Oh my I'm so back (again) from this deep slumber. With a new obsession... The Freak Circus of Horrors.
This game is consuming my brain. So here have some art I made.
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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@theblackstar05
Oh my I'm so back (again) from this deep slumber. With a new obsession... The Freak Circus of Horrors.
This game is consuming my brain. So here have some art I made.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
More Pierrot art! He's just really fun to draw for me atm! I really do like his design a lot, and my fyp being filled with all sorts of art of him isnt helping-
I'll probably be doodling more oc stuff though once I get their designs done
ĐŃĐ”Ń ŃĐœĐ”ŃгДŃĐžĐșĐž
Moon Phases, Werewolves and Killer Clowns Oh My! Chapter 1: Gasoline
The freak circus does not belong to me, nor do any of the characters shown. Pierrot and any other characters mentioned belong to nekoboydreams here on tumblr. This a fanfic where Mc gets with Pierrot, Harlequin, and Doctor. Mc is also a werewolf but is gender nuetral despite the title.
Good song for this chapter is Gasoline by Halsey
Warnings: slur is said
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Chains rattle around you as they hit the metal floor below. Your body aches as you stretch and feel bones pop and crack back into place. Reaching down you grasp the key around your neck. It's been a long night and now you just want to go home and finally eat something.
You're so hungry you could eat straight from the trash. Your stomach growls at the thought not finding it to bad of an idea. Unlocking the chain cuffs around your wrists and ankles you stand up free at last. Stretching one more time you hear your back pop and let out a sigh of relief. You can finally stand up straight after being hunched over on the floor all night. You don't remember anything after transforming but the ache from being chained to the ground always gets to you.
Going to a set of lockers you open one grabbing your clothes and putting them on. Don't want to walk around naked in this cold bunker any more than you have to.
Yawning you head out of the room making sure to leave your chain key in the locker. The hallway is long with a faded blue sky and clouds painted all the way down. The concrete walls stay dingy despite how much Carol cleaned them. Passing by a door with a towel under it you notice the sign on it has fallen down again. Looking around, you find the card board sign that says "DO NOT OPEN MOLD" in big red letters. You stick it back to the door, the old duct tape holding on to it for dear life. You've got to remind your boss, Nathanal, to buy more so you can retape it back to the door.
You continue on your journey to the restroom across the hall, your boots clack on the 70s tile as you head straight for the sinks across the back wall. Turning on the middle sink, you begin to brush your teeth and wash your face. You'll shower at the cafe when you get there.
You won't shower here anymore not after everything that happened. But brushing your teeth isn't too bad as long as you ignore the broken two way mirror over the sinks.
You shiver at the thought, knowing there's still one in the shower room. You have no idea how Carol can shower here but then again she's always been more braver than you. Looking at your broken reflection you contemplate the last few years for a moment wondering if this is all life will ever be for you. You try to push those thoughts away as you turn off the sink and dry your face.
Finishing up you finally collect your things heading out of the underground bunker. Making sure to relocked the chain outside so no one trespasses. The last time you left without doing so Natanael, your boss, gave you the disappointed dad look. Even the thought of the older man's disappointment makes shame rise in you again.
Walking out you notice bosses car is gone along with Carol's Honda. They probably woke up before you and didn't want to disturb you after last night. The moon cycle is rough on all of you but they know it's the hardest on you.
You briefly wonder where old Mac is, but figure he's probably at the lake fishing or hitched a ride to town with Natanael.
Grabbing your bike, you hop on and begin the long ride back to town. Or well as you've been told by many on the internet you actually live in a small city. As you make your way to the cafe, the woods begin to thin till there's only buildings. The city buzzes around you as other people go about their day.
Once you are a few blocks from the cafe, you decide to walk the rest of the way. Getting off your bike you begin your short walk to the brown brick building. Your almost there when you hear a commotion happening further down the street. It's past the cafe so you plan to just ignore it but once you get closer you notice a familiar figure.
Fliers litter the street around a red clad clown and standing over him is none other than big bad Rue. The older man was similar in age to Old Mac. You felt bad for the clown as he laid there with Rue shouting at him like a drill Sargent. After chaining your bike to the rack in front of the cafe you head toward the commotion. Planning to deescalate the confrontation as much as you could. The last thing you want is for Rue to kill someone in broad daylight.
Walking closer to them you begin to hear Rue better. He's shouting asking where she is. You know Rues daughter went missing a few days ago but why's he blaming it on the circus? They just blew into town not to long ago so how could they be responsible for her going missing.
"Don't lie bastards I can smell her on you! I swear I'll fuckin kill you if you don't start talkin'!" Rue shouts getting closer to the clown who cowers on the ground. The sad tears painted on his mask making him look even more pitiful than he already is. You hear Rue growl as he gets ready to whale on the poor guy.
"Rue Stop!" You yell running over to get in between the two. If you don't stop him now Rues gonna tear the clown to pieces. "I don't know what's got you so railed up but killing some random guy won't solve anything." You say shielding the clown with your body. While you don't want to get hit by the old wolf, you can take a hit better than the red clown on the concrete. Though knowing Rue he probably has already hit the poor guy and given him a concussion. Anymore hits and the red clown will be dead for sure.
Rue says your name with true pain in his voice. "He took her. He took my daughter!" The girl was all the old man had left of his late wife so it makes sense why he's so upset. "Okay I understand that but, Rue you know to go to the police first." I try to reason with him. He might be the angriest werewolf you've met but he's not unreasonable.
Till now that is.
Rue looks at you like you just killed his daughter. The betrayal in his blood shot eyes says it all. "I should've known a bitch like you would agree with these freaks. But I guess it makes sense for a cripple like you!"
"Watch it!" You growl, only to feel a fist meet your face. You feel warm blood trinkle down your face from your nose as you immedately grab Rues arm pushing it out of the way so you can hit the old man back. Your fist connects to his face hearing a loud crack. Rue stubles back as you release him spitting some blood to the ground. He huffs and lets out a manic laugh simliar to someone you once knew. "Oh now your gonna get it little wolf." He laughs preparing to charge you.
In trying to avoid a fight starting you ended up in one yourself. It's no secret you basically have no sense of smell and basic human hearing despite being a werewolf. But can they really blame you, who wants to eat innocent people just to be stronger?
Werewolves don't need to eat humans, but they do so anyway for more power. Most judge you for not wanting to eat humans but you don't need to. You're more than strong enough to handle Rue regardless of how sturdy the old wolf is.
Just as you're about to punch Rue a whistle sounds breaking up the confrontation. "Alright break it up!" An officer appears making the crowd disperse as they address Rue. "Alright Rue don't make me put you in the drunk tank so early." They tell the old man. Rue just scoffs and spits "I hope those animals get you to." He stalks off probably to loose himself in alcohol.
You feel bad for him but he's still an asshole. And what's up with calling them animals?
"The pots calling the kettle black old bastard." You huff wiping the blood off your nose. Telling the officer you'll help the clown you turn to face him, only to see the red clad jester has disappeared.
The only thing indicating he was there are the fliers still scattered everywhere. Strange, but running while your attacker is distracted is a common reaction to getting assaulted.
Shrugging you head back to the cafe a little later than usual. But it's not like Nathanal will lecture you for being late by a few minutes.
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You enter through the back door walking straight into the employee locker room. Carol is there on her phone, taking her 12 o'clock break. "You're late." She comments no malice in her voice. The unspoken question asking why hangs in the air as you head to you locker.
"Had to stop Rue from killing some poor street clown." You say taking off your clothes and putting them in your locker. "Ha sounds like a usual morning for that crackpot!" Carol snarks before focusing on her phone again. Grabbing a towel off a nearby rack you enter the shower room and take a quick one.
When you come out Carol is gone and the locker room is empty besides a sandwich in a plastic baggy on the bench Carol sat on. Smiling you pick it up knowing Carol left it for you. She always did stuff like this for you and the others after rough nights, even Rue got some of her little gifts every now and then. You put on your cafe uniform and head out immediately getting to work serving tables.
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The day is uneventful as you work alongside Carol. She tells you all about some guy she's been meeting up with for the past week. You're skeptical about all the good things she's telling you, considering her previous track record. But she keeps insisting he's a real gentlemen. But you'll believe it when you see it.
"I'm serious this guy has to be the one!" She cries out trying to convince you of his good nature. "Yeah that's what you said about Chad and yet I still had to give him the thumb screw." You say as you look at the strange fog on one of the cafe windows. It looks like some kid fogged it up then drew hearts on it. But it's way too high up to be a little kid maybe a teenager did it?
"Chad was a mistake, he acted nice but really he was just a narcissist." She says wiping down the counter after a spill earlier. Knowing Carol this guy was no good, but she'd give him a chance if he just gave her flowers once. She was too nice to guys that didn't deserve it.
"Plus, he's saying all the right things and even opens doors for me! We're going on a date tonight." She tells you an excited pitch to her voice. "Really C?" You walk over to the counter and lean in to whisper. "The peak of the waning moon was just last night. Are you sure you aren't just 'bitey'?" She looks offended at the insinuation.
"No and even if I was I'm perfectly capable of controlling myself. I'm not moon crazy if that's what you think!" She huffs going back to work. But you know she's thought about moon madness ever since the incident no matter how many moons it's been. "Hey C I'm sorry you know I'm just looking out for you." You say guilt eating at you. She's silent for a long moment before letting out an emotionless "I know." not looking at you.
You reach out to her but pull away instead focusing on taking the last few customer orders for the day. Eventually Carol leaves wanting to dress up for her date. Your boss let's her once you promise to take her shift. You still feel guilty for asking if she's just moon crazy. You're the last one who even should be asking anyone that.
You pick up stray fliers around the cafe. With how many you've had to pick up over the past week you're contemplating making a no fliers sign. Nathanal huffs "I'm sick of ripping those flyers off my window, don't let anyone hand them out in here." You nod agreeing with the sentiment.
Soon after Carol leaves the bell rings above the door. In walks a well dressed man in a blue suit, he sits down at a table in the corner. Likely because it's the quietest and most secluded spot in the cafe. He doesn't strike you as a customer to be very talkative. Grabbing a menu you head over only for the man to ask for a simple black coffee.
Well that makes your job easy.
You make him a black coffee quickly and bring it over. Apologizing for the wait you go to throw away the fliers only for the man to stop you. He offers to recycle it for you since he'd hate to see good paper just end up in the trash.
"Well that would be a better use for it." You hand him the small stack you gathered thanking him.
"Ah it's no problem. Tell me have you been to the circus?" He asks looking at the black and white fliers in his hands. "No I'm sorry if you wanted a recommendation but can't say I've ever visited The Freak Circus. Though it's horror themed if you like that kind of stuff." You say surprised he wants to make small talk.
He gives a slight laugh which doesn't sound quite right. Honestly nothing about this guy remotely looks even right to begin with. His skin looks too tight around his face and half of it always seems shadowed no matter which way he turns. It's odd but you figure he probably just had some plastic surgery or something.
"Oh no I've already been actually. I was wondering if you'd be interested in going since they cater to adults." He looks you up and down as he says this.
"No, I'm not really interested. I see enough scary shit on a daily basis. Though it's messed up how badly people have been treating the circus clowns." You think back to the red jester you helped as you say this.
Hopefully, he's alright after taking that hit from Rue. The man is old, but he's still a werewolf. Plus, the waning moons peak was just yesterday. In a few days, the moon will be full, and a hit that feels like a bag of bricks will feel like a semi truck. "People tend to treat things they don't understand harshly. That's just how the world works." The man says bitterly pessimistic.
"Yeah, you got a point but that still doesn't justify beating them up. Just this morning I had to stop a guy from killing one of the clowns handing out fliers." You tell him making the man give you an astonished look. Well when one is pessimistic of the world even small acts of kindness must seem amazing.
"Is that so?" He asks you almost in disbelief.
"Yeah a red clown was about to get the breaks beat off him and everyone was just standing around! Though I didn't get a chance to talk to him because he disappeared before I could make sure he was alrightâŠ" You trail off the blue clad man now giving you a strange look. "I know getting in-between something like that is dangerous. But if you saw how miserable that red clown looked you'd have stepped in too." You nervously scratch your cheek feeling the mans creepy blue eyes bore into you. He's looking at you like your some rare animal on display at a zoo.
"âŠ" He's silent for a moment, probably thinking about how dumb you were. He finally says something making surprise raise in you. "That's a really commendable trait, humanity could do with more people like you." He straightens his already pristine suit before reaching into his inner jacket pocket.
"I was actually gonna offer this extra ticket I had." He says holding up a ticket for the circus that just arrived in city. "I'm leaving town soon so unfortunately I won't be able to use it. But maybe you could put it to some use?" He holds out the blue ticket to you. "That's also a special ticket it will give you front row seats to all shows." He says with the tone of someone offering a charity donation.
"Are you sure? This seems really expensive." You were never one to take free gifts. You just never felt like you were worthy of such things especially afterâŠ
The man cuts off your thoughts his firm voice bringing you out of your train of thoughts. "It's alright, consider it a gift for helping thatâŠclown this morning." He simply says taking a sip of his black coffee. He's so nonchalant about it you almost feel like taking the ticket is okay.
"Well at least let me pay for your coffee and anything else you order." You say placing the ticket in your pants pocket. Your sure this ticket is worth more than a cup of coffee and some pastries. But it's the least you can do in exchange.
"That's very kind of you." He says going back to drinking is coffee. The bell rings signaling a new customer arriving, turning you see old Mac enter the cafe.
The tall grisly looking old man goes to his usual spot by the front windows. Already knowing his order you go to fix him a frappe which is funny considering how rugged he looks. But there's something extra sweet about an old burly man liking a sugary drink usually reserved for Instagram girls.
Bringing it over you set it down gently. "Heard you and ol'Rue got into it earlier." He says not at all surprised. "Old boy came to my fishin spot hooting and hollering about how disrespectful the youth are." He takes a sip of his frappe some whip cream getting on his beard.
You scoff. "Old man called me a slur cause I stopped him from killing someone." Mac isn't the leader of your little pack. But his word is just as valid as bosses. He's not headstrong like Rue is. As long as you explain yourself Mac won't rip you a new one for causing trouble.
The old man nods. "I figured it wasn't just you trying to start something. You're a prickly one but if people leave ya be they won't get stung." Taking a breath you leave Mac to his evening coffee.
Cleaning the counter with a wet rag you get lost in thought.
Honestly you hope Rue doesn't try to start something again. The dark side of you wants to beat him to a pulp. The thought of his blood staining the ground makes some sick part of you feel satisfied. It's times like this you remember why you hate being a werewolf. The need for bloodlust and violence always made you shy away from your wolf.
You know it's always been a part of you even before becoming a werewolf. Remembering the fights you used to get in as a kid that would leave you battered and bloody. The curse just amplified those thoughts and emotions you already had. But that doesn't mean you have to accept it.
You don't even have to indulge it just contain it.
Hearing the bell ring again you notice most of the cafés customers have left for the evening. The only ones left now are Boss and Old Mac. "We're closing up early since Carol left." Your boss, Nathanal tells you. His voice gentle with an undertone of command. "I'm gonna drive Mac back home and I want you back before 8 got it?" He's always been more gentle with you and Carol since the both of you are so much more younger. But he's still firm with his words and guidance.
You nod giving him a yes sir before turning the open sign to close. It's not too long after that you hear them both leave out the front door.
Alone at last you start putting chairs on the tables and mopping the floors. Just as you finish mopping the lights cut off.
A faint jiggle of the bell is heard making you snap your head in the direction of the front door. It swings open and closed gently as if someone just entered but no one stands in it.
On high alert you look around able to see in the dark slightly better than most. You see nothing but the dark tables glinting in the soft moonlight. Calmly you walk over to the fuse box being careful not to slip on the still wet floors. Once the lights are on you sigh in relief turning only to be startled by a tall red figure standing by the counter. You gasp and stumble at the sight of him.
You feel your heart beat hasten as you slip on the damp floor below you. "Ahhh!" You shout as you begin to fall to the ground.
But suddenly you feel warm arms wrap around you. One holds your waist and the other supports your head in a firm grip. Startled you begin to struggle only for the arms to get tighter. Pushing on the person's chest you finally look up at them.
Staring into golden yellow eyes you realize the person holding you is the clown from this morning. He has a panicked look on his face. Or mask? You can't really tell if it's a mask or just caked on makeup. But the alarmed look in his eyes is obvious as he looks down at you. The faint smell of blood is also in the air as you notice flecks of red in his hair.
Did Rue do that? You didn't get a chance to look at him this morning. Because he left before you could get a good help him up.
"You? How did you get in here?" You ask though quickly realize you didn't lock the front entrance yet. "Never mind don't answer that." You quickly add. He probably entered as you turned the lights on the tension making you miss the bell ringing.
He tilts his head worry melting into confusion. It's then you realize you're basically being cradled by a stranger. "Umm could you maybe let me go bud?" You nervously mumble.
His face goes as red as his jester uniform before he sets you on your feet. It's then you realize how big he is compared to you. He's big enough he could probably hold you comfortably in his arms if he wanted. Though you note he's not as big as your werewolf form.
His long arms gently release you though he hesitates. Probably because the floor still has a few wet spots.
He's oddly sweet despite his scary appearance.
Now that you have a good look at him you note he looks odd. His arms and fingers are long nearly reaching past his hips. His chest and shoulders are also wider than normal. Maybe he was a competition swimmer in the past. You remember seeing a few matches on TV and most of them had a similar body type. Though none were as tall as him most having a long waist instead of legs.
All this in addition to his height make him almost look like a creature pretending to be human. Dang these guys have some great costumes you can see why people find them scary.
"Hey um I'm not supposed to let you stay in here but I could give you some first aid for your injury." You say gesturing to his head. It's not like you have to worry about him being a burglar. The register is emptied for the night and who would steal coffee?
Though eating a burglar would make your night betterâŠ
His eyes get wide looking like you just hung the stars. He nods vigorously looking like a big kid. "Alright big guy sit right there and I'll be back in a sec." You chirp pointing at the bar stool in front of the counter.
Going to the back you quickly retrieve the first aid kit you all use for emergencies. When you come back the jester is still seated at the counter. He kicks his feet while folding a stray flier. "Hey could you not hand out any fliers if you come in? The big boss is a little peeved about them." You say as you set the first aid kit on the counter.
