#and you'll like this brick of a chapter!

[tothelasthoursofmylife]

“There was someone in the woods.”

 Countryside, England, United Kingdom – February 1846

 ~Cloudia~

 Cloudia opened her eyes and saw the slate grey sky high above and gnarly treetops at the edges of her vision. It took her a moment to recall how had she ended up here: the hunt, the frightened horse, the fall.

Alarmed, Cloudia sat up and inspected her head. She had landed hard on the ground but she felt fine; the sudden movement had neither made her dizzy nor did she even have a headache. And when she touched the back of her head, her fingers came away wet, not from blood but from water. Cloudia stared at her hand.

  I had expected a broken bone, maybe two, or, at least, a concussion or sprain, but I was thrown off a horse and my greatest misfortune was falling into a puddle – not even face-first! It must be my lucky day.

  “How do you feel, Lady Phantomhive?” asked an oddly familiar voice, and Cloudia froze. She had not noticed that someone else was with her. She looked up from her hand and stared at Milton Salisbury. He was dressed all in black, and the colour washed him out and gave him a deathly pallor; he looked as if he was here to lead her to the underworld. There was no need, of course, and Milton simply knelt next to her, worry etched into his hazel eyes and a bag next to him on the ground. Still, she could not stop that image from appearing in her mind.

“I’m fine. Thanks,” Cloudia said.

Milton smiled and although it was only a faint smile, it was full of warmth, and Cloudia relaxed a little when she saw it. He was certainly not Death despite his appearance. “I’m glad to hear that,” Milton said softly. “I saw Domino without you, and I quickly restrained him and went to look for you. He never dismounts people without a reason and is not easily spooked; I feared something terrible must have occurred. Can you remember what happened?”

“Yes, but I don’t know what happened exactly. He got frightened by something and then threw me off. I didn’t see what scared him. I…” Cloudia replied before she halted and her eyes widened. “Did you call me ‘Lady Phantomhive’?”

Milton’s smile became strained, and he gazed bashfully down while Cloudia checked her hair. The wig was still in place at least. As her brain worked to find out how he had figured it out, she remembered the odd, lingering look he had given her in the parlour right after spotting her. “You knew all along who I am, didn’t you?” asked Cloudia.

Milton took a deep breath and raised his head. “I did.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How?”

“I’ve met you and your cousin at the Layton Gallery’s reception,” Milton said, his voice still soft and sincere. “And I never forget a face.” He clutched his hands together. “It is a wonderful disguise, I have to say, Lady Phantomhive. You played the part well too. Most would be fooled. However, your and your cousin’s faces are very distinct to me. You don’t even have the exact same eyes; yours are very faintly green. The green is barely noticeable because the blue is so dark and vivid but it is there.”

Cloudia frowned. “I didn’t even notice the flecks of green until I was staring very intently at my face one day.”

Milton blushed. “The light must have caught your eyes in the right angle at the gallery, and my mind always latches on other people’s faces…” He exhaled and tightened the grip on his hands. “Most of the time, I don’t even consciously notice such details at first. You and your cousin stood next to each other at the reception; I suppose it was easier for me to register the difference like that. When I saw you inside, it took me a second to understand why I instantly knew you were you and not your cousin.”

“It is fine,” Cloudia reassured him and then considered him with a raised eyebrow. Something had felt off about Milton ever since she had first met him; even now, she could not quite place what exactly was “off” about him, but she was determined to find out. “If you knew I’m not Keegan, why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Why should I?” Milton replied, surprising her. “I may have unintentionally uncovered your secret, Lady Phantomhive, but it is still yours. My knowledge of it does not give me the right to tell it to others and expose you. Another person’s secret is not mine to share.”

Cloudia smiled at him. From what she knew about secrets from Cecelia, they were best wielded like knives, not quietly kept. “You don’t even want to know why?”

“I don’t want to pry,” said Milton. “From what I know about Keegan Morrow, however, I suppose he did not want to come, and you went in his stead.”

Cloudia chuckled. “That’s it, exactly. It really is that obvious when you know, isn’t it?” She shook her head and then grabbed a strand of the false red-blond hair. “I guess, I could have come as myself, but men become so stiff and annoying when a female hunter rides amongst them even if it is not something extraordinary. Also, Bentley specifically invited Keegan because of his tracking skills, not because you needed another member for the hunting party. I doubt they would have been welcoming if they had known about the change from the start.”

Cloudia looked at Milton, waited for him to reply, but he had suddenly become very quiet; she wondered what she had said wrong. When it became clear that he did not want to say anything right now, Cloudia stood up and brushed the dirt off her clothes. She flexed her joints and checked once again if she was bruised somewhere or had sprained something by running her hands over her body but she was perfectly fine.

  That had truly been a lucky fall.

  Cloudia gazed back up and saw Milton taking his jacket from the ground and shaking it out. She hadn’t even noticed that he had folded it up and used it as a cushion for her. The fall might not have rattled her body but it had certainly shaken up her mind so that she kept overlooking such obvious things.

“Is the hunt over yet?” Cloudia asked.

Milton shook his head.

She put her hands on her hips. “Well, as I’m all right, would you mind leading me to Domino? I have a hunt to win after all.”

“If that’s what you want, I will help you,” Milton said and stood up but did not put on his jacket yet; instead, he let it hang loosely from his left hand and picked up his bag. “Domino is quite a bit away. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring him here.”

“It’s not your fault animals don’t like you,” Cloudia assured him. “That you managed to bind him to a tree is already enough.”

The ghost of a smile flickered over Milton’s face right before he turned to go; Cloudia almost missed it. She was about to follow him when he suddenly halted and looked around. A moment later, she heard wood cracking and steps in the distance. If it had been anyone from the Disaster Trio, he would have had his horse with him, but the steps were not accompanied by the sounds of hooves.

  “Mary Louise has seen the bandits vanish into the direction where the Beaumont and Croft estates are.”

Could it be…?

  Cloudia hurried towards Milton. “We should go,” she said and reached for his right hand. Her fingers only brushed the wet hem of his shirt though because Milton flinched and recoiled as soon as she came too close. With her hand still hovering in the empty space where his had been a second ago, Cloudia blinked at him.

“I’m sorry, Lady Phantomhive. I…” Milton breathed while he shrugged on his jacket and wrapped his arms around himself. He held his bag tight. “I must have startled you.”

“Not at all,” Cloudia said and let her hand sink. “It’s my fault for taking your hand without asking first. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. In his black clothes and with his arms around himself, Milton looked so very frail and vulnerable like a child lost in an unknown place, and Cloudia wondered yet again why he was here. Bentley, Beaumont, and Flanagan were seemingly his friends – though she wondered how they knew one another as they were not even the same age; Milton looked several years younger than them – and Milton experienced in hunts, but a hunt did not appear to be the right place for him to be right now. Cloudia opened her mouth to ask him that question when she spotted a shadow between the trees – right behind where Milton was standing.

“Milton,” Cloudia called out and reached for his arm – damned it was; this was an emergency – right when a shot rang through the air.

  ***

 Nanteuil-la-Forêt, Marne, France – June 1848

  ~Cedric~

 June 22

Just after midnight

 Cedric thought, while he was getting dragged through the château, that if he were to die now of hunger, exhaustion, and sleep-deprivation, he would not mind much. His last death had been thoroughly unpleasant, he had been all alone, and –

He quickly banished that memory to the deepest corners of his mind before the biting cold of that day could run out of the recollection and take hold of him again, drag him back down into the dark. Now, Cedric was warm and he was not alone. He squeezed Cloudia’s hand and he was thankful that she walked ahead of him and could not see him smiling.

A while later, they arrived in the kitchen. Cedric could not tell how long it had taken them but he knew that the time had undoubtedly been too short when Cloudia sat him down on a chair and let go of his hand to rummage in the cupboards. He curled his hand, the feeling of her skin still lingered on his, and he forced himself to stay awake and watch her. Cloudia was doing something, and he wanted to spectate; she intended to say something, and he wanted to listen. She was here, and he wanted to be awake to have the most of her.

  And this very thought startled me awake.

Like pushing my head into icy water but pulling myself back. A mind once clouded, now clear.

My heart beat faster in my chest with knowledge and with fear.

  Cloudia found a kettle, filled it with water, and put it on a stove. While the water boiled, she procured a chopping board, some bread, and various other food items: lettuce and tomatoes, cheese and cucumbers. “I’m going to make you some tea and sandwiches. I’m sorry; we don’t have time for anything more,” said Cloudia and began to slice the bread. Cedric nodded blissfully.

“How was meeting the Clockmaker?” she asked and went on to cut the tomatoes. She was frighteningly fast at this.

“Good. Jacques is the worst walking partner and Florentin irritating but it was… good,” Cedric replied, doing his best to make his voice sound normal and not deranged.

“His name is Florentin?” She had now moved on to the cucumbers.

“Yes. Florentin Chastain.”

“Did you warn him? Do you think he will be able to keep himself safe from Townsend?”

“Absolutely.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“Because he is like me.”

The knife got stuck in the board, and the kettle cried in the back. Cloudia hurried to take it off the stove and then stared at Cedric. “He is like you? Do you mean the Clockmaker is a…?”

“A Grim Reaper, yes,” said Cedric. Talking normally and getting the right words out instead of the wrong, damning ones was surprisingly easy even though he was currently running on wistful adrenaline and would likely fold in on himself the instant it faded away. Apparently, he still had enough sense of self-preservation. “I was very surprised too,” continued Cedric. The words flowed out of him. “He is a very old Grim Reaper who left the Dispatch a long time ago. Florentin said some people have a special ‘affinity’ to us, and the Marquis is one of them. One day, he found him, and Florentin begrudgingly became his friend.”

Cloudia nodded at his words while finishing the tea and handing him a cup and the first-finished sandwich. Cedric gratefully took both, though a little jolt ran through him when their hands briefly touched. It seemed he didn’t have this part fully under control yet. At least, she didn’t seem to have noticed.

“I talked to Aurèle about Anaïs and her faeries,” Cloudia told him and assembled the next sandwich. Cedric bit into the first one and nearly cried when he sunk his teeth into the soft bread, felt the crunch of the lettuce and cucumbers, tasted the juiciness of the tomatoes and the savouriness of the cheese. Never had a sandwich tasted better; Cedric didn’t know if it was because he had barely eaten anything yesterday or because Cloudia had made it.

“He said that the Marquis can see ‘invisible things’ too,” Cloudia resumed and then hesitated. “Anaïs calls Milton a ‘faerie,’” she said slowly. “For the Marquis, the ‘invisible things’ he sees are apparently Grim Reapers, but Milton is most definitely human – what if while Anaïs sees ‘invisible things’ too, she can see something else than what the Marquis does? It does not necessarily have to be actual faeries. Undertaker, did you notice anything ‘strange’ about Milton? Did he feel in any way ‘odd’ to you?”

Cedric shook his head. “He’s human,” he said and took the second sandwich Cloudia handed him. He had already obliterated the first. “But…” Cedric grimaced. “But my conversation with Florentin showed me that there are many things about my own world that I don’t know.” He hesitated before he continued. “How about you, Countess? Did you ever notice anything ‘odd’ about Milton?’

Cloudia craned her head to Cedric and frowned. “Why should I have noticed anything otherworldly about Milton?”

“Because… because Florentin told me the Phantomhives also have this affinity ‘to a certain extent.’ You’ve known Milton for years; did you never detect any supernatural strangeness coming from him?”

She turned back to the chopping board. “No,” Cloudia said after a while. “From the moment I met him, I did feel something was off about Milton, but it’s something mundane as I found out.”

Cedric blinked at her. He wished she would continue, wished he could see her face. However, she simply continued with the third sandwich, and he decided to let the matter go – for now. One day Cloudia would tell him about her history with Milton; he was sure of it. He only needed to be patient.

“We could try to get Milton to the workshop,” suggested Cedric. “He would love it there and I doubt we could ever get Florentin to the château. That man is a hermit.”

“We could try that,” said Cloudia, and Cedric beamed. “We need to talk more about this later when we have the time. Now we need to focus on the Nanteuil-la-Forêt murders.”

“Right, you said you’ve solved the mystery,” Cedric replied and took another bite of his sandwich. It was so heavenly; if he had to choose a food to eat for the rest of his life, he would choose Cloudia’s sandwiches.

Cloudia glanced at him and grinned. Cedric ate his sandwich a bit faster. “I did solve it,” she declared proudly. “I’m not going to tell you the solution immediately because I need to check some things first.” She put the third and fourth finished sandwiches on a plate before she quickly put everything back and cleaned the knife and the board.

“I will tell you one thing though – and ask you something too,” Cloudia said when she was done. She leaned against the counter and looked at Cedric who was finishing his third sandwich. “Nothing that happened is a coincidence,” Cloudia began. “And if you despaired or longed until you nearly broke apart and still no one in the light answered, what would you do if someone from the dark were to come to you and promise you everything you have been wishing for? Would you agree, no matter the cost?”

Cedric’s eyes widened. “Countess, you cannot mean someone in that village made a deal with a devil…”

“Oh, I do.” Cloudia pushed herself away from the counter and walked to the door.

Cedric stood up and stared at her. “Countess, I would have noticed if there was a devil in Nanteuil-la-Forêt…”

She turned to him and smiled. “No, you are mistaken, Undertaker. ‘Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.’ Now, pack up the last sandwich and come – we need to prevent a murder.”

  ***

 ~Cloudia~

 June 22

About 1:00

 Cloudia bound the horse to a tree. Like when she had come to Nanteuil-la-Forêt with Kamden, she had got a horse and a wagon in which Cedric could rest. He had been strangely cheerful during the entire ride while eating his sandwich, but then, Cedric was always happy when he got to eat something, and he must have been starving considering how quickly he had eaten the previous ones in the kitchen. Now, Cedric was standing by the wagon and looking around in every direction but hers.

“I’m done, let’s go,” Cloudia announced, and his attention snapped back to her. Cedric lingered a bit by the wagon, and she could not make out his expression in the dark. Sighing, Cloudia turned around and started walking. “If you’re too tired,” she said, “you can sleep a bit in the wagon and I will get you later.”

“No, I’m fine,” Cedric replied firmly and trotted after her.

“We need to hurry, are you sure?”

“Yes,” he said even firmer, and it sounded so silly it made her chuckle. “Also, how do you plan to prevent the next murder, Countess?”

“I know who the next victim will be,” said Cloudia and walked faster. She heard Cedric trying to catch up with her.

“And who?” Cedric asked between two heavy breaths.

“Corentin Tonnelier.”

“I have absolutely no idea who that is.”

“The farmer.”

“That doesn’t make this better! Why can’t you just tell me what’s going on?”

“Because I currently only have a theory,” Cloudia told him. “A water-tight theory but I want it to be iron-clad. And for that, we need to check something first.”

“And before that, we need to try and prevent that murder,” replied Cedric.

“Exactly.”

Cloudia hurried ahead, but when she stopped hearing Cedric’s steps behind her, she frowned and turned around, wondering whether he had needed a pause and didn’t have the energy to tell or had even collapsed. She wanted to call out to him when she heard Cedric’s voice in her head.

I sense a Grim Reaper nearby.

Cloudia’s eyes widened and she touched her skull pendant necklace. This means I was too late.

This means he was fated to die today. You could not have done anything to save him. Nobody could have, Cedric answered.

Where are you? Cloudia asked.

Hiding behind some trees. I’ve seen that Grim Reaper when Jacques and I went to Florentin, and she might have seen me then too. I will stay behind until I am sure she is gone and then slowly head to the village. If I do not sense or see her in the forest or the village, I will come to you. If something happens, please call me to you.

She frowned at his words. They needed to have an in-depth talk about his journey to the Clockmaker later. Very well.

Do I need to find the farm? Where will I be able to find you? Cedric wanted to know.

The location is hard to determine as I don’t know anyone. I will tell you when I get there. Take care.

Take care came the answer, and Cloudia let go of the necklace and ran to Nanteuil-la-Forêt.

  ***

 ~Cedric~

 June 22

About 1:15

 Cedric slumped against a tree after ending his conversation with Cloudia. He hated, hated, hated the fact that he had to leave her alone even if he knew he had no choice. The female Grim Reaper could not find him, not alone and most definitely not with Cloudia.

Cedric sighed. The next moment he was tackled to the ground.

He struggled against his assailant but their grip on his shoulders was firm, and when he looked up and into their face, he stopped, sucking in his breath.

Long black hair in a braid. Tanned skin.

Dark-rimmed glasses.

Chartreuse eyes.

It was her, the female Grim Reaper.

She smiled broadly and said “hello” and something else in French.

“I’m sorry but I have no idea what you’re saying,” Cedric replied. He kicked against her with both his feet and all his remaining strength. She lost her grip on him and staggered back, yelling out in surprise. Cedric was about to stand up when he spotted what he assumed to be her Death Scythe on the ground. She went to take it, and he kicked her back again. He quickly grabbed the Scythe, jumped to his feet, and brought some distance between them.

“What do you want from me?” Cedric asked, holding the Death Scythe in front of him like a shield. “And is this a leaf blower? How can you even cut anything with that?”

“It is a blower vac,” the woman replied annoyed in accented English. “Leaf blowers simply propel air out of a nozzle; blower vacs can also suck in air and have metal blades inside them. My Death Scythe sucks in Cinematic Records and cuts them with the blade inside.”

Cedric stared at her. “This thing shreds Cinematic Records? What did Cinematic Records do to you? How was this approved?” He shook his head. “No, before you become horrifically bureaucratic in your retelling of how you managed to get your Scythe modified like that, you need to answer my first question: What do you want from me?”

“I want to find out why some foreign Reaper has been wandering around this forest,” the woman said and narrowed her eyes. “I noticed you yesterday when you were close to my glade, and now here you are again.”

  Damn. When I had put so much effort into my glade phobia lie.

  “You could have approached me normally and asked!” Cedric replied. “There was no need to tackle me. Do you have no manners? What is your name?”

She crossed her arms and raised her chin. “Anastasie Faucher,” she said. “What is yours?”

“Edmund Oxley,” Cedric said without thinking. Before he and Cloudia had left the house, they had got changed – especially in his case, this had been essential. Cloudia had also quickly braided and pinned up his hair so that he could conceal it under a cap. Cedric had given his best not to grin like an idiot while she had run her fingers through his hair – just like he was doing his best not to grin at the memory now. The cap had thankfully not fallen off when Anastasie had attacked him, and with his conspicuous hair covered, Cedric hoped the lie would not fall apart that easily. “I was sent here for a special mission.”

“And this mission entails…?” asked Anastasie.

“It is a special and highly classified mission,” Cedric added. “Unless you manage to get special clearance from both your branch and mine, I cannot tell you anything about it.”

She tilted her head slightly and studied him through narrowed eyes. “Things have been weird in this forest and the village. This place has never seen such a string of murders, and the Nanteuillats’ behaviour is also out of the ordinary – some of them have been lurking in the forest doing something with several crates. I can see how all this could warrant a specialised investigation, but why was it entrusted to you? Someone from the British branch?”

Cedric shrugged. “I apologise, Miss Faucher, but if I were to tell you anything the brass would eat me alive. How do you think they like their steaks? I hope they eat me well-done.”

Anastasie stared at him. “What kind of an idiot are you?”

“One with special clearance.” Cedric waved the blower vac about. “Now, I will return your highly questionable Death Scythe and we will part ways. I wish you the best, Miss Faucher,” he said and handed her the Scythe.

Anastasie took it and held it tight. “Good luck on your… special mission, Mr Oxley,” she said and then vanished, presumably to her tent on the glade.

Cedric sighed and rubbed his forehead. What a bothersome ordeal this had been, though Anastasie had given him a very interesting piece of information; he could not wait to tell Cloudia. As if on cue, Cloudia spoke to him through the skull necklace: Find me by the townhall. Cedric straightened up when he heard her message. He was about to blindly walk to Nanteuil-la-Forêt when he got his senses back.

He looked around. He could neither see nor sense Anastasie anywhere, but he was not sure if she believed his story or not; she could watch him from somewhere outside his radius. Cedric inspected his surroundings one more time before he teleported.

  ***

 ~Cloudia~

 June 22

About 1:30

 The village was quiet when Cloudia arrived, but somewhere there was a dead body to be found. If it had not been found already. She had figured out how the victims were chosen. However, as Cloudia had told Cedric, it was not easy to determine the location of the crime. Where could Corentin be? She had not even had the chance to interrogate him about Ruben’s death, and all she knew about him from Aurèle was that he was a farmer and apparently very grumpy.

  Corentin also liked to complain. Did he only complain about his inept employee or did he complain a lot in general?

It was time to make a guess and hope for the best.

  Cloudia took a deep breath and then hurried into the direction of the townhall. The streets were eerily quiet as she ran along them. The houses were dark, not a single candle on a windowsill in sight. No soul to be seen outside. It felt like walking through a ghost town.

But the windows of the townhall were brightly lit.

Cloudia grinned when she skittered to a halt one street away from the townhall. She straightened her clothes and walked in only a slight hurry to the building. The door had been left ajar, and when Cloudia looked inside, there was no one to be seen. She rounded the townhall and eventually found Yvette, Alain, and Mathieu behind it; a frightened-looking Hector was with them. Cloudia let her gaze wander over the scene from afar. Corentin had, apparently, not been hanged from the roof like Dominique or been nailed to the façade. The others must be standing right around his corpse.

“There you are,” Cloudia said when she approached them, and everyone looked up and craned their heads to her; Hector flinched. “I decided to patrol the village and when I saw the townhall alight, I came here.”

Mathieu nodded and narrowed his eyes. His head was slowly adopting the same colour as the flame in Alain’s lantern. “Where is the detective? This is the sixth corpse already!”

Cloudia wanted to grind her teeth together but smiled instead. “He is on his way, though he has been delayed. Vidocq sent me ahead, so please treat me as if I were him.” She knelt and scrutinised the body – middle-aged and wearing dirty farmer’s clothes; it must be Corentin Tonnelier, indeed. The victim’s eyes and mouth were wide open as if he had screamed or attempted to before he was killed. There had been no sign on the others having even tried to make a sound.

Corentin’s attempt had been futile though. Not because no one had heard him and come to his rescue but because the culprit had ripped out his oesophagus.

Cloudia put on gloves as she asked, “Who is that? Who found him and when?”

“The victim’s name is Corentin Tonnelier,” said Alain, and Cloudia grinned internally. “He works as a farmer. Élève Officier Monteil” – Hector flinched and quickly straightened again when he heard his name – “found his body about thirty minutes ago when he was patrolling the village. He immediately informed us at the townhall. Mayor Guilloux, his daughter, and I have been staying there since the beginning of the murders, and we quickly followed Élève Officier Monteil to the garden. Then you arrived.”

Cloudia nodded and did a brief cursory search of Corentin before she pocketed her gloves again and stood up. “I wished I had been a bit earlier,” she remarked. “I came as fast as I could and it was still not enough; I apologise for that.” Cloudia touched her necklace, and she hoped it looked like a sorrowful gesture. Find me by the townhall, she told Cedric and then let her hand fall to the side. She turned to Alain. “Please be so kind and get the body transported to the hospital, M Descombes. Détective Vidocq will arrive soon, and we would like to examine not only M Tonnelier’s body in the deadhouse but all the other victims as well. Although I and my colleague Grégoire Fouille sent Vidocq detailed reports, he still wants to see the bodies himself too.”

Alain bowed his head. “I will arrange this at once,” he said and went inside the building. Cloudia turned to Mathieu and Yvette. “Again, I want to apologise that we have not come far yet, though we do our best. Please retreat for the night; we will call for you if we need your help.”

Mathieu harrumphed. “Very well, M Gauthier. Yvette, let us go and leave them to do their work for once,” he said and walked to the townhall with no other word. Yvette followed him with a moment’s hesitation; if her father had said nothing, she likely would have wanted to stay. For the first time, Cloudia was thankful to Mathieu. At the same time as father and daughter entered the townhall, Alain and two other clerks emerged from it. They brought something to carry the body on. Carefully, they lifted Corentin on the cloth and then moved him to the hospital. Cloudia gazed after them for a while before she directed her attention to Hector.

“Élève Officier Monteil,” she said, and Hector flinched again. “You seem very upset, and I do not want to bother you for long but what can you tell me about when you discovered the body?”

Hector swallowed and then nodded. “I will tell you all I know,” he replied, his voice shaking. “But it’s not much. I… I’ve been patrolling Nanteuil-la-Forêt all alone. I started with the curfew’s beginning at ten o’clock and then slowly walked through the village. I found M Tonnelier at the end of my first round. He’s the only… person I have seen all night. I informed everyone at the townhall straightaway. That’s all. I’ve been with the corpse all the time expect for the one or two minutes when I knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer.”

“You only had to wait about two minutes?”

Hector nodded again. “Yes. I looked at my pocket watch and to where the body was lying while I waited.”

Cloudia smiled. “Thank you, Officier Monteil.” Right afterwards, she spotted a figure hurrying towards them. Even from afar and in the dim moonlight, Cloudia could see Cedric’s striking chartreuse eyes and the light glinting on his glasses.

Breathing heavily, Cedric arrived by her side. He put his hands on his thighs and gasped for air. “Officier Monteil,” said Cloudia. “This is Détective Vidocq. He is currently unable to talk to you but there is no need anyway. Please return to the barracks and if they are too far and you cannot go there yet in your state, stay in the townhall. We will take care of everything. Do not fret.”

Hector nodded stiffly. “Good luck – and thanks,” he said before he went to the townhall. Cloudia touched Cedric’s arm and stepped a bit closer to whisper to him in English: “It’s time for us to go to the deadhouse.”

  ***

 June 22

About 2:10

 Cedric slumped with a sigh into one of the chairs. Laurent and his colleagues had finally brought in all six bodies to the deadhouse, placed them in order, provided two chairs, and left them alone in the deadhouse. The six tables in a row had filled the capacity of the room, and there were only very narrow passages between them. One more body and nobody could walk in the deadhouse anymore. Corentin was the last one though; Cloudia would make sure of it.

“Countess,” Cedric cried. “My feet and legs are killing me. Please be quick: Why are we squeezed into this dinghy room with a bunch of corpses?”

“They are the victims in this case,” explained Cloudia and glanced over the six bodies which were all covered by white clothes. “Nadia Allemand, Dominique Duhamel, Gustave Beaubois, Marius Beaubois, Ruben Fournier, and Corentin Tonnelier. I told you Corentin would be the next one and I was right.”

“Good for you, Countess, but you still haven’t told me how you knew he would be the next one. Is it finally ‘later’?”

“Yes.”

“Or do I…” Cedric stared at her. “Did you say yes?”

“Yes, my tired Reaper, I did,” Cloudia said, smiling. “But I need you to confirm my theory first.” She took a deep breath. “It is time for your method, Undertaker.”

She wouldn’t have thought it possible but his eyes widened a bit more. “But, Countess, you hate my method! You say it’s ‘lazy.’”

“Yes, I do, but we have spent far too much time in this place, and there is no other way of finding evidence for confirmation and we need to wrap up this matter now,” replied Cloudia. “We are in a hurry and I don’t like what’s happening here. This has to end now; Corentin needs to be the last. Please could you check the victims’ Cinematic Records for me? Only the part when they were killed.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to tell me before I look into their Cinematic Records what your theory is?” asked Cedric. “I don’t know what to look for otherwise after all.”

She shook her head. “No, when you view their Records, you will instantly know what I’m looking for. Trust me.”

Cedric took a deep breath and stood up. “Very well, Countess. I don’t ever want to hear a single negative word about my method again though. It is a very good method and saves us a lot of time and energy.”

“We could start using it for emergencies only,” she said. “As we do now. I’m not going to become lenient because we are overusing your method.”

