syllable, and for a terrifying moment, she thought something far less pleasant might come up right after. Imogen swallowed hard and forced her jaw to clamp shut until the sensation passed. 

Bix completely stopped partway through a braid and turned to look at Imogen as if trying to decipher if she had heard her right. 

The sincerity of the statement was not in any doubt, but both women could not deny how foreign those three words sounded coming from the bounty hunter’s lips. They felt strange, even when she rehearsed the phrase in her mind. Imogen worried she did not fully understand the concept quite yet, but they had come this far. 

Why not take another leap?

Bix’s expression softened into what Imogen could almost describe as a bashful smile and she returned her attention back to the mirror. “Have you ever said that to anyone before?”

Imogen rolled her eyes, though the relief she felt from the lighthearted jab coaxed forth the same exact upturn at the corner of her own mouth. “You know full well that I never have, darling.”

“You’ve said it to me in a hundred different ways, but kind of seem allergic to the word itself,” Bix replied matter-of-factly. 

Imogen contemplated the statement for a beat. “Have the other ways I choose to express my devotion been inadequate?”

“No, not at all. I’m just…” She finished the braid and her hands dropped to her sides with a thoughtful exhale. “I’m still breaking through those walls of yours, I guess.”

Imogen rose from the cot and approached her lover with calm purpose, knowing that the unrestrained honesty of her next words will assure Bix that what she feared were walls were merely doors. And they would always be open to her from then on.

“Whatever love I had no knowledge of possessing is now entirely yours.” Imogen tucked a stray strand of the mechanic’s hair behind her ear and ran the backs of her fingers down her neck. “You are my love.” 

“Say it again,” Bix murmured, intensely holding Imogen’s gaze as she leaned in ever so slightly. “It’s good to hear.”

“I love you,” Imogen repeated obediently. It came out easier the second time, but still felt like a brand new muscle to be flexed — one she was afraid to damage if she used it too often. 

Bix grabbed Imogen by her hips, fingers slipping just underneath the hem of her shirt to brush lightly against her cool skin as she pulled her in. Imogen felt her blood suddenly rush hotly throughout her veins as if her whole body absorbed her lover’s warmth from such a small touch. 

The heat bloomed into an all encompassing warmth once their lips met. Bix kept their cadence sweet and chaste. Imogen fell into it like a bath and allowed the other woman to lead the lazy push and pull. The soft sensations prompted the bounty hunter to part her lips in a silent invitation, which Bix answered by squeezing her hips and drawing her in deeper. 

They slowly parted until their foreheads gently rested together. Imogen could feel their shared smiles even with her eyes closed. 

“I love you,” Bix said softly against her lips.

The Force around them seemed to sing with those three words as they echoed in Imogen's ears.

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[msbhagirathi]

IPKKND INCORRECT QUOTE - (2/n)

Payal rushed out of the SUV as they reached the supposedly 'suicide' spot- Scandal Point.

Arnav : Bohot hi stupid plan hai, itne loopholes hain. Tumhari jiji sahi keh rhi thi. Agar mujhe pata hota ki Akash ne kahan se kudna hai toh mujhe usse bachane jana chahiye ya tumhe ghar aake letter dena chahiye.

Khushi : Arre toh isme humari kya galti hai. Agar aapko theek se juth bhi nahi bolna aata. Agar aap kisiko aapni baat bhi nahi manwa sakte, toh matlab humara plan 'bekar' ho gaya...? Yeh kya baat hui...?

Khushi : Aap toh jiji ko keh sakte the na ki Akash ji aapki baat sunne ko bhi taiyyar nahi the, aur unhone aapko jald se jald, jiji ko woh chitthi dene ko kahan tha, toh woh toh maan hi jati na...?

Khushi : Apne aap ko bohot bada businessman kehte hain. Bade aaye, laad governor. *hmphs*

*Arnav giving his (in)famous ASR glare to her but to no effect*

*Khushi exasperated, gives him a side eye roll, walks away to her jiji*

Arnav : *splutters* Dammit...mere dimag mein kyun nahi aaya yeh.

Bitwa's Shaatir Dimag : Coz I don't like to work around that girl, we already had a talk about this.

Arnav : Yeah, right. How did I forget that, now shut up. *walks away*

Hehehe lol. Bitwa's Shaatir Dimag had a wild card entry.

Next One!

[lefthandarm-man]

Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanoff The Avengers (2012)

matching each others freak