The clown nods again before going back to his origami. You take out the rubbing alcohol and put some on a clean rag. "This is gonna hurt so you can hold my hand if you want. But please try to stay still." He takes your free hand in his almost immediately. His hand gently running his claws over the back of your hand.
Taking the rag you begin cleaning his wound. As you clean the blood you notice it's already clotted over. Someone must've threw a glass bottle on him or something. That's not surprising considering how on edge the city has been for a few years now.
What's strange though is how still he is as you work. You don't even think he's breathing as you carefully dab at his wound. Finally you pull away from him and tell him you're finished. Pulling out a pink cat band-aid you hand it to him.
"It's not much but you probably shouldn't expose that to the open air. His eyes sparkled once more as he takes the band-aid from you. He holds it to his chest and nods once more.
His eyes are so expressive though you suppose that's normal for someone who doesn't speak like him.
"You're not much of a talker are you? Can you not speak or do you just not like to?" You say pointing to your own throat making the sign for mute. He hesitates for a second glancing around. It's as if he's scared of anyone else seeing him in this empty cafe. If anyone should be worried it's you considering you're supposed to be closing down not clowning around.
"I cannot be seen speaking." He whispers with a horse voice clearly not used to talking. The sound of it makes you flinch not expecting him to speak. He gets a worried look having clearly picked up on it and seems to shrink in on himself for some reason.
"Wow I thought you were selectively mute! So itâs part of your act then?! That's amazing how dedicated you are!â You exclaim now making the red clown jump. His eyes grow comically wide as his face grows red once more. You wonder how his mask is able to be so expressive. Maybe it's one of those new robotic ones that changes expressions.
While you ponder his mask the clown speaks up his voice now less scratchy. âYes, my dear.â he replied with a small nod causing his bells to jingle slightly. âI sincerely appreciate all your help. It's a pleasure to meet you.â He puts his hand to his chest giving you a little bow.
"My dear? How old are you?" You giggle at the nickname finding it a bit old school. Plus his way of speaking reminds you of how an old person would talk. "You almost sound like my grandfather!" You laugh only to freeze once you see his face.
He looks like you just kicked his mother. His eyes water and a stary tear trickles down his mask. "Y-you don't like it?" His quiet voice quivers, making you feel awful for making fun of him.
"Well, I guess you can call me that if you want! I didn't mean that, it's just that no one's ever called me something so nice like that before. So I don't really know how to act! And you know what? I should stop talking!" You say quickly, suddenly feeling self-conscious along with the guilt. You really know how to ruin everything. The guy is probably still feeling bad about what Rue did this morning, and you just had to rub salt into his wounds.
"Please keep speaking." Pierrot says, gently taking your hand in his much larger one. Wait when did he get so close to you?
Now it's your turn to be flustered as the big clown leans in closer. "Please my de-" he stops himself before continuing. "Your voice is one of a kind."
âOkay." You whisper lost in his bright yellow eyes. You hum before telling him your name. "And you can call me your dear if you want, it's actually really cute." You say looking away biting your lip. "Please ignore what I said earlier I'm just a spazz sometimes." You laughing out nervously.
When you look away you miss the lovestruck look on the clowns face in front of you. His eyes turn to hearts as a bit of drool drips down his face. Releasing your hand reluctantly he wipes his mouth. He mumbles a soft "I know." Before hiding it with a gentle laugh at how adorable you are.
The sound of his raspy laugh catches your attention. Now with your eyes on him, he reaches down taking his craft from earlier into his gloved hand. "Thank you my dear." He holds out the freshly made paper flower to you. "I am the Pierrot."
âA Pierrot?â You question taking the paper flower. You look him up and down, not seeing any similarities to the sad pierrot clown doll you have. Besides his mask, he looks more like a jester than anything. âThank you for the flower, but you donât really look like a pierrot clown.â You tell him feeling the folds of the paper rose with your scarred fingers.
âIndeed, you are right, my dear,â he said with a faint tilt of his head now smiling wide. âWe were required to modernize our attire. But my role remains unchanged.â
The more you look at him the more you think back to this morning. Remembering Rues infuriated face and manic raving. âMhh yeah and Pierrot I'm sorry for how Rue treated you this morning.â You pick at the flower as you look at the tall clowns smile turn into a frown at the mention of the old man. "I know it's not an excuse but ever since his daughter went missing the old bastards been on edge. It's not right he took that frustration out on you but you at least deserve an answer." You say fiddling with the flower in your hand. "Honestly ever since the murders in the 80s this whole cities been on edgeâŠ" You trail off the warm mood now growing cold.
You see flecks of blood on your nails from cleaning Pierrots wound. You want so badly to lick it off them but the human part of you holds yourself back.
You're not some blood thirsty beast who can't control themselves.
âI suppose we may appear a touch⊠uncanny,â He admitted. âThough if such awful things happened here, I can see why others would find us unsettling.â His gentle voice brings you out of your glum mood. Shaking those dark thoughts out of your head, you focus back on the red performer in front of you.
âDo the pink pierrots out on the street with flyers perform too?â You ask curiously.
âIndeed, the circus has but a small cast. We both perform and hand out flyers." His expression gets dark for a second. "Though I must say, I am the only Pierrot, my lady. The others are Jester and Harlequin.â He nearly spits out the word Harlequins as he clenches his fist in restrained anger.
Harlequin must be a sore spot for him. You're more familiar with the look of clown archetypes rather than the stories behind them. But this irritation doesn't seem like a part of the act to you. Maybe the two are ex-lovers who now just work together. Or just friends who had a bad falling out. Whatever the case may be it must not be too bad since they still work together.
Glancing at the clock you notice the time realizing the others will worry if you're out too late. âThank you for the flower Pierrot.â You say feeling a bit sad to cut your conversation short. âAnd sorry to say this, but we canât stay too long here. I have to get home to my pac-roommates.â You say stumbling over the word roommates.
The clown doesn't seem to pick up on this as he stands up from his chair. Towering over you once more he reaches into his pants pocket.
Of course, my dear though, before we go our separate ways I would like to give you one more gift.â He says to you gently holding a bright red ticket in his clawed grasp. "Please accept this small token of my appreciation.â He adds seeming to get nervous all of a sudden.
âA ticket?â You say taking it. âAhh Thereâs no need. I already have one.â You then take out the blue one the stranger from earlier gifted you. "A nice man came in earlier and offered me this after I told him what happened this morning!" If you had a nickel for every time someone offered you a free circus ticket you'd have two nickels! It's not a lot but it's weird it happened twice in one day.
You notice that his expression shifts to something between shock and worry. Before you can question him he steps closer to you leaning down so he can whisper almost urgently. "My dear please promise me you will only use my ticket and no other."
You furrow your brows not understanding why he cares so much about a ticket. "Okay if it means that much to you I'll just use yoursâŠ" Well it won't hurt to indulge the clown who seems so hell bent on repaying you. No matter how strange he acts.
âI assure you,â He starts his soft voice becoming cheerful again. âIâll make you smile during my performance.â He grins showing a mouth full of sharp teeth. Once again you marvel at how cool his costume is. Your gonna have to ask how he makes even his teeth look so spooky and realistic. "Alright now seriously it's time to go!" You exclaim with a grin on your face. Leading him to the door you open it for the tall clown. Watching him slightly duck as he leaves the building.
âI understand completely. I hoped to arrive earlier, but I did not wish to cause you distress, my dear.â He says sounding like an old timey lover before giving you one last nod.
âItâs alright,â You say waving to him. âThis way was better after all now I know you wouldnât have been able to answer me in public. I'll see you at the circus tomorrow if I can get off early enough.â
âThat is true,â he agreed. âHave a good night, my dear.â Finally, he turns going off into the night.
âGood night Pierrot and please stay safe!" That's the last thing you say before closing the door and locking it. Now finally able to close up the cafe for real.
Had you stayed and watched Pierrot you would've noticed him duck into the alleyway beside the cafe. You would've seen him bend over salivating at the thought of speaking to you. You would've witnessed how he waited for you to leave the cafe. Watching the door in excitement at the thought of following you.
And perhaps you would've smelt the pink poison in his pocket.
But instead you finish cleaning up noticing a crumbled up piece of red paper on the linoleum floor. Cleaning it up you notice it's a paper flower similar to the one Pierrot gave you. Only this one was red and soaked in a familiar scent. Smelling the wrinkled flower you catch the faint hint of copper and sugar.
Gulping you take in another whiff realizing it's Pierrots blood. He must've gotten some on another flower and lost it when he saved you from falling on the floor. Now it makes sense why he was quickly making a flower when you got the first aid kit.
Well it's not like he needs this flower and you already have the white one he made you. Taking a quick glance around you turn back to the paper flower. With one bite you eat it devouring the poor thing whole. His blood is sweet with the slight irony tang all blood had. You moan at the taste finding it delicious as the dried blood touches your taste buds.
How long has it been since you tasted blood on your lips? How long has it been since you truly felt even a slight bit satisfied?
Too many moons to count have passed since you got a taste of something so divine.
Swallowing the blood soaked paper flower you head to the back locker room to get changed. It's a long bike ride home and your already late for dinnerâŠ
But at least by then you'll have calmed down enough for no one to notice. · · â ·â¶Â· â · ·· · â ·â¶Â· â · ·· · â ·â¶Â· â · ·· · â ·â¶Â· â · ·
One little wolf fought at the market
One little wolf should've stayed home
One little wolf had a hot date
One little wolf had no breaks
And One little wolf went "Woo, Woo, Woo" all the way home!
Mc and Rue are two honey badgers trying to square up.
Mac is the old wise man whose seen too much
Carol is the young naĂŻve girl
Boss is the man who works and never stops cause he has a pack to run
And together they make a little pack of wolves
Though one wolf is dead and the others missing
I hope you enjoyed my characters and take on Carol. She still has unresolved trauma unlike my other stories Carol. Comments, theories and critique are always welcome. :3

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Harlequin đđ
Baking Advice (2/2)
See part 1
Thank you all for your likes and reblogs! â€ïž
Hereâs part 2 as promised
People say that sometimes silence speaks louder than words. đ
Itâs a rather short sequel, but I hope you enjoy it!
Going far, my dear?

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Ticket Taker Headcannons:
Design-wise, I thought it would be fun to mimic the drips in his mask throughout coloring too!
I also love the idea that if hungry/overwhelmed/stressed the spots on his hands drip ink, which means he washes a LOT of those white gloves. That, combined with him being very particular and neat, would make for an interesting annoyance on his end I'm sure! (But also: Ink smears occasionally left on MC when he loses a bit of control -u- )
I love this tired workaholic of a creature.
Baking Advice
Drawing this took me quite a while, so Pierrotâs appearance changes a bit throughout it đ.
The idea was inspired by the official AMA
Harlequin really can trick Pierrot every single time. And as a non-native English speaker, I honestly sympathize with him đ I mean at least âeggsâ has suspicious implications in multiple languages, but âđ„§â genuinely feels like a perfectly innocent dessert name đ
If this gets 500+ likes, Iâll draw the sequel where Pierrot finds out what âcreampieâ actually means :3
Getting ready for another long day of work đ
Naku NSFW đ
cause i never draw any nsfw of this man (kinda shy about this)
art by @mokitobear
Jester x F!reader (pierrot x reader if you squint)
TW: bondage, cockwarming, exhibitionism, p in v, hard sex, creampie, Jester is a cunt (shocking), Dom/sub dynamics, petnames, sad(?) ending, possible part 2(idk)
The Jester reviews his document with a silent hum, his eyes scanning the document rapidly before setting it aside and taking another one.
The movement makes you whine.
"Shhh, don't move, pet. I need to stay focused." He simply answer, a clawed hand caressing the back of your head absent-mindedly.
You huff through your nose, muffled by the gag.
'Don't move. Don't be distracting. Don't moan too loud. Ect.' You'd like to see him in your place, contorted in his purple bounds, naked on his lap, unable to move or cover yourself.
He leans forward to sign and stamps that document, again, making you mewl, drooling all over the gag.
He tuts.
"How hard can it be, little pet?" He grins meanly at you, displaying his sharp teeth.
You gulp, the vision of his teeth, pearly white and sharp.
How would it feel having them sink into your flesh?
Claiming you to the eyes of the world?
That would be⊠Nice. You think.
"Be a doll, would you? I have a lot of work."
You sigh, resting your head on his shoulder in defeat, feeling sweat rolling down your skin. You can barely move a muscle without it contracting your pussy around his cock.
He chose that position exactly for that.
Cause he's just a maniacal sadist psychopathic control freak.
"Oh, you are trembling? Is something not to your taste, perhaps?" He taunts.
You hiss,biting on the gag.
What a mean man. He knows you want more, you crave more.
More of him.
More of his deranged affection.
You want him ravaging you and breaking your mind entirely. He can use his hypnosis if he so wants. He can annihilate your soul for all you care, now.
You just want him and his twisted love embracing you and warming you up.
You were still well adjusted some week ago still, and now⊠Now your own mother would disavow you.
He pulls on the leash to pull you off him and look at your flustered face.
"Ah, and now you are crying." He mocks with a snigger, "You puzzle me, pet. You came in here, begging for some of my time, and now that I gave you a premium seat, you cry?"
You gulp, refraining a sob. This is all just too much. Too much.
You want his voice, you want him silent. You want him out of you, you want him thrusting into you. You want to hug him, you want to slap him across the face. You want to kiss his mouth, you want to abandon him here⊠You want all of him and disappear of the surface of the earth.
He cups your face and licks your tear off your cheek with a purr.
"This is a taste I could get addicted to." He notes, half singing, "So what's wrong, my pet? What can I do to make you more comfortable?"
You whine and struggle on his lap, hands bound behind your back, forced in a fetal position.
"Ah, you want more of me and my cock? Pervert." He mocks.
You roar through the gag, getting annoyed and out of your mind.
"Alright, I am feeling magnanimous tonight. I can grant you that privilege." And he starts tapping his feet.
The movement makes you bob up and down on his girth ever so little, but in with your skin so thin and your nerves exacerbated right now, this is doing a lot.
"Look at me when I please you, pet." He orders, tilting your chin to force you to face him.
The jolts of pleasure courses your entire, stiff body, your pussy aching for more, reveling in his generosity. He slouches on his chair with his mean smirk, appreciating his work on you, his little, fragile pet, all vulnerable and open for him.
"You drool all over yourself, naughty girl." He bites, wiping a side of your jaw with his gloved thumb before sucking on it, "You're lucky I appreciate you."
You moan out loud, throat dry, as your cunt spasms around his length like it was trying to swallow it entirely, like it could even go any deeper than that! You can feels his warm tip nudged deep inside your core, leaking profusely, getting mixed with your essence, dripping on his black pants.
"I forgot to tell you, Bil is supposed to visit." Jester drops out of nowhere.
You almost choke on your gag, looking at him absolutely horrified, tensing up your entire body in a fight or flight response. You struggle on his lap, trying to leave, even if you have to cave your face into the ground.
A choreography of movement that seems to please your clown a good amount.
"MmhâŠ" He sighs with satisfaction, "That's the kind of actions I like. You, helpless and at my entire mercy, struggling to escape while kneading my cock so right." He bites his lower lips as his pupils turns into deviant purple hearts, "I should have claimed you way sooner."
You shake your head, trying to fall for good by balancing your body left and right, and if you cave your face in, so be it. You have been perverted, lusting after that monster, but you're not that far gone yet.
"Keep agitating yourself, pet. It only heightens my sensations."
And he resumes his foot tapping, driving you absolutely crazy. You can't allow yourself to be seen naked or cumming in public, this is not you, not the kind of woman your areâŠ
"Ah, Ticket Taker. Come in." the Jester calls behind your back.
You freeze dead, horrified by the situation.
He⊠He is playing with you. This is just a sick joke.
Yes, ha ha. Of course, it is.
Jester wouldn't really do that⊠Would he?
"Thank you Jester, I just came here for⊠My greetings, visitor." Bil's stern and ever professional voice resonates behind you.
Your stomach drops so low, you actually think it evacuated your organism. Yet it is perfectly in place.
"Pet?" Jester teases, "You respond to a greeting when you are a polite girl. Should I teach you manners too?"
You rise crying eyes to your demon partner, begging, pleading for him to put an end to this comedy.
He hits the ground harder suddenly, worsening the shocks spreading into your pussy, forcing you to mewl against your will.
"There. Good girl." He pats your head condescendingly, "What did you wanted Bil?"
As quickly as it appeared, his playful, albeit mean, expression vanish for a professional one, his cheerful and sadist tone melting into a stern one.
Like you were not even here, bobbing on his cock like a sex toy for his sick pleasure.
No.
Always in control, nothing escapes his suffocating grip and he has absolute authority over anyone entering his domain. A man of control and restraint, also capable of terrible deviance and acts of perversion so degrading they intoxicate you to the depths of your lungs, poison your bloodstream and captivate your mind.
As humiliating as it is, you are forced to reckon with the fact that, for better and mostly for worse : you are in love with the Jester.
And you have the absolute certainty that he will be your end, in one way or another.
"I am here for the bills."
Jester lowers back his gaze on his desk, grabbing a folder and handing it to his henchman.
"Here." He says smiling at his old friend, while keeping you fucking yourself stupid on his fucking erection.
You try to keep quiet, and gather the little dignity Jester didn't yet torn from you. But of course he wouldn't be satisfied with that. He decides to pinch your ass cheek with his free hand, making your yelp out loud like a bitch in heat.
"I cannot really move, as you can see. You'll have to come closer, Bil." Jester informs the other man.
That's it.
You want to die.
And to kill him too, that bastard.
"⊠I see." Ever the stoic, Bil approaches.
Each steps resonates like a second closer to a pillory. You press your head on Jester's chest, turning your face away from Ticket Taker while he gets closer.
"Don't look so confused, Bil. She can't bite you, I made sure of that before you came."
He keeps slapping the floor, forcing undignified and lewd moan out of you, his tip hitting deep inside of you.
"Thank you,, Jester. I shall leave you with your⊠Company."
"I will be busy and unavailable tonight. Wait for tomorrow morning if you have reclamations for the bills."
"Understood."
You gulp, hearing the footsteps walking away, depriving you of all your energy.
You're not meant for that kind of stress.
"I can feel your heartbeat through my tip, pet. This is a delicious sensation." The man of your nightmares and dreams whispers oh so lowly in your ear, "But I want more now that my duties are done."