“It would take a lot more effort than using my method a few times to turn you lenient, Countess,” retorted Cedric with a smile and then retrieved his Death Scythe. It was always a wondrous sight: The Scythe came out of nowhere, slipping through a crack between worlds and space right into his hand with a flourish. Even in the narrow deadhouse with the pallid light, Cloudia could not help but stare in awe as the Death Scythe appeared and the blade and the skeleton’s bones reflected the light.

Cloudia kept her eyes on Cedric and the Scythe as he approached Nadia’s corpse. Carefully, he cut the body and looked at something she could not see. He had explained to her once that when he cut people with his Death Scythe, their lives would emerge from them in the form of film strips. They were like a long row of daguerreotypes, Cedric had told her, but Cloudia still wondered what they looked like exactly. She wished she could see Cinematic Records; at least she could see Cedric’s reactions to them, and right before he finished with Nadia and went to Dominique, he frowned. The frown deepened with every body and when he was done with all six, Cedric gazed at her, his eyes wide with confusion, and Cloudia knew she had been right.

With a grin on her face, she began to explain.

  ***

 June 22

About 3:20

 The sun was slowly creeping out of its sleeping chamber and into the sky as Cloudia and Cedric drove on the horse-driven wagon back to the château. Cloudia yawned and dug her fingernails into her palms to keep herself awake. Only a little bit more and she could return to her room and fall into her bed. After she had told Cedric her deduction, they quickly ended their “inspection” of the bodies and said their goodbyes. It had been a long day and night for both of them, and though Cedric did his best to report to Cloudia about his wandering with Jacques and the attack by and fantastic escape from a wild boar trying to protect her offspring, every other word was slurred by sleep and fatigue. While Cloudia wanted nothing more than to wrap up the case now, storm into a building and announce her findings, she knew it was an impossibility in their current state.

When Cloudia and Cedric finally arrived at the château, the building lit up by the mild morning sun, there were no servants who could help them with the wagon and the horse. With the last of their strengths, Cloudia and Cedric sorted out everything on their own and lead-footedly heaved themselves to their rooms. They were close together, and when it was time for them to part ways, Cloudia wished Cedric a good sleep. She wanted to turn around but he surprisingly took her arm. She looked at him, scrutinised him through tired eyes. Her mind was too exhausted to make anything out of his behaviour or the expression on his face.

“Countess,” Cedric began. Despite his exhaustion, he still said the word definitely and firmly. “I… I…”

Cloudia smiled weakly and patted his arm. “Undertaker,” she whispered. “It can…”

“It can wait until later, I know,” he said and sighed. “I hate this.”

She wanted to close her eyes but knew she might fall asleep here and now if she did. “I know.”

Cedric sighed again before he let go of her arm. Instead, he took her hand and looked at her, his green eyes steady and awake despite the dark rings under them. “Sleep well, Countess,” he whispered and squeezed her hand.

“Sleep well, Undertaker,” Cloudia returned and squeezed his hand too.

They stood there for a moment longer, hand in hand, looking at each other, before they finally separated and went to bed.

  ***

 ~Cedric~

 June 22

About 11:15

 I slept without dreaming. When I woke up hours later, I was rested but it did not feel like any time had passed at all. In one moment, I had fallen into my bed still dressed as “Alexandre Vidocq”; in the next, the bright midday sun was pushing against the thick curtains. I had even woken up in the exact same position I had fallen asleep in. I usually moved around a lot in my sleep. This time, I must have been too exhausted.

Today was to be the last day we would occupy ourselves with the Nanteuil-la-Forêt murders. After everything was wrapped up, we would finally hunt down Nicodemus Townsend. Cloudia had said that when we were in the deadhouse.

Cloudia.

 With a jolt, I sat up straight and stared ahead.

My heart beat loudly in my chest as everything came back to me: Her and me in the kitchen. The relief, joy, and longing I had felt watching her – and the realisation that had come with it.

That I was in love with Cloudia Phantomhive.

 I leaned my head against the headboard, looked up into the canopy of my bed.

How strange it was to think that – “I was in love with Cloudia Phantomhive.” Odd words in my mind, but every word felt true and right.

How and when had this happened? I searched in my memories and I wished I could look into my own Cinematic Record to help me pinpoint a moment – even though I knew there could not have been a single one; there had not been a single one. There had been no flood, just small steady waves that shaped the shore without my knowledge. A change buried in my consciousness until the constant separation and distance had worn me thin and I could finally see the treacherous sea and what it had created.

  With a groan, Cedric let himself fall into his bed and buried himself in the sheets.

  What was I doing?

I had a long day ahead. Cloudia had to wrap up her investigation, and I had to help her. I could not stay here and hide forever.

And I could certainly not admit to her what I had finally admitted to myself. Not now because it would only take away part of her focus. Not later because what right did I have when I had been so dishonest?

To her, to me, to everyone.

After all, the reason “why” had never truly been a mystery to me; I had only wished it to be.

  There was a knock on the door. Cedric tried to wrestle himself free but the blankets were too tangled and he could not get out. Defeated, he called out to whoever was outside to come in. If it was Cloudia, he could at least die of mortification here and now and his problem would be solved. Instead of Cloudia, Newman entered though.

“Duke Kristopher,” he said. Cedric could hear him hurry to his bed; his heavy steps were still loud and clear despite Cedric’s cocooned state. “Give me a moment, Your Grace. I will free you forthwith.”

Newman pulled skilfully on the blankets and sheets. The movements made Cedric roll around a bit and before he could protest, he was already free and staring up at the butler’s friendly face. “Thank you, Alfred,” said Cedric and sat himself up while Newman provisionally folded the sheets and blankets and placed them to the side.

“You are welcome, Your Grace,” Newman replied and briefly bowed his head. “Lady Cloudia sent me to ready you for luncheon.”

Hearing her name made his heartbeat quicken, and Cedric dug his fingers into the mattress as he said, “Then, we should hurry. She does not like to be kept waiting.”

  ***

 June 22

About 11:50

 While washing myself and getting dressed, I prepared myself again and again to face Cloudia. I rinsed my hair and told myself it would be fine to see her despite my realisation. I talked to Alfred and told myself that I could converse like that with Cloudia too: normally, casually like we always did. Cloudia never had to know and everything would be fine.

I told myself all that, and by the time I said goodbye to Alfred and left my room, I believed I was ready. Nothing could go wrong; nothing would give me away.

I had been wrong.

Right when I turned around after closing the door behind me, I saw her waiting for me – and seeing her knocked the air out of my lungs. Cloudia was wearing a simple but beautiful deep blue dress that matched her eyes and made them stand out. Her hair was braided and wound like a wreath around her head. She usually wore her hair like that; she was often dressed in blue. Still, I could not help but think that she had never looked more beautiful. If I had any poems in my repertoire or if I could remember the nonsense Romeo told Juliet, I feared I would even start reciting literature.

 I had no idea I was staring at Cloudia until she raised an eyebrow and told me to come, lunch was waiting for us. I nodded and followed her to the dining room. Despite the fog in my head, I knew that this would not be easy at all.

  ***

 June 22

About 12:30

 I proved myself right, to my embarrassment. Cloudia kept trying to talk to me throughout lunch, and I could only nod as I was unable to hear a single word she said; I focused all my attention on preventing myself from staring at her. It was difficult to avoid looking at her without seeming suspicious. At least, I could stuff myself with food to excuse why I was not speaking. How convenient the torture of barely having eaten anything lately had become.

Somehow, I managed to get through lunch like that, and afterwards, we went to the kitchen to fetch some biscuits and tea which we would have while we formulated a plan. Cloudia stood by the doorsill while I – I had insisted to do this on my own, and I was rather proud of myself that I had been able to do so – rummaged through the shelves and boiled water to make tea. She continued to talk to me, and I nodded here and there because I was incapable of anything else. I wanted to hear what she was saying; I wanted to memorise all her words, but, alas, my idiotic brain could only focus on how lovely her voice sounded and not on what she was saying.

And when we finally headed to Cloudia’s room – to her room where I had been numerous times before; now the thought of going there made me feel oddly warm and nervous – I was still useless as a conversationalist.

  Having arrived in the room, Cedric set up the table. The nervosity made his movements shaky, and if he did not do everything slowly and carefully, he feared making a horrible mess. It did not help that Cloudia had already sat down and was now watching him; her gaze buried itself in him and weighed him down. When Cedric was finished, he settled into the armchair that was the farthest away from Cloudia’s seat. He took a biscuit and slowly began to eat it.

For a while, neither of them spoke a single word which made Cedric nervous but he could not do anything but take absurdly small bites of his biscuit and stare at the wall behind Cloudia.

The wall bore a pretty wallpaper, wine red with a floral pattern. Leaves and blossoms alternated on the paper, were tangled in one another. If Jacques were here, he could explain in excruciating detail which plants were depicted; on his own, Cedric could not identify a single flower, though this might also be because of the fog in his head. He was not that hopeless when it came to botany but, apparently, he had become hopeless when it came to speaking to Cloudia.

Behind him, a grandfather clock ticked steadily. The sound was usually faint, a background noise easily filtered out, but now it was loud and reverberated through the room. While Cedric listened to the clock’s steady tick tack, he remembered the grandfather clock at Florentin’s workshop and how, lately, he had come to dislike these machines…

“What is going on with you?” Cloudia asked suddenly, making Cedric jump in his seat.

“Hm?” he replied and kept nibbling on his biscuit.

Narrowing her eyes, Cloudia stood up and strode to him. “You’ve been behaving very oddly since lunch and you’re going to tell me why,” she said, grabbing his biscuit with one hand and pushing away the plate with the other. “I’m not going to sit around and tolerate this nonsense. Not on any other day, and definitely not today.” Cloudia crossed her arms and scowled down at Cedric. “Please enlighten me: Why are you so quiet and dismissive?”

  Having her stare at me like that, with fury and with question, it hit me what an idiot I was. My brain must have corroded with my self-admission. What was I even doing? Staring at her like a lovesick fool and ignoring her? This was Cloudia. Beautiful, lovely, intelligent Cloudia who I had been aching to spend some time with for days because I could not imagine any better pastime than to be with her. I had felt the same for her yesterday as I did today, as I would tomorrow and forever. Nothing had changed in its fundaments.

How could even part of me dare to upset everything? To upset her?

 And with a pang, I realised the same must have happened to her before. I did not know what had happened two years ago but from what Cecelia had told me, Cloudia and Milton must have been friends until he proposed to her without making sure that it would not deteriorate their existing relationship. It had, and now, while they were cordial, a certain awkwardness always hung between them. One wrong step and nothing had been the same again.

I had no right to confess; I would not do what he had done.

But I had started to withdraw.

Just like he had.

How could I make her go through that again?

  Cedric looked up at Cloudia, keeping his gaze steady on hers. “I’m sorry,” he said firmly. “I shouldn’t have ignored you. It is just that I… that I am a bit embarrassed about something and I didn’t know how to tell you about it.”

Cloudia raised an eyebrow. “Embarrassed about what?”

“Yesterday…” he started before he caught himself. “This morning, when we went down to Nanteuil-la-Forêt, I told you there’s another Grim Reaper nearby and we separated.” Cedric gulped; he hoped covering one mortifying fact with another would ensure that Cloudia wouldn’t suspect there to be more to the matter. “I hid but she did not only see me, she even approached me, and I was too tired to get away on time.”

  Cloudia also did not have to know that Anastasie had been able to tackle me to the ground with no effort at all.

  Cloudia’s eyes widened in alarm. “What did she want from you? What did you tell her?”

“She wanted to know what I’m doing here as she noticed me before too. I thought I was able to avoid her without getting noticed myself but I was wrong,” Cedric said. “I told her I was on a secret mission and unable to share any details. I also gave her a false name – but not too false. If she asks around, she will find an ‘Edmund Oxley’ in the British branch. Thankfully, my hair was hidden under my cap, or my masquerade would be blown very quickly. While it’s known that I dislike Edmund, I am certainly not the only one who does. If you met him, Countess, you would know what I’m talking about; he’s a rather unpleasant fellow.”

Cloudia sighed and let her arms fall loose to her sides. “This is not ideal but as long as she does not look too closely at everything, this should do. My hands are bound in these matters anyway. I hope you knew what you were doing; you could get compromised, Undertaker,” she said. Cedric’s ears perked up a little at how she had said his name. It might be the butterflies soaring through his body but had her voice sounded a fraction softer when she had landed on his name?

  No, it must be the cerebral corrosion.

  “I did,” Cedric replied. “I promise, Countess, all will be well.”

“I hope you are right,” she said with another sigh. “I feared there would be a Grim Reaper here – how could there not be one with all those bodies? Still, I never anticipated she would find and even talk to you.”

“Rest assured, Countess, it’s going to be all right,” he repeated. “And there’s one good thing that came out of the French Reaper speaking to me.”

“And that is?”

Cedric grinned. “She was stunned that a British Grim Reaper had been sent on a secret mission but not that one had been sent at all. Apparently, the villagers have been doing something with ‘several crates’ in the forest.”

Cloudia stared at him, and Cedric could see the gears rattling in her brain. “Crates you say?” she said more to herself than to him. It took a load off Cedric’s mind to see her like that, quizzing out a solution to a problem. She was back to normal, and he hated himself for having shaken her up earlier. “We will look into this later,” Cloudia stated and turned to walk back to her seat, putting the half-eaten biscuit onto the table. Right before taking the first step towards the sofa, she craned her head back to Cedric though, and his heart started to beat faster in his chest. “This encounter with the female Grim Reaper is the only thing that was bothering you, right?”

Cedric wanted to simply nod, but he feared she would interpret his silent confirmation as him being distrustful of his own voice – and she would be correct. “Yes,” he forced himself to say, keeping his voice normal and steady. “This was everything.”

Cloudia’s eyes lingered on him for a bit longer before she walked back to her seat. “Very well. Let us start planning then.”

  ***

 ~Cloudia~

 June 22

About 15:00

 The barracks where the gendarmes stayed were at the edge of Nanteuil-la-Forêt. An odd choice if someone asked Cloudia. After all, wouldn’t a more central position be more beneficial? The officers would need about the same time to get to any corner of Nanteuil-la-Foret if their headquarters were in the village’s heart. But then, the village likely never had any major incidents that required fast responses until now.

Cloudia still thought the barracks’ placement to be poor; at least, this made it easier to talk to Hector without anyone noticing them – if Hector was there.

  Cedric and I had decided to seek out Hector first. From what we had gathered, he was not involved in the murders. Although Hector was not a very competent officer, he was nevertheless one – and we would need any help we could get to dismantle what was happening in the village.

 As we walked to the barracks, I glanced at Cedric. He had behaved very oddly after waking up, and while he had later explained himself, become normal again, and reassured me the incident with the female Grim Reaper was all that had bothered him, I still had the feeling that he was not telling me everything.

  They had walked through the forest to get to the barracks and when they finally came in sight, Cloudia stopped Cedric by taking his arm and instructed him to become invisible and quickly survey the area. They needed to be sure that Hector was there and that no one else was around who could listen to their conversation. Cedric nodded, and Cloudia noted that the movement was a little stiff, before he vanished before her eyes and presumably walked to the barracks. She looked through the woods at the barracks and the path Cedric was likely taking.

  Perhaps, saying that Cedric had become “normal” again was too generous. He had “normalised” his behaviour but flecks of strangeness still clung at the edge of all his words and movements. What could have occurred? Had something graver happened when he faced the French Grim Reaper? Or was something else entirely the cause for Cedric’s odd behaviour? I could not think of anything and it bothered me. Right now, the Cedric who was around me was not quite the one I knew and it unsettled me. The him that was not quite him. Anaïs might have called him a “changeling” if she had noticed anything off about him.

I wanted to confront Cedric about his behaviour and its cause again but he had already given me an answer. An incomplete one, but an answer nonetheless. I feared Cedric might avoid answering, avoid me, if I enquired for more. It must be rather serious that it had shaken him up so much and that he did not want to tell me.

I gritted my teeth. Whatever it was, I hoped it would pass completely soon. This was too bothersome for my liking.

  Cedric came into her view again a metre away from her. Cloudia bit back a remark; the Cedric she knew would have appeared behind her to spook her.

“Hector’s all alone in the barracks and no one else is around,” Cedric said. “We should hurry before someone comes. Hector also looks like he is about to lose it.”

Cloudia nodded. “Let’s go then.”

  Five minutes later, Cloudia and Cedric were standing in front of the barracks. Inside the forest, it had been relatively cool; now, the sun was shining brightly and intensely on Cloudia. She was glad to be wearing a cap with a rim wide enough to shield her eyes; beneath it, her hair was sticking damply to her scalp though. Cloudia knocked and heard a muffled shriek before Hector opened the door.

“Détective Vidocq, M Gauthier, how can I help you?” asked Hector. Cedric was right, he did look rather frayed. He had already looked dreadful at the townhall standing next to Corentin’s corpse; he did not seem to fare any better now: There were dark rings under Hector’s eyes which kept darting around restlessly. However, considering that neither his uniform nor his hair was dishevelled, he still seemed devoted to doing his job, even if it brought him to his limits.

Cloudia smiled. “Officier Monteil, could we come in? The detective and I have something urgent to discuss with you.”

  ***

 June 22

About 15:45

 After discussing everything with Hector, Cloudia and Cedric discreetly returned to the forest. When Cloudia thought they were far away enough from the village, she took Cedric’s arm. She was about to tell him to teleport them back to the château –

Cloudia dropped her hand and whirled around when she heard footsteps.

“Who is there?” Cloudia demanded, ready to pull out her gun if necessary.

“It’s just me, M Gauthier!” she heard a familiar voice. A moment later, Enzo Chauveau stumbled out from between some trees, his hands raised high. His eyes widened when he spotted Cedric. “And you must be Détective Vidocq! I’m so very pleased to finally meet you! I can’t believe that I met both of you here!”

Cloudia forced a smile onto her face. The “cursed house” was quite a bit away from the barracks but also at the edge of Nanteuil-la-Forêt. Apparently, Enzo and Gaspard did not only like to explore the area around their hideout but also around all of the village. An idea prickled at the back of her head, and Cloudia’s smile turned from a forced one into a genuine one. “Hello, M Chauveau,” she said politely. “I apologise for my partner not saying anything…”

“His voice! I know!” replied Enzo, grinning brightly. “I know all about you two. Well, at least, all about you the rest of the village knows too. I’ve been asking around.”

  What a surprise that Enzo had not been eliminated yet.

  Enzo turned to Cedric. “Détective Vidocq, I respect and understand why you dislike talking in front of people. And I do not need to hear your voice to know your greatness; I feel honoured enough by simply standing near you,” he told him, and Cedric nodded slowly. Cloudia was glad that he could not understand what Enzo was saying.

“The detective and I are on a secret mission. No one can know we are here,” whispered Cloudia and Enzo’s eyes began to glitter. “Could you be a little quieter?”

“Of course,” Enzo murmured back.

Cloudia smiled. “Thank you. M Chauveau, if I remember correctly, our interview was cut short yesterday.”

“Please call me ‘Enzo,’” he replied excitedly before he caught himself and added, “If you prefer that, M Gauthier.”

“Of course. Enzo, what can you tell me about your friend Dominique Duhamel?” asked Cloudia. It was not necessary anymore to enquire about this aspect of the case but she could never know what Enzo might know, and she also needed a natural start to their conversation.

“Dominique is, as you already know, the baker’s son,” said Enzo. “He, Gaspard, and I have been friends since we were little. Therefore, when he started behaving oddly before his death, I immediately noticed. Gaspard” – he rolled his eyes – “keeps telling me I imagined that but I did not! Sure, I want life to be a bit more exciting in Nanteuil-la-Forêt; however, I do not live my life making up lies and untruths in my mind! I want real mysteries, not false ones. Gaspard knows that; I don’t know why he insists that I’m wrong. I swear, detectives, I am right! Before his death, Dominique suddenly became very secretive with his notebook and nervous. He usually never shied away from showing others his notebook. He liked to create clothes and would pencil his designs into it and present them to Gaspard and me and anyone else. Dominique was very enthusiastic about clothes and proud of what he was doing. He would even make his own clothes and brag about them at any given opportunity. He was not shy or secretive in any way, M Gauthier, Détective Vidocq. Dominique only became that way shortly before he was murdered.”

“And do you have any idea why?”

Enzo shook his head. “I investigated a bit,” he said and then turned a bit red. “I know I should not have because Dominique is my friend but the situation was too odd and I could not help myself! Finally, a mystery to solve.” Enzo’s shoulders sagged. “Only I could not find out anything at all.”

“Could Dominique’s change in behaviour be related to his infatuation with Nicolette Royer?” prompted Cloudia, and Enzo shook his head again. “No. Dominique has been in love with her for years. It’s very obvious. He has also written a million poems about her which he never gave her.”

“Maybe he could have been fighting the courage to finally give her one?”

“He would…” Enzo stopped. “Nicolette’s father did begin to talk about slowly looking for someone who would marry his daughter right before Dominique’s behaviour changed. But his family has not much money, and Dominique was never interested in the family business and is, thus, unsuited to continue it. Dominique quit as Mme Allemand’s apprentice months ago and he had not bothered to find anything new afterwards. Dominique was always a bit lazy and the end of his apprenticeship greatly angered him. Alas, without money and a secure job, Dominique would have never been accepted by M l’Abbé.”

Cloudia nodded. “Thank you. This has been very insightful.” She looked around and glanced at Cedric staring blankly into the distance. “This is quite far away from the heart of the village,” Cloudia remarked. “And you and your friends’ hideout is at the village’s edge too. Am I right in my assumption that you like exploring the forest?”

Enzo nodded enthusiastically. “I do! I don’t go very far as my mother would turn part of me into a broom and chase the rest of me with it through the house but still. Forests are interesting places; I’ve found quite a lot of interesting things wandering around, though never a human skull. It would be marvellous if I stumbled over an ancient corpse.” He sighed. “My wish has not come true though. The only corpses here are too fresh and too familiar for my liking.”

Cloudia inched closer to him. She could see Cedric directing his attention to her and Enzo from the corner of her eye. “Enzo, by any chance, did you see any odd crates in the area?” she asked conspiratorially.

Enzo’s eyes lit up instantaneously. “From afar at night but only once. It was on the 14th. I snuck out at night – that was only a week ago; it is amazing how much can change in such a short period – and spotted a group of people in the dark walking into the forest. I discreetly followed them; I was so excited! I don’t think I ever went that deep into the woods and my heart beat so quickly and loudly that I feared they might hear it but they never did!” Enzo smiled triumphantly. “I saw crates too; they were taking out what was inside them but I don’t know what it was. I was too far away and it was too dark. I eventually went back home because I did not want them to notice me. I tried to find those crates the next day with Gaspard but they were all gone and the old sceptic did not want to believe me, of course. He said I was only dreaming. But it was not a dream! I swear, M Gauthier, Détective Vidocq! It was my dream to witness such happenings but it was not a dream I had asleep in my bed!”

“Calm down. Secret mission, Enzo,” said Cloudia, and he immediately quieted. “Could you make out who was there with the crates?”

“No,” Enzo whispered. “It was very dark and they were all mummed, had put on hats and wrapped scarfs around their faces. They must have been very hot.”

Cloudia exhaled. Of course, things could never be easy. “Thank you, Enzo. This was immensely helpful,” she said, and he beamed. “But this knowledge is also very dangerous. Especially considering that you told someone about what you saw. Gaspard Baudet might not believe you but if he tells someone about it who knows about that nightly escapade, your life will be threatened,” Cloudia continued gravely, and Enzo’s face fell. “However, do not worry: It is our duty to protect key witnesses and hinder murderers. Nothing will happen to you.”

  ***

 June 22

About 16:50

 Taking Enzo to the château might not be the best decision I had ever made but it was better than leaving him in Nanteuil-la-Forêt and allowing him to be killed. He was not next-in-line; still, an exception could be made in his case.

I explained to him that the Charbonneaus – Enzo did not have to know that the Duponts were currently staying in their home – were kindly housing “Vidocq” and me. His eyes turned large as plates when he heard that; apparently, he had never even seen the château up-close. Enzo bounced the rest of the way and even walked ahead of us.

I seized that moment and quickly explained everything to Cedric via the skull pendants. He had been looking very puzzled ever since I had invited Enzo to come with us. After I told him everything, Cedric still looked confused but at least not to the same degree.

When we arrived, I told some servants to please take Enzo inside and keep him in a guest room. It was important to keep him safe, though, for everyone’s sake, he should not be allowed to leave his room. The servants nodded understandingly, likely because they, as Dupont servants, were used to such strange demands. Enzo happily waved Cedric and me goodbye before he was whisked away.

  Cloudia took a deep breath and took off her cap when she stepped over the château’s threshold. It was good to be back. Their short trip to Nanteuil-la-Forêt had been more exhausting than expected, and Cedric also sighed in relief next to her.

“I can finally taaaalk,” he said and ripped the cap off his head. “I do hate being ‘Alexandre Vidocq.’”

“We could have some language lessons,” suggested Cloudia and climbed the stairs.

“In French? Countess, we will end this nonsense today – half the nonsense at least – and then we will leave France,” replied Cedric and followed her. “Why should I bother to learn French now? It doesn’t matter anymore.”

She shrugged. “You can never know. We might have to have another adventure in France.”

Cedric groaned. “I hope not. Or if this happens again, I hope it’s not an adventure filled with annoying villagers and forest wanderings.”

“I will tell Her Majesty to only send me to cities from now on.”

“Finally a sensible suggestion.”

Cloudia smiled, both at his words and the fact that Cedric seemed to be better now. She wanted to reply something but cut herself off when Anaïs skittered along the corridor, Arnaud hurried right after her. “Try to catch me, Arnau–” called Anaïs, giggling, but halted in both speech and movement when she saw Cloudia and Cedric. “Claudette! Duke Kristopher!” she exclaimed. “You’re back!”

Arnaud came to a halt a few metres away from Anaïs. “Welcome back,” he said with a smile on his face.

“Well, thank you,” replied Cloudia. “You’re playing tag again? I haven’t been able to thank you yet: Seeing you play yesterday was the right ingredient to bring everything together. Thanks.

Anaïs’ eyes glowed. It was almost a pity that she and Enzo would not meet; they would get along very well. “You’re welcome, Claudette! I do not know what you are talking about but because Arnaud and I did help you…” She grinned impishly. “…you could tell us all about it?”

Cloudia chuckled. “Later, when I’m completely done with this case.”

Anaïs beamed. “Thank you, Claudette! I can’t wait.”

“Me too,” mumbled Cedric before he looked around and frowned. “Is it only you two playing?”

Arnaud nodded. “Yes. Gérard is taking a nap, and we can hardly ask Aurèle to play tag with us; he is too fast. We wanted to ask Jacques…”

“… but we couldn’t find him,” Anaïs finished. “I guess he’s still tired from yesterday and hid himself with a pile of books in the darkest, farthest corner of the library.”

“My brother often does that,” added Arnaud. “I assume Jacques saw a lot of interesting plants in the forest and became eager to look all of them up.”

Cedric put his hands on his face and groaned. “You cannot even fathom how many ‘interesting’ plants he saw.”

Arnaud smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, Duke Kristopher. He can easily get carried away.”

Cedric let his hands fall. “It is all right, Arnaud. You do not have to apologise for your older brother.”

Cloudia nodded. “He is right,” she said softly. “And now we won’t bother you any further. We will see you later.” The children briefly said goodbye to them before they ran off again. Cloudia and Cedric went up one more floor and then headed to Cloudia’s room.

She opened the door, and to her surprise, Kamden was waiting inside. He got up from his seat and walked towards her.

“Did something happen?” asked Cloudia.

Kamden shook his head, and she sighed in relief. “No,” he said. “I’ve simply been worried. You were not at breakfast and Miss Lisa said you were still sleeping deeply… and I only briefly saw you at lunch but I could not ask with the others around. And then you rushed away and…”

Cloudia took his hands and squeezed them. “Kam, I’m fine. We had a late night, the Duke and I, and needed to sleep longer as compensation. We still have another long day and night ahead of us.”