And without any warning, he grabs your butt to lift you up and put you on his desk. He unhooks the bounds of your stiff legs and opens your thighs wide for him, allowing him to gaze and observes you in your complete nudity, preventing you from modestly covering yourself to his piercing gaze.
Cunt and breast exposed, his for the taking.
For him to feast and relish of your flesh.
"What a sight, my little pet. You are shaking all over from so littleâŠ" He jabs, "So reserved, yet so ready to be corrupted. You are a joy for my eyes, and a song for my old heart." He brushes his long hair out of the way, getting rid of his hat, revealing his terrible horns to you, his eyes glowing with anticipation and pent up lust, "Can you hold on trough it all for me, minha Pulcinella?" He grazes the side of your face with his claws, ever so softly.
And without missing a bit, he slips out of your dripping cunt, and rams back in. It punches the air out of your lungs, shaking up to your brain, sending shocks in your head. He slips out, rams back in.
Again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
The desk cracks and complains under your activities, but Jester doesn't mind damaging his desk, he has other plans, other preoccupations right now.
Like your sweet pussy.
Or your breast bobbing up and down hypnotically.
Isn't it ironic? Even without powers, you hypnotize the brain-washer. A delicious contradiction that he especially didn't miss, but he can grant you that little power over him.
His little doll to play with.
Easy to care for.
Easy to break.
Easy to remodel to his sickest fantasies.
He loves to project an air of perfect control and mastery, but even the most self restrained man needs to let of some steam. Who would have known he was so wicked and so vicious as to love chain and gags even in the bedroom? After all, lots love to bark but cannot bite.
Jester just let you know that he can bite, and he can tear off your arm with it.
You are no longer on the playgrounds but in a real circus of perversion, an you are the newest prized toy.
"So tight, Pulcinella. This is succulent, what else can you give me? Your mind? Your little brain? Your feeble heart?" He asks, never slowing his pace, ravaging you like never before, "Your soul?"
You manage to open your eyes and look at him trough the tears, with evident fear.
Could he steal your soul? Is that⊠A thing?
"You look terrorized, sweet little thing. Are you asking yourself if this is possible?" He inquires his grin stretching wider, letting you gaze at his pearly white teeth, "Keep pleasing me like you do, Pulcinella, and you will never have to worry about it." He sussures in your ear delicately.
And he kisses your cheek.
A kiss so soft.
So tender.
So different than his usual behavior that it wrecks your brain entirely, making you sob harder.
Is it covetousness? Is it limerence? Is it Love? Or is it just sick?
What is it for him? What crosses his mind when his eyes lie on you?
Is it true, or just a sick game to entertain him?
Is he true to you?
Or is he playing with your heart? Like a cat do a mouth before putting it down?
He looks down at you with clear satisfaction, and proceeds to destroy what remained of your consciousness for the soiree with stronger pelvis thrust. His cock brushes all the good spots, making you drool on yourself, eyes rolling inside your head and your toes curling deliciously.
You cunt is so thick and fluffy for him, its like a warm pillow for him to nudge in and enjoy. A sheath for his glorious shaft.
Like your body was tailor-made for his.
You pant, your head light and dizzy, the smell of sex getting so strong and heady you lose your marks. Nothing exist outside of you two. Two predators, wanting each other's death yet craving each other's devotion.
Locked in a dance of death, a battle of love.
Your body knows it is in the presence of a flesh-eater, a carnivore. Yet instead of terrifying you like a normal, sane woman, you want to push further.
To see how far it could go. How far can you push him until he loses his nerves and it gets⊠Let's say interesting.
If he were to eat you whole, you'd find it a good death. To be this monster's meal is a worthy end.
Your entire body contract as one muscle with each back and forth, forced to receive the pleasure he so generously grants you. You moan, the fire in your core growing and growing, devastating everything on its wake, huffing through your nose, your walls fluttering around his girth.
You feel the waves of your orgasm approaching surely, already looming over your mind, ready to ravage you with raw ecstasy
"I feel you close, querida Pulcinella. You are so easy to guess, it is a pleasure working you up." He hums satisfied with his work on you.
And with three powerful last thrusts, he finishes inside of you, pushing you beyond the arcana of pleasure. Without any warning, he bares his teeth, and bites down your shoulder.
Hard.
Drawing blood.
The sudden pain rushes the tsunami that reaches the shore and destroys everything that was left of you. Your energy, your dignity, your mind. You drown in a swirl of sensual sensations and lustrous feelings.
Everything that he touched is now soiled and twisted to his taste.
The knot in your core snaps clean and your back arches impressively while your scream of pleasure is barely silenced by the gag. Your core spasms, dancing around his erection. Your eyes close, blinded by white firelight behind your eyelids, your head dizzy. He buries himself to the hilt to repaint your insides in white with his thick creamy seed, and your pussy greedily milks him for all his worth, kneading him nice and well, forcing a sound akin to a growled snigger out of him.
Your body, so tense, suddenly fall, slouching on the desk, void of all energy and mean to move and escape this predator.
He pants, looming over you like a storm cloud, his white mask framed by his gorgeous purple mane, tickling your face, hands and each side of your head.
He sighs, straitening his posture as he combs his hair back with his fingers, head thrown back.
You gulp, gathering your senses.
He looks back down at you, with a stern indecipherable expression for a second. He looks so⊠Taken aback you actually think he'll jump at your throat.
But he just slips off without a word, and re-dresses himself, his expression turned still and austere. He snaps his fingers, freeing you from the bond and the gag, allowing you to finally move.
"Dress back up and return home." He readjusts his collar, "Ask Pierrot to escort you if you want."
"⊠What?" You ask, astonished.
He⊠He is really throwing you out? You're still naked on his desk, your fluids mixed oozing out of your still sensitive cunt onto the wood, disheveled and panting, and he just⊠Shoos you out like that?
"Jester?"
"Thank you for your time, pet. You may take your leave." He flattens his clothes, pulling his hair into a bun, turning to you with a gaze so terrible you shiver "I won't repeat it."
You huff through your nose, indignant, jump on your feet to put you clothes back on.
You are thoroughly humiliated.
You run out of the tent without further ado, jaw clenched hard.
If this is the attitude he intends to give you, might as well end everything right here.
"My Lady�" A concerned voice rises behind you.
You turn to Pierrot, approaching you carefully in the dark night, this side of the circus barely illuminated to allow the artists to sleep in peace.
"Are you alright?" He asks gingerly.
"PierrotâŠ!" You broke down crying again, of exhaustion and frustration.
And you fall into his arms, pressing your face to his chest.
Jester can go fuck himself.
_________
He sighs, taking a puff of his cig again.
He was a real jerk to you. Again.
But this time he took things too far, he lost control of himself.
Claiming you?
You?
A human?
Did his age finally catch back to him?
And now he also have to make sure you are on the pill, or that would be a problem.
He breathes through his nose. He is getting sloppy, before he took all the precautions. But with youâŠ
With you, he loses his mind. He loses his usual self-control. He loses himself in you.
Who is he truly if he lost his hate?
Who is he if he softens for the enemy?
He tssks and crush his cig, under his foot, trying to relax his shoulders.
He didn't like the gaze you gave him rushing out of his tent, and he is not looking forward your next meeting.
AlasâŠ
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Still Waters
Follows the many ways you and Mordecai have taken care of each other over the years, and all the forms that can take.
Pairing: Mordecai Heller x Reader
Tags: Co-Workers to Friends to Lovers, Awkward Romance, Jealousy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Hurt/ComfortÂ
A/N: I got into Lackadaisy very late but very quickly, and I'm still catching up, so if there are any inaccuracies or timeline issues, sorry, but do let me know! Also, if you're my gf, sorry honey
//
19th August, 1920
The kitchen door swung open with enough force to cause a âbangâ with the shifting gust of air.Â
Heart thudding, you looked up in time to see Mordecai slip inside.
You couldnât get over how unnerving it was to see him like this. It took a lot to rattle Mordecai, but heâd been angry with you all night, seething under the surface like a pot on the stove. Now you were alone, and the adrenaline had worn off, it was harder for him to disguise his frustration.
Mordecai stopped so abruptly when he saw you that it was almost cartoonish. Standing halfway through the doorway, he stared at you, tail flicking irritably.Â
You wished you could read the expression on his face. His eyebrows were constantly pulled down into a tight frown, but now his bright olive eyes were restless and agitated, and he kept rolling and unclenching his long fingers.Â
After a momentâs tactical pause, Mordecai closed the door behind him with more force than necessary. He walked past you to the sink, pulling off his leather gloves with a few jerky, frustrated tugs.
âMordecai-â
âSave it.âÂ
He slipped off his coat, folded it over his arm, then carefully laid it down on the sideboard. Despite his obvious unease, he moved with his usual grace as he methodically rolled up his sleeves, then he turned on the faucet and began to wash his hands. His shoulders were high, his back taut.Â
You watched him, fascinated by the way he moved. Mordecai was always so precise and unfaltering. It was like heâd rehearsed every single facet of his facade, down to the length of his stride and the breadth of time between blinks.Â
You nervously curled and uncurled your fingers around the edge of the counter, pressing the tips of your claws into the wood to ease some of the tension in your shoulders.
âI know what happened tonight wasnât idealâŠâ
That was putting it mildly.Â
Tonight was your first trip out with Viktor and Mordecai since the last time youâd worked together, your first night working for Lackadaisy. Unfortunately, your first job had been a messy one, a night none of you liked to dwell on, and it had taken several months for you to work up the courage to step up to the plate again.
All evening, your nerves had felt taut like the strings of a violin bow, twanging and scratching inside your chest. You were jumpy, and that was never a good thing for a sharpshooter. You fired too soon, giving away your position, and it had ended in a successful, if very messy, firefight.
Mordecai, usually so well put together, looked like heâd been dragged through a hedge backwards when he finally sank into his seat in the car.Â
Viktor did his best to shrug it off. Nothing, not even a bullet whistling right between his ears, could unnerve him.
Youâd come away with grazed palms from falling hard onto the gravel road and a bullet hole in your coat from a very lucky miss. Worse still, you had to sit in the backseat of the car behind a seething Mordecai, and it had been a very long drive back to the cafĂ©. Â
Mordecai flicked water from his hands, then dried them on a towel. You wondered if he was planning to strangle you with it.Â
âYou do realise itâs not just you that suffers if you get hurt, donât you?â
Of all the things you thought he might say, that wasnât even close to the top ten list. Dumbfounded, you tried to come up with something smart, or even better, an eloquent apology, anything to get you out from under Mordecaiâs pin-sharp gaze, but all you managed was a stupid,
âWhat?â
âThis business cannot thrive with careless workers. Trust and integrity are everything. Viktor needs to be able to rely on you, or he wonât be able to do his job. I need to be able to rely on you, so that I can do mine. Do you understand what Iâm saying?â
âI do. You can.â You kept your head bowed, eyes low. âYou can rely on me. It was just first-day-back jitters. Iâm sorry, Mordecai. It wonât happen again.â
The kitchen was silent for a moment, then finally, Mordecai sighed.Â
âIf one of us falls, there will be another to take our place in a heartbeat,â he said, quiet yet firm. âBut that stumble could cause irreparable damage. Cracks will form. Cracks lead to breaks. So if one of us falls, we all do.â
âI understand.â
You heard him begin to move through the cabinets, searching for something. The biggest knife he could find, probably. Thatâs what stupid mistakes got you, minced and cooked in a stew.Â
When he finally found what he was looking for, Mordecai brought it over to you. A first aid box. He laid it on the counter next to where you were sitting and rifled through it, looking for something in particular.Â
All the while, you couldnât keep your eyes off him. The cold, intimidating, no-nonsense killer, your colleague, Mordecai Heller. He was magnetic. Everyone stared at him wherever he went, which he hated beyond all reproach. And being this close to him felt like walking railroad tracks, thrilling but possibly lethal.Â
You didnât often see him without his long black coat, his own kind of battle armour. You loved the way it pulled in his waist and how the upturned collar made him look almost regal. Seeing him in just a starched white shirt and dark waistcoat felt oddly intimate, like it was something you shouldnât be seeing.Â
His clever hands worked quickly and efficiently, digging through the first aid box while his tail lashed behind him, low to the ground and agitated. Finally, Mordecai unearthed what heâd been searching for and moved in front of you.
âHands,â he said, without looking at you.Â
âWhat?â
âHold out your hands.â
He twisted the cap off a small bottle, then upturned it onto a cotton pad, letting it soak up whatever was held within.Â
âMordecai, you really donât need to do that. Iâve had much worse.â
âIf these grazes are left untreated, they can become infected. Just how good of a sharpshooter do you think youâll be without hands?â
His gaze flicked up to meet yours.Â
It made your breath catch in your throat. How could you argue?Â
Tongue-tied, you held out your hands, palms up, and let Mordecai press the cotton pad to your raw, grazed skin. You hissed at the sting but tried not to flinch.Â
It had been an odd night. But perhaps the strangest thing of all was how gentle Mordecai was. It shouldnât have come as a surprise. He wasnât the heavy-handed type.
Heâd always had a thing about cleanliness and symmetry. He liked things a particular way. It irked the others, but it never bothered you. In fact, it was nice to be around a guy who wasnât a complete pig. Mordecai was always impeccably dressed and smelled amazing, something you wished you could get out of your head now that he was standing so close to you.Â
When he had finished cleaning you up, he turned a roll of bandages between his fingers, unravelling it until he thought he had enough. His eyes still lowered, Mordecai seemed to hesitate for a moment before he placed his hands flat under yours and lifted them higher. Then he began to carefully wrap the bandage around one of your palms.
It was so quiet in the kitchen. You werenât sure how late it was, but there was no one out on the street. Beneath your feet, a party was raging in the speakeasy, but you wouldnât have guessed if you werenât in the know. Somehow, though the cavern below you was teeming with life, it felt like you and Mordecai were the only two people in the whole world.
He was fastidious in his work, as he was with everything. Careful and precise, his movements flowed like a dancerâs.
There was something about watching him when his attention was diverted, a strange sort of intimacy that came from looking at Mordecaiâs eyes when he was looking elsewhere. Looking at you, you reminded yourself, and felt your face heat up.Â
âHow do you know how to do all this?â
You tried to keep your voice low, but it still seemed so abrupt in the stillness of the kitchen.Â
One of Mordecaiâs ears flicked, and you wondered if he was annoyed with you for asking, but then he said,Â
âI was an older brother once.â
He finished with your left hand and moved onto the right, carefully wrapping the bandage around your palm, over and under, over and under, in neat rows.Â
You watched him, waiting to see if heâd offer up anything else. When he remained quiet, you pressed him for more.Â
âOnce?â
âHm. In another life.âÂ
Heâd never spoken about any family before. Youâd assumed he was like the rest of Lackadaisyâs crew, a stray from the streets in need of shelter and a steady job.
You couldnât picture Mordecai as a brother. Or maybe you could. A little shorter, a little less world-weary, flanked by younger siblings who hung on his every word. You knew better than to ask for any more details. Still, it was a nice thought. A reminder that he had a beating heart under that gun holster. Â
Before you could say anything more, he dropped your hands and stepped away. Mordecai struggled to hold your gaze, and you wondered if heâd given away more than he meant to.Â
âCheck those tomorrow. Donât pick. See a doctor if it gets worse. And donât,â He narrowed his eyes at you. âEver think about being reckless like that again. Or you wonât last long here, one way or another.âÂ
Unsure how to respond, you watched Mordecai as he went to wash his hands again. He grabbed a nail brush from the draining board and scrubbed hard enough to make his skin raw. The stressful night had only made his impulses worse.Â
You thought about apologising again, but you didnât think he would appreciate it. You thought about pressing him for more information about his family, anything to make this little moment of peacefulness together stretch further, but that seemed like an almost suicidal option.
In the end, it didnât matter. Mordecai grabbed his coat and was gone almost as quickly as he appeared.Â
Alone in the kitchen, the silence felt heavy on your shoulders. Not for the first time in this line of work, you felt a pang of loneliness. Mordecai was intimidating to be around, but you wished heâd come back. You wished heâd touch you again. It had been so long.Â
With a heavy sigh, you leaned your weary body against the kitchen door and sloped towards the door. It had been a long, arduous day. All you wanted was to crawl into your bed and try to forget about the world for a while.
âHey, honey.â
So close.
You hadnât seen Mitzi leaning against the wall beside the pantry door. Just a few steps away lay the stairs down to the speakeasy, where sheâd been entertaining out-of-towners for the best part of the weekend.Â
âYou cominâ down for a drink or two? You look like you could do with lettinâ loose.â
âThanks.â Trying not to appear ungrateful,  you forced a weak smile. âNot tonight, maâam. I just wanna go home. We had a⊠An eventful pick-up.â
Mitzi shrugged, then adjusted her faux fur stole. You werenât all that fun to play with, not like Mordecai. She usually let you escape without too much of a struggle.
âWell, come by soon, honey. You work hard, you need to learn to relax. Honestly, youâre as bad as- Well, maybe not. Did that sourpuss give you a stern talkinâ to?â
âA little.â
âHe patch you up, too?â
You slipped your hands behind your back.Â
âYeah, he did.â
Mitzi had always had this way of looking at you that made it feel like she could read whatever you were thinking. She stared at you, her sparkling eyes focused and clear, then she raised her sculpted brows.Â
âMordecai must like you. Heâs usually funny about that sort of thing.â
âGerms?â
âTalking.â
You didnât think that was true at all. Mordecai could talk the hind legs off a donkey once you got him going. It was usually full of snark or disdain, but his low voice was nicer to listen to than any radio.Â
âI think it was just an excuse to lecture me, maâam.â
Mitziâs gaze dropped to where your hands were carefully folded behind your back.
Suddenly feeling self-conscious, you tried not to fidget too much.Â
At last, Mitzi hummed to herself, mind made up. She gave you a look that was half disapproving, half warning.Â
âDonât even think about it, honey,â she said. âYouâre barking up the wrong tree there.â
You flushed, annoyed with her for being able to read exactly what you were thinking, even if youâd never quite been able to admit it to yourself.Â
âI wasnât. I wouldnât,â you lied.
Mitzi smiled kindly, then headed down to join the party. Her silence spoke a thousand words.Â
Alone in the café, you scowled to yourself, then stared down at your hands.
There was no point arguing with Mitzi, she saw what she wanted to see, and there was no convincing her of anything else once sheâd made up her mind. But you could and would deny it to yourself forever, if thatâs what it took.
/
15th October, 1921
He didnât flinch as you yanked open the motorcar door.
Viktor was always complaining about how you seemed to appear out of nowhere. Like a prĂzrak, heâd say. There were multiple occasions where youâd almost scared him half to death.
But Mordecai was always acutely aware of everything that moved around him. He was impossible to surprise. That, or he was just much better at hiding it, like he was everything.Â
He only gave you a cursory glance as you slumped into the seat beside him. The ledger in his lap commanded most of his attention.Â
It was a shame Mordecai was such a good shot. Sometimes, it seemed Atlas couldnât decide where he was better suited, behind a desk or hanging out the window of a Studebaker, chasing rival opportunists down dirt track roads.
You knew where you preferred him, out of the line of fire. He was a crack shot but liable to let his idiosyncrasies get the better of him. It was usually better for everyone if he was allowed to get on with his actual job. He and Viktor only antagonised each other, and you usually had an easier time focusing when Mordecai wasnât in your general vicinity.
You sighed and leaned your shoulder against the plush interior of the motorcar door.Â
âNo oneâs here yet,â you reported back. âNo one round the back or in the building across the street. Thereâs a guy by the back door, but I think heâs waiting for the rest of his outfit. Havenât seen his face before.â
âHm,â Mordecai didnât look pleased by the news. âNew faces mean somethingâs changed. Theyâre not usually so careless with their workers, they must have run into some trouble.â
âThatâs not good.â
âNo, itâs not. If theyâre the reckless type, thatâs bad for business.â
âIt could mean theyâre doing well? More money, more men?â
âPerhaps.â
Mordecai didnât seem totally convinced, but it was reassurance enough to make his shoulders sink.Â
You sighed again and sank deeper into the car door.Â
You had a long night ahead of you. A boring one, too. Negotiations were always tough, just a lot of talking and numbers, none of which interested you at all.
If youâd known running with Lackadaisy would entail this much waiting around, and worse, maths, you mightâve reconsidered before choosing a life of crime. It certainly wasnât always as fun as it had sounded all those years ago.Â
You let a few minutes tick by, the silence broken only by the scratch of Mordecaiâs pen.
At last, you couldnât take it anymore. You leaned between the two front seats and grabbed your satchel from the footwell, being careful not to touch Mordecai as you stretched.
Bag in hand, you slumped back into your seat. You dug around inside, then pulled out a sandwich, wrapped neatly in brown paper.Â
âHere.â
Mordecai barely spared you a glance, but when he noticed the sandwich being thrust in his direction, he straightened up, suddenly alert.
âWhatâs this?â
âWhat does it look like?â You waved the sandwich at him. âI thought you were meant to be Atlasâs genius golden boy. Iâve seen you count without your fingers and everything."
âWhatâs it for?â
âMordecai, JesusâŠâ
âI mean,â He sighed, and pushed his glasses further up his nose. âWhy are you giving it to me?â
âHave you eaten today?âÂ
Mordecai did something funny with his face. He displayed an emotion. In fact, you saw several different feelings flit across his face, confusion, surprise, annoyance, before he finally settled on looking uncharacteristically sheepish.Â
You smiled, triumphant.Â
âThatâs why.â
He seemed to want to argue with you, but you didnât give him the chance. You pushed the sandwich into his hands, then pulled another from your bag before he could give it back.Â
Turning to look back out of the rear window, you took a big bite out of your dinner.Â
You were never sure how long these sorts of things would go on for. Some nights, you could sit outside a restaurant or a bar for hours without seeing any action.Â
Tonight, you were supposed to be meeting up with a potential new supplier, always a nerve-wracking experience. Sometimes they had egos, and they liked to keep you waiting on purpose. It looked like it would be one of those nights, so you were glad you packed the sandwiches.
Mordecai carefully peeled back the brown paper and studied the contents as if they had fallen from outer space.Â
To be fair, it wasnât much, just whatever you had in the cupboard. It had been a long, lean month. Still, it was the thought that counts. Usually, anyway. Probably not with Mordecai. But he was just so skinny, it was beginning to worry you.Â
âI donât need looking after, you know. Youâre not my mother,â he said, like heâd read your mind.
âYou need to eat, Mordecai. And I seem to remember someone smart once telling me that if one of us falls, we all do.â
He was good at looking after himself. In fact, he was clean to a fault. You once caught him brushing down your unattended coat to get rid of the mud by the hem, and youâd been given several lectures on how best to get bloodstains out of your clothes. Once, heâd reorganised the cutlery sitting on either side of your plate before you could even start eating.
You thought he was being kind at first, but Mordecai just liked things a certain way. Turns out, his ability to take care of himself only stretched as far as keeping neat as a pin, and did not include regular meals and getting enough sleep.
Still, a good turn deserved another, so youâd sewn a few loose buttons on his favourite shirts, and when you knew his workload was becoming unmanageable, you made sure he always had something to eat, since he was always forgetting when he was stressed.
Mordecai turned the sandwich over in his hands and took a tentative sniff.Â
âIs it-â
âYes.â
âAnd did you-â
âYes, Mordecai. Just eat.âÂ
He frowned at you, nose wrinkled, but then, to your surprise, he did bow his head and take a bite.Â
Seeing Mordecai do something as mundane as eating felt oddly personal. You tried not to stare, but it was like spotting a wild animal in your backyard. You couldnât move for fear of scaring it off. You also couldnât let it know youâd noticed it was there, but you didnât want to blink and miss it either.
He took another bite, then another, till his tense shoulders sank.Â
You couldnât resist, you smiled so wide it hurt.Â
âGood?â
Mordecai cleared his throat, then dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his handkerchief.Â
âTolerable,â he said, already taking another bite before heâd even finished forming the word.Â
He ate the whole sandwich. And half of yours.
A week later, he asked if youâd be able to make him another.Â
/
21st March, 1922
The Little Daisy Café was usually fairly busy on a weekday morning, so Mordecai was surprised to find the place empty when he pushed open the door.
The only sound came from the radio in the corner, and the underlying dull roar of the stove in the back. There was a coffee pot going cold on the counter, and the air was sweet with maple syrup.
It made Mordecaiâs nose wrinkle, affronted by the saccharine assault on his senses.
He let the door close behind him, ears twitching at the faint ring from the bell above his head.Â
A shape he hadnât noticed before shifted in the very back corner of the cafĂ©.Â
Poised and ready, Mordecai strode deeper into the room without making a sound, his palm flat against his pocket where his pistol sat. He knew, realistically, that there wasnât any danger, but you could never be too careful.
When he was within a few feet of the last booth, he realised it was only you. Mordecai blamed his terrible eyesight and the overcast morning.
Elbows on the table, you had your head resting in your hands, your breathing even and heavy.Â
By night, you were a crack shot with an unmatched eye. By day, you took over the running of The Little Daisy CafĂ©. It was a good deal on both sides; the cafĂ© could keep up its pretence of a charming little business, and you, the charming little shop girl. That, and the extra cash was a godsend.Â
Mordecai didnât think heâd ever heard you complain about your packed schedule, even though the hours must have been exhausting. He knew you were grateful for the work and proud to be a pillar of the Lackadaisy organisation, but even Mordecai could see the strain was beginning to show, like the splintering of tree bark before the pine is felled.
With a sigh, he let his body relax and knocked three times on the table.
âWhat are you doing?â
You didnât even jump. You simply raised your head from your hands and blinked blearily at him. Either youâd been aware he was there the whole time, or you were so exhausted that you didnât care that someone had snuck up on you.
âWorking,â you mumbled, already letting your head fall back into your hands. âWhat does it look like?â
âIt looks like you were sleeping.â
You slapped your hand down on the table, patting around blindly for the cloth that sat just a few inches from you. When you finally found it, you held it high above your head, triumphant, while your face was still pressed into your hand.Â
âIâm wiping down the tables.â
Mordecai was glad you werenât looking at him. Youâd almost made him smile. That wasnât something he liked to give away quite so easily, not even to you.Â
He put down his briefcase, then slipped into the booth across from you, trying not to think about how long it had been since it was properly wiped down. Beneath the table, his knees brushed dangerously close to yours.
Mordecai adjusted the collar of his coat, then his cuffs, aiming to get rid of his nervous energy and distract himself from how nicely you were lit in the sunlight streaming through the cafĂ© windows.Â
âYouâre not going to tell on me, are you? I could really do without that headache.â
âHow long has it been since you got a proper nightâs sleep?â
âOh, I donât know.â You sat back in the booth, your eyes down as you fiddled with the cloth. âDoes it matter?â
âIt does, actually. Does Atlas know?â
âJeeze, I hope not. I donât think heâd be too happy if he knew I was up here window-rattling.â
âI meant, does he know how overworked you are?â
âIâm not over-â You looked horrified. âWho said I was overworked? Itâs just been a busy couple of weeks. Iâm handling it.â
Mordecai raised a placating hand. No one had said anything, but he was perfectly capable of drawing his own evidence-based conclusions.Â
It took a great deal to tarnish your shine. You were always bright and cheery, irritatingly so. Mordecai rarely felt like he had the energy to converse with you. You were always smiling at him. It was annoying. And confusing. And distracting.Â
After two years, you understood each other well. Mordecai knew when something was bothering you, mostly because you made it so blindingly obvious that even he could see it.
Work was a good distraction from a tumultuous private life. You probably wouldnât like it if he dug around in your brain for the answer to your sour mood. But lethargy to the point of sleeping on the job, the dark rings under your eyes, the vacant look behind your usually bright eyes, this he could not leave unattended.
You were partners, of sorts. He needed to be able to trust that you were at your best. He couldnât have you falling asleep behind the wheel or missing a vital shot. For his own sake, just as much as yours.Â
âIâve been meaning to speak with Atlas, anyway.â
Mordecai took off his glasses and cleaned them on his handkerchief, an excuse to busy his fidgeting hands.
âWe need more people. Our operation is growing. Mistakes will be made if weâre stretched too thin. Iâll let him know that your hours need to be reduced.â
âPlease,â You reached across the table and almost put your hand over his, but caught yourself just in time. âPlease donât say anything. Iâm fine, really.â
âYouâre clearly not.â
âTheyâll kill me if they find out I was sleeping on the job. Or worse, fire me. And I need the money. Itâs just been a long week, Mort. Iâll be better tomorrow.â
Mordecai flinched at the nickname. It had grown from an accidental stumble over his name when you first met. And, according to you, it suited him, considering its antiquated francophone roots. Heâd given up trying to talk you out of it, it wasnât worth the headache.
Though he had to admit, Mordecai did rather like having a built-in tone indicator, a way for you to let him know that you were being completely serious about something. And, secretly, it reminded him of the pet names that patterned his childhood. Sentiment wasnât something he ever entertained. But it was⊠Nice⊠To have a name known only to one person, someone he trusted and respected. For some reason, it made his chest ache every time he heard it.Â
Mordecai opened up his coat and slipped his hand inside. The familiar weight of his pocket watch was a reassuring reminder that he was in the right place, at the right time.Â
Heâd come to The Little Daisy CafĂ© to do some work. The tiny office heâd been given by the Mays was a sanctuary: four walls and a door that locked. It was all heâd wished for as a child. Mordecai could shut himself away for hours without fear of interruption or unnecessary stress. But, perhaps, with the cafĂ© as quiet as it was, he could be convinced to relocate for the day.Â
âYou should get some rest,â he said, putting away his watch. âYou need to be in good shape for tonight. We have a cleanup job in Creve Coeur. Youâre no use to anyone like this.â
You blinked at him, processing what heâd said at a grinding, grasping pace. When it finally sank in, you shook your head so quickly Mordecai was sure it mustâve made you dizzy.
âI canât go home.â
âYou donât have to. You can sleep here.â
âThe cafĂ©-â
âIs empty.â Mordecai slipped out of the booth and picked up his briefcase. âI can work up here. Iâll wake you if anyone comes.â
You looked like you wanted to argue, but your head was already lowering to rest on your folded forearms.
Mordecai glanced down and saw your soft felt hat resting beside you. He hesitated, every muscle in his fingers tensed in anticipation, then finally picked it up and passed it to you.
One eye on him, the other scrunched closed against your sleeve, you gave him a soft smile that Mordecai wished he didnât like seeing so much.Â
âFormidable hatchetman, Mordecai Heller. Youâre nothing but an olâ sweetie pie, arenât you?â
You took the hat, your fingers brushing his.Â
He was so glad that he was wearing his leather gloves that Mordecai barely held back a relieved sigh. It had already been an unsettling morning, and now his routine was out of joint. Having to face the bizarre feeling that echoed through him whenever you touched would have sent him spiralling for the rest of the day.
âHardly,â He rolled his eyes. âYouâre simply of more use to me when you can keep your eyes open.â
You yawned, wide and long, and Mordecai wondered if you were even listening to him anymore.Â
You tucked your hat under your head and nuzzled your cheek into the soft felt, getting comfy as another yawn wracked your body.
âYou donât know how to work the machines.â
Mordecai wasnât sure if you were joking or not. He looked across the counter at the stove. It didnât look much different from the one in his own tiny apartment upstairs. He supposed if any customers did come, he could have a crack at it, or show them his gun, whatever seemed most appropriate when the time came.
âIâm sure Iâll manage,â he said, confident in his cooking skills, as well as his aim. âHow hard can it be?â
You just laughed, the sound muffled by your forearm.
âThank you, Mordecai.â
âNo need to thank me. Just get some sleep.â
You didnât have to be told twice. Within moments, you were completely unconscious.Â
Mordecai hung about by the table, ignoring the pang of awkwardness that wasnât at all foreign to him.Â
He often felt like the odd one out, on the outside looking in. Most people didnât understand him, and didnât have the time to try. Which was fine by him. He didnât need to be understood; he needed to be listened to.Â
You didnât seem to have the same problem. Most people seemed to fall in love with you almost immediately. It was handy, as he was usually standing next to you, and was able to catch some of the shine coming off you.Â
Mordecai had been told by many, Atlas, Mitzi, even Ruby Pepper and the ever stoic Viktor, that you made a good pair. It was true. Though he always favoured working alone, Mordecai had to admit that you were an incredible asset. Sharp-eyed, quick on your feet, and not the type to go rushing in without thinking. Kind, too. And easy to talk to. Which was rare for him.
With a sigh, Mordecai shrugged off his coat. There was no point in you catching up on some sleep if you werenât comfortable.
He moved closer, paused, considered what he was doing several times over, then finally laid his coat over your back.Â
You immediately stirred. His coat was made of a heavy, rich wool-blend, an expensive present from Atlas in his first few weeks with Lackadaisy.Â
Mordecai froze, his hands hovering over your back. He was just about to retrieve his coat and leave you in peace when you settled again, a tiny smile at the corner of your sunflower mouth.Â
He stared for longer than he should have.
Finally, he pulled himself away and took a seat at the counter. Mordecai pulled his books from his briefcase, laying them out flat and in the particular order he needed them, then got to work.Â
No one came to the café that day. The rain had driven away any potential customers.
Still, Mordecai sat there all afternoon, scribbling happily in his ledger, while he kept one eye on you in the reflection of the storefront.Â
/
11th July, 1923
âOkay,â You raised your blood-stained palms. âI think weâre done here. I certainly am. That was intense.â
Groaning as he stretched out his back, Viktor grumbled an agreement.
At least, you thought he was agreeing with you. You were still getting used to the little foreign phrases he let slip now and then, rumbling like thunder from his square jaws.
You looked across the hood of the car at Mordecai. His shoulders were almost as high as his ears, his face a picture of disgust.Â
âOh, GodâŠâ He flicked both hands, once, twice, trying to get rid of the worst of the blood. âOh, God, itâsâŠâ
Mordecai dropped the knife with a clatter and grabbed for his handkerchief.
He was covered from head to toe in viscera, his perfect black suit now stained red. Thatâs what you got for swapping your gun out for a knife, handy in a pinch but messy, very messy. It was going to take more than a scrap of cloth to get rid of it all, but you didnât suppose he was thinking straight right now.Â
While Viktor loaded your weapons and, more importantly, your stolen whisky, into the back of the car, you hurried round to help Mordecai.Â
âItâs okay. Itâs okay. Donât panic. Hey, youâre pretty handy with a knife, huh?â you said, trying to distract him. âYouâll have to show me some moves sometime. Seems like it could be useful in a bind.â
Mordecai was looking at you with glassy eyes. You knew it wasnât the violence that bothered him, or the exertion of the firefight. He didnât like the feeling of other peopleâs hands on him, or the cold, cloying tightness of blood congealing in his fur. He hated mess, and the lack of control that came with it.
âItâsâŠâ His movements were sluggish as he dropped the handkerchief and reached for his pocket square instead. âItâs useful, yes⊠I can teach you, if youâd like.â
âYeah, Mort,â You smiled and carefully took the pocket square from him. âYeah, Iâd like that.â
You hesitated, then finally decided it was worth the risk and dabbed at the front of his suit.
He was always so pristine, youâd never known anyone so well put-together. You knew it was something that Atlas had drilled into him when heâd first taken Mordecai under his wing. Presentation was everything, and a good suit was an armour of its own. The cleaning bill was going to be immense this time.Â
âItâs fine,â Mordecai said, cringing with every press of the pocket square against his chest. âThereâs no point. Iâm fine.â
âYeah, youâre feeling okay? I got a spare pair of pants in the trunk? I could probably find you a shirt, too?â
At last, Mordecaiâs gaze seemed to clear, and he focused on you and only you. He wasnât much taller than you, or even much broader, but somehow it made you feel small, and more seen than youâd felt in years.Â
âThank you. I donât suppose for a moment theyâd suit me.â
âAh, you donât know that.â You grinned, pleased to have him back in the room. âYouâve got the figure for it.â
Something close to amusement flashed behind Mordecaiâs eyes.
Youâd always had a sneaking suspicion that this veneer of severity he kept up was just that, a mask Mordecai wore to protect the man beneath it. That wasnât to say he was hiding a soft and gooey centre, nothing could be further from the truth. But you knew there was infinitely more depth to Mordecai than he let on.
You plucked his handkerchief from the floor and pocketed it, then made to do the same with his pocket square before you realised he might like it back.
Mordecaiâs hands hovered over the soft material, now blotchy and stained with the blood of the bootlegger lying dead, just a few feet away.