Kamden tightened his grip on her and took a deep breath before he gazed directly into her eyes. “Then, let me help.”

Cloudia opened her mouth to speak when someone said behind her, “Me too.” Startled, she craned her head and watched her cousin step in front of her and lean against the doorsill. “I have no idea what exactly is happening,” Aurèle continued. “However, if this concerns what is going on in Nanteuil-la-Forêt, you might need as many people as you can.” He scowled at Cedric. “I don’t doubt your… your abilities, Claudette, but two people might not be enough.” Kamden nodded firmly at his words.

Cloudia let go of Kamden and eased one of her loose hairstreaks back. “You are right,” she said. “I planned to ask Lisa and Newman but we might need even more people for this.” Her gaze hardened. “I’ll go to the servants’ tract. Duke, get the biscuits and the tea – we have more planning to do.”

  ***

 June 22

About 20:00

 Rendezvous had been at nineteen o’clock. Hector was an hour late.

Cloudia looked at the sun slowly setting in the distance. Earlier, she had told Hector to meet her at the edge of the village opposite where the barracks were. At nineteen sharp, Cloudia had arrived with Kamden, who had insisted to accompany her. They had waited for an hour to give Hector enough time to come; after all, there could have been delays on the road. But there was still no sight of Hector and they were running out of time.

“It seems like he won’t be coming anymore,” said Cloudia and began to walk back to the château. Kamden immediately followed her.

Cloudia cradled the skull pendant in her hand. They got Hector, she thought.

  ***

 ~Cedric~

 June 22

About 19:00

 With a sigh, Cedric fell into an armchair and fixed his eyes on the clock on the wall. Cloudia and Kamden must have arrived at the meeting point by now which meant that he could relax for the next hour.

  And I did need that pause. Cloudia had questioned Enzo about the place where he had seen the crates and he had described it to her as best as he could – and then she had instructed me to go and search that area for clues. I had excused myself to the bathroom and teleported to the forest where I had spent the better part of the last hour combing through the area in question. I had stared at far too many trees and turned over far too many stones for my liking until I was sure that there was really nothing left except for places where the grass was flattened. They couldn’t have got rid of that like everything else, but this was enough: Enzo had not been dreaming and Anastasie had not lied to me as a test. The crates had been there.

The question now was: What had been inside them?

  “There you are,” said Aurèle and diverted Cedric’s attention from the clock. Except for Arnaud maybe, Cedric could not say he was particularly fond of the Beauchene brothers, but at least it was not Jacques. He had seen and heard enough of him for a week. “I was waiting for you to come out of the bathroom,” Aurèle continued, and Cedric stiffened. “You took rather long. Do you have any… uhm, digestive problems?”

“I neither want to bother nor disgust you with any details,” replied Cedric dryly, and Aurèle nodded.

“Why were you searching for me?” Cedric asked.

“I wasn’t searching for you. I saw you go into the bathroom before Claudette and Bonham left the château; I only wanted to make sure you were not doing nothing while the rest of us were preparing for later.” Aurèle narrowed his eyes at Cedric, and Cedric forced himself not to let out a bitter chuckle.

“Don’t worry, Aurèle, the Countess gave me the least strenuous tasks because I only got to sleep eight hours today and not much in the last few days. I would be useless if I fell asleep in the middle of everything after all,” said Cedric. “Though, I suppose, it would make quite the picture. If this were to happen, I hope I would fall asleep in a perplexing position; that would be a marvellous distraction.”

Aurèle huffed. “You would be ‘dead weight’ if that’s the correct term.”

“It is.”

“If you got so little sleep, shouldn’t you be sleeping now?”

Cedric shook his head. “My current task is to wait an hour. If the Countess and Emyr have returned by then, I will take a nap immediately. If not, I will have to run an errand.” He nodded to the seats next to him. “Would you like to keep me company until then?”

Aurèle crossed his arms and was quiet for a while. Cedric partially wanted him to refuse, but he also did have a few questions for him. Aurèle eventually sat down on the sofa opposite Cedric and took out a cloth roll of knives and a sharpening stone. “I can do this here too,” he said and set everything up on the side table in front of him. “I also do not want you to fall asleep in the middle of waiting and cause Claudette unnecessary problems.”

“I didn’t know you were such a considerate person,” remarked Cedric, and Aurèle glared at him.

“The Countess told me you talked about Anaïs calling Milton a faerie,” he said when Aurèle took the first knife. “And I wondered if you could answer me a few questions.”

Aurèle looked up from the knife and narrowed his eyes. “And what do you want to know?”

“What do you think those ‘faeries’ she can see are?”

“I do not know,” answered Aurèle. “I told my cousin that faerie lore is very varying, and there are a lot of explanations for the origin of faeries. Anaïs could refer to actual faeries; Claudette thinks she might only call the Baron a faerie because he reminds her of one.”

“I wondered that too: whether Anaïs means actual faeries or whether she uses the word to refer to something else,” Cedric said. “What different kinds of explanations for the origin of faeries are there?”

“In Christianity, faeries are ‘demoted angels,’ angels that were between Heaven and Hell when God ordered for the gate to Heaven to be closed,” explained Aurèle while scraping the knife on the stone. “Or they were, uh, outcast angels who were neither ‘good enough’ for Heaven nor ‘bad enough’ for Hell. In the 17th century, due to Puritanism, the idea that faeries are demons became popular. Some people also believe faeries might be, uhm, demoted pagan deities or elementals that personify forces of nature; the latter idea has become popular lately. The belief that faeries are old and outcast deities or angels can also be found in other cultures. For example, the Persian peris are said to be unable to enter paradise due to their mischievousness although they are angelic beings. Most cultures, religions, and mythologies portray faeries as – how to say that? – entities that even if they are more benevolent than malicious are mischievous tricksters and hold morals foreign to humans. This contrasts with their outer appearance: Faeries are often strikingly beautiful. The, eh, humanoid ones, at least.” Aurèle put down the now-sharpened knife and took another. “Apart from the theories that faeries are angels, demons, deities, or other powerful entities, there is one which says that faeries are spirits of the dead.”

Cedric stared at Aurèle, a cold shudder ran down his spine. “Spirits of the dead?”

“Yes. Some believe that, like ghosts, faeries are the spirits of those who had ‘unfinished lives.’ Their natures differ, of course. Children who were unable to, uhm, ‘pass on’ after death and turned into ghosts are said to become ‘faerie-like’ over time.

“There are also many connections between faeries and death in general,” added Aurèle, “as the dead and faeries are believed to live in the same place: the underground kingdom. Faerie kings like the Irish Finvarra or the Welsh Arawn are, therefore, often referred to as ‘Kings or Lords of the Dead,’ or even gods of the dead or underworld. Faeries are also thought to be, uh, ‘harbingers of death’ or death omens. For example, if a Scottish bodach appears as a ‘dark, grey man’ in front of you, as a bodach glas, it’s a sign that something horrible will happen soon. Some think faeries can even summon the dead.”

Cedric wanted to reply something when Cloudia’s voice suddenly filled his head: They got Hector. In one fluid motion, Cedric stood up and glanced at the clock. It was just past eight; he had not realised an hour had passed already.

“I have to run my errand now,” Cedric told Aurèle. “I need to find Batteux and instruct him to go to a village and get the officers from Nanteuil-la-Forêt that are currently there.”

Aurèle frowned. “Should I come with you? You can’t speak French after all.”

Cedric shook his head and dug out a piece of paper from his pocket. “There is no need: The Countess wrote a note for Batteux that I have to deliver.” He waved it around as he left the room. “And you really are quite considerate, Aurèle!” he said right before he walked over the threshold and hurried away.

  ***

 June 22

About 20:40

 “I hope Hector wasn’t murdered,” said Cloudia when she entered her room, Cedric followed her. Batteux had left half an hour ago, and while Cedric could have gone to bed after delivering the note, he had decided to wait for Cloudia and Kamden’s return.

“The poor man does not deserve to have his life ended like that. I also don’t want any more unnecessary corpses,” Cloudia continued. She put her hat on a table and took out the pins that fastened her braid to her head, letting it fall to her shoulder. Cloudia went to her wardrobe and flung open its doors. “Batteux needs about two hours to get to the village. If everything goes well, he should return with Hector’s colleagues sometime after midnight. As planned, we will head to Nanteuil-la-Forêt at 22 o’clock.”

Cedric sat down on a sofa and watched Cloudia shuffle through her clothes. “You should go and sleep a little now,” she said and retrieved the bag with her special corset. Cloudia had told Cedric once that when she was twelve, she commissioned her tailor to create a unique corset for her that would double as underwear and protective gear; Wilbur had regularly re-made the corset in the years that followed.

“I will,” said Cedric. “But I wanted to talk to you about something first.”

Cloudia put the bag on a chair and continued to look through her wardrobe. “What is it?”

“I asked Aurèle about the origins and natures of faeries,” he told her. “There are many stories about where faeries come from and what they actually are. Some think they are demons or demoted angels. Others believe they are spirits of the air – or the spirits of the dead.”

Cloudia halted in her movement. “Milton is not a ghost, Undertaker,” she replied sharply.

“But what if Anaïs can both see the dead and the dying?”

Cloudia whirled around, and Cedric was taken aback by the sudden movement. “Milton is not dead,” she said firmly. “Milton is not dying.”

“Think about it, Countess. Milton is human; he is neither a Grim Reaper nor a ghost or a demon. Still, Anaïs calls him a ‘faerie,’ and she did make him wear those clothes that made him look like a ghost to her tea party. What if…” said Cedric but cut himself off when he saw the look in Cloudia’s eyes. She took a step towards him.

“Milton is not going to die anytime soon,” Cloudia declared. “He is safe in Paris with Wentworth doing paperwork. And unless Townsend somehow tracks him down there and figures out the one thing that could convince Milton to come with him, he will never get his hands on him by sheer force, do you understand me, Undertaker? I need no list, no record, to tell you that Milton is not going to die.”

Cedric looked at her. “Countess,” he said softly. “What if it is not Townsend? Are you sure Milton’s ‘phantom pain’ is only that?”

Cloudia closed her eyes. “He is not going to die, Undertaker.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because…” Cloudia pinched her nose. “Undertaker, I don’t want to have this conversation now. I cannot and will not entertain such thoughts now.” She opened her eyes and levelled her gaze at Cedric. Her eyes were steady and full of certainty but there was also something else that flickered in them for a mere second. Something that made Cedric’s heart ache and wish he had never addressed this topic – fear. “Milton is neither going to die nor is he dying,” stressed Cloudia. “You should go and take that nap now, Undertaker. I will see you in an hour.”

  ***

 ~Cloudia~

 June 22

About 22:30

 The sun had set hours ago; faint moonlight broke through the thin clouds and let the plaque reading “MAIRIE” shine eerily and kissed the clockhands with silver. The hot day had darkened to a warm night, and Cloudia welcomed the gentle, cooling breeze that rushed through the air and played with the rim of her cap and the hem of her jacket as she gazed up at the townhall. Cedric waited patiently beside her; Cloudia’s gaze lingered a moment longer on the building’s façade: the beige, spotty walls, the red bricks framing doors and windows and the clock that slowly but surely crept to midnight.

Hopefully, she would see this place for the last time tonight.

  I had planned everything with great care. Aurèle and Kamden, Lisa and Newman must have arrived at their positions by now. Batteux was still on his way back, hopefully with the reinforcements that could clean everything up when I was done.

Everything was in its place; everything would go perfectly.

One did not need luck if one had certainty.

  Cloudia squared her shoulders and straightened her back before she nodded at Cedric. He returned the nod and went to enter the townhall first; Cloudia closely followed him.

Earlier, she had asked Alain to collect everyone connected to the victims and the murders at the townhall. Solange and Basile, Aurore and Ferdinand (little Antoine had been left with Sylvie), Armelle, Xavier, Serge, Marcel, Violaine and Maxime, alongside Yvette, Mathieu, and Alain, were now gathered in the assembly hall. Cloudia had not asked for Gaspard as Enzo would have been searched for then too, and not for Marc as well as he was still so young and did not have to be present. However, she had requested Nicolette and noted with surprise that she had not come with her father. Marcel likely did not want his daughter to learn more of this business than she had to; Cloudia could not fault him for that.

“Thank you for coming,” Cloudia said and let her eyes travel over the crowd and saw a sea of worried, scared, pale faces but also expectant, neutral, and angry ones. She wanted to smile in excitement but chose not to; it was not mannerly to lay out deductions for a serial murder investigation while beaming like a lighthouse. “In the last week, Nanteuil-la-Forêt has been plagued by great tragedy and horror ever since a stranger came to the village. He arrived on the morning of June 16 and was nowhere to be found by the afternoon. Each night from that day on until now, someone has died: Nadia Allemand, Dominique Duhamel, Gustave Beaubois, Marius Beaubois, Ruben Fournier, and Corentin Tonnelier. Tonight, this chain will break because Détective Alexandre Vidocq solved the case.” Theatrically, Cloudia pointed at Cedric who slightly bowed his head to the gathered mass.

“This took you long enough,” grumbled Mathieu from the first row. “Now, where is the stranger? It does not matter how he killed everyone; it only matters that he is found and thrown into jail!”

“Patience is a virtue, Mayor Guilloux. All will become clear when I present the detective’s deduction,” Cloudia replied calmly. “First, let me briefly recount what we know:

“The first night, Mme Allemand was murdered in her tailor shop. She had been killed with a blow to the back of her head, and her killer also acupunctured her body with needles. The second night, Dominique was stabbed in the heart and hung on the church’s roof. The third night, Gustave was stabbed in the woods, and his brother Marius followed the next night: His head was smashed with a hammer and his corpse was left in the fountain. The fifth night, Ruben was stabbed and subsequently buried in the cemetery. Last night, M Tonnelier was found dead in the townhall’s garden.” Cloudia’s gaze hardened. “The places where they were found, how they were killed – none of them was without purpose. Dominique was hung on the church’s roof for a reason; Ruben was buried for a reason. The needles with which Mme Allemand’s skin was punctured were her own: She kept them securely in an old locked tea box. A mere stranger, a wanderer who has simply decided to go through Nanteuil-la-Forêt, could not have known about the needles, would not have killed those six people and arranged their bodies as they were.”

“Are you trying to tell us that the culprit is not a stranger but a villager?” asked Xavier, his eyes wide with horror. Armelle who sat next to him pressed her lips thinly together. Marcel paled, though he had already been pale from the beginning.

“Yes,” said Cloudia, and the room erupted in panic and protests. She raised a hand to silence them. “I know it is hard to imagine someone you have known all your life – a relative, a friend, a neighbour – could be a murderer but people are rarely what they seem to be on the surface.”

“Still it is unthinkable that one of us would commit such atrocious acts,” Alain remarked and looked around.

“One of you did not commit those atrocious acts,” corrected Cloudia. “Multiple did.”

Yet again, the assembly hall was filled with gasps and wild chatter, and Cloudia held up her hand anew and waited until it died down. “Rest assured though,” she said. “All but one is already dead.”

Just as she had finished her sentence, Mathieu bolted to the stage and watched her through narrowed eyes. “Speak! Who were the so-called murderers in our midst!” he demanded. Cloudia stared down at him with icy eyes, and he quieted and recoiled from the stage.

She then looked up and into the mass. “Nadia Allemand was killed by Dominique Duhamel,” Cloudia stated, her voice firm and clear. In the back, it seemed as if Solange was about to faint; Basile held on tight to his wife. “Dominique was stabbed by Gustave Beaubois, and Gustave was murdered by his brother Marius,” continued Cloudia. All colour left Aurore’s and Fernand’s faces at her words. “Ruben Fournier took Marius’ life.” Xavier sucked in the air. “Ruben fell victim to Corentin Tonnelier.”

Right on time, the backdoor swung open and Kamden entered, a bound and gagged but struggling man in tow. Kamden’s whole body was tense, though he relaxed a little when he saw Cloudia. With some effort, he hauled the man to the stage where he let him go and went to stand next to Cedric. The man immediately tried to run but Cloudia kicked him to the ground. A muffled groan slipped out of his mouth. “And this man, townhall clerk Philippe Passereau, killed M Tonnelier.” She glanced down at him. “He should truly be more grateful though,” Cloudia remarked. “After all, if we had not caught and bound him, someone would have murdered him tonight.”

Fernand jumped up from his chair, his throat red from anger; a startling contrast to the ghostly hue he had adopted only a moment ago. “What in the world is going on here?” he exclaimed. “What is the explanation for all this?”

“Right.” Still pale-faced but with a determination Cloudia had never seen on her before, Solange stood as well. “Why would Dominique murder Nadia? Why would any of them murder one another?”

“Each person killed the previous person in the chain for personal reasons and those reasons are reflected in the methods and places they chose,” explained Cloudia. “Dominique killed Mme Allemand and displayed her in her shop like a pincushion because of his failed apprenticeship. He upset the tailor shop to make it seem like a failed burglary, though he neglected to take anything to make the lie more believable. Gustave stabbed Dominique in the heart because they were in love with the same girl and hung him from the church because that girl was Nicolette Royer, the head priest’s daughter. Marius got rid of Gustave to get his hands on their family’s woodcutting business; that’s why he killed him in the woods. Gustave’s neck was twisted to make him look up empty-eyed, presumably to underline how Marius stole his brother’s future. To avenge his best friend, Ruben angrily smashed Marius’ head. He put him in the fountain because Marius was a known thief and used to steal the coin inside it; Marius had also taken the contents of Gustave’s pockets after killing him. M Tonnelier murdered Ruben because Ruben was a lousy apprentice who could never use the fertiliser correctly – Ruben was buried so that he would eventually become fertiliser himself.” Cloudia turned her gaze to Philippe on the ground; he had stopped squirming and was now glaring at her. “M Passereau killed M Tonnelier by the townhall and ripped out his oesophagus because the farmer would complain at any given time. As M Passereau works at the townhall, he was often the recipient of his tirades.”

  I had deduced everyone’s motives after seeing Anaïs and Arnaud play – except for Philippe’s. There had been no time to look thoroughly into Corentin and find out who could hold a grudge against him. Cedric, when going through Corentin’s Cinematic Record, saw his killer though, and after describing him to Aurèle, he recognised him as Philippe Passereau and could tell us all about his hate for Corentin. Earlier, Aurèle and Kamden had paid him a short visit.

  Cloudia returned her eyes to the assembled group. Because of the secretive nature of the Watchdog duty, she had never been able to present any of her deductions like that: grandly in front of the wronged crowd. She had only ever been able to tell them to the Queen in her drawing room, to the Police Commissioners of Scotland Yard in their dinghy office, or to Oscar, Cecelia, and Barrington in the Aristocrats’ Bureau – though this did not quite count; after all, they contributed to the solving as well. Now, although Cloudia was aware that the circumstances were horrifying, her skin still prickled with excitement and ecstasy as she continued, “Dominique, Gustave, Marius, Ruben, M Tonnelier, and M Passereau all had their reasons to kill. Still, none of them did until now: In a place as small as Nanteuil-la-Forêt, one cannot easily commit a crime as everyone knows everyone. It is nearly impossible to kill and hide forever undetected. However, what would happen if there was someone, a stranger who just arrived at the village, who could take all the blame for you?

“They all took this unique opportunity to get rid of a person they despised. The stranger’s arrival was only part of the ignitor though: M l’Abbé has begun looking for suitors for his daughter. Dominique knew he would only pick one who could provide for her. With his failed apprenticeship and lack of interest in the bakery, he was left with nothing. He wanted to propose but needed money. Ruben, while he undoubtedly hated Marius for killing Gustave, would have never blindly killed him – but Ruben’s aunt is terribly sick and his family cannot afford the surgery she needs. The six culprits have not come together by chance, each of them independently seizing the opportunity to kill as soon as a scapegoat arrived in the village. No, for that, the chain was too orderly, the deaths too orderly: None of the victims fought back. They all accepted to die even though such apathy was against their natures.

“All six culprits were approached by someone who organised the chain of murders, a mastermind who brought them all together by offering them what they desired: money and revenge, a future and a way to rid oneself of pent-up frustration. They only had to ‘win’ the game: After committing a murder, they would become the next victim. The next night they would have to outrun the next murderer, and when they were found they had to surrender without a fight and head to the location chosen for their death. I suppose they were threatened that their family would be eliminated if they tried to fight back. Or were they threatened with something else, Yvette Guilloux?”

  A gasp ran through the crowd, and Mathieu was about to protest when Cloudia continued and cut everyone off. Her eyes were fixed on Yvette who still sat quietly and indifferently in the front row as she spoke, “It would have been easy for you as the ‘village’s princess’ to approach people for your plan and to convince others to stay quiet about what is happening in Nanteuil-la-Forêt, though some who were not let in on the secret have noticed a strangeness in the village. Because of your position, you could also accompany us to our investigations to ensure no one would say too much or even confess.

“Of course, not only the culprits were involved in your plan: Maxime Guilbert and his wife were as well.” The atmosphere tensed further as the others glanced at the Guilberts. “I was at the hospital: Do you feel any remorse for locking away your best friend and denying her parents entry? Forcing them to pretend to run the local inn? Did you promise them to cover Marie-Claire’s medical costs like you did Ruben?”

Silence set in the assembly hall for a moment before it was punctured by a laugh. In one fluid motion, Yvette rose from her seat and took a step to the stage. With a smile on her face and crossed arms, she looked up at Cloudia. “Détective Vidocq, M Gauthier,” she said sweetly, “you have been correct in every aspect so far.”

Mathieu’s face turned red. “Yvette, why…”

“Why I would do such a thing?” asked Yvette coldly, cutting him off and craning her head to him. “Dear papa, because I could. When you would sit inside the townhall all day, I would be outside with the people. You have been the mayor and I have been the mayor’s daughter for over a decade.” She threw an amused smile to Cloudia. “I was the village’s princess for over a decade. No one knows this village and its citizens like I do. Not that you cared as you never cared for me at all, dear papa. You did not care about what I could do because you never let me do anything. Me, your useless only daughter. Only good to be married off to the next-best old fart,” Yvette spat out.

“Everyone got the opportunity to have their wish fulfilled,” Cloudia said. “And so did you, didn’t you, Yvette? Though this was not a matter of self-fulfilment; there has always been someone else with you in the background. The money you promised, in particular, could not possibly be your own – it belongs to the stranger you met lurking in the woods around Nanteuil-la-Forêt one day. A stranger may not have committed the murders but a stranger did come to the village. A stranger who offered you all you wanted and for whom you lured away the gendarmes and orchestrated this chain of murders to distract me from looking for him.” Swiftly, Cloudia took out her gun and levelled it at Yvette. “Now tell me, where is Nicodemus Townsend?”

  Yvette smiled widely. “Townsend told me all about his mission: to advocate for justice, to gain power, to bring about a revolution,” she said with an eerie calmness. “And all he had to do to fulfil his goal was to steal a box and find someone to open it. Of course, because of the box’s importance and considering its owner, this could not be a simple endeavour. The British Queen, Townsend told me, sent her dog after him. He always said it was a man; he never even considered an alternative. But the day you arrived at the townhall, you and the detective, so proud and sharp, I knew – I knew. How I laughed afterwards!

“Aren’t men so very foolish, Miss Watchdog?” asked Yvette in perfect English.

  Cloudia stared at Yvette and she noticed Cedric stiffen and Kamden flinch behind her. Yvette laughed. “Emmanuel Charbonneau is a simpleton,” she continued in English and rolled her eyes. “You smile and bat your eyes at the right times, and he gives you all you want. I only had to ask once and he agreed to teach me. ‘So that we would have our own secret language.’” She grimaced and then glanced at Cedric. “‘Embarrassing voice’? This could be true, but considering how blankly he has been staring holes into the air, I would say our Parisian detective does not speak a single word of French. This is truly embarrassing considering your disguise. But then you never planned to stay and use it for long, didn’t you? Frankly, I expected a bit more from the feared Queen’s Watchdog and her companions.”

“Frankly, I expected you capable of answering simple questions,” replied Cloudia, switching to English too. She was still firmly holding her gun, the barrel pointed at Yvette. “Where is Townsend?”

“Where Jacques Beauchene is, of course.”

  A knife soared through the air and over the seated crowd. It missed Yvette by a hair’s breadth and landed clattering on the naked stone ground. A moment later, Aurèle stormed angrily into the assembly hall through the backdoor, another knife ready. “What did you do to my brother?”

Yvette smiled calmly. “It is good to see you, Aurèle. It has been so long. Why did you and your cousins not pay us a visit like you always do when you visit the Charbonneaus? Oh, right, you are not visiting; you are staying all alone in their château. When the Charbonneaus left two weeks ago, it was hardly surprising. But when someone spotted your brother in the woods a few days ago, it certainly was. Especially considering that you seem to be with Miss Watchdog!” Yvette clasped her hands over her chest theatrically. “Rest assured, Aurèle. Nothing will happen to Jacques. I simply met him earlier today in the forest and started a conversation. He was so very kind to agree to come with me; I took him to Townsend and now Jacques is taking him to the Clockmaker. Someone saw Jacques and faux Vidocq return to the château last night; it looked like they had gone on a lengthy trip. I was so curious to find out where they had gone, so I asked Jacques and arranged a repetition of that journey. Just a small trip amongst friends, nothing to worry about.”

“You –” started Aurèle and wound up throwing his knife when Maxime barged from the seated area to the passageway leading from the back to the stage. He lunged for Aurèle, and Cloudia shot the ground to Maxime’s feet before he could reach him. Maxime halted and so did Aurèle. “Don’t you dare touch him,” exclaimed Cloudia in French. “And now return to your seat, Guilbert, or –”

All of a sudden, all doors swung open and bullets flew through the air.

  What on earth?

  Screams came from the crowd and people flung themselves to the ground as the bullets rang through the air, got stuck in the walls, in the ground. Villagers streamed into the townhall, men and women Cloudia had not seen before, all holding with weapons: knives and iron bars, pistols and rifles. Cedric pulled back a stunned Kamden, and Cloudia whirled to Yvette who was still smiling. “A mere village’s princess, am I not?” she said amused – then, the villagers charged at them.

  ***

 ~Cedric~

 June 23

About 0:30

 What the hell? Cedric thought as he grabbed Kamden’s hand and dragged him across the stage. At the same time, Cloudia jumped off it and went after Yvette who had pushed aside her father and ran to the side entrance. The gathered crowd burst apart and hurried to the exits but the hall rapidly filled with new arrivals and blocked their paths. They swung their weapons around. A man with an iron bar in his hand lunged at Cedric. He quickly pushed back Kamden, dodged the attack, and kicked the man from the stage. Yelling, he fell onto two others. Cedric took hold of Kamden again. As he pulled him to the few stairs leading down, Cedric scanned the room for Aurèle and Cloudia. Coldness brushed his spine when he saw neither.

  Where the hell did they get those weapons? Where did they get those guns?!

  Kamden took out a dagger from his pocket and rammed the hilt into someone’s face when he tried to stab him. Cedric grabbed the knife from his hands as the man staggered back. Fighting one-handed was not a good tactic. Especially not in such circumstances. Still, Cedric only tightened his grip on Kamden as he elbowed, kicked, and pushed his way through the masses and to the exit.

He could not lose Kamden. Cloudia would never forgive him if anything happened to her brother. He himself also did not want him to be hurt in any way.

If only Cedric could properly attack anyone. The stolen knife was useless in his hand. No interfering with life and death. He could not stab and risk killing anyone. Anastasie would come to find him, her journal of deaths in hand. They would drag him to the brass’ representatives. He would be suspended. They would learn about Cloudia and the others too.

Gritting his teeth, Cedric elbowed a woman in the face. At the same time, a man brushed his arm with a knife, ripping the fabric and drawing shallow blood. Kamden stabbed the man in the thigh with his dagger. Cedric could not even stop and be surprised because the next second, Kamden drew out his blade, blood dripping from it. The man howled out in pain, and they had to continue their fight to the door.