Mr Maddox was supposed to pass on information about a possible new revenue stream, but what was sold as a meeting between allies had turned out to be an ambush. Not one you, Mordecai and Viktor had been particularly impressed by. The whole affair was more of a messy nuisance than anything.Â
You looked between the muscle twitching in Mordecaiâs jaw and the blood-stained pocket square.
You could see him fighting every instinct telling him not to let it touch him, forcing his body to move despite the fog in his brain. You knew so little about his upbringing, but you knew Mordecai came from nothing. Sometimes, the ghosts of the past and the lessons theyâd branded onto you, were impossible to ignore.
âHere,â you said, pocketing the swatch of silk. âHave mine.â Â
You drew your own fresh handkerchief from your pocket and folded it, over and under, until it was just the right size and shape.
Stepping forward, you carefully tucked it into the breast pocket of Mordecaiâs suit, fiddling and pulling at the edges until it had formed a nice point, just the way he usually liked to wear it.
âThere,â you patted his pocket, then stepped back to admire your handwork. âAll symmetrical again.â
Mordecai was very still. You werenât sure what had turned him catatonic, possibly the unexpected physical contact, or perhaps he was simply surprised by the gesture. Maybe it was a mix of the two, muddling into something he couldnât name.Â
Finally, Mordecai looked down at his pocket, then back up at you.Â
âThank you,â he said quietly. âIâll return it soon.â
âDon't worry about it,â You waved a dismissive hand. âLetâs just get out of here.â
But Mordecai did worry about it. He worried about it a lot. Actually, he spent the rest of the day incredibly tense, your gift a permanent presence in the corner of his eye.
It wasnât that the handkerchief youâd given him was so obviously a womanâs, it was just very obviously not his. Every time a colleague smirked at it, he felt like clawing their eyes out. But he couldnât bring himself to get rid of it.
You returned his handkerchief and the ruined pocket square the next day, pressed and clean. They werenât suitable for use anymore, but it was nice to have them back.Â
You never asked him about your handkerchief. Either youâd forgotten about it, or it really didnât matter that much to you. But it mattered to Mordecai. So much so that he kept it by his bed, tucked away in a drawer where no one would ever find it, and he wouldnât have to look at it. Just knowing it was there was enough.
/
24th September, 1924
The party was in full swing.Â
Every time a champagne bottle popped, the corks hit the chandeliers, but everyone was too merry to care.
The room shook from the incessant pounding of feet on the dance floor, and the music was so loud, it was a wonder the band couldnât be heard on the other side of St. Louis.
Dressed up to the nines, youâd danced with a few guys who took a liking to you, but none interesting enough to spend the whole evening with. Diamonds and pearls dripped from your hair, your dress, your shoes, all fake but enough to glitter under the soft yellow and orange lights.
Leaning against the bar, you sipped your drink, catching your breath after the exuberant Charleston youâd just rattled through with one of Atlasâs richer friends. Heâd stuck around afterwards, which wasnât so bad. He was tall, handsome, even a little charming, but not enough to turn your head.Â
No one had really caught your eye over the last few years, even though Mitzi was keen to set you up with a nice, conveniently rich gentleman. It wasnât that you werenât interested, work just kept you busy enough as it was. The idea of having to look after someone on top of all that just didnât seem appealing, or even possible.Â
As the banker - or perhaps steel merchant, something boring anyway - continued to drone in your ear about the price of workers these days, you let your gaze drift across the room.
You soon found Mordecai pressed up against the opposite wall, trying to keep as far out of the action as possible. Actually, now that you looked closer, he seemed to have his head in a ficus.Â
Frowning, you tilted your head, squinting across the busy room. No, that was definitely your Mordecai, pressed into the shrubbery like he was hoping to sink into it. He was flanked by two pretty girls. The sight made your heart sink.
The guy... Was it Frank? Or maybe Edward? Edward Charles Something? He was still chattering away beside you, not seeming to care that he didnât quite have all your attention.
You watched Mitzi join the girls, shining so brightly in a pretty Morello cherry coloured dress. She appeared to tease Mordecai and all but forced him out onto the dance floor with one of the poor, unwitting girls.Â
Your grip was so tight on your drink that you almost broke the stem.
Mordecai looked completely appalled, like it was taking every last ounce of his decorum not to make a run for it. He couldnât, not with the eyes of his bossâ wife on him, and a crowd of people blocking him in.
Before you even knew what you were doing, you turned and slapped your drink down on the bar top.
âSorry, Frank, dear. Will you excuse me?â
âUh,â The guy looked down at your discarded drink, bewildered. âItâs Eddie.â
âRight, right, Eddie. Iâm sorry. Just give me a second, okay?â
You didnât wait for an answer. Slipping between the bodies swarming the dance floor, you disappeared before Frank/Eddie/Whatever could say another word.
Ducking under raised arms and narrowly avoiding the heels of girls being flung over hips and shoulders, you waded through the dancers, making a beeline for Mordecai and the poor girl who probably didnât know any better.Â
She was pretty, the girl, all glittery and pink and sweet, like you could pour her into a martini glass. She was dancing around Mordecai, who stood as still as a maypole, and twice as wooden.Â
When he was within armâs reach, you stepped in between the pair and smiled at the girl.
âHey, honey, Iâm sorry. Can I borrow him for a second? Itâs a work thing.â
âOh. Well, sure. Go ahead.â
The girlâs disappointment was flashbulb quick. There were plenty of other, much more cooperative men to choose from. By the time you grabbed Mordecaiâs hand and led him deeper into the mayhem, sheâd already been swept up by another, more willing partner.
You had intended to pull Mordecai off the dance floor, then find a quiet corner where you could both catch your breath, but there were interested eyes all around the room. Your friend at the bar was watching you, as was Mitzi, and the other girl interested in dancing with Mordecai.Â
Trapped, you turned and took Mordecaiâs other hand in yours and put it on your waist.Â
His eyes wide, Mordecai stared at you like youâd grown a second head, but you just pulled him closer, your free hand smoothing over his shoulder.
âWeâre safe here,â you said, nodding over your shoulder where Mitzi and the other girl were watching you curiously. âYou looked like you needed rescuing.â
At last, Mordecaiâs alarmed expression relaxed a little.
Quick as ever, he understood the motive, the means, and the execution. Itâs what made him so good to work with. You understood each other instinctively. With just the slightest nod, you could convey an ocean of meaning to each other. It came from working so closely for so many years. A private language that just the two of you shared.Â
âMy knight in chiffon,â Mordecai huffed and looked down at his feet. âI hate these things.â
âYour shoes?â
âParties.â
You smiled.Â
âWe donât have to stay for long. I just thought they might chase after you if I let you go too soon. Those girls canât get enough of you, huh?â
âThey are persistent.âÂ
Testing the waters, you took a step backwards and felt your chest squeeze when Mordecai followed you. He wasnât exactly light on his feet or the most coordinated, but he tried his best for you.
Side to side you swayed, turning in an awkward but passable dance as the trumpets swooned.Â
âI donât know how much more obvious I can make it that I donât wish to be involved.â Mordecai sighed. âStanding by the wall ought to be sufficient. Iâm only here because Atlas has a meeting.â
In his irritation, his hand tightened on your waist. It sent a shiver up your spine, making all the fur on the back of your neck stand on end. You could only pray it didnât show on your face just how much you loved the feeling of his hands on you.
âWell, youâre very handsome. Who can blame them?â You choked on the words, trying and failing to keep your voice steady. âHow are they to know youâre not one for dancing?â
âItâs not the dancing so much as the prolonged eye contact. And theâŠâ Mordecai looked embarrassed. âGeneral physical contact.â
âYou donât seem to be doing so bad right now. Look at you, moving your arms and legs at the same time, and everything.â
âYes, well, itâs different when itâs you.â
You offered him a wan smile, trying not to look too deflated.
âPretty girls can be intimidating.â
âIf that were the issue, I wouldnât be able to dance with you either. No, itâs just⊠I do not find idle conversation easy. I never know what to say. And people look at me like Iâm⊠But I find you very easy to talk to. And be with.â
âArenât I lucky?â you said, still reeling from the compliment.
Mordecai Heller thought you were pretty. Maybe it was the whisky in your blood, but your face suddenly felt hot enough to warm a percolator on.Â
âHm. Some might say otherwise.â
âWell, why donât you just focus on me, and not what everyone else thinks?â
Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but for a moment, you thought you saw Mordecai smile.
âThat I can do.â
It was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. Someone knocked into Mordecaiâs back, forcing him closer to you. There was only an inch or two between you now.Â
His hand was still in yours, his grip tight, like he was frightened heâd get lost in the crowd if he let go. His hand on your waist felt hot even though your dress, and you wondered if it was from the self-conscious heat spreading through him, or if it was just your body reacting to him.
The persistent thought that this was the first time heâd ever touched you like this knocked on the inside of your head like a woodpecker working on commission. Youâd touched before, yes, but it was never constant like this.
At first, it was only ever accidental, the brush of his tail against yours as you walked towards the cafĂ©, or your hands butting as you reached in the same direction.Â
Now, after years working side by side, heâd relaxed that marble column of a spine a little. Mordecai swore around you. He talked about his family and the tenement housing he grew up in. Heâd sweep an arm around your shoulders to push you out of the way of a stray punch, and let you adjust his clothing when he wasnât quite as immaculate as you knew he liked to be.
Youâd collapsed against each other in the back of the car more times than you could count, exhausted from the exertion of a firefight, but this was purposeful. It was prolonged, definite, and personal.
As much as he resisted physical contact, he never seemed to mind all those little touches. There was a trust there, you thought. It was probably the closest Mordecai had been to another person in years. The thought kept you up most nights.
You slipped your hand from his shoulder to press against his back, right between his shoulder blades. If it werenât for the roaring music, you mightâve heard his breath hitch.
Over Mordecaiâs shoulder, you could see Mitzi smiling at you. It was a smug, knowing sort of smile, the kind that said, âweâre going to talk about this laterâ.
Oh, great. Just great.
âWhatâs wrong?â
You looked back to find Mordecai frowning at you.Â
âNothing,â you said quickly. âNothing. Theyâre uh⊠Theyâre still looking at you. Those girls.â
Mordecai looked so dismayed, you couldnât help but laugh. He was just so endearing. He switched between icy stoicism and these cartoonish expressions so quickly, just another reminder that this facade he liked to put on was just that, a disguise to protect the nerdy, waspish, tender heart beneath it.Â
He nodded over your shoulder, looking at something over the rim of his glasses.
âYour potential paramour is watching you too.â
As you turned, you caught a glimpse of Frank/Eddie/Whatever still sitting at the bar. He was waiting beside an unclaimed drink, another of whatever it was heâd bought for you earlier. Bless his heart.Â
It wouldnât occur to you until much later, when you were halfway to dreaming, that Mordecai would have no way of knowing that Eddie was waiting for you, unless heâd been watching you all night, just as youâd been watching him.
âAh, ignore him. Heâll get the message eventually.â
âWhat message is that?â
You shrugged.Â
âThat Iâm not interested.â
âNone of these men take your fancy? Theyâre rich enough. Well-connected. Powerful, too.â
âMm, and handsome to boot.â
âWouldnât you rather be dancing with them? Not this old stick-in-the-mud.â
He was being completely serious, that was the worst part of it all. This was not a self-effacing attempt to fish for compliments. Mordecai really couldnât believe that out of everyone in the room, you would want to be with him tonight. Infuriating, ridiculous Mordecai. Smart as a whip, but he could never see past the end of his nose.Â
âRich and well-connected isnât really my type. Sullen stick-in-the-muds are more my thing.âÂ
You shrugged again, then turned in just the right way so that Mordecaiâs hand was forced to slip down from the safety of your waist to the unchartered land of your hip.
Surprisingly, he stayed there, his sharp olive-green eyes never leaving your face.Â
âMaybe we'd better stick together tonight,â you said, smiling. âDance a few more dances until they all give in.â
Just as the words left your mouth, the band kicked the music up a gear. The even-paced serenade youâd been gently stepping in circles to was replaced by an uptempo squall that was in a completely different galaxy from what Mordecai would consider his comfort zone. But he stayed.Â
âYouâllâŠâ Ears flat to his head, Mordecai had trouble meeting your gaze. âYouâll have to show me.â
Heart full, you slipped your hand from his back to rest on his upper arm. You could feel his muscles, tensed and coiled like a bear trap, beneath his suit.Â
âDonât worry. Just follow my lead, Mort. Iâve gotcha.â
/
14th February, 1925
Rocky Rickaby was lanky and silly and talked enough for ten people. That was your first impression of him. Oh, he was polite enough, and he seemed good-intentioned, but there was a half-feral glaze over his eyes whenever he spoke, and his big, pointed smile was enough to unnerve even the toughest bootleggers. Still, he made you laugh.Â
Mordecai, however, wasnât the least bit entertained.Â
He had been nursing the same drink for the best part of an hour, taking it slow so that it couldnât get the better of him. Not with you sitting so close to him. Proximity to you was always dangerous, a liquor-loosened tongue, doubly so. Â
Tonight, you both had business across town. But before then, youâd wanted to stick around at Lackadaisy to watch the new band practice.Â
Rocky had introduced himself to you with a huge smile, shaking your hand so enthusiastically that he almost lifted you right off the barstool. Then heâd kissed the back of your hand and bowed dramatically before hurrying over to the stage.
When you caught Mordecai staring, you laughed and shook your head.Â
âI think heâs sweet.â
Scowling, Mordecai sipped his drink.Â
âHeâs an imbecile.â
âHeâs a kid, Mort. You were like that once.â
âI can assure you, I was not.â
âYouâre just jealous of the new boy.â
âHeâs Mitziâs pet project, not Atlasâs. So long as he stays on stage and out of our way, itâll be fine.â
Still smiling, you shook your head again.Â
âI think heâs cute. And he plays the violin like a dream. Did Mitzi tell you he writes poetry too?â
Mordecai couldnât care less what Rocky Rockaby did in his spare time. He wouldnât care if he walked into the Mississippi wearing concrete shoes. He would be bad for business, and good business was Mordecaiâs world.Â
He felt unsettled for the rest of the day. When you asked him later what had put him in such a foul mood, he muttered something about that patchy-trousered vagrant with the poorly-tuned fiddle and the maniacal grin being a blemish on the face of Lackadaisy.Â
But that was only because he didnât have the language to describe how his blood had boiled when Rocky kissed your hand. Mordecai was unable to explain, even to himself, why your immediate fondness for the boy irritated him so severely. And when you mentioned Rocky again later that evening, completely unprompted, Mordecai almost bit through his tongue.Â
He felt like heâd been drenched in ice-cold water whenever Rocky so much as smiled at you, but still he couldnât articulate the feeling broiling in his stomach. It made no sense to him, and he hated anything that couldnât be unwound and parsed with a fine-tooth comb.Â
The next time he saw Rocky, he was entertaining you with one of his poems, a lilting, ridiculous barrage of nothing, but it made you laugh. Mordecai couldnât recall ever making you laugh like that.Â
He sulked for about a month after that, though he couldnât quite understand why.
/
17th November, 1925
The Little Daisy Café was raided in the autumn. It was expected, an arrangement Atlas had made with his contacts in the police department. This way, the local force could save face, and Lackadaisy could continue its work, uninterrupted.
Unfortunately for Mordecai, his apartment was included in this. Heâd lived above The Little Daisy Café ever since he started working for Atlas at the beginning of the decade, and was beyond irritated to be turfed out for the night.Â
When he explained the situation, he had initially booked into a hotel not too far from the café. But then Mordecai went rambling on and on about the potential for germs, and then he began to spiral, worrying about them not changing the sheets, and the threat of bedbugs, even though it was one of the nicest places in town.
Before he could get himself too worked up, you suggested he stay at yours.
He turned you down, obviously. But then, at around midnight, the telephone rang. It was Mordecai, his voice tight and his hands trembling, asking if perhaps your offer was still on the table.Â
Thatâs how you found yourself standing at opposite ends of your tiny living room, with only the sofa separating you.Â
Mordecai looked so uncomfortable, it was almost funny. Almost. His fur was still damp from the shower heâd insisted on as soon as he arrived. He hadnât even laid down on the bed at the hotel. Just the thought of all those other bodies was enough to make his skin crawl. You were glad youâd thought to change your bedsheets.Â
âNo, seriously,â you said, your words garbled by a wide yawn. âYou take the bed, Mordecai. Youâre the guest.â
âI couldnât possibly. Itâs your home. And youâre...â
âA lady?â
âWell, yes.â
âIâm not fragile, you know.â
âI am well aware.â Mordecai rolled his shoulders back, his tension palpable. âIt just wouldnât be right.âÂ
His gaze kept wandering around your apartment. Whether it was curiosity at his new surroundings, or an inability to meet your eyes, you werenât sure.Â
It felt odd having him here. He looked smaller somehow. Not physically, just in himself. It helped that heâd changed into Long Johns and thick socks after his shower. You never thought youâd see the day when you saw Mordecai Heller in his pyjamas, but here he was.Â
It shouldnât have (because honestly, he looked ridiculous), but seeing him like this was starting to fluster you. Mordecai looked vulnerable and soft and quiet, and more tired than youâd ever seen him, tired right to his bones.
You wanted to make him dinner, tuck him into bed, keep him warm and safe, and it was possibly the most embarrassing urge youâd ever felt.Â
But something told you that the reason Mordecai looked so out of place was because he never quite felt at home anywhere. Heâd been this for longer than he could remember, cold and calculating, stern and unfeeling.
Heâd been entangled in organised crime since before he was out of short trousers. You found it difficult to believe he even relaxed when he was in his own home. For Godâs sake, he lived above the damn cafĂ©. He was as much a fixture of the company as the timbers and beams.Â
Youâd like it if he felt at home here, with you.Â
âWhat about you? You canât sleep on the couch with a broken arm, Mordecai.âÂ
He looked down at the sling around his neck, supporting the arm heâd broken in a fight just a few weeks ago. He stared at it like heâd almost forgotten it was there.
When he looked up again, he tried to argue, but nothing came to him, so he spluttered and huffed like a backfiring motorcar.Â
Stalemate.Â
âFine!â You threw your hands in the air in defeat. âItâs too late to argue with you. Weâll just have to share.âÂ
Mordecaiâs face was a picture as he came to bed. His bright eyes switched back and forth restlessly, analysing, processing, before finally accepting the situation.
He took off his glasses and laid them on the bedside table, his movements slow and measured, like he was moving through molasses.