  This was a poor operation. Those people could barely fight. Their inexperience made them easy to defeat but this also meant they moved chaotically, frantically. They were no rhyme or reason to what they did. They only attacked and attacked as well as they could and with no pause. Their attacks missed but came aplenty. They were plenty while we were only four – six with Miss Greene and Alfred. Damn, did something happen on their end too?

  A shot roared behind them as Cedric and Kamden finally rushed out of the townhall and into the warm night. The clouds from earlier had left, and the waning gibbous moon shone brightly against the uncovered blanket of darkness and stars. Outside, there was barely anyone but people were coming after them from the townhall. Cedric broke into a run to the gardens, not letting go of Kamden.

  That shot earlier was the only one I had heard since their arrival. They must be saving their bullets. One good thing at least.

  “Kristopher,” said Kamden, snapping back Cedric’s attention. “Let… let go of me. It wooon’t – won’t help to hold onto each other. I will keep up with you, I promise.”

Cedric glanced back at Kamden and was startled by how similar he looked to Cloudia in this moment, even with the dyed hair; in his eyes was a determination he had often seen in her. Without a protest, Cedric released Kamden and beckoned him around a corner. They pressed themselves against a high, thick bush, and Cedric carefully looked around. He heard voices from one side and steps from another.

“We need to find Aurèle,” Kamden whispered. “He… He was still close to the backdoor earlier, do you think he escaped?”

“Let’s hope he did,” replied Cedric and started to move again. Kamden followed him through the overgrown garden and to a side road.

At the end of it was a group of villagers, bars and knives in hand. Cedric cursed under his breath and broke into a sprint. At least, he had not seen someone with a gun. Blades and iron bars did nothing from afar after all. Still, he wished he could simply grab Kamden and teleport away with him, bringing him to safety before searching for Cloudia and Aurèle, Lisa and Newman.

From behind a fence jumped someone with a shovel. Kamden cried out and barely managed to dodge him. Cedric gripped his jacket and drew him away before he threw himself shoulder-first at their assailant. The man dug the shovel’s handle into Cedric’s side, making him gasp for a moment. Cedric took hold of the handle before the man could retreat and ripped the shovel out of his hands. He swung the shovel and hit him in the head. He fell down with a thud, unconscious.

“How likely is it for someone to die from a shovel-induced concussion?” asked Cedric when he and Kamden resumed their run.

“What?”

Cedric was about to ask again when a shot rang through the air and Kamden screamed. Cedric whirled around to him, his eyes wide. Kamden was holding his side, his face contorted by pain. Cedric opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a resounding wail in the distance. A moment later, someone stepped out from between some trees. Cedric got ready to swing the shovel again but let it sink when he recognised Aurèle. His dark brown hair was tousled. There were a few cuts on his face and some holes and tears in his clothes. He did not seem to mind all this though. Fury gleamed in his eyes as he walked towards them, a bloody knife in his hand. “Where is my cousin?” Aurèle yelled.

“The Countess jump off the stage and ran after Yvette,” Cedric told him. “We haven’t seen her since.”

Aurèle scowled and cursed in French – something very foul judging from Kamden’s reaction – before he glanced to the road. The mob was getting closer, and Kamden, Cedric, and Aurèle set themselves in motion.

  ***

 ~Cloudia~

 June 23

About 0:30

 Cloudia jumped from the stage to bolt after Yvette but her familiar thick braid had already been swallowed by the crowd by the time her shoes touched the ground. Cloudia cursed and hit someone in the face with the back of her gun.

  Where the hell was Batteux with the gendarmes?

  Effortlessly, Cloudia dodged a woman’s poor attempt to stab her with a kitchen knife. She grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her against an incoming group. They all yelled as the woman collided with the others. Her knife clattered to the ground. In the distance, Cloudia heard Ferdinand shout and glimpsed him wrestle his way through, clutching Aurore tight. A man pulled at Cloudia’s jacket and dragged her back. Quickly, Cloudia drew her father’s dagger from its sheath with her left hand. She half-whirled around and stabbed the man in the side. He screamed when the blade pierced his flesh; he screamed louder when she ripped it out. She kicked him away and elbowed someone coming at her from the other side.

  What a bothersome ordeal. Damn Yvette.

  With a groan, Cloudia eventually emerged from the townhall. For a second, she considered kicking the door close and bolting it but then remembered her audience from earlier. The mob was after her and the others; they certainly would not target their fellow villagers, would they? Cloudia glanced into the assembly hall and saw someone charging out at her. Cursing, Cloudia turned and ran.

Sometime in the chaos, she had lost her cap, and the faint wind was now blowing a few loose strands into her face. Cloudia brushed them away. In the distance, she spotted a man with a gun. He raised his hand to aim at her but she was faster. With a yell, the man dropped to the ground, clutching his leg.

Hector had told them there were only a handful of firearms in Nanteuil-la-Forêt, some belonged to the police and others to a few hunters. Cloudia doubted he lied to her but where did all those guns come from, for heaven’s sake?

  The crates. The bloody crates the French Reaper and Enzo talked about. There must have been firearms in those crates. But how had they ended up in Nanteuil-la-Forêt?

And how many had been inside them?

  ***

 ~Cedric~

 June 23

About 1:00

 Aurèle skilfully led Cedric and Kamden through the village, through side streets, small alleys, and private gardens until the mob lost sight of them, and they arrived at an old house nobody seemed to be living in. Cedric scrutinised the area to ensure nobody was around to see them enter the building before he ushered the others inside and closed the door behind him. Dim light entered through broken windows and cracks in the façade. They pressed themselves against the old walls and caught their breaths.

“Denis is waiting for us in the forest,” whispered Cedric when his lung did not burn so much anymore.

“I’m not leaving behind my cousin,” Aurèle shot back.

“And Miss Lisa and Mr Newman,” added Kamden.

“They will be fine,” said Cedric. “Especially the Countess. None of the villagers is capable of killing her. And Alfred and Miss Greene are at the hospital, far away from the townhall. Unless they anticipated we would send someone there, I doubt there would be a mass of people. Also, Alfred’s huge. His sheer stature will likely scare them away anyway.

“At any rate, they will be fine. The Countess is a Phantomhive; Miss Greene and Alfred are Phantomhive servants. That household is made of tough stuff; they even have some unofficial motto I can’t think of now.”

“A Phantomhive servant who cannot do that is not worth their salt,” Kamden said.

“Thank you. What I’m meaning to say is: This whole operation went poorly. While we expected a fight, we did not anticipate the number of people Yvette pulled into her boat, or that they would have guns. There are too few of us and too many of them. It’s also unimportant to fight against the mob. Our goal is to catch Yvette and find Nicodemus Townsend – and rescue Jacques.” Aurèle was silent next to Cedric. “We cannot do all that if those idiots with guns turn us into Swiss cheese, do you understand?”

Kamden nodded, and Aurèle did the same a moment later.

“Good,” said Cedric and nodded to himself. “The plan is to hurry to the forest and find the main road where Denis is waiting for us. We return to the château and adjust the rest of our plan when we have regrouped.”

Aurèle snorted. “Didn’t know you would make a decent leader.”

“Me neither. It must be the adrenaline.”

Kamden faintly shook his head. Cedric glanced at him and noticed he was still holding his side. “Damn, Kamden,” said Cedric and gently lifted his hand from the wound. “Let me see. Why didn’t you say something? We should have stopped sooner.”

“No! I’m fine,” Kamden replied but allowed Cedric to take his hand without protest. “The bullet grazed me. It only stings a bit. I’m all right.”

Cedric sighed in relief when he saw that Kamden was not lying. “Good. The Countess would have murdered me if something happened to you.”

Kamden locked his eyes with Cedric, the look in them surprisingly intense. “I will not let myself be harmed and worry Cloudie if I can help it.”

“Isn’t your name ‘Emyr’?” asked Aurèle, and Cedric and Kamden stiffened.

  Goddammit.

  “Kamden is Emyr’s first name,” Cedric said, and Kamden relaxed a bit. “He only allows a few people to call him by that name as he predominately goes by his middle name.”

Aurèle raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

Cedric dug through his pocket and retrieved the knife he had taken at the townhall. He held it out to Aurèle. “Do you still have enough knives? I stole this one earlier.”

Aurèle grimaced. “A shabby kitchen knife. You can keep that, and did you bring any weapons? Do you have anything else besides that and the rusty shovel?”

Yes, an interdimensionally-stored scythe, thought Cedric. “Yes, a dagger and a gun,” he said. Cloudia had given him both though she knew he could not use them without risking punishment. “In case of an emergency,” she had said. “And if you aim well, you will only injure, not kill. At any rate, it is always good to bring more weapons; if I run out of bullets, you can simply give me your gun.”

“Does that mean I’m just a glorified pack mule?” Cedric had replied.

“Oh no. I would not call you ‘glorified.’”

Cedric sighed at the memory. He wished Cloudia was here right now. “I’ll take a quick look around. If the coast is clear, we’ll leave and head to the forest; Aurèle will lead us there.” Kamden and Aurèle nodded, and Cedric slipped through the broken door and momentarily turned himself invisible. He rounded the house. There was no one here but he could hear animated voices in the distance and they were slowly getting louder. Cedric became visible again and rushed back into the house. He signalled Kamden and Aurèle to come out.

They filed out of the house and headed into the woods with their weapons ready. They walked behind one another: Aurèle was first, Cedric last, and Kamden secured in the middle.

They walked in hurry and with care. Aurèle guided Kamden and Cedric in a zig-zag through the mostly empty streets of the village’s outskirts. Cedric saw candles burning through windows and glimpsed at worried, horrified faces before curtains were drawn shut. So much terror for money and a chance for more.

The mob found them right before they could enter the forest. This time, some even had pitchforks.

  Finally! I wondered when they would come out.

  The group of villagers descended upon them with loud howls, and Cedric, Aurèle, and Kamden sprinted into the woods. They tried to lose them in the masses of trees but the villagers were everywhere. Swinging their pitchforks, lunging with their knives, trying to bash in their heads with their iron and wood rods.

Cedric pushed someone away with his shovel and was thrown against a tree the next moment. He groaned and quickly sank down when a fist came flying. He kicked away the attacker’s legs and hit him with the shovel. Cedric jumped to his feet and rammed his elbow into the next person’s face. He whirled around and scanned the woods for Kamden and Aurèle. Damn, where were they?

Cedric hurried through the forest and swung his shovel around until one woman managed to dodge his attack and the shovel collided with a tree. The collision sent a shock up Cedric’s arms and the shovel blade broke.

“Dammit,” pressed out Cedric between clenched teeth and let go of the handle. The woman lunged at him with a knife and he barely dodged her. He dug out the kitchen knife and sliced the back of her hand when she attacked again. She cried out, letting the knife fall in shock.

Cedric took this chance to run away.

  ***

 ~Cloudia~

 June 23

About 1:15

 Cloudia sent a knife flying through the air, pinning a woman by her sleeve on a tree. She threw another to pin her by her dress as well.

Killing them would be so much easier. Fighting back without having to take care about keeping the harm to a minimum. The villagers had been manipulated, likely persuaded by Yvette with lies that Cloudia, Cedric, and their companions were the culprits who had killed their fellow citizens and baited them with money and promises. The villagers were victims in their own way but they were so goddamn annoying. And they came in masses. Nanteuil-la-Forêt had about 350 residents and half of them were out for them tonight.

Cloudia punched someone in the face and ripped the knife from his hand as he stumbled back. She wanted to gut him here and there but decided against it. She knocked him out with the knife’s handle and kicked out the legs from under the next attacker. The female Grim Reaper might still be watching from afar. However, as long as no one died, she had no reason to come here – and this lowered the chance that she spotted Cedric in the chaos.

A woman levelled her pistol at Cloudia – she held it all wrong and her grip was shaking – and Cloudia hooked her arm around the next-best person’s throat. She pressed the knife against his throat and held him against her as a shield, daring the woman to shoot.

She wished it was not a random man but Yvette.

Damn Yvette who had run off in the beginning and was nowhere to be found since.

Cloudia gritted her teeth and walked backwards, not releasing the man until she was away from the woman with the gun. Then, she freed the man and knocked him unconscious. Cloudia ran across the small square and around the fountain where Marius’ corpse had lain. Her hair stuck to her scalp. She had lost her hairpins ages ago and her braid was hanging loosely and messily over her shoulder. Cloudia wondered what the villagers must have thought when they saw that “Jean Gauthier” had been a woman all along – if they had noticed at all.

A shot rang through the air and Cloudia whirled around. Another followed – and then she heard the sounds of hooves and shouts.

She grinned. Batteux and the police had finally arrived.

Riders filled the square and broke apart the crowds, pushing back the masses. Surprised, Cloudia counted more than the five other gendarmes who were usually stationed in Nanteuil-la-Forêt.

“Mylady!” someone called and Cloudia turned around to see Batteux running towards her.

“Thank you!” she replied. “You came just on time. The village dissolved into chaos – it’s good you thought to get extra officers.”

Batteux briefly bowed to her before ramming his gun in an assailant’s gut and pushing him back. “You’re welcome, Mylady.”

Cloudia looked around. Everything was still a mess but the police could handle that. “Batteux,” she said. “Stay safe and retreat to the château if you must. I’ll head to the hospital; I need to get to my maid and butler.”

  ***

 ~Cedric~

 June 23

About 1:40

 There were too many people in this damn forest and Cedric had lost sight of Kamden and Aurèle. He hoped they were at least together; Aurèle would be able to keep Kamden safe. Cedric’s lungs burned. The forest ground was soft with moss and leaves which made it hard to run on and he had not yet fully recovered from the last few days.

  I was so tired. I was so tired.

  Cedric rushed behind a large tree. The forest was full of villagers. He looked left and right – but none of them was in his line of vision.

And none of them could see him right now.

With a grin on his face, Cedric disappeared and appeared in another part of the forest. Jacques and he had been here yesterday, and it should not be too far from where he had vanished but still far away enough. Cedric scrutinised the area and perked up his ears. No villager seemed to be around yet.

Relieved, he sacked against a tree and caught his breath for a moment. When his breathing had normalised, Cedric started walking again. At some point, he had lost the kitchen knife and he now pulled out the dagger, holding it tightly in his hand while he ventured through the forest. It was the dead of night; the thick crowns of the trees held back most of the moonlight. Cedric strained himself not to run against a tree or trip. Or completely lose his orientation. He was sure he had already lost some of it. Every tree looked the same and he was not quite sure where the road leading up to the château was. Technically, Cedric did not need to find Denis. He could return to the château on his own. However, Kamden and Aurèle were still somewhere in the woods and it would look suspicious if Cedric arrived so quickly at the château without Denis driving him like a madman there.

Leaves crunched under his feet. A shudder ran over his spine as Cedric remembered his encounter with the wild boar. Right, he did not only have to be careful of humans in the forest.

And then he saw him. Just a few metres away from him.

Cedric halted – and so did he, craning his head to look at Cedric.

  The moonlight repainted him. Lightened his hair to white, darkened his eyes, though let the green inside them glow.

He had never looked as translucent and otherworldly.

Had never looked more like a faerie than in this moment, an eerie beauty in the woods.

  ***

  London, England, United Kingdom – May 1843

  ~Cloudia~

 Cloudia woke up from her dreamless sleep before Clifford came to rouse her. She sat up and rubbed her eyes and when he arrived, she was wide awake and asked right after greeting the old butler, “Did he come?”

“He is downstairs, Mylady,” answered Clifford, and the tension that had lain on Cloudia’s shoulders the last five days fell away.

Clifford placed a tray with a cup of tea and today’s newspaper on her bedside cabinet. Cloudia sipped on the tea as she glanced over the title page while Clifford set out her clothes.

“Anything interesting, Young Lady?” Clifford asked.

“A corpse was retrieved from the Thames,” said Cloudia and set the empty teacup and the paper back on the cabinet. “They haven’t identified it yet,” she continued and peeled the blanket away from her. “If it’s a noble, I might be assigned to the case.”

With a nod, Clifford stepped out of the room and a maid took his place. She hastily helped Cloudia into her dress. It was striped periwinkle blue and white and had dark grey lace details; it had been a gift from Cathleen for her last birthday. The maid wove a blue band into Cloudia’s braid and after a cursory check that everything was in place, Cloudia thanked her and left her bedroom.

She quickened her pace on the stairs. She did not want to run and give away her excitement; still, she could not stop herself from being excited at all. Oscar Livingstone was a convicted criminal but Cloudia was nevertheless eager to see him again – after all, she had to ensure he had done nothing bad in his absence. She also really wanted to find out where he had been and who this person was he wanted her to meet. Clifford had not mentioned anyone else; why had Oscar come alone? Because he was unsure whether he could bring the other person to Cloudia’s townhouse so freely?

Cloudia arrived on the ground floor with a clack of her shoes. She forced herself not to grin like an idiot while she strode to the parlour. Clifford opened the door for her, and relief washed over Cloudia when she saw Oscar sitting at the table. She trusted Clifford, of course, but she liked confirming everything with her own eyes.

Oscar had kept his word. It had not been a mistake to trust him.

“Good morning, Lady,” said Oscar hoarsely, looking at her with his beautiful pale blue eyes. It was a startling sight as always; today, it made her frown though. Something was off about him.

“Good morning, Oscar,” Cloudia returned and sat down at the table. Clifford brought her a light breakfast, and she noted that he had not placed a plate in front of Oscar. Instead, his side of the table was covered by a book. Cloudia had seen it before while looking through the townhouse’s library. The solitary Paradise Regained with the strange string of letters in the front. She kept forgetting to purchase its partner, its prequel.

“I told Clifford I do not require breakfast,” Oscar answered Cloudia’s unspoken question. “I have no appetite.”

“It does feel odd eating in front of someone though when that someone is not eating himself,” said Cloudia.

“Please don’t mind me and simply enjoy your meal.”

Cloudia buttered a scone and scrutinised Oscar. He still looked thin and pale, his years in the asylum marked on his face and body, but there was something off about him. She scanned him as Cecelia had taught her: His words were more clipped than five days ago. His shoulders were very slightly sagged. The faintest dark rings under his eyes. An itch in his hands as he played absentmindedly with the edge of a page of Paradise Regained. There was an odd quietness to Oscar as well. He was the opposite he was five days ago when he smiled and thanked her.

The realisation hit Cloudia as she put marmalade on her scone.

“Whatever you meant to do, did it not go well?” she asked.

Oscar studied her. His face at least betrayed no emotion. “You are definitely Simon’s daughter,” he said as she bit into her scone. “And yes, it did not go well.”

Cloudia swallowed before she spoke, “What did you want to do?”

“See my family.”

She stared at him.

  He had gone to see his family?

No, this could not be. I might not be Cecelia but I had done my research and I had done it thoroughly!

 Oscar had been raised by his grandparents Isobel Henderson and Ewan Seumas Livingstone, both of which had died in 1818. His mother Ealasaid had been deemed unsuitable to raise her son, though she had lived with him at her parents’ estate. Ealasaid had passed away in 1812, and Oscar’s alleged father Ranald Livingstone had died in 1798 before Oscar had even been born. Oscar had no living relatives. No aunts or uncles or cousins. Nothing.

Unless Oscar spoke of his other potential father, Malcolm Fairbairn. Next to no records existed of him, and he could theoretically still be alive. However, if the rumours were true and Malcolm had abandoned Ealasaid when she was pregnant, I doubted Oscar would even want to see him. Let alone be in such a rush to meet him.

  Cloudia put down her scone. “I didn’t know you even had a family,” she said matter-of-factly.

“You couldn’t have known,” Oscar replied. “My wife and children were and are my greatest secrets.”

Coldness went through Cloudia as his words reverberated in her mind. Oscar’s voice had sounded so gentle when he had said them. However, Cloudia’s thoughts were transfixed not on his tone but on one word: My wife and children were and are my greatest secrets.

“I never got to see and speak to my family after I was arrested,” Oscar told her. “And I never received a message from them. My wife was stopped from contacting me, I am sure of that. She would have demanded at least one conversation so that I could explain myself to her. I kept her in the dark about what I was doing, and I know she would have wanted to know why.” He was quiet for a moment and laid his hand on the book in front of him as if he was swearing on it as others swore on the Bible. “That’s why when you freed me from the asylum, it was my duty to find her and explain myself. I didn’t seek her forgiveness; I do not deserve it but I knew I owed her an explanation and an apology. It is the least she deserved after what I had done. But when I looked for her… all I could find was a grave.” Cloudia’s heart sank. “My wife was pregnant at the time of my arrest,” continued Oscar. “It was a girl, I heard. My wife died giving birth to her and my daughter died shortly afterwards.”

“I am so sorry,” said Cloudia even though she knew how weak of a response it was; still, it felt right.

Oscar did not reply anything, and they sat in stifling silence until Cloudia took a deep breath and said, “I want you not to take any offence, though I do have to remark you do not seem like someone who would marry and have children.”

“I agree,” said Oscar. “My wife… before I met her and even afterwards, I never imagined myself marrying and becoming a father, let alone marry and have children with her.”

“You say ‘children’ but you only mentioned one daughter. What about your other children? Are they still alive?”

“We had another daughter. She died when she was very young, many years before her sister.”

“I’m sorry,” it slipped out of Cloudia again. Oscar looked down at the book.

  I could not imagine the pain of being locked away for years and emerging with the world changed and all you ever loved dead, with so much left unspoken between you and them.

  “How…” Cloudia began hesitantly. “How did you and your wife meet? If you want to tell.”

Again, Oscar did not say anything for a while. Then, he raised his head and Cloudia stiffened a bit when he fixed his tired eyes on her. That was what had been off about them. Even when he had just left his asylum cell, his eyes had been sharp; now, a suffocating weariness was etched into them. “When my grandparents died, I was still in the military,” said Oscar. “As I was their only heir, the manor, their wealth, and their entire estate went to me. However, I was stationed in the Midlands, and my family’s estate is in Scotland. I was able to take leaves now and then to maintain everything, though I did most things remotely with the help of a secretary I employed. I have few fond memories of my childhood and joined the military because I wanted to get away. I saw no reason to return more often than I absolutely had to, even after the inheritance.

“A year after my grandparents died, Trudy Ashdown arrived in my home village. She was of high social standing and could have had the world; still, she had chosen to settle in that little place. There, she met her best friend. They shared a close bond, and he would do everything for her. I admit I oftentimes found him obnoxious – for example, he insisted to call me by an idiotic nickname…”

“What was it?” asked Cloudia, and Oscar shot her a dark look before he continued, “… but I would lie if I said he was not a good man. There were very few I can call a ‘friend,’ and he was one of them. Trudy’s best friend is also the reason why I met her.

“Trudy was an avid reader but there were very few places to acquire books in my home village and because of her move, her library was still mostly empty. I, however, possessed an extensive book collection. My grandparents had filled the manor with nothing but religious texts, and when I inherited everything, I decided to make the library more varied. I had collected quite a few books when I was in France and I sent those and all the acquisitions I made while in the Midlands to my manor. My secretary organised them all. It were well-known facts that I was rarely at my manor and that my library consisted of thousands of books. And when Trudy fell ill one day and complained about the lack of reading material, her friend decided to borrow some books from my house.

“He would sneak into my manor, take a few books and later carefully return them to where had taken them. Trudy’s sickness was rather severe and this went on for weeks. She had already recovered when he returned the last of my books – this time I was at the manor though. I caught him climbing through a window. I had noted by then that someone had been in my library because of the marks in the dust, but I never imagined I would find the culprit so quickly. Trudy got worried when her friend didn’t come back. Ever since I was a child, there was a rumour that a nefarious monster lived in the manor of the village’s lord. Trudy had heard that rumour as well but did not believe it to be true. Still, when her friend failed to reappear, she hurried to my manor and knocked on my door.

“Trudy had only got well very recently and her body was still weakened from the illness. But if I had never been told that, I would not have known. I opened the door and there she was: A young woman so much younger than me but with such fierceness and determination in her face and eyes that I rarely saw even in soldiers. Trudy stood in front of me, unwavering and unflinching, without taking her eyes off mine and requested to switch places with her friend. She believed I was holding him prisoner for breaking into my house and she wanted to take his place as she was the reason he had even trespassed and burgled, to begin with. Because of that, she thought the fault lay with her and she wanted to atone for what she did.” For a split second, a faint smile hushed over Oscar’s face. The moment had been so brief, Cloudia wondered if she had imagined it. “Of course, I was not holding her friend prisoner. I only made him help me clean my manor; I fully intended to let him go afterwards. I had no use for him after all. Trudy profusely apologised when I explained everything to her and insisted to help too. We were finished by the evening, and they left to return to their respective homes. I thought this was the last I would see of them but the next day, Trudy knocked again.

“This time, Trudy had a basket with her and her lady’s maid in tow for propriety. She said she felt awful for thinking I was a monster and believed that simply helping me dust was not enough of an apology. I thought she only wanted to leave the basket with me but Trudy invited me to have a picnic. She fell into the hole of believing some rumour because she did not know me and wanted to rectify it. I accepted.

“From then on, we would exchange letters when I was in the Midlands, and I would make an effort to come to my home village more often. Even when my regiment was sent to Ireland, this did not stop. Trudy was exceptionally intelligent and every conversation with her was a joy. At no point did I think she had any interest in me beyond our odd, mismatched companionship. And it was odd and mismatched.

“Trudy was the most beautiful woman I have seen, and I knew many admired her in the village. She was also unbelievably kind and gentle; if she had not been, I doubt she would have ever asked me to a picnic. She truly was an angel and my opposite in every way. Furthermore, Trudy was several years younger than me. Over two years after we met, her best friend told me that she was in…” Oscar broke himself off and cleared his throat. “Her friend must have become sick of the fact that neither Trudy nor me dared to admit that we secretly wished for more; thus, one day, he plainly told me to propose to her. After he reassured me that Trudy was indeed waiting for a proposal, I talked to her mother who told me to just ask her; she had no business dictating her daughter’s life and if Trudy wanted to marry me, she would say so if I asked.

“I pondered over the proposal for weeks. Trudy’s friend offered to help me but I refused. I wanted to do it myself. I eventually asked her on a picnic and proposed to her with a dagger.”

Cloudia stared at Oscar. “A dagger? You proposed to your wife with a dagger?”

“Yes,” he said nonchalantly. “I did not know her ring size and feared asking would give me away. I also did not know anything about jewellery and was unwilling to consult her friend or family about that; as I said, I wanted to handle the proposal on my own. Therefore, I had a dagger custom-made that was both beautiful and sharp. During the picnic, I took it out and asked her if she wanted to marry me. Trudy was rather taken aback by the dagger, not the question. When I explained myself, she laughed and accepted both the dagger and me. Her friend had been right: It was what she, we, had wanted.

“I intended to have a long engagement because Trudy was not even twenty and I was stationed in Ireland. However, Trudy persisted to marry me that same year. Not only did she not want to wait for long, but she also suspected I partially wanted a long engagement because I secretly hoped she could find someone ‘better’ than me. Our betrothal was never formally announced, and because Trudy did not wear a ring, no one in the village suspected anything. Trudy was correct of course. While… while I did want to marry her, I thought she could find someone more suitable for her. Someone less… like me and more like her. She assured me she could not do better and wanted to marry me as quickly as possible so that I could put my mind to peace and have a constant reminder of her with me in the military – my wedding band.

“We got engaged in spring and married in summer. Like before, our relationship was upheld by letters and visits. Trudy could not go to Ireland but she often travelled to Wales so that I could reach her easier. Seven years later, Charles Rowan approached me.” Oscar’s eyes momentarily darkened when he said his name. “We knew each other from my time in the 52nd regiment and got along well enough. Rowan had been chosen by Peel to helm the soon-to-be-founded Metropolitan Police Service alongside Richard Mayne, and Rowan wanted me to work with him. I agreed. I left the military and spent some months in Scotland with my family until Scotland Yard was formally formed in September. From then on, I worked as an inspector and my job often made me cross paths with your father. The first time I met Simon I did not work for Scotland Yard though.”

Cloudia’s eyes widened. “How did you meet my father then?”

“Because of Trudy,” Oscar told her. “In 1825, I was promoted to captain and Trudy wanted to celebrate this with a family portrait. Because no one knew I was married and had a family, we had to find a painter who would keep this commission a secret. Trudy asked an artist friend at Somerset House whether she knew a suitable person, and her friend referred her to Simon Phantomhive. Barely anyone knew he was a painter as he only painted for himself; he didn’t like to talk about his work and would have no reason to tell anyone about my secret family. Trudy promptly convinced and hired Simon.

“I went on leave, and Simon stayed with us for a few weeks to create the portrait. He also made numerous sketches. Every drawing in the sketchbook you brought with you to the asylum stems from that time.”

“That’s why you were in it! Then, the landscape and village drawings depict your home place?”

Oscar nodded. “Yes. Trudy and Simon remained in touch even after the portrait was done – it must still hang in the foyer of Livingstone Manor. I only found out that Simon was the Watchdog after I began working for the Metropolitan Police. Simon told Trudy then too. If… if I had found Trudy alive I would have asked her to come with me and meet you.”

“Because she was close to my father?”

“Because she was your godmother.”

  For the third time today, I felt like the ground was crumbling under my feet.

I didn’t know Oscar had a family. Didn’t know he and my father had met years before the Met was created.

Didn’t know I had a godmother.

I thought back to my childhood and stiffened. No, not even my aunts and uncles had been able to help me.

  Oscar mustered her. “Did no one ever tell you that you had a godmother at all? Her name might not have been mentioned but I thought her existence would have at least been made known to you.”

“No, no one ever did,” said Cloudia, her mouth dry as she spoke.

She expected him to say “I’m sorry” too; instead, he said, “How odd.” Cloudia blinked at Oscar as he continued, “Maybe, no one informed you because Trudy was not your godmother in the most commonly known sense because she could not provide you with any spiritual guidance. However, Trudy liked the thought of an ‘extra’ parent figure who would help a child throughout life and hold a claim to them if their parents passed away. When we had our first child, she made her best friend the ‘godfather.’ Simon asked me if I wanted to become your godfather in this sense too but I refused. I saw no advantage to binding you to me like that even if that bond was only faint.

“Trudy did consider becoming more involved in your life after Simon died though,” said Oscar.

Cloudia stared at him. “Why… why didn’t she? Or was she refused?”

“She was not refused. In the end, she decided against it. We were not doing well at that time ourselves and Simon had distanced himself from us a year earlier, though he never retracted Trudy’s status as your ‘godmother.’ Trudy still thought it would be better if she stayed away. You also have enough living relatives and your mother is alive too; she thought there was no need for her.”

Cloudia took a deep breath. “Why did my father distance himself from you?”

“I don’t know,” Oscar told her. “From one day to the other, he gradually ceased to work with me on cases and his letters to Trudy became less and less frequent. Neither my wife nor I did anything to offend or upset him, as far as we knew. I’m afraid I cannot help you with anything from that year.”

She looked down at her plate and the bitten-into scone. The tea must have long gone cold too. It did not matter anyway; Cloudia had lost her appetite by the time Oscar began talking about his family.

“I wanted to ask something,” said Oscar, and Cloudia looked up again. “Did Rowan give you any of my possessions? The objects I had with me when I was arrested?”

She shook her head. “No. He told me he got rid of everything. Was anything important amongst the items?”

“Yes, a drawing. One from Simon’s sketchbook.”

Cloudia frowned. “There is no page missing in it though.”

“Simon destroyed the book’s binding to retrieve it,” Oscar explained. “He wanted me to keep that drawing; he said he could simply get the book rebound.”

“What was on the page?”

“A portrait of Trudy. I always carried it with me.”

  Dear lord, could this conversation become any sadder?

  “I understand that Trudy and your daughters are dead but what about her mother? Your mother-in-law?” asked Cloudia. “It would be fine if some others knew that you’re alive and weren’t executed as long as they kept it a secret.”

“She died many years ago.”

“And Trudy’s best friend?”

“He is still alive but I do not want to bother him anymore. He lost enough because of me; it is better if he doesn’t find out I’m alive,” Oscar told her.

“I did also petition to free your imprisoned servants, and they should arrive in a few weeks,” Cloudia said, wanting to give him a bit of hope at least. “But apart from them, is there no one else who would want to see you?”

Oscar was quiet for a moment. “No,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “There is no one else.”

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

I never really made a request before so that's my first time wish u like it

So I was thinking about some fluff drunk y/n acting all stupid and flirty to bakugo who doesn't like drinking around her because he knows that they both won't have someone to send them home if they got drunk

[Secretly caring]

*Whispering* he also gets a bit touchy if she let's him

*friends to lovers thing*

Wish my explanation was good enough and can't wait for the next chapter of FBRC <3

OUUU this is such a cute idea ! i’m so happy, this is my first request as well so we both have a milestone LMAOOO ! i tried to honour your request as best i could ! <3 (OU and AAAAA im glad you like FBRC ! i hope you’ll keep reading !)

bakugou katsuki considers himself a mature, mostly rational person.

despite what others, media outlets and even his own damn friends might say, katsuki thinks he’s really not that bad.

sure, he’s flipped off a camera man, cursed out another one…and another one—but who doesn’t have a bad day once in a while ?

he’s changed since he was a kid, he doesn’t get set off as easy anymore most days. he’s learned to be more patient, a little more levelheaded. that’s at least something his shitty friends will tell you.

he’s changed from when he was a kid, he’s grown now. he’s a man.

but right now katsuki feels like smashing your head in with a brick.

"kah-su-kiiiiiiiii... m'sleeppyy" you whine, leaning against his shoulder.

katsuki doesn't regret a lot, but he sure as hell regrets accepting to go out for drinks with you. again. you had said something about 'celebrating getting a day off after a while'.

"never should've accepted goin' out with yer ass." he laments grumpily. despite the fact he says this every single time he goes out to drink with you, he never seems to learn his lesson. he never seems to want to learn his lesson.

truth is, katsuki has grown a lot since his UA days but one thing he hasn't outgrown is his giant rampant crush on you. it's embarrassing how tightly you've got him wrapped around your finger, how easily you can get him to do whatever you want as long as you just asked him to.

he complains and grumbles about it but he'll never, ever, say no to you.

which is how he always, always, ends up in this predicament.

katsuki snaps out of his thoughts when he hears you sniffle.

"y-ya don't like.." you sniffle again " ya don't like hangin' out wif me ?"

fuck.

immediatly it's like a switch had been flipped. he moves his arm so he can wrap it around you and have you lean against his chest. you always got emotional when you were a little too drunk, that usually meant it was time to go.

"no—no, s'not that. i—" he sucks in a breath, cheeks heating up despite the fact he knows there's barely any chance you'll remember this. usually he'd remind you of your embarrassing drunk moments as revenge for making him take you home and taking care of your ass because you were too drunk to, but he'll refrain from mentioning this part.

"i do like hangin' out with you, dummy. quit talkin' stupid." he shushes you softly, unconsciously rubbing your arm comfortingly.

"b-but you said, you regretted goin' out wit me" you pout. fuck, you're cute. katsuki has to fight off the urge to lean down and kiss it away.

"i say a lot of stuff i don't always mean, sweets. you know that." he replies " 'f i didn't wanna hang out with ya, i wouldn't."

you hum pensively, leaning against his shoulder as you think. you smell like something sweet, he can't quite track down what it is, but it's making him dizzy. you've always had the ability to make him lose focus. you're so close and you smell so good and katsuki feels like he's drunk.

"mmyeah...guess that's true" you hiccup. you raise your hand up to trace his jaw line with your finger and he refuses to look at you but he can hear the cheeky little smile in your voice "you like hanging out with me, right ? that's why you always say yes when i ask !

he scoffs "i only say yes 'cuz i know you'd just end up goin' out anyway, you'd get yourself in trouble." he's stiff as a fucking board, he feels like if he moves a little too much he'll say something he shouldn't.

"no i wouldn't" you argue, then you reach your whole hand up to squeeze his cheeks "but even if i did, i know you'd come to save me, mr. dynamight" you giggle

he's so sick of you. katsuki's been in plenty of situations where he was this close to death, but he's certain you're gonna be the death of him.

"time for bed" he grumbles. he lifts you by your shoulders slightly until you can properly stand on your feet "m'getting you home, yer too drunk to be up right now" he asserts, chuckling when you pout at him when he flicks your forehead

"you're not the boss o' me ! 'm completely—oops" you trip forward but katsuki catches you with ease, he's always there to.

you look up at him innocently and he looks down at you with one eyebrow raised "you were sayin' ?" he sassed.

you roll your eyes at him and push off him slightly to stand more comfortably, you stick your tongue out at him. " i said—i'm fine..but if you wanna take me home that badly, i guess i'll allow it" you shrug. katsuki squints then shakes his head, smiling to himself. you catch him and giggle, he can't cover up his chuckle fast enough. you must look stupid to the other people in the bar just sitting there giggling at each other, he realizes. then he remembers he could honestly not give enough of a shit about what these other drunk losers thought, the only drunk loser he cared about was right here in his arms.

right where you belonged.

you're out like a light by the time katsuki's brought you back to your apartment, but he doesn't mind, he'd expected it anyway. he carries you like a sack of potatoes to your floor. he's glad he'd managed to grab your keys before you fell asleep, having to wrestle the keys from you and risk you getting cranky at him doesn't sound all that nice right now.

he helps you take off your shoes and he's extremely grateful you're just lucid enough to change by yourself. he helps you clean up and brush your teeth, then carries you to bed even though he knows damn well you could walk just fine. not before getting you to down a glass of water.

you're annoying when you're drunk and sleepy, you're whiny and everything is too much work for you. katsuki grumbles right along with you, calling you a pain in the ass, then promptly taking it back when he sees you tearing up again. he grumbles and complains but he knows he wouldn't let anyone else do it for him. not only because he's sure whoever it is wouldn't even be able to do this half as well as he does, but also because despite his better judgement, despite the fact you piss him off to no bounds, you're his to take care of. and he'd be damned if he let anyone else take care of what's his.

so you whine, and he complains, but he truly wouldn't have it any other way.

you insist on wanting him to stay with you and he knows he probably shouldn't. he likes you too much to just casually stay here with you, he knows he won't be able to sleep and he's just going to keep staring at your lashes fluttering as you dream. but you pout at him and plead him so sweetly, he really can't say no to you.

he likes you too much.

he steals one of your hoodies and a pair of sweatpants (he technically isn't stealing—since they're both his to begin with) and climbs into bed with you. you immediatly latch onto him, nuzzling into his shoulder before thanking him.

"for what ?" he mutters sleepily, slowly wrapping his arms around you.

"for.." you interrupt yourself with a yawn, he chuckles "for always takin' care of me..you're the best."

if you were more sober, he'd simply answer with a cocky "tell me something i don't know." but you're not and katsuki's already too far gone, so he squeezes your waist in appreciation then responds " i'm always gonna take care of you."

he's suprised by how soft and sappy he sounds but you suprise him even more when you lean up slightly to press a feather light kiss to the underside of his jaw and whisper a sweet little "love you."

he lays there for a good long while without response, you don't mind because you chose that exact moment to fall asleep. he lays there and he's sure he won't be able to fall asleep now. fuck you for knocking out and leaving him like this, he thinks. he's trying not to give himself false hope, maybe you meant it platonically. he keeps trying and he keeps thinking all night but he's still impossibly giddy.

he was contemplating not telling you anything about last night, but he can't help himself. he's nervous—god, he's so fucking nervous when you wake up while he's getting comfy in your kitchen like it was his, making breakfast. you look groggy and sleepy and hungover, but to him, you still look adorable.

when you're awake enough, munching away at the breakfast he's made, he tells you about last night and his heart slams against his chest when he mentions what you had told him.

though, when he sees how you choke on a piece of your toast, and how flustered you look, like a deer in headlights, his heart beats hard against his ribcage for a completely different reason.

the next time you go out for drinks, it's to celebrate the start of your relationship.

AAA first request done ! hope you liked this anon <3 if you guys have any request pleassseee lemme know !

[daydreams-after-dark]

Free Use Jail Cell, Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Police Officer Skz ot8 x female reader

Premise: you're arrested and held for 24 hours by 8 police officers at the local police station / reader has her fantasy play out.

Word Count: 3k (part 2)

Chapter Summary: You're interrogated by 2min.

a/n: This fic will be in multiple parts because I get too impatient not to share what I’ve written so far. There will be two, possibly three installments (tag list is open).

I refer to the officers as “Officer Hyunjin”, “Officer Minho” etc just to make it quick to identify the characters. 

The whole premise is planned and explained in the fic. The story is purely fantasy, but please be mindful of content warnings, as it has potentially triggering content. I want you to be safe here on my blog.

CW: dom 2min, sex toys (various: anal and vaginal), stretch kink, harness restraints, paddles, spanking, nipple clamps, double pen same hole (toy and penis) double pen two holes (oral and vaginal), anal penetration, everything is unprotected, degradation, face slap, hair tugging, shoe on face (really quick), collar and leash, cum eating, creampie, safeguards are in place to stop everything if reader wants/needs to. Aftercare.

🚨🚨🚨🚨

Chief Chan leads you to the interrogation room himself. "Now I don't want to find out you've been insolent, you hear me? Although I know Officer's Seungmin and Detective Minho are more than capable of handling you. Go." he pushes you into the empty room, closing the door behind you and locking it.

You gulp and slowly take in the space around you. It's not a modern interrogation room. It looks like a morgue. The brick walls are cold and gray, the concrete under your bare feet is filthy. You're not sure what the dark stains that are splattered around the place are either, and you try not to think the worst. This isn't real. You remind yourself.

In the center of the room is a stainless steel table. Beside it a stainless steel trolley, with what appears to be dildos, straps, and various other paraphernalia, and - oh fuck - a paddle hanging from a hook on the side. The entire room is illuminated, barely, by a single naked globe hanging from the concrete ceiling above.

There are no chairs, nowhere for questioning to occur, but you have a sneaking suspicion that you'll be on that cold, hard slab of a table very soon.

You hear the door unlock and your heart pounds loudly. Fuck. This is it. You take a deep, grounding breath as you watch Officer Seungmin and Detective Minho enter the room.

"On your knees, pup." Seungmin spits, immediately shoving you to the ground and pushing the sole of his combat boot into your cheek. Your face presses against the disgusting concrete. He doesn't push harder than he needs to, but just the act itself makes you feel so small, helpless and filthy.

You sense the Detective walk over to the trolley, then back towards you, leaning over you and placing a leather collar and leash around your neck. Suengmin removes his boot, and Minho tugs you up until you're on your knees.

"Look at this pathetic little bitch." Minho leans over you and pushes your hair out of your face. "Someone has been a very bad little girl." He scolds. "And we're going to find out exactly what you're keeping from us." He smirks evilly.

"Up." Suengmin barks, from behind you, taking the leash from Minho and yanking on it until you're standing in front of him. He presses his body against your back, breathing in your ear menacingly, making you shudder. He snakes a hand up underneath the hem of your oversized shirt, the only thing you're wearing, and slides his fingers through your folds. "This is gonna be so much fun." he chuckles low. "Up on the table." he slaps you hard on the ass.

The table is barely big enough to fit you, and you realize it's designed so two people can access you easily from either end. You're instructed to kneel on all fours, with your feet almost hanging off one end, and your head extending precariously over the other end, so you get another view of the filthy floor.

Minho picks up a pair of metal scissors and your eyes widen as he cuts your clothing and rips it off you so you are naked and bare for them. Then you’re adorned with a ball gag with attached nipple clamps.

"We can't have you being a brat. We don't need you to say a word for us to get what we want from you." Seungmin says, as he secures the clamps tightly to your nipples. The sensation of your nipples being pinched sends a spark of arousal to your cunt and you immediately feel yourself becoming moist.

"Here. Keep this in your hand." Minho places a small device in your palm. "Press this button and everything stops immediately. You understand?" he says quietly looking into your eyes. You nod. Once he's certain you understand, he’s back in character.

The two men take their time circling you, taking you in, deciding how they are going to proceed. They look dominating, cold, mean. They start to touch you, stroke your body, your back, the backs of your thighs. All with villainous smirks plastered on their beautiful faces.

“Let’s start with a punishment.” Minho decides, grabbing the paddle.

Your eyes widen and you try to swallow, but it’s so hard with the ball gag in your mouth, and you brace yourself as he settles behind you. The impact of the paddle takes you by surprise, making you cry out a muffled sob. Again, Minho brings the paddle to your fleshy ass cheek with a loud slap. You drop your head and squeeze your eyes closed. It fucking stings, but at the same time your cunt throbs. How can this hurt so much yet feel so arousing?

Minho soothes the skin with the palm of his hand before delivering another hit. You grip onto the edge of the steel table with your free hand, while trying to stabilize yourself with the hand that’s holding your safety device. 

Another round of paddling ensues, and you’ve lost count of how many you’ve taken. Your ass feels red raw, and the tears are running freely down your face. You feel pathetic, useless, helpless. No one’s ever been able to make you feel this way before. You’ve finally found what you’ve been looking for.

“Enough.” Seungmin raises his hand signaling for Minho to stop. “Let me inspect.” he moves behind you to marvel at his partner’s work. “Fuck. Look how red she is.” He runs his palm over your red cheek and you wince. “Shh… Now now.” Suengmin purrs, but there is absolutely no hint of concern in his tone. “We haven’t even gotten started. That was just punishment for making our cocks so hard.”

You drop onto your elbows, already exhausted from “just the punishment”, and sob. Seungmin crouches in front of you and lifts your head so you’re looking directly into his cold eyes. “Hey, Pup.” He slaps your cheek, hard. The sting makes you feel more alert. “Minho’s going to do his probing now.” He raises an eyebrow. “And you’re going to be an obedient little pup and take. Every. Single. Inch.”

Your stomach drops, and you feel your juices leak from your cunt. The anticipation, the fear, the excitement of what is unfolding has your heart racing. 

Suengmin stands back up and leans against the wall to watch Minho, whom you can hear rustling around at the trolley. You hear the sound of a bottle opening and closing. Then with one hand holding your hip steady, he presses a solid, cold, lubed object against your vaginal entrance. 

“It’s just a dildo. Nothing to be scared of. Deep breath through your nose.” he commands and pushes the dildo into your cunt. The stretch feels good and you wonder why on earth you were fearful. It feels regular sized. He fucks you with it for a few minutes, until your hips are rocking back and you’re arching your back in a such away it makes their cocks throb. 

“Seungmin, come help hold her steady.” He instructs his partner, and he is at your side helping hold your hips still. You whine in protest around the gag, and then you feel Minho press the dildo in further. Your eyes almost pop out of your head and your whole body tenses, when you're abruptly spread twice as wide. You feel like you’re being ripped in two as you realize the dildo has a bulbous base. The tip now presses hard into your cervix as your opening is being stretched obscenely wide. You’re so full. You feel so full. 

“Suengmin, fuck look at how much she stretches. She’s gonna look good when two cocks are inside that slutty little cunt.” Minho declares.

“Fucking slut.” Seungmin says in a disgusted tone.

“She has to take more.” Minho says flatly, reaching for something from the trolley, and then another lubed object presses against your ass. You try to squirm to no avail, and cry out when a hand slaps you on your sore, red cheek. “Sluts have to behave themselves or they will regret it.” Suengmin warns.

You pause and try to relax as Minho pushes the device past the tight ring of muscle. “I don’t know why you’re squirming? This is just to prep you. You’re gonna have to take a much bigger one shortly.” he advises.

He’s right. After torturing your ass with increasingly bigger devices, he is ready to insert the “big” one. It’s thick and it feels endless, reaching places no one, or thing, has ever reached before. You can hardly hold yourself up, and you’re on the verge of what you can tell will be an earth shattering orgasm. You are scared. You’re not allowed to come without permission, and part of you thinks that maybe you won’t be given permission at all. Although, you are sure that they will rip at least one from you before this interrogation is over. All so they’ll have a reason to punish you further.

Minho, silently works on fucking your ass and cunt with the two oversized devices until you are a fucking mess. You can’t keep it contained any longer and a brutally intense orgasm hits you so hard you shake uncontrollably and almost slip entirely off the table.

“Fucking whore!” Growled Seungmin. “Who told you you could come?” he came around to the front and tugged your head up by your hair. “You just want us to punish you more, don’t you? Well. That’s exactly what you’re gonna get." He lets go of your head abruptly, and removes your ball gag, resecuring it around your neck with your collar. You can finally breathe properly and you start to cry.

“No. No one said you can cry. We haven’t given you anything to cry about yet.” Snarls Seungmin.

The dildos are removed and you’re repositioned onto your back, your knees thankful for the relief. But this new position isn’t any more comfortable. The table, being so short in length, means your head hangs over the edge, whilst you have no option to fold your legs up because your ass comes to the other edge. Perfect for what is about to happen.

Your legs are strapped with leather restraints to keep legs bent and folded towards your chest and your wrists are cuffed and attached to ankle restraints. You’re essentially folded in half and spread open, with no way of moving, and for them to do whatever they please. The little alarm buzzer is placed in your hand for safekeeping.

You see Minho in your upside down vision, unbuckling his belt and releasing his cock. Your mouth waters at the memory of taking him down your throat just a few hours before, and you are more than pleased when he approaches you. “Open up, time to be fed again.” he holds your face steady as he slides his cock all the way into your throat. You can take him a lot easier in this position, and he uses it to his advantage, fucking your face rough and deep. He doesn’t care that you’re gagging, or that you can’t breathe when he pushes his entire cock in and stills. He pulls out, letting you fill your lungs, and then he’s back inside cutting the air off. 

You squeak when you feel something cold, slimy and flexible being squeezed into your pussy. Minho pulls out. “Wanna see what Seungmin’s doing?” He taunts. He supports your head as you lift yourself and look down at your pussy. Seungmin is holding what looks to be a silicone or rubber snake-like device. It’s about an inch and half in diameter and so fucking long. Maybe three feet long? Your eyes widen. “Don’t be so alarmed. He’s not gonna stuff the entire thing inside you.” sneers Minho. “Now, back to being a cockslut.” he drops your head back down and resumes fucking your face.

All you’re imagining though, is Seungmin pushing more and more of that - was it a snake? A hose? Fuck, is it even a sex toy or is it some random thing from the hardware store? - into your cunt.

“Yup, that’s as far as it's gonna go.” Sighs Seungmin. It’s deep, but not filling you out too much, not like that monstrous dildo from earlier. Until you feel the tip of his cock pushing in alongside it. Minho, as if pre-empting your protests, holds you by your neck keeping you steady and deliberately fucks you hard and fast. “You’re gonna take it, kitten. Everything.” he hisses. 

You can’t cry. You can’t scream. You can only take what they are giving you. Your throat hurts, but Minho doesn’t seem like he’s going to tire anytime soon. 

Once Seungmin is fully inside you, he starts to thrust, building up the pace quickly. You’re so wet and stretched already that it doesn’t take long for your walls to adjust to him. The men fuck both ends of your body, using you like a fleshlight. Growling, grunting, making sounds of approval as you simply lay there and take it.

“I wanna fucking come in her mouth.” states Seungmin. 

They pull out of you simultaneously, leaving you gasping and gaping. You’re so empty, even with that fucking snake situation still in your cunt.

Your mouth is filled first, with Seungmin sinking into you. You can taste your juices coating his cock, mixed with lube. Like earlier in the cell, Seungmin is rougher, more erratic with his thrusts than Minho, and you gag much more as he fucks you. He runs his hands along your body then squeezes both your breasts hard. You arch off the table as he tugs on the nipple clamps. You moan around Seungmin, who must not have been expecting it, and he cums down your throat with a “how dare you, you fucking slut.”

You’re secretly satisfied as you swallow him down. “You still need your mouth stuffed. I don’t want to hear you and your pathetic little whines.” he finds the other end of his ‘snake-friend’, and starts to shove it into your mouth. He pulls some sort of extension out from the table, a headrest, so you don’t have to keep dangling your neck. How thoughtful.

Minho lubes himself up and presses himself to your anus, pushing in the entire way. He fills you so good. He pulls out halfway and thrusts back in, and it’s too much. You come again. You know they see you quivering, and they’re not happy. 

“Just keep fucking her, Minho. Might as well just force her to come over and over at this point. Until she begs us to stop. Oh wait. Her mouth’s full, she won’t be able to. Shame.” The Officer laughs.

Minho doubles down, on a mission to rip as many orgasms out of you as he can, overstimulating you in the process. How much can you take before you need to hit your safety alarm? You’re determined not to. You want to take everything. Minho grasps the snake dildo and tries to jam more of it into you, but it won’t fit, and you cry out.

“Fuck, I’m hard again. Haven’t you even blown yet?” Seungmin looks to Minho in disbelief. 

“Course I fucking have, but I’m not done, bitch feels too fucking good. Gotta fuck my cum deep into her, y’know.” he grunts. He reaches out to grab yet another device, this time a small vibrator and presses it onto your clit. “Fucking come, kitten.” He growls.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head and you convulse as you come again. Minho doesn’t stop, he continues to fuck into your ass, still hard as stone, turning you into a sobbing, overstimulated wreck.

“Again.” he pushes the vibrator harder against you with one hand and attempts to fuck you with the snake dildo, all whilst not missing a beat with his thrusts.

Where the fuck Seungmin gone you had no idea. Until you feel him tightening your nipple clamps and then pulling out the snake and replacing it with his cock.

“The detective said ‘come again’, pup.” He thrusts into your mouth and fills you with his cum again. He pulls out and wipes some on your cheek. 

One final time, you come, trembling on the table, the straps and restraints dig into your skin as you fight against your restraints. You can’t possibly take any more. They seem to know too.

Minho pulls out, and you wonder if he even came a second time. You manage a glance at his cock and it looks painfully hard, and you’re not sure why he just didn’t use you until he came again.

He pushes your cheeks wide, spreading your holes and sighs when you feel cum dribble out. He slips an anal plug in to keep the rest inside you.

The straps, restraints, chains, clamps are all removed from you carefully and you’re cleaned with warm, wet towels from a cabinet under the table.

Seungmin applies cream to soothe where you were spanked, and helps you put on a fresh oversized button down shirt, and Minho carries you bridal-style back to your cell. You nuzzle your head against him and close your eyes. You’re absolutely exhausted. He enters your cell and places you down on the mattress, pulling a blanket over you. Such a contrast to the treatment just before.

“Detective?” You whisper, looking up at him. “You didn’t get to finish.” you say in a small voice.

He shrugs. “That back there wasn’t about me.” He half smiles. “It was about satisfying you.” 

“But what if finishing you off would satisfy me even more?” You ask.

“You need your rest.” He grunts, ignoring your advances, tucking the blanket around your chin.

“It’ll help me sleep.” You plead.

“Fuck!” He sighs and looks up to the ceiling. “Where do you want my cock then, kitten?”

“In my cunt.” You purr.

He swallows hard. “Fine.” he concedes. “But -  I come inside, and you gotta keep it safe in your tight little pussy. Got it?”

You nod fervently, lifting the blanket that he’d just tucked you snugly in, and let him slide on top of you. He removes his shirt and undoes his pants with nimble fingers and frees his cock, then grips your thigh, pushing it wide and grinding against your sore core.

“Will you kiss me, detective?” You gaze up at him. 

“I don’t do kissing on the mouth.” He says flatly.

He sees you pout around that.

“I can kiss your neck. If that’s what you want.”

“Please.” you wrap your hands about his neck as he hovers over you, peppering kisses to your neck, and sucking the skin while he fucks you slow, but extra hard. You feel so full with the anal plug still in your ass. “You’re so tight, bet you’re tender? Am I hurting you?” He whispers. 