You lay on your side with your back to him, giving Mordecai the privacy he needed to get comfortable.
When you finally felt the mattress dip, you had to sink your teeth into your lip as a reminder to keep your breathing even. Then he was under the covers, lying so still you were almost convinced he was already asleep.
Oh, God. His arm. Youâd habitually taken the side of the bed you favoured. Was he comfortable? He couldnât lie on his side. Heâd have to stay on his back or turn in towards you. You werenât sure what was worse, being a thoughtless host or having Mordecai staring at your back all night. But he didnât say anything, and soon you heard his breathing begin to settle.
The bed wasnât that wide, but there was enough space for the two of you to lie there without touching. Still, you could feel the warmth coming off him, the aching, delicious warmth of another body close to yours. There was an almost static charge between you. You were both so acutely aware of the other that you could practically hear every beat of his restless heart.Â
Heâd used your soap in the shower. You could smell it now that he was so close. Heâd used your soap and the coconut oil shampoo you loved. It was enough to drive you mad. Mordecai smelt of you, and of your home, and he was in your bed, under your covers, drawing warmth and comfort from your body, as you drew it from his, even though neither of you would ever admit to it.Â
You managed to cut off your frustrated sigh and wrangle it into a passable yawn.Â
âGoodnight, Mort.â
Slow, heavy seconds passed, then finally, you heard him murmur,
âGoodnight.â
Silence filled the room, broken only by the steady tick of the clock by your bedside.Â
You closed your eyes and tried to even out your breathing, but it was hours before you finally drifted off. Your brain buzzed, fixating on every little movement of your body. What if you turned in the night and accidentally kicked him? What if you snored? What if he snored? What if you forgot he was there and ended up draped across him by the morning?Â
In the end, your exhaustion caught up with you, and you sank into sleep.
To your surprise, Mordecai was still there in the morning. Even more surprising was that heâd scooted closer in his sleep, and Mordecaiâs good arm was slung across your middle. His head was bowed in towards your shoulder, but mercifully had stayed on the pillow, though it was your pillow.Â
Trying to keep as still as possible, you turned your head and got a face full of dark fur. It was soft, far softer than you ever could have imagined, and still smelled like your shampoo.
His eyes were closed, his chest slowly rising and falling beneath his stupid pyjamas. Completely dead to the world, and so warm it made your heart feel like it could pound right out of your chest.Â
This was becoming a problem. He was becoming a problem. A problem you didnât know how to solve.Â
In his sleep, he looked so much younger. All of Mordecaiâs anxieties and neuroses had drained from his face, and he looked so peaceful that you couldnât bring yourself to move. His arm was heavy across your middle.
You felt a brush at your side and realised heâd managed to tuck his fingers under you, and was tensing them in his sleep, kneading at you with every other inhalation.
You stayed there, frozen out of consideration as much as selfish need, until finally, Mordecai stirred.
You wasted no time. You slipped out from under his arm and grabbed your dressing gown from its hanger, pulling it around you and ducking into the kitchen before Mordecai could even fully open his eyes.Â
You wanted to save him the embarrassment. He was tense enough as it was, and it had taken years to knock down even a fragment of those walls of his. You didnât want Mordecai to clam back up again, not when he was finally beginning to soften around the edges.Â
When he padded into your tiny kitchen, all the fur on one side of his face was ruffled and unkempt, and his whiskers were a little frazzled, like heâd been electrocuted. His tail was crooked, and before he could even say good morning, he yawned so wide and loud that it made you laugh.Â
He surprised you again by not getting dressed straight away. In fact, he immediately insisted on cooking breakfast, searching through your cupboards and raiding your fridge like it was his home too. The thought made you unsettlingly happy. Â
You sat at the kitchen table, watching Mordecai fry eggs and bacon with his one good hand, only half listening to him as he rambled on about how much better your apartment would look if youâd only move the furniture around. Something about Euclidean principles and the metrics of space. Who cares? He was so handsome when he was like this.Â
He set a plate down in front of you, scolded you for not having a better tea selection, and began to eat.
âThanks, Mordecai,â you said.
âI love you,â you thought.
/
31st December, 1926
âThereâs something wrong with your boyfriend.â
Viktor placed his glass down on the bar beside yours and crossed his tree trunk-sized arms over his barrel of a chest.Â
The world was already a little fuzzy at the edges, so it took a great effort to roll your head around on your shoulders to look up at Viktor.Â
His one eye was steady and stern, like it always was. Even the New Year's celebrations hadnât loosened up his joints.Â
âDonât let him catch you calling him that.â You dragged your fingertip around the rim of your glass. âHe wonât ever speak to me again.â
Viktor grunted, which was about as close as he got to a laugh these days.
âLucky you.â
The party was in full swing now. With just a few minutes left till the beginning of the new year, everyone was drunk and happy and dancing their feet raw.Â
Youâd been happily watching the celebrations from the sidelines, chatting with a few of the guys in the band, dancing with Mitzi and Ivy, even losing a round of poker against one of the many gentlemen in top hats that dotted the room.Â
But something about the flipping of the calendar had always made you a little melancholy. Change, or lack thereof. Broken promises. The marking of another year gone, and not much to show for it.
Youâd rather be home in bed, but a party was a great way to empty your head. You could forget about life for a while at Lackadaisy, even though it sometimes was your whole life.Â
âWhat do you mean, anyway?â you asked. âWhatâs wrong with him?â
âHeâs not here. He always comes, even though he hates parties.â
âBut why do you think something is wrong?â
Viktor took a huge swig of his drink. Obviously, it pained him to have to have this conversation.Â
âHe didnât say anything. All day.â
You frowned.Â
âWhat? Really? Not even to complain about-âÂ
âNothing.âÂ
âGodâŠâ
That was a bad sign. Mordecai would find a way to have the last word if you dunked his head under water and taped his mouth shut. And that was when he was in a bad mood.
When he was relaxed, and as close to happy as Mordecai could get, he always found little things to talk about, the state of the roads or the pleasing symmetry of the flowers you passed. If heâd said nothing all day, there was a problem.Â
Viktor nudged your arm.Â
âHe will talk to you.â
You scoffed so loud it could be heard over the music tearing through the building.
It was flattering that everyone seemed to think you had the operation manual to Lackadaisyâs infamous gunman, but you didnât.
âNo, Viktor, he wonât.â
âYou have better chance than anyone.â
âWhy the sudden altruism?â
âI donât like tension at work. Is bad enough being in same car as you two.â
âWhat are you- What does that-â
âWhen Mordecai is upset, my day is worse.âÂ
Viktor, seeing you still looked unconvinced, heaved another heavy sigh.Â
âYou two are like⊠Two birds on a telephone wire.â
You let your head fall to one side, the liquor in your blood making the room spin.
âWhat could you possibly mean by that, Viktor?â
By way of a reply, Viktor wrapped his fingers around the edge of the barstool and spun it so that you were facing the dancefloor.Â
You didnât even have time to yelp. He just put his hands under your arms and lifted you off the stool and placed you on the ground, pointed in the direction of the back office, where Mordecai had been holed up for the past few hours.
âGo,â Viktor said, with one giant hand on your back. âFix him. But no arguing. This is party.â
Grumbling under your breath, you grabbed your half-finished drink and took an enormous swig for courage. Then you ordered two more and headed in the direction Viktor had ordered you.
It was no great surprise to find Mordecai sitting in the gloom, with only a desk lamp to see by. No wonder his eyesight was so terrible. He was scribbling in a book, his glasses perched on the end of his nose.Â
The several doors and corridors you'd passed through to get to his office deadened the music, so the only sound now was the muffled trumpet down in the speakeasy, and the scratching of Mordecaiâs pen.Â
Walking into Mordecaiâs office felt like stepping outside into the cool December air, your face shining with perspiration from the heat of all those bodies, and the frantic dance Ivy had led you in. The air was different in here, the world calm. But thatâs how it always felt being with Mordecai. Your ears were still ringing, and your dress clung to you uncomfortably, but here it was safe.Â
Mordecai spared you the slightest glance when you came in. Just a moment, then his glasses flashed in the light as he bowed his head again and kept up his scribbling.
When he said nothing, you knew you had permission to stay.Â
You placed the cocktail down in front of Mordecai, avoiding all the pristine papers that littered his desk in case the condensation from the glass stained them.Â
âI brought you a drink.â
He didnât even look up.
âIâm working.â
âI noticed.â
Mordecaiâs pen moved quickly across the page, first a string of words you couldnât read upside down, then a series of numbers. You had no idea of their meaning, but you could guess. With Atlasâ business growing, Mordecai was under more pressure than ever.Â
âYou know,â you said, perching on the edge of the desk. âItâs not a party unless youâre there.â
The corner of Mordecaiâs mouth curled, but with derision rather than amusement.Â
âYour attempts at sarcasm have been noted, but Iâm afraid Iâm too busy even to argue with you, since I know thatâs what you want.â
âI donât wanna argue with you. Well, I know I am now, but- I just wondered if you were alright.â
âWhy wouldnât I be?â
âI donât know. New Yearâs Eve makes me sad, too.â
Finally, Mordecai raised his head.Â
âWho said I was sad?â
He looked tired. His eyes had lost some of their light, and he seemed to be having difficulty focusing on you. Even his voice sounded different, softer than usual, a little raspy around the edges. And there, in the middle of it all, you could hear the quick, short vowels of his New York accent, unchecked in his exhaustion. You only really got to hear it when his defences were down, and he was too tired or distracted to hide it.Â
âJust give me five minutes,â You pressed your palms together, pairing it with your most winning smile. âPlease.â
But Mordecai only sighed and went back to his work.Â
âThe world doesnât stop turning every time thereâs a party.â
âMort, itâs New Yearâs Eve.â
âSomeone has to keep things ticking over.â
âAnd it has to be you, does it?â
âWhy deny everyone else a good time?â
âYouâve denied me your company.â
âIâm sure there are plenty of others who could keep you entertained tonight. I doubt anyone noticed my absence.âÂ
âViktor did. I did.â
âYes, well, youâreâŠâ
Mordecai gave a frustrated sigh and dropped his pen to push his fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes, and you knew they mustâve stung.Â
âIâm what?â
You waited, watching him expectantly, but nothing came.Â
Mordecai pushed his thumb and forefinger into the very corners of his eyes, though whether it was exhaustion or frustration he was rubbing away, you couldnât tell.Â
When he looked up at you, he seemed a little more present, but no happier to see you.
It hurt, you couldnât deny it. Mordecai wasnât exactly cuddly, but he usually seemed pleased to have your company. As Viktor said, you were two birds on a wire. It was rare for anyone to see one of you without the other, not after all these years.Â
Finally, Mordecai looked away and picked up his pen again.Â
âTraditions make me sad. They make me think of home.â
Usually, getting any sort of emotion out of Mordecai was like pulling teeth. In all the time youâd known each other, you thought youâd heard him laugh more often than heâd offered up his innermost feelings, and that was saying something. What could he possibly have been about to say before he changed his mind? What could be so difficult to admit that heâd rather talk about something as private as the home he left behind all those years ago?
Suddenly feeling nervous, you sipped your drink, hoping to find some extra courage at the bottom of your glass.Â
âDo you want to talk about it?â
Of course, Mordecai just scoffed, not even willing to justify the question with a proper response.Â
Stupid, really. But it was worth a shot.
You let the quiet stretch on for another moment or two as you took another bolstering sip of your drink.Â
âWe could make some new traditions. You and me.â
âWhat part of âIâm workingâ didnât you understand?â
There it was. The in you were looking for.
You couldnât work closely with someone for six years without picking up on the little ups and downs in their speech, and you could read Mordecaiâs like sheet music. The edge was gone from his tone. There, right at the end of his question, youâd heard the lightness you were looking for. It let you know he wasn't half as annoyed as heâd have you believe. He was allowing you in.
Being careful to avoid his untouched drink, you reached across the desk and tucked your fingers under Mordecaiâs jaw.Â
He froze, his hand stilling, but did not pull away.Â
Slowly, gently, you lifted his chin so that he was forced to meet your gaze.Â
âYouâre wrong, you know.â You smiled. âThe world does stop. Just for a moment. Everyone in this crummy city stops and takes a moment to think about the past and the future all at once. You can have tonight, Mordecai. Your books will still be here in the morning. The world won't end because you had a drink with me.â
âThe future,â he scoffed again, but his voice had lost its venom now. âYouâre so maudlin sometimes itâs barely palatable.â
âYou never think about the future?â
âWhat would be the point?â
âSo, what do you think about?â
âUsually, whateverâs right in front of me.â
Mordecai still hadnât pulled away. He just gazed up at you, his sharp eyes softened in the low light.Â
His implication hit you hard, like youâd jumped into the Mississippi from the Eads Bridge. It punctured your lungs and made your whole body tense up.
If he meant what it sounded like he meant, Mordecai seemed unusually calm. Maybe you were reading into things too closely, as usual. But his chin still rested in your hand.
Mordecai tilted his head, his ears back and low on his head. He looked calm and relaxed, and maybe it was just your imagination, but his whole body seemed to be slowly unwinding with every passing second, your gentle touch the key.Â
âWhat kind of new traditions?â Mordecai asked softly.
He was seeing you and only you now. No more names. No more figures. No more dollar signs, import taxes or inventory checks. Being Mordecaiâs sole focus could be terrifying. If youâd caught his interest, that usually wasnât good news. But this was different. This was something entirely new and completely unexpected.
You began to respond when you heard it, the tail end of the countdown. Everyone down in the bar was chanting, glasses raised. And then finally, a terrific shout.Â
âLooks like weâre out of time.â You smiled, though it didnât quite meet your eyes. âItâs midnight.â
Mordecai lowered his gaze.Â
Slowly, as if frightened youâd pull away, he took your hand and removed it from his jaw, but he didnât let go. He slipped his fingers around yours as he rose to stand, interlocking them with such gentleness that it stole your breath.Â
It happened so quickly, you couldâve blinked and missed it. Mordecai leaned across the desk, his gaze not quite meeting yours. For all his efforts, he was still that shy, neurotic, lost little boy underneath it all. Desperate to do well, to make the right decisions, and not let a good opportunity go to waste.Â
Mordecai hesitated, then finally bowed his head, as if in deference, and kissed you. It was over before you even realised it had happened, but you could hardly breathe as he pulled away.Â
He held your hand tightly in his own, begging you not to disappear as all good things seemed to.Â
âHappy New Year,â Mordecai murmured, his voice lost. âThatâs the tradition, isnât it?â
Later, you would hate yourself for it, but all you were able to do was stare. And who could blame you? Mordecai was gazing at you with such uncharacteristic softness, it felt like your chest could cave in. It was a guarded, anxious look, but it was for you and only you. Mordecai was trusting you with something deeply important, something heâd never shown anyone.Â
You stared too long. You let precious seconds slip through your hands like sand through an hourglass. And the moment was gone before you even knew it had begun.
Mordecaiâs ear twitched, then he dropped your hand and took a step back.
Before you could say a word, the office door burst open, and Mitzi poured herself into the room. Her laughing and hollering was so abrupt that it shattered the peace that had fallen between you. You had to fight the urge to cover your ears.
âThere you two are!âÂ
Mitzi rushed over to pinch your cheeks and wish you a happy new year, then grabbed Mordecai by the arm.Â
âCome on, donât you know thereâs a party downstairs?â Mitzi tugged Mordecai towards the door, ignoring his protests. âYou, you old mortician, you. Letâs get a drink down you.âÂ
You watched them go, feeling like you had just burst out of the water after coming close to drowning. Everything seemed too bright, too loud. Every crash of the cymbals felt like a gunshot, every giddy laugh, a scream of terror.Â
You raised your fingers, the same ones Mordecai had held, to your lips. You could still feel him there, the quiet, certain urgency of him.
Mordecai had kissed you, and all youâd done was stare.
âChristâŠâ You drained your drink, then Mordecaiâs in quick succession. âOh, fuck.â
/
4th July, 1927
âYour apartment is abominably easy to break into.â
With a shriek, you span around, hands raised to defend yourself from an attack that never came.
It was so dark that, for a moment, you couldnât tell where the voice had come from, but then you saw the flash of familiar olive-green eyes.
Mordecai was sitting on your couch, one leg crossed lazily over the other, his back ramrod straight and his gaze fixed on you.
As you turned to switch on the light, you noticed his coat hanging up by the door beside yours. How long had he been waiting for you in the dark?
You pressed your palm to your chest and felt your heart thudding against your ribs. It had been a long time since Mordecai had made it do that.Â
âYou idiot! You scared the hell out of me!â You exhaled slowly, hoping it would help expel some of the adrenaline flooding through you. âWhat the hell are you doing here?â
Mordecai watched you, unblinking.
âSince you refused to take my career advice, youâd do well not to ignore me now. You need to secure this place better.â
Without taking your eyes off him, you reached into your coat, the one hanging up behind the door, and pulled out the pistol you kept there for emergencies.
âI have.â
âFunny,â Mordecai said, though his flat expression never changed. âIâm serious, if youâre going to insist on working for that moribund little club, you need to take precautions.â
âMordecai, what are you doing here?â
He was quiet for a moment as he stared at you. Mordecai had a reputation for being an unnerving foe, but youâd never really understood it before. Now, you realised itâs because youâd always been on the same side.
Finally, he said,Â
âI was told youâd moved.â
âNo. Same old place.â
âI was hoping that was the case. I rather like this building.â
Sighing, you slipped the gun back into your coat pocket and began to kick off your shoes. It had been a long day. You really didnât need this right now.Â
âMordecai, is this a business matter? Because Iâm really not the one you should be talking to if thatâs the case.â
âNo? Who should I speak to then? That pyromaniac, buck-toothed imbecile? Or maybe one of his little friends?â
That caught your attention.
Tonight, Ivy, Rocky, and his baby-faced cousin had tumbled back into the bar with quite the tale to tell. By all accounts, it had been a very narrow escape for all of them, with just a few bottles surviving the journey, and the company car a total wreck.Â
They hadnât mentioned any names, probably to save Mitzi the pain. But of course, it all made sense now.
âYouâre the one Rocky had a run-in with tonight.â You shook your head, somewhere between disappointed and heartbroken. âI shouldâve known.â
Mordecaiâs impassive mask slipped at the sound of Rockyâs name. His lip curled, just for a second, but it spoke volumes.Â
With a grace youâd almost forgotten he possessed, he uncrossed his legs and rose to stand.Â
âHeâs going to get you all killed.â
Mordecai tugged at the hem of his waistcoat, adjusting it even though he looked perfect, as always.
To anyone else, he seemed the picture of poise. But you weren't just anyone. There were probably only a handful of people on earth who knew Mordecai as well as you did, and they hadnât seen him tipsy after one drink, or felt him purring softly in his sleep. You knew when he was trying to hide something. He was nervous. That was interesting.Â
âYou never liked him.â
Mordecaiâs eyes narrowed.Â
âHeâs ridiculous.â
You couldnât help it. You smiled.Â
The sting of seeing Mordecai again after not hearing from him for over a year was softened, just a little, by the realisation that he was just as easy to rile up as he ever was. Few things irritated him as much as your fondness for Lackadaisyâs resident poet, and it amused you immensely.
âHeâs sweet. He makes me laugh.â
âWell, I wonder if youâll still think heâs so hilarious when he runs whatâs left of that obsolete little outfit into the ground.â
As he spoke, he came closer, making almost no sound as he crossed the living room.Â
Now that he was fully in the light, you could see that he didnât look quite as pristine as you thought. His charcoal grey suit was clouded with the same quarry dust that the others had left all over the bar. Heâd loosened his tie, and the cuffs of his pants were soaked. It must be killing him to be so untidy.
âLooks like he gave you a run for your money tonight.â You smiled. âI always thought you looked especially handsome when you were jealous.â
That made Mordecai stop in his tracks. Behind his glasses, his eyes widened a fraction, and his ears flattened to his head.Â
âYou and him,â he said, slow and quiet. âYouâre not..?â
You felt your heart surge up into your throat.Â
Mordecai was a master of his own emotions, but just for a moment there, heâd looked completely devastated. He was jealous. And suddenly, the fizzling power imbalance shifted in your favour.
Heâd surprised you, turned up unannounced, and castigated you for making it so easy, but something about you made him lose his grip on his own senses, and that was worth its weight in gold.
âNo, Mordecai,â you murmured, shaking your head. âWeâre not.â
He processed this so slowly, you could practically see the cogs turning. Finally, Mordecai nodded, feigning nonchalance so poorly that you almost felt bad for him. Â
âWell⊠Good,â he said. âGood.â
Any empathy you felt quickly gave way to an irritation that made your teeth itch.Â
Heâd abandoned the family that gave him everything. Heâd stolen from them. Heâd permanently incapacitated Viktor. Heâd almost killed three of your people tonight. And stupid as it was, you were still furious with him for leaving just weeks after heâd kissed you. And he had the temerity to turn up in your apartment and pick at you? Heâd always been a hard pill to swallow, but this was too much.
With a sigh, you pushed past him, knocking his shoulder a little harder than necessary. It didnât even begin to scratch the itch you felt to slap him right across his smug face, but the night was still young.Â
âWhat do you want, Mordecai? Iâm sure Asa Sweet is much better company than I am. Wonât he be missing his new pet?â
You filled the kettle and set it on the range, relieved to have an excuse to turn your back to him. There was a slight tremor in your hands as you switched on the stove.Â
When you were sure youâd got control of your shaky breathing, you turned to find Mordecai had followed you into the kitchen. He was so close, you took an instinctive step back and would've bumped into the quickly heating stove if Mordecai hadnât snapped his hand around your waist.Â
You froze, eyes wide. He was never all that keen on physical contact, so every touch felt like the first. It was only quick, but the sudden press of his fingers was enough to make your stomach drop.Â
Suddenly, all you could think about was the soft look in his eyes that New Yearâs Eve night, and the feeling of his mouth against yours. Heâd avoided you the next day, and the day after that, and before you knew it, he was gone, and all you were left with was an empty gun store, a dead boss, and a bewildered heart.Â
Mordecai held you a little longer than necessary, but did eventually let go. He immediately swept his hand behind his back and stepped away, choosing instead to lean against the edge of the table behind him.Â
âYou look tired,â he said. âYou havenât been sleeping. You never did get enough sleep.â
âWeâve been busy.â
âThat cannot possibly be true. I kept the books, remember?â
âIâve been trying to get us back on track.â You sneered. âNo thanks to you.â
âYou could alwaysâŠâ
âNo, Mordecai. Loyalty means something to me.â
He looked away, shaking his head to himself. Behind him, his tail lashed, irritated.Â
âLoyalty⊠Sentiment⊠What use are they?â
âNot everyone sees life like that. Not everyone sees people like that.â
âIâve noticed. Itâs exhausting.âÂ
He looked just the same as the day he left. Except⊠No. He seemed thinner, like he hadnât been eating as well or as regularly. Mordecai was always forgetting to stop and rest.
His clothes were nicer too, much more expensive-looking than the hand-me-downs Atlas had once given him. He was his own man now, you supposed. He had to look the part.Â
Mordecaiâs eyes met yours again. With every moment spent in your company, he appeared to be unwinding right in front of you. Youâd always been relaxed in each other's company. Even now, after everything heâd done, Mordecai found comfort in your presence.
âAre they looking after you?â he asked quietly.Â
âMitziâs always been kind to me.â
âBut you have everything you need? You have enough to make do?â
âMordecai,â You gave a dry, humourless laugh. âI stopped being your concern a long time ago.â
âNot that long ago.â He frowned. âAnd Iâm not concerned, Iâm simply⊠Curious.â
âWell, you know what that did to the cat.â
You smiled.
Mordecai did not return it.Â
You let a moment pass, eager to see if he had anything else to say. An apology would be nice. An explanation would be even better. But Mordecai just stared down at you, unmoving, like a statue in a museum.Â
It had been an extremely long day. Lackadaisy was, as Mordecai so astutely put it, on its last legs. The bar was empty. Your friends seemed like ghosts of themselves. And you were trying so hard to keep things ticking over, but being Mitziâs right-hand-woman as well as her shoulder to cry on was growing exhausting. You didnât have the energy to deal with the feelings Mordecai stirred in you, not after spending your days trying to clean up the mess heâd made.
It occurred to you that you could just ask him to leave. And then, if he wanted to be difficult, tell him to go with the added emphasis of your pistol. But a stupid, anguished part of you, that was still so aggrieved by all that had happened over the last year, decided you were allowed to be selfish, just for an evening.Â
âWhy are you here? Tell me. Honestly.â
For a moment, you thought he might try to avoid the question for a third time, but then Mordecaiâs gaze lowered to somewhere near your throat.
âI heard that you were dead. That youâd been caught in the crossfire in some backwater little town.â
âSorry to disappoint you.âÂ
Behind you, the kettle began to whine as it reached boiling point. You grabbed a cloth from the counter and carefully lifted it off the range.
âSo thatâs it, is it? You came running because you thought Iâd been killed? Itâs not like you to pay your respects to the dead.â
âI came to confirm that it was true. And then I intended to ascertain who was responsible. And then I was going to⊠Well, I hadnât really gotten that far, but my imagination ran away with me, I assure you.â
You paused, your hand halfway into the cupboard where you kept the teacups.Â
After all this time, after everything, he was still looking out for you. But where was that care when he kneecapped Viktor? Where was that loyalty when he robbed Lackadaisy of its entire firearm store? There had been no gentleness in him when he sent you on a wild goose chase across the city, only for you to return to the cafĂ© to find your world changed forever.Â
But he was hereâŠ
Gritting your teeth, you pulled down two cups, then the good tea bags. It was the kind Mordecai loved. You bought some after he slept over that night. You had replaced the pack several times over the years, ever hopeful that it would not be the last time he stayed the night. Yet another delusion to add to the pile.
âWere you sad?â
You poured water into both cups, hoping to drown out him and everything heâd done.Â
Behind you, you heard Mordecai shift uncomfortably. Good.
âI was⊠Put out. Yes.â
Something in his tone made you pause. You put the kettle down and turned back to face him.Â
Mordecai had never found it easy to maintain eye contact, especially when emotions were heightened, but he rarely let that get the better of him. Now, though, he could hardly look at you. Was it regret? Shame? No, those weren't feelings he liked to indulge. Mordecai was far too busy and important to be bogged down by something as trivial as his conscience.Â
But something about him seemed off. His shoulders were low, his mouth downturned at the corners. You were missing something. What was it? What was wrong? What sore spot had you brushed too close to?
Then you noticed his hands, still tucked behind his back. He often stood like that, elegant and poised. But it didnât match the look on his face, and when he noticed that youâd noticed, Mordecaiâs eyebrows drew together.Â
âHold out your hands.â
Slowly, so slowly you didnât think he was going to acquiesce, Mordecai unfolded his arms from behind his back, almost like a praying mantis in his precision. He held up his hands, palms up, but still refused to meet your gaze.Â
He flinched when you took his hands. After working side by side for so long, heâd learned to trust that youâd never touch him without good reason. That tolerance had been lost, it seemed.
When you tried to turn his hands over, you felt all his muscles tense, like he wanted to pull away but couldnât.Â
âDonâtâŠâ he said quietly, just a reflex, but a sharp one.
Undeterred, you twisted his hands, flipping them palm-side down, so that you could see his knuckles. Raw and red, they glinted like twin ruby brooches in the low light.Â
It wasnât difficult to picture the scene. Someone, probably some idiot you and Mordecai had crossed paths with in the glory days, had made the mistake of exaggerating just how poorly Lackadaisy was managing to keep its head above water, and had dreamt up some story about you, looking to get a rise out of him.
Contrary to popular belief, Mordecai did feel. You wondered how long heâd been able to keep a straight face before he had to excuse himself to drive his fist through a wall, or maybe a window, judging by the scratches.Â
You kept a first aid kit under the sink. He didnât say a word as you laid out its contents on the table, or when you pressed an iodine-soaked cotton pad to his bloody knuckles.Â
You wrapped them up, as he had done for you once, and made sure to tie the bandages just that little bit too tight so that he wouldnât think about doing it again in a hurry.Â
âCheck those tomorrow. Donât pick. See a doctor if it gets worse,â you said, echoing his own words back to him.
You poked his chest, hard, your lip curled.Â
âDonât ever hurt yourself over me again, Heller. Or Iâll hurt you worse.â
Mordecai raised his eyebrows.Â
âIs that a threat?â
âA promise.âÂ
It seemed to do the trick. The only language Mordecai understood was a plainspoken flick knife of a warning, pressed right against his throat. Youâd never had a reason to lie to each other. You werenât about to start now. If you ever caught him doing anything like this ever again, heâd be sorry.Â
You werenât sure what did it, what youâd said to make him finally give in, and in the years to come, it would be an ever-fractious cause of arguments between the two of you, but the next thing you knew, Mordecai was kissing you, his bandaged hands on either side of your face.
It was clumsy, endearingly so. It wasnât often that Mordecai wasnât naturally good at something, but his mouth was just that little bit too harsh against yours, and before you thought to close your eyes, you could see that his were screwed shut, like it had taken all his courage to make the leap, which explained why heâd very nearly head-butted you.Â
Clunky but sweet, his mouth moved against yours until finally, your brain kicked into gear, and you kissed him back, your heart in your mouth. The notion that Mordecai had very definitely never kissed anyone before flitted through your mind, but you could work with that.Â
His nose was pressed awkwardly against yours, making it hard to breathe until you thought to angle your head. He leaned into you, his hands still cupping your face, so that you came close to losing your balance. You shot out your hands, grabbing at the closest thing to steady yourself, and let your fingers catch between the buttons of his waistcoat.Â
A small noise rolled in the back of Mordecaiâs throat and ended up in yours. You thought maybe he wasnât best pleased about you tugging at his neatly tailored clothes, but you couldnât care less.Â
His hands dropped to your waist, spinning you round so that the kitchen table bit into your back. It gave you the clarity you needed to press your palm to his chest and push him away.Â
You broke apart with a wet sound that made Mordecai wrinkle his nose, and if the situation were less fraught, you mightâve laughed.Â
âMordecai,â Your voice was hoarse, your chest tight. âYou canât just keep⊠You canât kiss me and then refuse to talk to me. You canât desert us for a better offer and then break into my apartment and kiss me again. Itâs not- You need to decide what you want.â
His hands were still tight around your waist. Now that youâd stopped to catch your breath, you realised you could feel them trembling.Â
His glasses were a little wonky, probably knocked off-centre when he kissed you. It gave Mordecai a wild sort of a look, like the vice he kept his heart in had finally loosened.Â
âThis,â His fingertips pressed into your waist. âThis is me deciding. I wouldnât⊠I wouldnât if I wasnât absolutely sure.â
âOf what?â
Chest heaving, Mordecai moved closer again, pushing against your palm so that you could feel how hard his heart was beating.
âYou.â
It didnât answer your question, but you found you couldnât care less. Mordecai was here. He was here. And heâd kissed you so hard, your lips were still tingling.Â
With your fingers still tangled in the buttons of his waistcoat, you pulled him the rest of the way, until his body was pressed to yours. He was so tense, you could lay him flat and serve dinner on him, but he didnât resist. Mordecai trusted you, he always had.Â
When you kissed him this time, it was slow, careful. You were out of practice, and he sorely needed a teacher, so you took your time, showing him how to move just as youâd taught him how to dance all those years ago. The steps werenât so different, hands, hearts, lungs. Mordecai seemed to catch onto this fairly quickly.Â
A selfish need pricked at you. This was all youâd wanted for years, Mordecai melting under your touch, his heart pressed against yours. It was almost painful how good it felt, to be touched and seen and warmed by another body after so long alone. The urge to take what you wanted from him was deafening, but you forced yourself to go slow. Youâd just got him back, you didnât want to scare him off now.Â
But then Mordecaiâs grip on your waist tightened again, and he broke the kiss just to lift you onto the edge of the kitchen table. Heart hammering, you edged back the rest of the way until you were sitting comfortably, and Mordecai moved between your parted knees as if magnetised.
He was kissing you again before you could comment, which was probably for the best. To draw attention to his sudden confidence mightâve broken the spell, and you were happy to get lost in the gentle brush of his mouth against yours. You were starting to feel lightheaded, and you wanted to blame the lack of oxygen, but you had an awful feeling thatâs just what Mordecai did to you.
He was still a little clumsy, but what Mordecai lacked in skill he made up for in enthusiasm. And those hands of his. They crept up from your waist to your back, dragging his fingertips up and across your shoulder blades, then back down again, retracing his steps until he found your hips, where he pressed in with his thumbs, just squeezing the soft warmth of you.Â
âI thought you didnât likeâŠâÂ
You couldnât even finish the sentence, it all seemed too unreal. The moment felt brittle as the ice over a frozen lake, and you feared drawing attention to his sudden ardour might remind Mordecai of his own apathy towards physical intimacy, but you couldnât let it go unsaid. Heâd never expressed any interest before, you didnât want to be an outlet for his confused feelings, and you definitely didnât want to be another regret.Â
But Mordecai seemed almost in a daze, like he was running on instinct alone. He watched his own hands smooth across your thighs as if they werenât his own, only looking up when his curious fingers brushing against you made your breathing hitch.Â
âI donât, usually,â he said honestly, his voice low and strained. âI never really think about it. It never seemed all that appealing, but now, if I ever do⊠Think about it⊠Itâs always you.âÂ
As your fingers tightened around the buttons running down his stomach, Mordecai allowed himself the tiniest of smiles.
âYou wonât leave me be.â
The weight of what heâd admitted was not lost on you. Mordecai was many things, but he did not exaggerate, and he did not lie. You haunted him, like a second shadow. The complicated, unstable nature of your lives had woven you together, and the trust you had in each other had unlocked doors you never thought possible, even now.Â
You wondered how long heâd been thinking about this, about what he might say if he ever saw you again. You wondered if Mordecai would have ever given in, found his way across the city and picked your lock if the reports of your death hadnât been greatly exaggerated. You wondered if your welcome mightâve been different if Ivy, or one of the others, hadnât come home tonight. You hoped so. But you didn't want to think about that right now.Â
In an effort to clear your head and stop yourself from overthinking, you pulled Mordecai in again and felt a stab of pride when he practically whimpered against your mouth. Oh, he loved this. He loved this a lot more than he thought he wouldÂ
God, he tasted so fantastic, and he smelled incredible, like gunfire and soap and autumn and the rum-soaked wood of a bar and something else, something different. You thought it must be his new home with Marigold, and suddenly you wanted nothing more than to kiss him and kiss him and hold him against you, just to get rid of that unfamiliar scent, to bring him back home to you, to erase any thoughts of Mordecai ever leaving you again.
He had almost got the hang of kissing now and was following your lead so obediently. And there, as you angled your head and nosed in closer, you felt it, pressed against your mouth.Â
âYouâre smiling,â you murmured, your lips brushing his.
Mordecai frowned, as if the suggestion was completely ridiculous.
âNo, I am not.â
âMm, you are. I can feel it.â
âLiar.â
You grinned, just so happy to have him close again, and to have his hands on you, unsure but warm and searching.
Carefully, you tucked your legs around his narrow hips and dug your heels into the backs of Mordecaiâs thighs, pulling him even closer until there was absolutely no space between you.Â
"Stop me if you're uncomfortable, okay?"
You held Mordecai's steady gaze as you slowly pushed the leather holster straps over his shoulders and rested them on the chair beside you. There, unarmed. But he didn't seem to mind. He'd once told you that he never went anywhere without a weapon, and even slept with a knife under his pillow, but he'd let you disarm him like it was nothing.
His tie came next, the silk like water between your fingers. With Mordecai watching you so intently, it was difficult to untangle the complex knot he'd made, but soon it joined the rest.
You thumbed open the buttons of his waistcoat and pushed it off his shoulders, grimacing when it sent up a cloud of dust.
âMort, ugh, youâre filthy.â
Mordecai hummed against your mouth, and the feeling went straight through you.Â
âYes, Iâm well aware. Itâs not ideal, but I came straight here.â
âRocky rattled you that badly, did he?â
He leaned back to look at you, eyes flashing.
Unable to resist, you grinned.
He was so silly. Cold-blooded killer, and total idiot. Mordecai so rarely expressed any emotion other than indifference, it never ceased to amuse you that, of all things, it was Rocky Rickaby who riled him up enough to emote.Â
âI donât want to hear that name again tonight, or preferably ever again.â
âIs that so?â
âIt is. The only name I want to hear is mine.â
His mouth was on yours before you could poke at him further. If digging at the jealousy Mordecai refused to admit to caused this kind of reaction, it was no wonder he wanted to shut you up. He was already in uncharted waters, Mordecai was probably clinging onto any last shred of control he could find.