“Feels good.” you mewl. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum real soon. Can I fuck you evenharder?” He chokes.

“Yes.” you sigh, letting him take what he needs from you.

“I’m coming…ngh…fuck.” he thrusts his hips three more times then you feel him empty himself inside you. “Keep it in there for me.” He plants a peck on your forehead and pulls out carefully.

You’re asleep before he even leaves the cell.

🚨🚨🚨🚨

↣↣ Next up: you’re taken in your sleep by Hyunjin and Han

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[punkshort]

look what we've become - ch.7

Chapter Summary: Joel needs to know where you were taken, so he goes to the only people who would have the answers.

Chapter Warnings: language, graphic depictions of violence, torture, blood

WC: 5.3K

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

"Joel!" Ellie yelled, shaking his shoulder, pulling him out of a deep sleep.

"What?" he asked, irritated as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. He looked around, realizing the sun was up and you never woke him.

"Goddamnit," he muttered, standing and grabbing his gear. "Why didn't she wake me?"

"She's gone!" Ellie said, sounding a little breathless.

Joel felt his legs go weak and the blood rush to his head as Ellie's words hit him like a ton of bricks.

"What?"

"She's gone," Ellie repeated. "Her shit's still here, though, so it's not like she left us. But I can't find her anywhere."

"W-where - what d'you mean she's... oh, shit," Joel stammered. He fell back onto the bed as his vision went narrow and his chest tightened under his palm. He felt like he could barely drag in a breath, fighting like hell to keep from passing out. He let his head hang between his knees as he struggled to breathe while the pain in his chest intensified.

"Joel?" Ellie said, her voice sounding miles away even though she was kneeling down right next to him. "Joel! What's going on?!"

"It's fine," he gasped, shaking his head, trying to clear the fog in his brain, but it was no use.

"You're not fucking fine! Are you having a heart attack? What do I do?!"

"I'm not-" Joel cut himself off and took in a ragged breath. "I'm not havin' a heart attack."

Jesus Christ, how could he let this happen?

"I'll get you some water," Ellie said, standing up to dig through his pack for his canteen. She held it out to him and he took it weakly, his hand shaking as he brought it to his lips.

"You sure she isn't patrolin' the building?" His voice was raspy as his vision began to widen again. Please, just walk through the door.

"Pretty sure. Her gun was on the ground downstairs," Ellie said, turning around to pick up the pistol from her bed to show him. He felt himself begin to spiral again and he quickly squeezed his eyes shut. He needed to be focused. He needed to get you back. He needed you to be safe.

"Put that down," he told her, rubbing his eyes.

"It's just the two of us, what if the people who took her come back?" Ellie protested, and Joel dropped his hand to glare at her.

"How d'you know she was taken?" he demanded, even though he already came to the same conclusion himself, he just wasn't ready to admit it.

"What else could it have been?" she shrugged. "Her gun's here, her pack's here, the truck is still here. And she's nowhere to be found. She wouldn't just leave us, right?"

Joel stared at Ellie for a moment, his brows furrowed as he tried to decide how much he should share with a teenager.

He just grunted in response, sitting back and taking a deep breath in while rubbing his chest, doing his best to hide the intense fear that was coursing through his veins. "I'll look around, see if there's any tracks or somethin' that might lead us in the right direction." He stood on shaky legs to scoop up his rifle.

"I'll come with you, watch your back," she said, leaning down to grab her pack.

"No you won't, you'll stay right here," Joel scolded as he headed to the door, still feeling a little lightheaded but the panic attack was subsiding.

Ellie rolled her eyes and dropped her backpack in a huff, watching as Joel made his way down the stairs towards the front door of the fire hall.

Once Joel was safely out of sight, behind a few trees where he knew Ellie couldn't see him, he fell forward and allowed himself to just be weak. First, by gripping his knees and breathing deeply, then by falling to the ground on his hands and knees, letting his head rest against the dirt as he fought back the tears that threatened to spill down his face.

How could he fuck this up so badly? How could he let this happen? He was supposed to protect you, and the first chance someone got, they took you. No wonder you didn't want to marry him or start a family. How could he possibly keep you or anybody else safe? He just failed time and time again.

Someone must have followed them and he didn't notice. He was too tired and old to recognize when he was being tailed. And it might have cost you your life.

In his craze, he had half a mind to just leave Ellie. His first instinct was to take off, knowing she would just slow him down. But you had a soft spot for the kid, and you so desperately wanted to help her. It was clear as day that you cared for her. He couldn't abandon Ellie after you risked it all to find her family. He wouldn't do that to you. Especially if it was your last wish.

"Stop thinkin' like that," he muttered to himself. With a groan, he pushed off the ground and made himself stand up. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He could do this. He just had to focus. He could find you. He would find you, if it was the last thing he ever did.

He opened his eyes and looked around. What could he see? What could lead him to you? He walked the perimeter of the building, looking for any sign - a scrap of clothing, a drop of blood, anything that would draw him in the right direction, but there was nothing.

Next, he examined the truck. Why wouldn't they take the truck? He looked at the ground, hoping to find some tire tracks, but the dry fucking desert left nothing for him to trace. They must have had their own vehicle.

Frustrated, he stormed back inside, his fingers raking through his hair as he stomped up the steps.

"Find anything?" Ellie asked, jumping up from the bed. He could tell she was worried, and if he was in a better frame of mind, he might have cared. But all he could think about was you, and what was happening to you at that very moment while he wasted all this time.

"No," he said, his voice gruff as he paced the room and tried to plot his next move. Ellie watched him for a few minutes, not wanting to anger him further but trying to find the right balance and help.

"Who could've taken her? And why not all of us? Why just her?" Ellie wondered out loud.

Joel paused, her words unlocking something.

"Your uncle," Joel started, turning on her. "He told me somethin' when we were there. Said there's slavers that'll pay good money for her. Tried to convince me to -" Joel fell back on the mattress behind him, his head spinning.

"Wait, what?" Ellie asked, standing up now. "How would he know that?"

"Uh," Joel stammered, his mind going a mile a minute. He probably shouldn't have said that to her, he was just thinking out loud. If you were here, you would have known what to do.

"Did he sell me?!" Ellie's face was ghostly white as she connected the dots.

"I don't know," Joel told her, trying to focus on the main issue. He couldn't deal with this right now, he had to find you.

"He did, didn't he?" Ellie continued, tears welling up in her eyes. "That's how they got past his cameras. That's why I don't remember."

Joel sighed and looked up at her. He didn't have much of a choice.

"Yeah, probably," he finally admitted. "It's why we wanted to get you outta there. Somethin' felt off."

"Motherfuckers," Ellie muttered, and Joel raised his eyebrows.

"We gotta go back," Joel told her, standing up quickly. "Get your stuff. That asshole knows who did this."

Ellie helped direct him back to her uncle's house once a few hours passed and he got closer to the city. He stopped the truck a mile away from the house, parking in an abandoned lot, hiding among other cars, just in case.

"We'll wait til sundown," Joel said as he turned off the engine. It was only a couple hours, but each passing minute he spent not tracking you down made his stomach twist tighter and tighter.

"Then what?"

"Then, I sneak back in there, take 'em by surprise and get the information outta him," Joel replied, staring out the window, looking for any movement.

"How are you gonna get by the cameras?" Ellie asked him. He shrugged.

"Don't know. Guess I try to time it before be sets up the motion alerts. It's a gamble but it's all I got."

"You should go after dinner," she said. He turned to finally look at her, waiting for her to explain. "They like to drink after dinner."

He nodded, dropping his gaze and watching as her hands nervously fidgeted in her lap.

"I know this is your family and all-" he began, but she cut him off.

"Do what you gotta do. They aren't my family anymore," she said, blinking away the tears and looking out her window.

"Right," he said. "Reckon they aren't."

They sat a few minutes in silence, both lost in their own thoughts, before he spoke again.

"I'm sorry all this happened," he said quietly. "Ain't none of it your fault."

Ellie turned to him and tried to keep the surprise from her face.

"Thanks," was all she said, and he gave her a firm nod before reaching behind him to grab his rifle. He checked it was fully loaded before moving on to his revolver, doing the same checks. Once he was satisfied, he rummaged around in his pack for his hunter's knife, then looped it through his belt so it sat on his back hip. Ellie watched him carefully before taking a deep breath and asking him the question she wasn't sure she wanted the answer to.

"What are you gonna do to them?"

He paused, then straightened up and cleared his throat.

"Whatever I have to," he said lowly, and Ellie felt a shiver travel down her spine. She didn't ask any more questions after that.

As the sun began to set, Joel took a deep breath and double checked his gear before turning to Ellie.

"Alright. I'm gonna leave the keys with you, just in case..." he trailed off, not wanting to finish his sentence. Ellie's brow furrowed.

"No way, dude. I'm coming with you."

"No, you ain't," he told her. "I can't be lookin' out for a kid while I'm in there."

"You won't have to look out for me, I'll have your back!" Ellie protested angrily.

"What the hell d'you think you're gonna do?" he replied, wondering why he was wasting time arguing with a teenager.

"I don't know! But it's better than sitting in this stupid car waiting for you to get back. It's not very safe, you know. Leaving a kid all alone out here," she told him, trying everything she could think of to change his mind. He clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils. He didn't have time for this, he just needed to get the information and get the hell out of here.

"Fine. But you better stick by me, and listen to what I tell you," he seethed, then pushed the door open and hopped out, adjusting his pack over his shoulders as he headed in the direction of the house.

Joel couldn't believe he was having the same argument with Ellie that he has with you. Fuck, he hoped you were okay. If Ellie made it out alive with the same people, you should be able to, right? He couldn't ignore the pit in his stomach when he regrettably let his mind wander to what they would want from you. As far as he knew, Ellie was just used for manual labor. But history as proven there's something else men in particular want from you.

Once they got within earshot of the house, Joel held his arm out silently to stop Ellie. He turned his head to her and pressed a finger up against his lips, telling her to be quiet. She nodded, her breath quickening as her nerves began to set in, then followed close on Joel's tail as they made their way up to the house. He ducked under the window and flattened himself up against the siding, his eyes darting up to look at the cameras angled on the corners of the roof before slowly rising and peering over the windowsill.

The curtains were closed, but he was able to see in just a crack. The living room lights were on but he didn't see any movement inside. Just when he was about to give up and try a different angle, he heard June's muffled voice. He froze, watching as she waddled into the living room from the kitchen with a glass in her hand, her cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. She didn't appear to be alarmed, so Joel took that to mean they managed to sneak by the cameras undetected.

He reached to his side and wrapped his fingers around the grip of his revolver, slowly pulling it out of his holster and holding it up in front of him. He continued to watch as Dave ambled into the living room, holding a short glass with brown liquid in it. He set the glass down and bent over to tend to the fire.

Joel ducked back down and quickly made his way around the house to the sliding glass door that led into the kitchen. Ellie followed hot on his heels, her switchblade clutched tightly in her fist. He peered around the corner, making sure nobody came back into the kitchen before he tugged on the door. Locked. He put his revolver back in the holster and took out his knife, working over the lock with ease and slowly sliding the glass door open. Once Ellie was inside, he switched his knife for his gun. He flattened his hand and pushed it down, silently telling her to stay right here. She nodded, squatting down behind one of the kitchen chairs so she was out of sight.

He flattened himself against the wall next to the doorway that led from the kitchen to the living room, listening to June and Dave talk about the meal they had just eaten, like they hadn't just sold a human being into slavery yet again. Based on the volume of her voice, he realized that June was heading back into the kitchen. He took a deep breath and widened his stance, the gun in his palm gripped tight as he waited for his moment.

"Did you want any cookies?" June asked over her shoulder. "Just made 'em today, they're-"

She let out a strangled cry as Joel hooked his arm tightly around her throat, spinning her around and pulling her back flush against his chest, his revolver pressing into her temple.

"Junebug?" Dave called, setting down his glass and pushing himself up from the sofa. Joel pushed her forward, the both of them stepping out into the living room, Joel using her body as a shield. Dave froze and Joel watched as all the blood drained from his face.

"What, weren't expectin' me?" Joel growled, and June whimpered against him.

"Wha-" Dave started, then swallowed audibly before trying again. "What'dya want?"

"I want you to tell me who the fuck you called, and where their camp is," Joel said through clenched teeth.

"I didn't call no one," Dave said, his eyes flitting around the room, trying to locate a weapon.

"Don't even think 'bout it," Joel warned, and Dave chuckled.

"C'mon, you ain't gonna hurt a woman," he said. Before Dave could blink, Joel pointed his revolver down to the ground and shot June right through the foot. She howled, her body instinctively bending forward to grab her wound, but Joel tugged her back.

"Better start talkin', or I won't be so nice next time."

"Okay, okay! Jesus!" Dave yelled, holding his hands up in the air and waving them, trying to calm Joel down. "Let her go, then I'll talk."

"Don't think so," Joel said.

"Listen, tie us up or somethin', just let her go," Dave pleaded.

"Funny hearin' you beg for your woman's life when you just sold mine to the highest bidder. Why should I be so generous?"

Dave was beginning to panic, his breaths were coming fast and his hands were shaking.

"You're right, I'm sorry, you're right. Just- please. Please. I'll tell ya whatever you wanna hear, just let her go."

Joel didn't have time for this. He didn't want to waste another minute arguing with this asshole when he could be heading to wherever you were. So, he agreed.

"Fine. I'll let her go, but I'm tyin' you both up," he said, turning back towards the kitchen and dragging June with him. He opened up a few drawers, leaving them rummaged through and open until he found a junk drawer with a pack of zip ties. He snatched them up and pushed June back into the living room. Tossing the pack on the floor, he nodded at Dave.

"Go ahead. Tie yourself up, then I'll do her," Joel said.

"Now, wait a minute. I ain't gonna tie myself first and have you go back on your word."

"Of the fucking two of us, I ain't the one who's lied, and you ain't the one to be makin' any goddamn demands!" Joel roared, his chest heaving. Dave cowered, raising his hands higher above his head and nodded.

"Alright, alright," he said shakily, then slowly leaned forward to pick up the zip ties. He opened the pack and was about to wrap up his wrists, but Joel stopped him.

"Ankles, too," he said. Dave looked like he was about to protest but thought better of it.

After tying his ankles and his hands at his waist, he limply tossed the pack of ties across the floor towards Joel.

"Sit down," he told June through gritted teeth, pushing her down into the armchair. She plopped down into the chair with a whimper, then quickly leaned down to clutch her foot.

Joel let his guard down for a minute. Just one minute to pick up the zip ties and it was all June needed. She brought her good leg down on the back of his head, knocking him down to the ground and sending his gun skittering across the room. His head bounced off the floor, making him see stars for a moment before he scrambled to try to stand back up, but she brought her leg down across his back with enough force to knock him down again.

"You son of a bitch!" she screeched at him. She tried to stand and grab his gun, but she stumbled, the bullet wound in her foot making her unable to walk.

"Get the gun, Junebug!" Dave yelled from his spot on the sofa. "Get the gun and shoot him in the goddamn head!"

Joel rolled onto his back to create distance from her so he could finally stand up. When he did, he realized the room had gone deathly silent. He swiveled his head around, trying to figure out why they stopped screaming, and then he saw Ellie. She was standing in the doorway with his rifle trained on June's head, her eyes hard and her hands still.

"Ellie," June whispered. She inched forward on the ground towards her, but Ellie just cocked the rifle. June froze.

"Ellie, you shoot that fucker right between the eyes," Dave ordered from the couch. When it became apparent that Ellie was not on their side, Joel bent down to pick up his revolver with a grunt. Dave nervously glanced back and forth between her and Joel.

"Ellie-" he began, but she cut him off.

"Did you sell me to them, too?" Her voice was unwavering, her gaze like daggers.

"'Course not," June said, interrupting them.

"Really? Then how'd he know who to call? How'd they get past your cameras?"

"How did you get past 'em?" June shrieked. "It ain't impossible!"

"June, just give it up," Dave said from behind her, his shoulders sagging.

The room was silent. Joel looked over at Ellie, then back at Dave.

"Gimme the gun, kiddo," Joel said gently, taking a step toward her with his hand out.

"I wanna hear him say it," she said, her grip tightening on the stock.

"Fine, we sold ya, that what you wanna hear? Paid for half the shit in that basement, too, and look at you - you're fuckin' fine!" Dave shouted, spit spraying from his lips. Ellie's brows furrowed and her eyes lit up in rage.

"What? You gonna kill me?" Dave asked with a laugh.

"She won't," Joel said, stepping in front of the rifle, blocking Ellie's shot. "But I will."

Dave's smile faltered as he looked up at Joel.

"Ellie?" Joel said over his shoulder, his eyes still glued to Dave.

"Yeah?"

"You got headphones?"

"Yeah."

"Go upstairs, put 'em on," Joel said, holding his arm out to his side. She paused for a moment before dropping the gun from her shoulder and handing him the rifle, then turned to head up the stairs.

"Wait! Ellie!" June sobbed, tears streaming down her face. But Ellie kept walking. "I'm sorry!" June added, hoping she would garner some sympathy.

"No, you ain't," Joel muttered, leaning the gun against the wall before turning back to her. "But you're gonna be."

An hour. He wasted a whole fucking hour with these assholes, playing their stupid games and listening to their pathetic pleas until his eye caught the time on the wall and his anger flared. He needed to get on the road. He needed to find you. He wouldn't be able to sleep or eat until he did.

He had them both tied up, sitting on the floor with their backs to each other. Dave was partially right. Joel didn't like the idea of hurting a woman. So he went relatively easy on her. However, after that hour was up, she was still bruised and bloodied, but it was nothing compared to Dave.

Dave was barely holding on to consciousness and unfortunately was trying to feed Joel false information on where you were taken. He caught him in a lie twice already, and his anger got the best of him both times. With a sigh, he stood up and flexed his bloodied hand.

"You still with me?" Joel asked, leaning over Dave's body. He heard a grunt in response.

"Can't do much more to you, you'll pass out. So I'm sorry to have to do it," Joel walked around in a circle slowly, stopping when he found himself in front of June. "But I'll have to start takin' her fingers."

June began sobbing again and behind her, Dave groaned. Joel took the bloodied knife he had set on the coffee table and held out his arm.

"Gimme your hand," he told June calmly, and her sobbing turned into hysterics, her tied hands pressed firmly into her lap.

"Gimme your fuckin' hand, or tell me where they took her!" he roared, making her jump.

"I'll tell you!" she said, tears and snot streaming down her face. Joel felt a bit of relief, then leaned back to grab the map from his back pocket.

"Point to it. And it better be the same spot he points to," he said darkly. She nodded and lifted her hands shakily after squinting at the map.

"There," she said. He peered down, noting she pointed to a hospital in Salt Lake City, and his blood ran cold. He wasn't certain, but it appeared to be the same hospital he and Tommy were supposed to take Ellie. He stood up and walked back around to Dave, who was glaring up at him through one eye, the other was swollen shut.

"They'll kill us," Dave said weakly when Joel held out the map.

"Shoulda thought 'bout that before doin' business with a bunch of slavers," Joel told him bitterly.

"I ain't tellin' you shit," Dave said, squaring his shoulders. June began whimpering behind him.

"That's okay," Joel said, dropping the map on the coffee table. "I believe her."

He rammed the hunting knife through Dave's chest with a grunt. The man let out a small squeal before his head fell forward limply. June screamed and tried to scoot away on the floor, but Joel grabbed her by the hair, yanking her back.

"Shut up, or you're next," he snarled, and her screams immediately stopped.

"It's no use," she sobbed, leaning forward and gasping for air. "You won't get her back. It's been too long, they move 'em around so fast-"

Joel had enough. He took the butt of his rifle and hit her in the back of the head, knocking her unconscious.

She may think he wouldn't get you back, but she had no idea what he's capable of.

The drive back north was quiet. Ellie saw the blood on Joel's hands and clothes. Even though he did his best to clean up before bringing her downstairs, she still pieced it together. He had hid Dave's body in the basement with the camera equipment, then dragged June down there, still unconscious, and tied her loosely to a workbench. She could eventually figure out how to get out of the restraints. It was just to ensure he had enough time to put distance between them. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't bring himself to kill her. But at the last minute, he did decide to grab one of those AK-47s Dave was bragging about two days ago.

Ellie didn't ask questions. She stared silently out the window, lost in thought about her own flesh and blood betraying her. Then she glanced at Joel, realizing this man who couldn't stand the sight of her just a week ago did more for her than her own family.

"Thank you," she finally said, breaking the silence. He blinked and turned his head briefly to look at her.

"You're welcome," he said gruffly. "You didn't, uh, see or hear anythin', did'ya?"

"No," she said, and Joel sighed with relief.

"Good."

He picked up the speed when he reached a part of the interstate that was flat, determined to reach you as soon as possible.

"They told me they took her to a hospital in Salt Lake City," he said after a while, and she looked up from her sketch pad as she listened. "I think it might be the same spot the Fireflies wanted us to take you."

"Oh," she said, sitting back in her seat, deep in thought. "I wonder why they wanted her there."

"What'dya mean?"

Ellie paused, remembering Joel still didn't know the real reason Marlene asked him to take her. She decided to be somewhat honest with him, considering all he had done for her, it was the least she could do.

"It's a research facility," she said.

"Research? For what?"

"I overheard some stuff once. They're trying to find a cure," she said. "For the virus."

"A cure?" Joel repeated, furrowing his brow. "The hell they need her for?"

Ellie chewed her lip nervously before answering.

"Test subjects," she finally said, her face falling. Joel swallowed thickly as the implication behind her words set in.

"Ellie," he said slowly, gripping the wheel tightly. "Do you know that for a fact?"

"Yes," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. "I had a friend. She was taken there, she never came back. I found out later what happened," she sniffed, quickly wiping away a tear from the corner of her eye.

"And that's why they wanted us to take you there? To test a cure on you?"

"Yeah," Ellie lied, shifting her gaze out the window, immediately feeling guilty. She wasn't lying about the test subjects, but she didn't feel comfortable yet telling him it was her blood they wanted to test next.

Joel drove through the night, his eyes bloodshot and his fingers numb, but he made it in about 8 hours. It was still dark out as he found a secluded spot a couple blocks away and parked the truck. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, wondering how the hell he was going to do this. Ellie stirred in the seat next to him, yawning and stretching before looking around.

"Are we here?"

"Yeah. Hospital's that tall building over there," he said, pointing to the side. She looked through the window and nodded before looking back at Joel.

"You should get some rest," she told him, but he shook his head.

"Can't."

"Yeah, you can. How do you think you're gonna do this when you've been up for, what, a day and a half?"

"I don't got a choice, they could be doin' shit to her right now," he argued, then leaned over the seat to grab the hunting rifle.

"They've only had her for a day, she's fine. Most they did at this point was inject her with an experimental vaccine. They don't test it for a few days," she explained, sitting back in her seat. Joel frowned.

"How do you know all this?"

Ellie shrugged and nervously chewed on her nail.

"Just do."

Joel just stared at her. He was beginning to realize she was hiding something from him, but he couldn't worry about it yet. He didn't think Ellie would have any reason to lie to him, so he considered his options: take her word for it and get some rest so he could be as strong as possible to take all those fuckers down, or go in blind and weak right now and hope for the best.

"And when you say they 'test it', d'you mean..."

"They keep infected in there," she said with a nod. "Best way to test it is to get bit and watch."

"Fuck," Joel whispered, shakily running his hand over his mouth as he stared out the windshield. "You're gonna tell me how you know all this shit after we get her back, you hear me?" His tone was firm and his jaw was set as he shot her a glare. She nodded.

"Alright," he said after a moment, breathing in deeply. "Here's the plan. You keep watch, I try to get some rest for a couple hours. Then we move. Before I just storm in there, I gotta see what we're dealin' with. Think you can handle that?" He finally turned to Ellie and raised an eyebrow, waiting for her answer.

"Yeah," she said, sitting up in her seat. "I can handle it."

Reluctantly, Joel handed her the rifle. She eagerly took it from his grip.

"For the scope. So you can see anythin' comin' our way when I'm out," he explained, then eyed up the way she was holding the gun. "You ever use one of these things?"

"No, can't be that hard, can it? Just point and shoot," she said with a shrug as she examined the firearm. Joel sighed before leaning over and giving her a quick tutorial.

"Just don't fuckin' shoot me when I'm sleepin'," he told her, then tipped the seat back and bunched his coat up around his neck, closing his eyes. She grinned then took her post, scanning the perimeter every few minutes for any movement while Joel snored softly in the driver's seat.

Ellie weighed her options. Should she tell him the truth? Should she tell him she's immune? Would it even matter? She decided against it for now. It wouldn't change the plan. Maybe one day she would tell him. Once they got you back and the three of you were safely back in Jackson. For now, she had to stay focused and help rescue you. She wouldn't let the Fireflies take another one of her friends.

Tag List @nana90azevedo @ninaminaromina @untamedheart81 @taz-97 @nastiasnow @amyispxnk @plz-be-solo @iloveramensm @caitlynsixxx @anoverwhelmingdin @harriedandharassed @jessthebaker @txtattoostark @merz-8 @sarahhxx03 @oscarissac2099 @motherjoel @silas-222 @b3l1nd5 @rocket-raccoon-silvie

[oval3000]

Chapter 3

Yandere Teacher Nanami x Student Reader

Warning: Abuse, Smut, Abduction, Violence, Rough play, toxic behavior, age gap, everything from all above. Mainly from his point of view...somewhat... modern au- idk. College teacher x student.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

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

He could hear the voice of his fellow female colleague, trying to get his attention. He could hear her light heels speeding up against the floors, "Mr. Nanami? Could you help me with the new test sheets? I have to print a lot and my students are going to come in a few minutes." He rolled his eyes. Not the first time his colleague asked for help even though it was her responsibility to do so herself.

"You were supposed to have them ready the day before," he turned around to face, having his head tilted a bit. He had things to do, and he was a busy man so when someone came in and stopped him, it irritated him dearly.

"I know, but I got caught with the time." She placed her hand on his biceps, she looked at him with a sad expression on her face, "Please."

At that moment he saw another colleague, "Mr. Yamagachi, can you help Miss. Ito with her work?"

"I'm pretty sure Mr. Yamagachi is busy." She smiled letting out a bit of laughter.

"So am I. Next time plan more so you can actually do your job." Nanami turned back around and exited the building. He got into his nice car and drove off.

He pulled up to his new two-story house brick, victorian, home. He closed the dark brown wood door behind him, dropping his briefcase on the floor. He took off his tan blazer off, hanging on the coat rack at the corner of the front entrance. He opened the door to his office and placed his items on the desk. He pinched the bridge of his glasses, pulling them off his face. As he sat down on his chair, his head swung back making him stare at the ceiling. He side-eyed his computer, moving the mouse to turn it on. quickly logging in and going through his gallery. He saw the portfolio of pictures and images of you. Pictures that he took of you during his class. They weren't clear pictures, mostly blurry due to the fact that he had to zoom through the lens to take the pic of you and no one else. A perk of having a bunch of students that don't pay attention is that students won't notice Nanami, sneaking, pulling out his phone, and taking a few pics of you. He made it seem like he was just using his phone, scrolling through whatever. Sure, he has the photo of you that you took when you got your school ID, but it just wasn't enough.

He looked around his desk and imagined the empty space to be filled with pictures of you and him together. Pictures of you holding children. If he wanted to go through this, he needed a nice home. A home that resembles having a family with plenty of rooms and space. He got up and went towards the master bedroom. He walked over to the windows, opening the white curtain revealing a big wood board that covered the whole window, behind the board was another set of white curtains. He tugged on the board to test the strength and smiled to himself to see how secure it was. It wasn't a permanent thing, he'll eventually take it off once you are comfortable. He doesn't even how you'll react towards this, towards him. Are you going to scream? Are you going to try and escape? Or are you going to accept him a be the perfect wife for him? Questions that he wants clear answers to, but the only thing he can get is theories.