You started working on his shirt buttons, your fingers knotting in your hurry. It was a nice shirt, otherwise you mightâve just ripped it open.
âDid you make a mess of my couch?â you wondered aloud, remembering that heâd been sitting there in the dark when you came in. âI like that couch. You better not have ruined it.â
Mordecai bowed his head, mouthing his way down the length of your neck until he found the point where your pulse raced. When he spoke, his voice rumbled in your throat.Â
âIâm more concerned with ruining this table.â
His hands still kneading at your hips, he kissed his way back up your neck to a little spot under your jaw you didnât even know was there. It made your hands stumble as they finally finished with his shirt buttons.Â
âBig talk for a first timer.â
âIâve always been an overachiever.â
Fingers tangling in his shirt, you tugged him towards you and rolled your hips against his, swallowing his surprised moan. You couldnât seem to get close enough. It was never, ever enough.
âCâmon then, wonder boy. Letâs see what youâre made of.â
You carefully pushed his shirt off his shoulders, your mouth only leaving his so that you could fold it carefully over your arm, then over the back of a chair. You tugged at the vest he wore underneath, smiling to yourself.Â
âCan I take this off, too?â
Slowly, uncertainly, Mordecai nodded and allowed you to tuck your fingers under the hem and carefully pull it up and over his head.
The patch of white youâd sometimes spied peeking out through his unbuttoned collar travelled further than you thought. His whole belly was soft and white, and suddenly the gravity of the situation hit you like a steam train. He was showing you something heâd never shown anyone. The trust he had in you was knee-buckling.Â
You bit your tongue hard, a blood-pact with yourself not to ruin this, or to give credence to Mordecaiâs dim view of the world.Â
Then you saw it, the mark, right over his heart. Someone had carved a symbol into his skin. Recently too. It bloomed scarlet on his chest, like he was wearing a rosette.Â
Your eyes must have said everything you were thinking. Mordecai caught your hand as you reached to touch the mark, raising it to his lips instead.
âItâs nothing,â he said, kissing every one of your fingertips. âJust a proof of loyalty. An initiation ritual, of sorts.â
âI donât like those crooks, Mort. No one at Lackadaisy would dare-â
âItâs just business.â
And there he was, the man whoâd left you and the life heâd built for a better offer. It wasnât personal, reasonably, you knew that. Mordecai was nothing if not practical, but still, it stung to be reminded just how easily he was able to close himself off.Â
âIs that what this is?â you asked. âAm I just business, too?â
âNo. No, you were neverâŠâ Mordecai sighed and let his forehead rest against yours. âYou were always a painful reminder that I still have a heart.âÂ
Grand romantic gestures had never been all that appealing to you. And, you supposed, that wasnât what this was. Mordecai was just being honest. Caring for someone wasnât all it was cracked up to be. And you thought it probably pained him every day to know that he wasnât quite as bulletproof as heâd like to be. Well, good. Serves him right.Â
With his forehead still pressed against yours, Mordecai sighed, half frustration, half something else, the something that was still making him knead at your hips.
âIâve missed you,â he admitted, and it sounded like it almost pained him to say the words. âYou should come with me.â
âYou should stay.â
âI canât.â
âNeither can I.â
He moved away, just far enough to meet your eyes, then Mordecai seemed to come back to his senses a little.
His hands left you, and he sheepishly reached for his vest, flung somewhere over your shoulder.Â
âThen I shouldâŠâ
You put your hand over his and brought it up to your mouth.Â
âStay for tonight. Please, Mort.âÂ
You kissed every one of his fingertips, just as heâd done to you, then settled his hand back on your hip.
âWeâll talk tomorrow, but tonight, just⊠Let me make you feel something sweeter.â
Slowly, so as not to spook him, you leaned closer and pressed your lips to his forehead, then both his cheeks, peppering his face with soft kisses until heâd melted into you with a sigh. His mouth found yours again, and soon he was back neatly between your thighs.Â
It doesnât take long for those little kisses to grow more heated again. His head was already starting to feel fuzzy, like his senses were just out of reach. Mordecai wasnât entirely sure it was a feeling he liked. But as he allowed himself to sink deeper into you, he felt his mind begin to grow quiet, and the weight on his back began to lift. He hadnât felt so peaceful, or so light, since he- Well, he didnât know when.Â
You were so beautiful. He couldnât figure out how he hadnât seen it sooner. Or perhaps he had and was just too stubborn to admit it.
You were beautiful on the day you met, and youâd stumbled over his name and shaken his hand too hard. You were beautiful when you slumped in the back of the car, all tired smiles and impatient limbs, always making sure that heâd eaten and never once interrupting him.
You were beautiful when you picked him up outside his apartment in the mornings, the sun in your eyes, your daggerish smile locked and loaded. You always had a hundred things to talk about, like youâd been storing them up since the last time you saw each other and couldn't wait to speak to him again.Â
You were beautiful on the night he left, and every night he was away from you, and on the day he decided to face the music and see if the awful rumours were true. And right now, shining with warmth and life and happiness, you were the most wonderful thing Mordecai had ever seen.
He wanted to tell you, but couldnât form the words. Still, he thought you probably knew. Or at least, he hoped you did.
âIâll stay.â
He let his hands smooth down your chest, down your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.Â
Your breath stuttered as he met your gaze.Â
âYeah? You want to stay?â
âI want- I want you, yes.â
Impassive as ever, Mordecai slipped his hands around your hips to tug you closer, and even through all the layers that still separated you, you could feel how much he wanted you as your hips met his.
âYouâll have toâŠâ Mordecai swallowed hard, looking uncomfortable. âYouâll have to show meâŠâ
It took all your strength not to smile. A sweeter invitation had never been offered. Mordecai trusted you so completely that he was allowing you to guide him through something completely new to him, something that was probably terrifying from where he stood. You couldnât believe this was happening. You wouldnât let him down.
âDonât worry, handsome.â Your lips found his neck again, murmuring the words against him so that heâd get the message. âJust follow my lead, Mort. Iâve gotcha.â
You felt him shudder against you, and it took everything in you not to tease him about it. He was so sensitive, so wound up. All it took was a soft kiss and the graze of your teeth to make him choke on air. Heâd starved himself of touch for so long, you were half afraid it might all get overwhelming quickly, but his hands palming and tugging at your thighs told you otherwise.
With a soft, almost resigned sigh, Mordecai let his head fall back for you, and you immediately took advantage of the newfound land, sucking a mark just below his jaw, his heavy breaths making you roll your hips against his again, harder now.
âTell me if itâs too much,â you murmured, right by his ear. âIf you donât like something, tell me. If you want to stop, weâll stop. I wonât be upset.â
Mordecai exhaled with a groan, his hands tightening on your hips. He was faintly aware of you talking, but he was having trouble focusing. His head felt completely empty, and everything in his body seemed to be focused somewhere else, somewhere almost foreign to him and utterly neglected. The heat in the pit of his belly was all-consuming. He couldnât think. Couldnât speak.Â
You called his name, his full name, coaxing him back to the surface. You wanted verbal confirmation, not a grunt or a haphazard nod.Â
âFine, whatever you want.â Mordecai huffed, his tongue like rubber. âJust, please, can we- I feel like Iâm going to-â
Before he could finish, you bit down on his shoulder, and Mordecai let out a shaky moan, eyes squeezed shut. It confirmed a suspicion youâd long held, and suddenly you couldnât think of anything youâd rather do than sink your teeth into him again and again, just to see what other lovely little noises you could pull from him.Â
âThatâs for leaving.â
His eyes sharpened, and you could practically see him come back into the room.
Mordecai pulled in a breath, let it go again, then leaned into you.
âI thought we were done talking shop tonight.â
His clever hands fell to push your dress up your thighs. You thought about helping him with it the rest of the way, but the urgency with which he touched you was hypnotising.
âWe are. That one was personal.â
âProbably well deserved.â
Your underwear followed, then your trembling hands managed to yank down his pants just far enough. You guided him to you, your eyes fixed on Mordecaiâs face as he sank into you at last.Â
âOhâŠâ
His eyebrows pinched together, his mouth hanging open in a silent moan, as if it were all too overwhelming to even make a sound.
His hands were so tight on your hips, it was almost painful, but it helped ground you to the moment. You bit your lip, pinning back your own moan, not wanting to overwhelm him. But it was so much, almost too much.
Shaking now, you kept kissing him, his chest, his neck, his jaw and his lips, helping Mordecai relax as his hips met yours at last. He was too busy trying to catch his breath to kiss you back properly, but he managed to haphazardly catch a few of them.
âIâŠâ Mordecai tried to speak, but nothing came. âYouâreâŠâ
His head fell to rest on your shoulder.
You watched his shoulder blades rise and fall, his breathing ragged and hot against the crook of your neck. Still, his fingers kneaded at you, just as heâd done in his sleep all those years ago, like it was all he needed to keep his head above the water.
âIâve got you.â
His head rose off your shoulder again.
Mordecai gazed at you. You were so close, you could feel his heartbeat against your chest, hammering just as hard as your own.Â
âYouâre okay. Youâre doing so well. You feel so nice, Mort.â
You smiled at him, your hand coming up to hold his face. It was a frankly admirable show of restraint on your part. He felt more than nice, he felt white hot inside you, filling you in ways you didnât think possible, the pressure in your lower belly almost unbearable. If he didnât move soon, you thought you might die.Â
âYou feelâŠâÂ
Mordecai shook his head.
He looked so scared and hopeful and desperate. Mordecai Heller, your Mort, serious, sensible, plain-talking, ridiculous, incredible, Mordecai Heller.Â
âYouâre indescribableâŠâ
His words echoed and echoed in your head, far louder and sweeter than the worries that nagged at you. Was this the right thing to do? What would happen after? What would the world look like when you separated again?Â
But that was later, this was now. Now, Mordecaiâs chest was against yours, his hands were everywhere, and he was totally at your mercy. Later could wait its turn.Â
Then he was kissing you again, so slow and delicate, searching and sweet.
The change of pace made your head spin, wondering how he could be so gentle after all the sinful things heâd done. You could feel him smiling against your mouth again and realised you were smiling too.
You started to push his hips, showing him how to move, slow at first but soon picking up speed as Mordecaiâs grip on you tightened, keeping you close against him.
You gasped into each otherâs mouth, his nose brushing against yours, lips just catching as the two of you moved together.
âYou clever thingâŠâ Mordecai moaned, right into your mouth.Â
You tried to keep your voice down, tried to keep your noises to yourself, afraid youâd scare him off if you made too big a deal of how good it felt, but you couldnât hold on. You pressed your mouth to his shoulder, barely resisting the urge to bite down again, but it wasnât enough to stifle your breathy moans.Â
Mordecai soon picked up on what you needed from him and moved without your hands to guide him. He picked up speed, pushing harder.
Your hand tangled in his hair, and to your surprise, that only spurred him on, one hand slipping round your back so that he could lean you over the table, the new angle making you see stars.
You clung to each other, hardly making a sound other than soft sighs of relief and broken, shaky moans.
Mordecai was a complete mess, but he was doing so well, pulling you against him again and again, chasing the feeling only you could give him. He gazed at you like he couldnât believe you were real, as if you might blink out of existence at any moment. Under different circumstances, you mightâve poked fun at him about how silly he looked, but the idea of teasing him right now was heartbreaking.Â
Both of your arms moved to wrap around his neck, keeping him close as you drove each other close to the edge. Neither of you were going to last much longer, you knew it, you thought Mordecai could feel it, too.
You wanted to ask how he doing, but couldnât manage much more than his name between broken moans, just as heâd wanted. It was more physical contact than Mordecai had ever known, and while you were honoured that heâd trusted you with it, you couldnât help worrying it might be too much.
But then Mordecai slipped one hand round so that he could grip the base of your tail between his middle and ring finger, the other slipping under your thigh to angle your hips just that little bit higher, and you knew heâd found a way to make the maths make sense to him.
âIâve missed youâŠâÂ
You hadnât meant to let it slip, youâd just been thinking it, and your pleasure-soaked mind had confessed. It wasnât a power you ever wanted to give Mordecai, you didnât want to let him know just how much he hurt you when you left.
But he nodded, his forehead bumping against yours.
âIâve missed you, too. Iâm sorry, Iâm sorryâŠâ
It caused his glasses to fall off his nose and land in your lap. You laughed softly and put them on the table behind you, before wrapping your arm back around his neck.Â
You didnât think youâd ever see the day when Moredeai apologised to you. It sent a shiver through you, a thrill you didnât quite understand. He was completely yours in this moment, drunk on a pleasure heâd never tasted before. He was yours.
âIâŠâ Your own gasp cut you off as he sank his teeth into your neck, retaliation for earlier. âI think I loâŠâ
You caught yourself. It was too much. It was the wrong time. It was too painful.
You turned your face into his neck, mouthing your confession into his skin instead, where it would be safe.Â
Mordecai moaned, really, truly moaned, right by your ear, and pulled back to press his forehead against yours again. Without his glasses, his eyes were wide and unfocused, though that couldâve been from how hard and fast he was rocking his hips into you.Â
You kept his forehead pressed against yours as the tension in your abdomen reached its peak, like a rubber band, about to snap.
âMordecai, donât stop, donât stop-â
You rutted against him, chasing your release as your eyes squeezed shut, mouth hanging open in pure, unabashed pleasure.
With one more perfectly angled thrust, Mordecai hit that perfect spot inside you. You gasped his name, back arching as you clenched around him.
Immediately, his mouth was on yours again, swallowing your moans so that they mixed with his own, sweeter than any cocktail and richer than the darkest rum.
Mordecai felt your tongue press against his and abruptly lost all control of his senses, and though he was ashamed to admit it, kissing you was enough to push him over the edge.
âDarling, IâmâŠâ
You were faintly aware of Mordecai trying to warn you, but you were still in a haze. Instinctively, you dug your heels into the backs of his thighs, keeping him close as he fell.
Mordecai cried out, eyes squeezed shut, panting and groaning into your mouth before you pulled him in to kiss you again, just wanting him as close as possible, never wanting him to leave you again.
He all but collapsed on top of you, his energy spent.
You only just managed to shoot out a hand to keep yourself upright as your chests swelled and sank together, the only sounds in your little apartment your twin shaky sighs and keening groans, bodies trembling and hearts full.
Mordecai was still for a moment, his eyes still closed and his face pressed into the crook of your neck.
Still coming down, you pushed your fingers through his hair and half-heartedly attempted to fix it for him so that he wouldnât have to stress about it later.
Together, you just existed in the moment, neither of you aware of how much time had passed, and neither of you even remotely interested in moving.Â
Finally, you had to sit up, the stretch in your back beginning to grow uncomfortable, but you kept your legs around his hips, keeping him close to you.
It gave Mordecai just enough clarity to get part of his brain working again, the part youâd managed to silence for just a little while.
âYouâll need to tell me all Lackadaisyâs moves in advance.â He spoke the words against your neck, hushed and hurried. âI can orchestrate things from my side. I can make sure that youâre never in any danger. I can warn you, maybe even help you, I just-â
âI canât do that, Mort. Theyâre my family.âÂ
You kept stroking his hair, just listening to Mordecai overthink and wind himself back up again. No, you couldn't have that, not tonight.
âHey.â You slipped your fingers under his jaw and lifted his head so that you could look him in the eye. âTomorrow. Weâll think of something tomorrow. Thereâs an answer, Mort. We just have to find it. Tonight, just stop. Stop thinking, just⊠Stay⊠StayâŠâÂ
Between each whispered imploration, you pressed kisses across Mordecaiâs brow until he had relaxed in your arms again.
âAlright,â he murmured, eyes closed. âAlright, Iâll stay. Iâll stay.â
With a discontented sort of grunt, Mordecai moved away. His expression soured as reality set back in. Youâd been a nice distraction, a very nice distraction, but now his brain was functioning again, he felt sweaty and tired and gross.
You kissed his cheek, able to read his mind like todayâs newspaper.
âYou wanna get in the shower?â
Mordecai blinked at you. He looked sleepy, like the day was finally catching up with him.Â
âWould that be alright?â
You handed back his glasses after cleaning them on your dress and watched, smiling fondly, as he set them back to rest on the end of his nose.
âYou want me to come with you?â
Slowly, Mordecai nodded.
You stood with your back to him in the shower, thinking he might appreciate some privacy. As you let the hot water soothe your aching muscles, you closed your eyes, allowing the evening to seep over you.Â
Close to drifting off, you thought you might be imagining it when Mordecaiâs chest pressed against your back, but then you felt him rest his chin on your shoulder.
âThank you,â he whispered.
You smiled as you reached up to run your fingers through his hair.
âNothing to thank me for, Mort.â
He followed you to bed as awkwardly as he had that first night. As you got comfortable, he stood to the side, looking lost and small in just his vest and his underwear.Â
Only when he was sure that you were comfortable did he slowly slip under the covers, placing his glasses on the bedside table as he went. Every movement was slow and measured, rehearsed and precise.Â
You closed your eyes and tried not to react when you felt Mordecai rest his head on your chest. You didnât want to make him feel self-conscious, not now, not after heâd given you everything.
His arm came to rest across your middle, his fingers tucked under your side. So that night wasnât a fluke. That was just how he was when he felt safe.Â
Mordecaiâs body was so warm against yours, it wasnât long before you drifted off, your fingers rubbing slow, soothing circles between his ears. You just about managed to whisper âgoodnightâ to him before you slipped away, mouthing the words into his hair.Â
It took Mordecai a little longer to drift off. He felt unnaturally content, like the tinnitus whistle of his worries had finally ceased. Something had shifted. Something had changed. For the better, he hoped, and for a while, at least.Â
He buried his face in your warm chest, breathing in your sweet-smelling coconut shampoo, and the scent of you, the scent youâd left on his clothes, his fur, and worst of all, your handkerchief, still tucked away in a drawer at home. Heâd missed it. Heâd missed you. His one regret.Â
Mordecai waited until he was sure you were asleep, ears pricked and honed in on the tick tick tick of the clock on your bedside table. He wasnât sure how long he laid there, silent and still, but he had to be certain.
At last, Mordecai turned his head inward and mouthed the words âI love you tooâ against your chest, right over where your heart was beating.Â
He had so many secrets, what was one more?Â
//
Master List
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