He went towards the bed, tugging on the rope that was tied to the headboard, again smiling to himself on how secure it was. He quickly swept the empty side of the closet so it was ready for all of your things. He dusted off half of the empty drawers, ready to be stuffed with your undergarments. The room is fairly large. A nice comfy armrest chair in the corners with a matching stool at the front. The bed, a king-size bed, perfectly centered, the headboard up against the while, and two nightstands on either side of the bed. On the other side, across from the bed, is a door that leads to the bathroom. He picked up the brown, paper, bag from the chair and opened the door to the bathroom. He grabbed all the items from the brown, paper, bag and placed them on the bathroom counter. He crumbled the paper bag and tossed it in the trash. He placed the extra toothbrushes and toothpaste in one of the drawers. He placed the box of pads under the bathroom sink. All hygiene products, he placed them in their designated spot; shampoo, body wash, conditioner, and body scrub. He went back to the room and placed all other products into the white vanity that he built and got for you; hair brush, moisturiser, sunscreen, all types of serums, spray facial mist, hair ties, hair oils, hair blow dryer, lip oils, lip balms, and some nail polishes. The cashier who scanned of of his items was calling him sweet for getting all of this for his significant other. Nanami smiled and thanked her. It was sweet, so you would be happy to be here, right?

He quickly cleaned the rest of the house, settling everything in. Tidying up the kitchen and living room, leaving everything simple and clean. Of course, things can change once you're here. If you want to move things around or add things, Nanami made sure to keep it simple that way you can add your personal touch to the house. Nanami, resting on the couch, turning on the flat-screen TV, resting on top of the fireplace, pulled out his phone and went through your social media post. He never used social media, but he knew he was to get to know you a lot more, so he quickly downloaded them and made fake names. You kept things private so it was a hard time for him to get through, you had friends and relatives who weren't private and who posted things about you. He saw posts that your friends and relatives have put out like the day they took you to celebrate your birthday at a restaurant or when you went to the movies and they posted a 'best day ever' selfie with you in the background. He was lucky to remember the people you talked to when he saw you at the college campus or else he wouldn't know more about you.

He went through many scenarios in his head. Was this the right thing to do? Is this necessary? Would it be easier if he just talked to you and confessed his feelings towards you? After all, what's the worst that can happen? Him being rejected? No. He just can't accept that.

Not when he could feel your body heat as he leaned closer to you, hovering over you. "I'm having trouble with this one Mr. Nanami?"

He placed his hands in front of you almost caging you in. Your back was turned to him as you were sitting down, staring at the question with a wooden pencil in your hand. You were so oblivious about everything it made Nanami go feral. He leaned closer to you, his mouth near your neck, "What are you not understanding, sweetheart?"

"Which formula am I supposed to use when they didn't give the percent number on how much it's been missing?" You said, rereading the question in your head.

"Which one do you think would work the best when one variable is missing, love." His cock felt like it was going to explode with cum on how close and how cute you were to him. He loved this. He enjoyed this.

"This one?" You pointed to one of the formulas tilting your head a bit.

Nanami smiled, "Yes, correct. You're doing amazing." His lips parted, feeling his crotch area getting tight. He thought he was able to control himself by now but clearly, he wasn't. He was thankful that the chair was blocking his hard boner from your back or else his plan was going to come to an end and all of his hard work would've gone to the trash. he saw the way you quickly solved the question of how easily you cached on. His high hopes were showing. Maybe it wouldn't be hard?

Days would go by and eventually, you fully understood everything he had taught you that you miss. You asked Nanami if you were ready to retake the test and he was trying to insist that it's okay to take more time to study, but you told Nanami that you are ready. Nanami enjoyed these moments he had with you even though you had no idea what was going on, he didn't want it to end. He needed you.

He knew that his time was coming close, so when he saw you outside the campus building, sitting on one of the benches, he walked up to you. "Everything alright, (Y/n)?"

You looked up from your phone, "Yes, I'm just waiting for my cab"

"Well," he looked around to find no one. The time stamp during this moment is where there are fewer students, and less crowded. "If you want, I can take you? I'm heading out for my lunch break, I can take you home." You weren't really sure about it. Nanami could see that you were hesitant. "It'll be no problem. Besides you most likely have things to do. Don't want to waste time waiting, right?"

"Right. Okay." You got up, quickly canceling your ride." Thank you, Mr. Nanami." You followed him to his. He opened the passenger side for you. When you got inside his car you were quite surprised at how neat and clean his car was. "You have a nice car, sir."

"Really? I mean, it's just a car in average condition." He said, starting his car and pulling out of the parking lot.

"Well, I guess I've never seen a guy keeping his car in good shape." You said, trying not to keep things awkward between the both of you. You never head a teacher driving you home or anywhere. Yes, you went inside strangers' cars, mainly cab and Uber drivers that you contacted before, but never someone that you sort of knew and definitely never a teacher.

"Never seen a guy have a clean car?" He questioned, giving you glances.

"No. My ex-boyfriend was really messy. He always had a messy and smelly car." You clutched your bag close to you.

Nanami felt his throat a bit dry. His hands were gripping the steering wheel. "Ex-boyfriend?"

"Yeah, I used to date this one guy. He was my first boyfriend. We only lasted like three months so I wouldn't really call him a boyfriend. We hardly did anything together." You said. You looked out at the window and realized something. "Wait," Nanami pulled over to a curb in an area where it was isolated, and pulled out a white cloth while you stared out at the window, "I never even told you where I lived, I liv-" You couldn't finish the sentence because Nanami quickly covered your mouth.

The cloth had two pills in it, "That's it." Nanami felt his arm getting slapped repeatedly by you. He could hear your muffled screams, which made him pull you closer, lifting your head up so the pills could go down. You felt the small pills going down your throat. You felt like you were going to choke, so you had no choice, but to swallow them. It was painful and soon you felt weak. "Good girl." Eventually, you fell into your sleep. He got your phone and took out the memory card and battery before tossing it out. Nanami continued to drive off.

He pulled up to the house and parked in the garage that was connected to the house. He opened his door and quickly went towards yours. He opened the passenger door and carried you out bridal style. He entered the home and headed upstairs. He placed you on the bed and quickly tied your hands with the ropes that were tied to the headboard.

He finally took a deep breath, falling down on the bed next to you. He looked over his side and stared at you. He stared at the ceiling, feeling his heartbeat slowing down a bit. His palms began to feel less shaky and the sweat forming finally calmed down.

He sat up covering his face with his hands. "What the hell am I doing?" He got up and paced around the room staring at your unconscious body. He got on the bed and hovered over you. "You're driving me crazy," he whispered to you. He placed his hand on your waist, " You're doing this to me." He placed a light kiss on your lips.

He got up and headed down to the kitchen and decided to make a light sandwich. After he finished he went to the car and gathered the rest of your things. He went through your bag and found your wallet. He found your IDs and cards.

He heard light noises coming from upstairs. He got up from the chair and placed the cards on the kitchen table. The closer he got to the second floor the more he could hear more of the noises and groaning. He opened more of the bedroom door and saw you opening your eyes. You moved to your side buring your face into your hands. He saw the way you peeked at the entrance and saw him which made you quickly sit up. He saw the way tears were forming in your eyes. You curled yourself up, bringing your knees up to your chest. " Please don't hurt me."

He shut the door behind him.

"Please."

He walked closer to you. "I won't hurt you."

"Where am I?"

"You're at home. With me."

@black-swan-blog27

@srae123

@foggyturtleknightangel

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Hey, neighbor

Pairing: Jason Todd x (f) reader

Tags: neighbors, close proximity, sexual tension, roommates, eventual smut, strangers to lovers, touching, fluff, domestic

Chapter 3: Spending so much time with Jason in close proximity is distracting. Poison Ivy breaks into the safe house and kisses you with her toxin, knowing you'll do whatever she tells you. And what she tells you to do...

You woke up in a strange place, disoriented and confused. You took in your surroundings: a loft with exposed brick walls, minimalist furniture, and a cleanliness that felt almost military. The events of the previous day crashed into your mind like a tidal wave, and your heart sank. The vial, the body, your formula. Guilt and fear twisted inside you.

You sat up, wearing clothes that weren't yours—an oversized t-shirt with a Guns N Roses album cover on the front and sweatpants, both too big for your frame. Red Hood had given them to you last night. You remembered his voice, calm and authoritative. You were in his safe house, you remembered. Hiding from the world that might condemn you for murder.

The door opened, and Red Hood stepped in, carrying a gym bag. Your gym bag.

He paused when he saw you awake.

"Morning," he said, his voice low, tired. You presumed he had been out all night getting your things. Then he'd confirmed, "I brought some of your clothes."

"Thanks," you replied, your voice small. You got up off the couch and accepted the bag and rummaged through it, finding familiar items. It felt strange, intimate even, knowing he had gone through your things.

Seeing you in his clothes did something to Jason. The shirt hung off your shoulder, and his sweats hung loosely at your hips, emphasising how much smaller you were compared to him. He felt a surge of adoration, mingled with a sense of possessiveness. He even began to regret bringing you your clothes, not minding the idea of you wearing his for a bit longer.

"I'm sorry about everything," you said, your voice trembling. "I never meant for this all to happen."

"It wasn't your fault," he replied firmly, his tone effortlessly intimidating. "You were set up."

You looked up at him, confused. "How do you know?"

He hesitated. "I don't. I guess you could say it's a hypothesis."

You recounted the events of the previous day, the death, the chance encounter with your professor. What if she had told someone she saw you.

What you were unaware of was that Jason had already broken into Dr. Harrison's place, gathering enough blackmail to ensure her silence. He figured that his threat and the broken wrist were enough to persuade her. He didn't want to burden you with those details.

"It's strange," you admitted, “you having to hide your face in your own home.” You looked down at your hands. "I understand why you can't reveal your identity, but..."

An idea struck you. Digging through the bag, you found an old silk scarf you'd sighted there. "What if I wear a blindfold? You could take off your helmet without me seeing you. You should be able to, anyway. It's your home, not mine."

Red Hood considered this. The thought of removing his helmet and letting his guard down was both terrifying and tempting. He took the scarf from your hands, inspecting it, and confirmed it wasn't sheer before handing it back.

You tied the scarf around your head, making sure you couldn't see anything. "Okay, ready."

You heard the sound of him removing his helmet, a soft hiss of released air. There was a moment, then his voice, softer now, more human. "Can you see anything?"

"No," you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips. "It's completely dark."

“How many fingers am I holding up?” He put his hands in his pockets.

You tilted your head, trying your best to have a look, only to come up short. “I dont know.”

He smirked. “Perfect.”

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

“Can you think of anyone who'd want to sabotage you?” Jason asked as he guided you to the kitchen. He opened the fridge, taking out bread and butter. He was starving from his shitty night.

You considered his question, standing barefoot on the cool parquet of his kitchen.

You told him about your co-workers and lab partners and how you perceived behavior towards you. As you spoke, you heard the sound of pen on paper every once in a while, jotting down details.

You began to pace, making small steps as you tried to provide sufficient details. At one point, you stumbled, and he caught you, his arm wrapping around your waist to steady you.

He liked having you in his arms, feeling your warmth against him. He wished he could tell you who he really was, to share more than just his alter ego with you. But for now, this was enough. He would keep you safe, no matter what.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Jason watched you navigate the room with his guidance, the oversized clothes making you look cute in a way that amused him. He couldn't help but notice how you seemed out of place yet oddly endearing in his loft.

He remembered the first words you spoke to him last night, smiling to himself.

"So,” he began, feeling bold. “I'm 'your hero'?"

There was a teasing edge to his voice, and you felt a flush creep up your neck.

"I-um-well..." You stammered, trying to find the right words. "It was just... you saved me. Twice now, actually."

“Really?” Jason chuckled, a deep sound that made you squirm. "When was the first time?"

You bit your lip, feeling embarrassed. "It was my first year at uni. A group of us went out, and we ended up at a bar. And then some big, creepy guys circled me when I left to get some air."

Jason's attention sharpened. He didn't speak, letting you continue.

You took a deep breath. "I was scared, but then you showed up. You didn't even do much - you didn't soeak. Just lifted your guns and made a show of aiming them at them,” you chuckled at the thought. “And they ran. You were so badass!"

He smirked, enjoying your giddiness and the way you blushed.

You smiled, though he couldn't see it. "I never forgot that night."

Jason couldn't recall the incident, which made sense. There had been no fight, no trouble—nothing memorable. But hearing your story, seeing how much it meant to you, made him feel something unexpected.

"Glad I saved you twice," he said, his tone light but with a hint of seriousness.

You blushed deeper, fumbling with the hem of his shirt. The embarrassing part was that you'd imagined how you'd run into him again at least a hundred times in your mind. And when you finally did run, you babbled like an idiot, and on top of that, had pulled him into your trouble. “I just hate being so fucking helpless sometimes, you know?”

He stepped closer. "There's something you can help me with."

You blinked in surprise behind your blindfold.

"Help me investigate this. Find out who set you up." He said.

A lot was on your mind. You were grateful he believed your innocence. You were scared to touch the formula again, but you couldn't deny the burning curiosity to analyse it that circled your mind.

"Okay."

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Jason enjoyed the way you reacted to him, the way a simple touch could make you blush and squirm.

At times, he would conduct experiments of his own. Touches that to you could seem innocent and accidental, but we're entirely intentional.

One evening, after a long day of working on the formula, you and him sat together on the grey couch in his loft. His mask was off. You wore your makeshift blindfold. You'd gotten used to the silk scarf over the past few days.

“What can you tell me about Elizabeth Langstrom?” He asked casually.

You put down your cup of tea. "She's my head of research. She's really smart. I go to her for help."

"So she's a mentor to you.”

“Mhmm,” you nodded.

“When was the last time you saw her?”

You thought about it. “She came over to drop off some samples I asked for… before I went out to the club.” You realised out loud.

He hummed. “Did she give you anything before you went out that night? Something you might have overlooked?"

You hesitated, the edge in his voice making you shiver. "No, I don’t think so."

Jason leaned in closer. You felt his body heat closer to you. "Think carefully. Could she have slipped the vial into your purse?"

You were quick to deny his acusation. "No, she wouldn’t do that. She’s always been kind to me."

Jason’s fingers brushed lightly against your cheek, his touch lingering with an unsettling intimacy. The closeness and his commanding presence made your heart race.

Her reactions are priceless, he thought, Every flinch, every stammer—it’s all so… fascinating.

You were trying so hard to hold it together.

"You sure about that?" He continued, his voice smooth but carrying an edge. "People wear masks, y/n. They show one face to the world while hiding another. I think she could be hiding something from you. And I think you think so too.”

You felt your skin flush, your voice trembling. "I don’t believe she would. She’s always been kind."

Jason’s hand trailed down your neck, his fingers grazing your skin with a deliberate, chilling touch. The intensity of his presence, combined with the lack of sight, heightened your vulnerability.

She’s scared… why? he mused, although I suppose it could come in handy… fear makes people easier to control

It sure worked on Harrison. And half the crime scene in Gotham, who he held in the palm of his hand. But he didn't want to control you, did he? He craved control in every aspect of his life. But with you… he wasn't sure…

His proximity and the deliberate nature of his touch made it difficult for you to think clearly.

"I- I don’t know." You swallowed. "Maybe she did, but I can’t be sure. Why would she betray me?"

"People betray each other for all sorts of reasons," he said. "Maybe she wanted something you had, or maybe she was pressured into it. I need to find out the truth. Can you remember anything else?"

You searched your mind. "She didn't seem threatened. She was calm. The same she always was. We had a good talk about my thesis. She said that I could change everything." You smiled at the memory.

Your giddiness was cut short by a mental image of the dead thug, branches sprouting out of his body.

"It could" his voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

"I need to talk to her." You spoke up suddenly, conveying the urgency in your voce. "I need to hear her thoughts about the formula."

"I cant let you do that." He interjected.

"I trust her, red." You insisted, trying out the nick name for the first time.

"Trust is a luxury we can’t afford." He responded. "We find the truth, or we pay the price."

“How do I know I can trust you then,” you whispered in challenge.

“You can always trust your instincts y/n.” He explained. “And your instincts are telling you I would never hurt you.”

The intensity of the moment left you unsettled. Because he was right.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

The next evening, Jason decided it was time to investigate Elizabeth Langstrom's apartment. Armed with the information you had given him, he made his way to the upscale part of Gotham where she lived.

Meanwhile, you were home alone. Comfortable in one of your short sundresses, trying to distract yourself with television.

Suddenly, you felt a gentle but firm hand turn your chin. Before you could react, a pair of soft lips pressed against yours. You jumped back in surprise, your heart racing as you recognized the intruder.

"Dr. Langstrom?" you gasped, staring wide-eyed at your head of research. Her presence was unsettling, her sudden appearance leaving you breathless.

Dr. Langstrom smiled, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Y/N," she chastized softly. "You haven't come to speak to me for the past week. Is everything alright?"

You had too many questions. How had she found out where you were hiding? Why did she kiss you? How did she break in?

You tried to step back, but the room began to feel dreamlike, your head spinning. An inexplicable wave of happiness and vulnerability washed over you. You struggled to piece together what was happening, the suspicion growing in your mind that Dr. Langstrom had somehow drugged you.

"What are you doing here?" you managed to ask, your voice trembling but laced with a giggle.

Dr. Langstrom’s eyes sparkled as she avoided your question, instead reaching out to caress your cheek. "I just wanted to see you," she cooed playfully. "I’ve missed you."

Her touch was both soothing and unsettling, the drug making you pliant to her manipulations. Your thoughts became hazy, and you found yourself smiling, unable to resist her advances.

"I want you to do something for me, y/n," Dr. Langstrom whispered, her lips close to your ear. "I want you to kiss the Red Hood. Until you’re both breathless."

The words echoed in your mind, and despite the sinister undertone, you found yourself nodding, feeling oddly agreeable. "Kiss the Red Hood... until we’re both breathless," you repeated, the drug making it seem like the most delightful request.

Dr. Langstrom chuckled, a playful edge to her voice. "Good girl. Now, forget that you saw me tonight. You never saw me."

Her words seeped into your consciousness, the command taking hold as the drug dulled your senses. You nodded again, feeling the fog of forgetfulness settle over your mind.

"I never saw you," you repeated obediently, a blissful look on your face.

Dr. Langstrom gave you one last, lingering caress before turning and leaving your apartment. You stood there for a moment, the room spinning around you, before collapsing onto the couch, your mind a haze of happy confusion and compliance.

You waited eagerly for the moment he'd come back home.

[winterarmyy]

Behind The Facades | Part III

An unrequited pining over a certain super soldier.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 1.9k++

Pairing: avenger!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: near assault, bickering, mini(i think?) grovelling, tiny fluff and of course what else than angst.

P/S: Thank you so much for your support from previous chapters! At first, I didn't plan to make this a mini series at all, but here we are. Anyway, enjoy!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N wished that she could live up to her own expectations. That she would enjoy every second of this date. But who was she kidding?

How was she supposed to be present in the moment and savour the wonderful dinner or relish the breath-taking scene of glimmering city lights through the windows at their table, when all she could ever think of was Bucky?

Bucky.

Bucky.

That god damn son of a bitch, Bucky.

She felt suffocated by both anger and pain. Completely distracted by the thought of him.

"I can't do this." Y/N abruptly stood on her feet as she confessed her truth. She paced and paced, despite the voice of Daniel calling out her name from behind.

She could barely hear him, or maybe she shuts it down on purpose because she can't afford having more thoughts in her spiralling mind.

She only realized that she was out when the sound of the hustle bustle of the city invades her hearing. She stood still for a while, wondering if she let her feet takes her away, where will she ended up then.

Before she could walk away any further, she felt a grip on her arms, pulling her to the alleyway besides the building. It was surprisingly dark and eerie even with the lively lights of the city leaking through the ends of it.

Considering he was an agent of SHIELD, he does have a quick reflex when he managed to grab both of her wrists and pinned her to the wall.

Honestly, she wasn't completely oblivious at Daniel's physical advances throughout the night; hands hovering over her ass when he lead the way, fingers grazing her thighs through the slit of her dress.

They were subtle but still relentless.

"Just where the fuck do you think you're going?" Daniel seethed in her ears, his impatient breaths huffed in between her neck.

"Oh, for fuck sake." She sighed with a slight annoyance in her undertone. She was really tired of everything at this point. Especially when this fool who thought he could throw her around like a ragdoll.

Y/N managed to twist her hands free from his grasps as her knee raised towards his defenseless crotch. However, the hit never happened, as a familiar black and gold metal hand wrapped tightly around Daniel's neck.

In a split second, Bucky had Daniel up against the opposite wall, head slamming into the hard crooked bricks of the building. Loud cluttering sound of the empty steel cans echoed down the alleyway, almost drowning Daniel's strained groans.

Although Y/N was not able to see Bucky's face, but she could imagine the cold grim in his eyes when the grit of his voice growled, "Touch my girl again and you'll see what Hydra had made of me."

She averted her eyes down to the dark and murky color of the ground when a strike of pain ached within her chest.

She hates it when he acknowledged Hydra's label on him.

A weapon. A monster.

It's imbrute and dehumanizing.

Her view didn't change its imagery until a pair of black combat boots entered the picture. She lifted her gaze just to spat at her saviour, "I could've handled him myself."

Bucky's eyes soften as a proud smile appeared on his lips, "I know, doll."

Very contrast to his gentle expression, Y/N's face was rigid and irritated. Ironically, they were imitating each other's default guise.

Y/N rolled her eyes before pushing him aside and started to walk away, leaving Bucky alone in the dark alleyway. Though her attempt was unsuccessful when Bucky managed to grab a hold on her wrist, "Wait, y/n."

She halted but refused to look back, "No. So, can you let go of my hand now?" her hands bundled into fists as she try to hold back her wrath.

Though the sidewalk was not crowded with people, in fact it was nearly empty, however she didn't want to make a scene.

"Please, hear me out." Bucky pleaded.

At least, she tried to keep it in.

Y/N yanked her hand from his, "Why the fuck should I listen to you, Bucky?!" she snapped, eyes flashing with fury.

Bucky was honestly not prepared for this, he went here without thinking of a plan to coax her. He ran to her with a sole purpose of telling her the truth, and Y/N yelling at him is not helping his nervous wreck,  "Because..bec.."

Growing impatient to his hesitation, she fumed even more, "What?! Just what is it that you want from me Buck--"

And then all loud sounds of the roaring rage in her head suddenly fell into complete silence when she felt his lips on hers.

The sensory within her skin abruptly heighten, becoming sensitive to Bucky's contrasting touch on her cheeks; hot and cold in either side as he cupped her face in his palms.

His soft lips, his intoxicating scent, his desperate touch.

Everything was too overwhelming for her short-circuited brain to process an appropriate response; in fact any type of response.

So when she let her body go on auto-pilot she found herself leaning forward, craving for more of the delicious friction.

It was a short lived moment of deafening sound of her own beating heart thundering in joy and excitement before the noises of rationality came rushing back to her.

Y/N ripped herself away in complete shock and panic, "Wh--what" even she herself was lost for words.

What have she done?

She pushed Bucky harshly she shouted, "Why? Why did you--? Y-you have a girlfriend, Bucky! You have Gail!"

God, how could she kissed her friend's boyfriend?

"I can't believe you just kiss me knowing that." And she reeled into the pure anxiety.

Bucky's pleads sounded muffled as her mind spiralled in guilt and shame. He grabbed her by the side of her arms before briefly pulling her back into reality, "Listen to me, y/n"

Y/N ran her hands through her hair, gripping it in her fists as her mind turned into complete chaos, "No, god this is wrong." He could hear panic in her trembling voice.

Bucky snapped as he yelled, "y/n, we broke up!"

There was a pause in time and air. Her body frozen as his words seemed to infinitely repeated in her ears. Head slowly turning towards Bucky; finally giving him the attention he demanded.

She just blankly stared at his truthful eyes with her own pair, wide open.

"He's bluffing. He's just making excuses."

"Bullshit! You looked very much in love last time I saw you, which let me remind you, it was few hours ago!"

Bucky thought about it for awhile before he replied,  "It's hard to explain everything now but she wanted to end it, for my sake." He paused. "...It's over."

He was not lying. Y/N knew that; she could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes. He was telling the truth. But, it didn't make sense; why why why.

Gail was perfect for Bucky. He needs someone like her. He deserves that type of love that she gave; soft and tender.

"No no no. That can't be it. W-why the fuck are you here then? You gotta get to her Bucky! You're not suppose to here. Not with me. Go before it's too late--"

He is worthy of someone who's completely unbreakable, someone that can stay with him even at the darkest times, someone that won't see him as a weapon, but a human being.

Someone who will love him unconditionally.

Because, Bucky of all people, deserves to be loved.

"You don't mean that, y/n"

It hurts Bucky to see that Y/N thought she was unfit for a place in his heart, when she literally owns it. It pained him that she keeps putting up this facade that she unable to see her true self.

It burns her heart to let him go but that shows how far she was willing to sacrifice for Bucky, "I do. I mean it.." she can feel her tears pooling in her eyes, "You deserv--"

"Stop lying to me. Stop lying to yourself." Bucky couldn't understand she keeps pushing him away. If he truly deserve to love someone then why can't it be her?

"Lying?"

Y/N find it harder to breathe as her chest tightens. Did he see right through her? Her voice trembled as she struggled to let the words out,  "I..I'm not lying."

Bucky almost scoffed in disbelief, "You think I didn't noticed it, y/n?"

All those masks she hides in. Behind the facades she wore so boldly, so willingly. Hurting herself over and over everytime she had to put up a brave face.

No.

He made her do that.

If he was honest from the beginning then things wouldn't turn out like this. She wouldn't suffer as she did. She never needed to.

"And fuck was I so stupid to turn a blind eye on you for the sake of keeping you." Bucky was breathless with anger. A rage towards himself; for his foolishness.

"Do you know why I get together with Gail?" Bucky felt as if his chest was burning, searing with flames, that if this goes any further then his heart will turn to ashes.

But Y/N deserve the truth even though he knows he need to admit his shameful doings,  "Because she reminds me so much of you. Warm, gentle and so unconditionally kind. And I let myself fooled by the illusion of you that I saw in her."

"I'm a bad man y/n. I hurt her. And I hurt you. Fuck, I hurt everyone around me." His eyes stung to think how effortlessly he destroy every single person he love; as if he was designed to do so.

"I know that I deserve every single curse and scrutiny that come my way. I've always known that."

"But for once in my fucked up life," his voice betrayed him by revealing its' stuttering form, "...I also know that I am lucky to have the chance to love someone as unforgivingly enchanting as you."

There was a brief pause where the air was still and soundless; reserved for the painful sounds of their breath.

His raw emotions was laid out unfiltered in a form of streaming tears across his cheeks, "I won't ask for your love in return." He reached his hand to hers and held it dearly, "All I ask is for your forgiveness."

His eyes searched her soul, willing her to bare with him a little longer, "Because god I can't lose you. I can't."

Bucky felt like he was drowning; as he was 70 years ago at the Austrian Alps. The unbareable emotions rushed in like the frozen waters that filled his lungs.

Panic. Shame. Regret.

Y/N never thought she could come this far.

She thought she would able to lift the weight; and with the long record of success, she thought she wouldn't able to break.

But after all, she was just a human and there will always be a limit to where she will end up at.

What's the point of pretending when the person she loves is as miserable as her?

The tripedation of her only give false signals to Bucky; this is it, he was losing her.

But, there it was, the forgiving embrace he longed for. In her arms the world stopped still on its axis. He felt her body pressed in, soft and warm. This was the love he'd waited for, prayed for. Bucky's shaky hands roamed from the side of her waist before his arms crossed behind her, squeezing her closer, tighter.

How could she not forgive him? When he had pour all of him as he did.

There was no time, no wind, no sound. Just the heat of their body against each other. The melody of their heartbeats intertwining. Bucky's mind was at peace. So was hers.

No more more pretending.

No more putting on act.

She settled into the crook of his neck and whispered so soft and quiet that some won't be able to hear but Bucky did.

"I love you, too."

End.

<< Part II

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Thank you so much for your time to read my work. Feel free to express your thoughts in the comment/reblog! I love to hear from you~

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[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 28 all chapters

⚠⚠Trigger warning: mention of past terminated pregnancy, NOT Reader. If details of this will bother you skip the section that starts with “One day he lets you sit in as he repairs a tattered copy of The Wind In The Willows.” You can pick up again at “-He gives you run of the house.”  I’ll give you the brief gist of the plot point in the end notes.  Also mention of possible suicide, NOT Reader.

-As he prepares dinner you sit at the island, you are enjoying a glass of wine and watching him cook. His hands are like poetry, no matter the task at hand. He is slicing peppers, and offers you a piece from across the island. After your previous experience, you should be wary accepting any tidbit that color from this man, but in an act of trust you take it, your lips brushing the tips of his fingers.

It is sweet and crisp and juicy between your teeth, and you sigh to yourself.

This is what you could have had, all along.

Watching you with a small smile, he twirls the knife in his hand absently like it is an extension of his body.

You do not take it as a threat. He simply seems…content, and you wonder if you dare trust any of this at face value.

He goes back to cooking, and you watch him with your wine in hand. It is a tasty Cabernet from Chilé, and maybe you shouldn’t drink too much of it, but then again…what do you have to lose at this point?

Your eyes cast around the cavernous room while John bustles at the stove. The scene is so domestic you could cry, because you realize this is what you’d hoped to share with him before it all went to hell.

You cast your eyes down, to find the razor-sharp Japanese paring knife is now sitting in the middle of the island by the cutting board, easily within reach.

It's really the first mistake he's made in the keeping of you, since he let his guard down enough to let you whomp him with War and Peace.

You stare at it, thinking.

Is it an opportunity? What exactly would you do with it, that would achieve any sort of useful end? It hits you like a ton of bricks for some reason, when you realize that despite what he’s done to you, you have zero interest in hurting John.

You hadn’t even liked hitting him with a book.

The thought of stabbing him makes you physically ill.

Frowning at the thought, you cross your arms and sit back on the stool, glaring at the thing as though it had called you a filthy name.

Belatedly, you realize John is watching you from over at the stove.

It wasn’t a mistake.

It was a test.

You transfer your glare to him as he approaches, picking up the tiny but potentially deadly blade.

He says nothing, just washes and dries it before replacing it in the knife block, not the locked drawer.

You guess you passed.

-Later, over dinner, he asks, “Why didn't you pick it up?” 

“Because the thought of hurting you makes me sick.”

He actually smirks at you. “That’s nice to hear.”

You’re not sure if he’s baiting you on purpose, but your temper starts to rise. So much for a quiet evening.

“That’s not how I’m going to get out of here,” you declare, feeling brave.

Or stupid.

Hearing this amuses him heartily.

“Yeah?”

“Someday, you're going to let me go, because you'll realize it's the right thing to do.” 

He leans his elbows on the table, fixing you with that dark stare that pins you in your seat. “I already told you, kitten, I'm never going to let you go.” He says it sweetly this time, but you sense he is still absolutely serious in his conviction.

-The week that follows is a series of halcyon days, filled with the affection and attention from Mr. Wick that you'd craved all along. Something has shifted in him, and you're still not sure exactly what, or how to make it stay.

 You cook meals together in the mornings and evenings. He teaches you things about haute cuisine and international dishes that you'd never had any inkling or access to. The things you make for dinner some nights you've only heard of on tv or in magazines. He's tasted these things in their original countries, and tells you what stories he can, that don't involve disclosing the details of multiple homicides committed for astronomical pay.

You know he must be showing off for you. A man with a waistline like that does not eat like this regularly. A small part of you dares to wonder, is he actually trying to woo you?

You fill your days with time in the studio, and with him.

The brightly colored Dolce and Gabbana sundresses you’d coveted in Italy mysteriously start appearing at the foot of the bed every day. Floral prints in pink and red, and bright majolica-inspired designs with yellow acanthus curls and blue accents, as well as the dreamy azure and white azulejo tile patterns. You marvel at what he spent, to lay these at your feet. You don’t even care that he’s picking out your outfits, dressing you like a feminine doll—because they make you happy. You even go so far as to wear them in your studio, not caring if you get a smudge of paint or pastel on the brightly printed fabric. What does it matter now?

What does anything matter?

-One day he lets you sit in as he repairs a tattered copy of The Wind In The Willows. You discover he likes old children’s books best and he has dozens on his shelves. Something about missing out on a real childhood of his own, you reckon, and undoubtedly the artistry that went into them.

This is the day he tells you that he was almost a father himself once. That when he’d been a foolish young man (his words), he’d fallen in love with one of the ballerinas at the school for assassins where he’d been raised. When the inevitable this led to that with hormone-charged youths with no access to birth control, they planned to run away together.

He’d wanted nothing more at that time, but to just live a simple life with his little family. He just knew in his heart, that the baby would be a girl. He’d already named her, Irina, his little Irinushka. But the night they meant to leave they were intercepted by the other students, and separated by The Director of the school. Tatiana was forced to terminate her pregnancy, because a principal ballerina bearing baby weight was of no use to The Theater at all.

When finally they were allowed to see each other young fire-eyed Jardani wanted to try to leave again. He was willing to kill anyone who got in their way this time, brothers or not. But Tatiana was changed, a shadow of the girl he’d known, and she refused to go with him. She said it had all been a stupid mistake, and he heard the Director’s indoctrination echoing through his lover’s mouth. She began numbing her pain with pills, and wouldn’t stop, despite his pleading. She pushed him away, and a year later she died in a car crash during a mission running drugs across the city. John never knew if it had been an accident, or if she’d given up to the sorrow eating at her heart.

He tells you all this in quiet, almost impersonal tones as he weaves the kettle stitch binding on the book, as though it happened to someone else. The man he had been, you suppose, this Jardani Jovonovich. You imagine what he must have been like as a young man. You suspect he must have been heartbreakingly beautiful, and probably could have had women eating out of his palm and tucking their panties into his pocket at every turn.

Yet, all he’d really wanted was his little ballerina, and his baby Irinushka.

He did leave The Theater soon after, to become the notorious Baba Yaga, the infamous assassin John Wick who could kill three men with naught but a pencil. You listen to all this with horror and tears in your eyes, feeling as though your own heart has been run through a shredder, understanding even further exactly why this steadfast man finally cracked to pieces.

You doubt your own state of mind could have fared so well, for so long.

-He gives you run of the house, reasoning correctly that you won’t be able to get past the locks and bulletproof windows anyway. One day, when you cannot find him, you wander into the garage.  He is tinkering with his motorcycle, in a grease stained white t-shirt and ratty jeans that cross the wires in your brain a little. 

The sight of the machine fills your heart with what is perhaps an irrational amount of hope.

“Can we go for a ride?” you ask, thinking of that perfect day you once spent together. You have not been outside once since returning to Clear Forks, though you can tell from looking out the window that you've had a series of beautiful sunny days. They’re a thing not to be wasted in the mountains; fall will come quickly, and then winter before you can blink.

“Not today, sweetheart,” he sighs, actually sounding apologetic, wiping his hands on a rag.

You pout silently, but do not push the issue. You are learning to pick your battles. If you keep poking here and prodding there, someday, you will find a weakness to exploit. You must be patient.

When he is sweet to you, patience is not so difficult to come by. You know that is dangerous, but not quite what to do about it.   

The garage is a massive space, and you take the opportunity to look around. You should be scoping out possible tools for escape, but mostly...you're just curious. 

Is he succeeding in training you? You ask yourself this with what should be an alarming amount of detachment.

Looking past the Land Rover in the middle bay, you see something underneath a cover. Feeling emboldened by his mild mood that day, you walk over to peek underneath. 

The sight makes a quiet exclamation slip from your lips. 

“Is this the car?”

It is a matte gray Mustang with subtle black racing stripes. You don't know much about classic cars, but it looks fast as hell. 

“The car?”

You turn to find he is directly behind you. You didn't hear or sense him move at all. You wonder belatedly if maybe this is a sore spot you should have left well alone. 

“Um...never mind.”

“It's OK. You like classics?” 

“I...guess? It’s very pretty.”

He pulls off the cover, unveiling the machine in all its glory. “It’s a ’69 Boss 429. 375 horsepower, 450 pound-foot of torque.” 

You smile, having no inkling what that really means, but you can tell it makes him happy. 

“Can we take this for a ride?”

Luckily, he just chuckles at your transparency. 

“Maybe.” It would be harder for you to escape from a car, than from off the back of the bike, after all. He kisses your forehead, not replacing the cover, before going back to the bike. 

Somewhat heartened, you wander back up to your studio.

-On the third day, you start to dream about Helen.

It’s actually nothing new for you, communing with the dead through your dreams. You’ve never really thought it more than your own overactive imagination, visiting with your grandmother or your great uncles, even sometimes an old boyfriend who had since passed away. But this feels like something more, and frankly, it gives you the creeps.

At first, you are simply sitting together, an uncomfortable silence between the two of you. You can hardly blame her—you are fucking her husband, after all, if not entirely of your own choice.

But one night, she comes to you in a field of daisies. Extending one to you, she offers you a tired if not slight smile. There is a pleading in her caramel-colored eyes, and maybe regret too. She only says two words. “I’m sorry.” You wake with the haunted feeling that she knows she made him into this version of himself with the trauma of her loss, but she’s still passing the keeping of him on to you.

What does she want you to do? Save him? You start to cry quietly to yourself, because the dangerous man who was her husband is laying asleep behind you with his arms tight around you like you are his teddy bear, and you don’t know how.

.

.

Author’s note: The general gist of the TW section was that young John/Jardani and one of the ballerinas became pregnant and were going to run away from the Tarkovsky theatre. But they got caught and The Director wouldn’t allow it. She separated them, made Ballerina terminate the pregnancy, and Ballerina died the next year possibly of suicide.  Obviously, this left an impression on John.

[viennacherries]

QUOTH THE RAVEN - CHAPTER 2

Rolan/Tav | NSFW | 5,482 words

Chapter 1 | Read on AO3

As you pace back and forth in your room, your mind reels. 

The group had been to Moonrise. They watched Ketheric Thorm take an axe to the throat like it was nothing more than a splinter, and then use it to split a goblin clean in half. The mental image terrifies you, but it's not the main thing occupying your thoughts. 

The tiefling hostages are alive. Danis, Lakrissa; Lia and Cal. 

You've not seen Rolan since he stormed off. You want to talk to him. You want to tell him that Cal and Lia are okay, want to promise him you'll save them even if it costs you your life. 

You want to kiss him again. 

It's ridiculous, in all honesty. You're pretty certain that he hates your guts, but it doesn't stop you pining for him. You realise somewhat reluctantly that you've been pining for him since you parted ways at the grove, and if anything that makes the knowledge of his eventual rejection sting more. Of course he doesn't feel the same way. How could he? He considers you the reason his siblings are lost to him. 

You clench your jaw. You're going to get them back, one way or another. All three of them deserve the future that awaits them in Baldur's Gate. 

As you finish donning your armour, you glance longingly at the bed in the centre of the room. Maybe at some point you'll finally get a full night's sleep. 

Somehow, you doubt it. 

You stare at the back of his head, sat at the bar once again, as you all get ready to leave. A rush of relief fills you to see him safe. A rush of joy fills you to see he's drinking water, not wine. 

He doesn't look up, but that's fine. 

The next time he sees you, his siblings will be safe. You'll make sure of it. 

~~~

All of your friend's sordid descriptions of Moonrise pale in comparison to the real thing. 

On the walk over, Astarion had likened it to "a foetid corpse that even I wouldn't sink my teeth into". While his analysis came the closest, even that didn't truly capture the depths of the building's nauseating atmosphere and stench. As you stand at the base of the structure, staring up at the impossible height of it, Karlach leans over to speak to you. 

"We managed to convince them that we're true souls, but they want to meet you before they give us any more information."

You nod wordlessly. It's another show of your group's trust in you, that they mentioned you even when you weren't present. They've clearly sold you to the cultists as their leader. The thought makes your insides twist. 

Gale cuts in, "Thorm wanted us to bring you straight to Z'rell - I believe she's his commander? I recommend you be on your guard. From the brief glimpse we got of her, she appears rather ruthless."

Karlach nods seriously, "complete mega-bitch."

Astarion lets out a giggle beside you, "goodness, darling, I couldn't have put it more eloquently myself."

You snort at that, and Karlach's face splits into a grin. The group looks at you expectantly. 

You take a deep breath. "Right. If we're going to sell this you three are going to have to be quiet, if you need to tell me something do it through tadpole-mail." You punctuate your sentence with a brisk tap to your temple. The three of them nod, and Karlach mimes zipping her lips shut. 

You continue. "I'll talk to Z'rell, find out what we need to know about the artefact that's keeping Ketheric immortal, and then we'll go round to the docks and enter into the prison from the back. We're here for information and the hostages, nothing else. Don't get greedy." You pause. "That was aimed at you, Astarion. Keep your pilfering hands to yourself."

He sighs dramatically, "oh, if I must."

~~~

Listening to Zrell speak is difficult when you're trying not to choke on the smell of decay and death. It seems to seep through the very brick of the tower, festering between the mortar and filling your pores. You're not sure how successfully you're keeping your disgust off your face, but if Z'rell notices your discomfort she doesn't comment on it. 

"You came here to answer the Absolute's call." She says, and her voice is laced with mirth. "Let's see what you're made of."

All of a sudden she's communing with your tadpole, and you can feel her poking through your brain and the thoughts within it. Panic rises within you as you realise that she's trying to discern if you're truly faithful to the Absolute, and you know you have only a moment before she sees into the depths of your thoughts. 

You latch onto the first thing you can think of. 

As you shape the image of Rolan's face in your mind, you remind yourself of the anticipation in the moments before your lips met, and the rush of euphoria and excitement as you finally kissed him. You focus on the emotion in his eyes as he waited for your reaction, the blush on his cheeks, the shine on his lips. You can almost feel his hands tracing over your hips, slipping through your hair, and in your mind you're settling your weight back into his lap. 

Then the thoughts drift further. Watching his magic display at the party, the sound of his laugh as you traipsed through the shadows, the way his brow furrows when he scowls. The sunshine yellow of his irises and the shiver that goes through you whenever his gaze falls onto you, the dusting of freckles along his cheeks, the smooth scarlet length of his neck and how beautiful it would look covered in hickeys. 

When Z'rell retreats from your mind, she barks out a harsh series of laughs, and for a moment you're terrified. She's seen straight through you, she knows what you're here to do. Your hand slides to grip the handle of your blade where it rests on your back. 

"A refugee from Elturel?" She can hardly get the words out around her laughter. "Gods, what a pathetic little creature. And a wizard, no less! Don't tell me you're actually in love with that sad excuse for a man." She leans forward and runs a hand down your arm, a coquettish grin on her face. "A pretty thing like you? I can think of far more worthy conquests."

You feel bile rise in your throat at her words, both her blatant advances and her mischaracterisation of Rolan, but you swallow it down. Instead, you let out a fake, flirty laugh, and shoot her a half-hearted wink. 

This seems to satisfy her, and she launches into an explanation of the relic that Thorm needs - the one that you know grants his immortality - and directs you to the mausoleum. 

When you're finally outside again, away from the stifling air of Z'rell's atmosphere, your companions say nothing. The weight of her words hangs over you. 

'Love' she'd said. Is that what it is? 

Do you love Rolan? 

You're not completely sure you're ready to think about that. 

~~~

The battle in the prison is more draining than you'd hoped. You're only still upright thanks to a well thrown healing potion from Astarion, which had landed at your feet and splashed up your calves. 

The boat rocks on the water and the paddles propel you forward on their own accord, moved by Gale's magic rather than any physical effort. Karlach has the end of a bandage clamped between her teeth as she wraps a cut on her upper arm, and Astarion (despite his initial reluctance) is rationing out the remainders of your healing brews between the ex-hostages. A group of deep-gnomes had also been held captive below the tower, so the boat is cramped and your medical supplies aren't stretching as far as you'd hoped, but everyone is alive. 

You can't quite believe it. You feel like you're not even in your body. 

That may have something to do with the blood loss, in fairness. You'll worry about that later. 

As the boat starts to pull into the dock, you hear a loud cheer from the coastline, and for a moment you don't even think about the horrors of Moonrise towers. You watch Cal and Lia scan the shore for Rolan, and lean over to them both. 

"He's probably inside, waiting at the bar. That's where he was when we left."

Lia gives you a friendly smile, which morphs into something like amusement. "That sounds about right. He's not the type for heroic welcomes."

You nod and chuckle. There's a pause before she speaks again. 

"Is he... He's okay, right?"

"He is." You pause. "I'm sure he'll be less than pleased that it was me that got you guys out, but he'll be thankful to see you. He's been worried."

Lia smirks, and there's a knowing edge to it that unsettles you somewhat. "Oh, I'm sure he'll be more than happy to give you his thanks."

Cal snorts, before covering his mouth and nose with a hand and turning away, trying in vain to make his guffaw sound like a cough. You narrow your eyes at the pair of them in suspicion and Lia laughs. You're beginning to understand Rolan's perpetual exasperation with them both. They've been out of mortal danger for all of 5 minutes and they're already teasing him, and he's not even seen them yet. 

Actually, scratch that. You realise as Lia looks at you that they're not teasing him, they're teasing you.

You try to think of something smart to say, but come up blank. Instead, you blush, and mutter sheepishly. "Am I that obvious?"

Cal snickers, and Lia breaks into a wide grin. "It wouldn't be obvious if he was anyone else," she starts, "but you have to be daft or smitten to enjoy Rolan's company. You're definitely not daft."

Cal cuts in, "oh I don't know, she might be. She did just break us out of prison."

You laugh at that, "in my defence, that was a group effort."

Any reply they might have had is cut off by the boat shuddering as it connects with the shore. 

Lia claps you on the shoulder, "for what it's worth, Tav, I think he's sweet on you." Before you can ask her to elaborate, she's clambering out of the skiff and tugging Cal out behind her. 

That flutter of hope flickers back into your chest.

As you step from the boat, Bex grabs you in a tight embrace. She sobs into you and whispers repeated thanks and prayers. You don't catch most of them, you just hold her. When she breaks away your shoulder is damp, and she lunges at Danis as soon as he steps onto the shore. They fall to their knees in a heap as they clutch one another desperately. 

You're showered in adulation from every direction; you lose count of how many hugs and handshakes you're given. There's a deep weariness settling through your bones that gives you only enough vigour to respond positively without considering your words. You're completely on autopilot. 

You finally make it back through the doors of the inn, and you're more than ready to collapse in your bed. You feel like you could sleep for an age. 

A loud, clipped admonishment shoots through the air, and you turn to face it. 

It's Lia. She looks surprisingly pissed off for someone who was so pleased just ten minutes ago. You sigh inwardly and resign yourself to the fact that you should intervene. 

"We're all safe, Rolan - that's what matters!" It’s Cal talking when you approach. 

Rolan is opening his mouth to speak, and you're reasonably sure by the expression on his face that whatever he plans on saying isn't particularly polite. You cut him off before he has the chance. 

"Rolan was in a bad state without you two."

His jaw snaps shut as his eyes dart to you, and he hesitates over his words. 

"I was just... overwhelmed. It doesn't matter."

Lia's eyes soften, and she takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry. We should've been here."

"No -" Rolan is quick in his response this time. His tone is gentle. "- no, it's not your fault. I shouldn't have shouted. I'm sorry."

Cal turns to you, and there's a soft smile on his face. 

"Thank you, Tav. For saving me, and the two idiots." He tilts his head in their direction as he says it. 

Lia nods, then turns to Rolan, a teasing grin on her face. "Anything to add, Rolan?"

He scowls at her, but as he turns to look as you his expression smooths out, and a faint blush rises to his cheeks. 

"I've... lashed out at you. Drunkenly and otherwise. And you helped me anyway." His voice is uncharacteristically apologetic. "You didn't deserve that - I'm sorry. And... thank you."

The look the two of you share is charged, and there's so much you want to say. You pause for too long though, and Rolan clears his throat. 

"You went out of your way to help us, it's only right you get something in return." His tone is matter-of-fact as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pouch, and you can tell it's gold without looking inside. He takes your hand and turns your palm upwards, places the bag in your hand, and curls your fingers around it. His own hand stays wrapped around yours for a moment, and he glances up at you through his lashes, suddenly bashful. 

His words are quiet, meant just for you. "Here. I hope it helps."

You try to refuse - try to say anything at all - but before you have the chance he's pushing the bag towards you and loosening his grip. You're left standing there, staring at him, the pouch clutched to your chest. His tail flicks behind him. 

The silence lingers, and Lia clears her throat to break it. "Stay and have a drink with us Tav? The least we can do is pour you a decent pint."

It's tempting, but you shake your head, shaking yourself from your stupor simultaneously. "As lovely as that sounds, I'm completely exhausted. There's not enough blood left in my body right now for me to risk booze, I'll be more ale than ichor." 

Rolan's face twists at that, "you're hurt?"

You can only shrug, though the movement feels sluggish. "Par for the course of this hero business, funnily enough. I don't think I've been anything but hurt since I fell out of that nautiloid."

He frowns, "surely your group has healers? Potions?"

"Well," you nod, then shrug again, "Shadowheart and Halsin are healers, but their magic is better spent on you lot. And we're fresh out of potions right now, I'm going to go on the scrounge for some in the morning." Rolan looks distinctly unimpressed, so you shoot him a smile that you hope is comforting. "It's fine, really. I have a bed waiting for me upstairs which has been calling for me since yesterday. I'll feel right as rain after a few hours of rest."

This doesn't seem to placate him, and he shakes his head before standing from his chair decisively. "Absolutely not. I know some basic healing spells and I keep a few spare potions in my pack. I'll tend you - I insist." The last past comes briskly as you open your mouth to protest, and you close it again. He can clearly tell you're brewing an argument, and intercedes before you can fully form it. "Just let me look after you. Please?"

His echo of your own words stirs something in your chest, which feels a bit like he's cheating to be honest, and you find you haven't got the energy nor inclination to argue. 

"Fine, but only if I get to lay down. My head is pounding."

He nods, "fine by me, which room is yours? I'll come find you."

You tilt your head upwards, "first door at the top of the stairs, I'll leave it unlocked."

He nods again. "I'll be with you momentarily, then."

It's at that moment that you notice the absolute shit-eating grins that the twins are wearing, and you feel yourself flush. Cal winks at you, which sends Lia into hysterics, and Rolan turns on her sharply.

"What?!" His tail is raised and flicks sharply, in a movement you can tell denotes his irritation, but it just makes Lia laugh more. You turn away briskly before he can see the blush rising on your face and take the stairs two at a time. You hear Cal cackle and Rolan whisper-shouting his complaints at the pair of them as you shut the door and lean your back against it. 

You let yourself catch your breath, then take three long strides forwards til you're right at the edge of the bed, and unceremoniously fall face first into the mattress. 

~~~

You're roused to consciousness by a light series of knocks against the door, and you manage to wrench your eyes open just as Rolan walks in. 

He smiles, "sorry to disturb."

"Not at all, come on in."

He steps further into the room and clicks the door shut behind him. You smile to yourself as a thought crosses your mind, and mutter it quietly. 

"'The fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, and so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door.'"

He quirks an eyebrow with a smirk, "poetry, Tav? You better not be trying to seduce me."

You snort, "please, with 'The Raven'? Rather a grim method of seduction, don't you think? I'm sure I could think of something more suited, if you insist." 

His face flushes. "That won't be necessary." 

The laugh you let out is incredibly unattractive, but you don't have enough energy to care. You realise you're staring at him over your shoulder where you're planted face-down on the bed, so you roll onto your back and sit up to face him better. 

"'And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming...'" You trail off and laugh again. "Yeah, no, it's definitely not the most charming of poems. I'll have to come up with something better."

He smiles, his light flush unmoving, "oh, I don't know, that bit was almost sweet, if you ignore the original context."

You smile wide at that, and Gods, this feels so easy with him. So comfortable. You'd been so sure he'd hate you, but sitting here now looking at him, you can't imagine why. 

He clears his throat, and tilts his head towards the bed. "May I?" You nod, and he seats himself next to you. 

"How are you feeling?"

"Exhausted. Drained. A little lightheaded, if I'm being truthful. Feels like my bones have turned to jelly."

He frowns, "well that's far from ideal. Does anywhere in particular hurt? I'd like to make sure you're not actively bleeding out on me."

You shake your head, though the action makes your eyes blur, "just my head, really. Well, and my whole body aches, but that's no different than usual. I had been bleeding out, I think, but Astarion threw a potion and that staunched it."

He huffs. "Right. Where were you bleeding out from?"

You blink. "Oh, sorry. My side, under my ribs. Big sword."

He nods. "Do you mind lifting your shirt slightly? I just want to make sure the wound is closed properly."

You nod, and as you curl your fingers around the hem of your shirt he drops his various supplies between you both. There's a collection of healing salves, as well as a mundane first-aid kit. 

He notices you looking. "Healing magic isn't a particular proficiency of mine. For anything small I figured we could make do the old fashioned way."

It makes your heart clench a bit, the tenderness and thoughtfulness he's extending towards you, so you nod dumbly instead of saying anything. You lift your shirt to expose your waist to him. 

He sucks in a breath, and a look at his face tells you the wound is definitely not staunched. 

"That bad, huh?"

To his credit, he does a good job of steeling his features into something neutral. He also does a good job of stealthily avoiding the question. "Nothing that can't be fixed. Do you mind if I...?"

He gestures towards you with his hands, and once again you're mute as you nod. He places his fingers gently against the sore skin around the cut and you flinch. He responds with a sympathetic grimace. 

"Sorry, I just need to check how deep it is. The spell will be more effective if I know how far it needs to penetrate." You brace yourself as he touches the wound again, and he nods to himself as he inspects it. "It's a clean cut which means it shouldn't be too difficult to heal. What exactly happened?"

You wince again, though it's not from pain this time. You don't particularly want to go into the details with him; it's certain to upset him. He looks at you expectantly though, and his gentle touch on your skin is clouding your thoughts a little. You sigh. 

"One of the guards. He lunged at Cal while his back was turned." Rolan's eyes widen. You shrug noncommittally, hoping to ease his concern. "I jumped in to stop it, so it caught me instead."

Rolan just stares at you, blinking. 

"I..." He keeps staring at you. "You... You leapt in front of a blade to protect my brother?"

You wince again, making a sucking noise with your teeth. "... Sorry?"

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as he closes his eyes, lines appearing on his forehead. "I don't know whether I should punch you or kiss you."

You feel your heart leap, and you let a coy smirk dance across your lips, "if you're taking suggestions, I certainly have a preference."

He huffs out a laugh, and opens his eyes to look at you again. You can tell he's trying to look frustrated, but there's a shadow of a smile on his face. "Gods, you would, wouldn't you? I've never known you to not have an opinion on something."

His reaction emboldens you, "I have several opinions on the matter, in fact. Are you taking suggestions? I can give you an extensive list."

There's a cocky grin on his features now, and he leans in til his breath is ghosting over your face. Just as you think he's about to kiss you, he speaks instead. 

"I thanked you once already. Don't be greedy."

The tone he utters the words in is low and gravelly, teasing in a way that's absolutely maddening, and you shudder involuntarily as he leans away from you. He looks very proud of himself. 

You roll your eyes. "Whatever, you tease. Hurry up and fix me, will you?"

His gaze falls back to your wound at that, and his face drops. He trails a finger featherlight around the cut, which sends a shiver through you, and when he speaks his tone is serious again. 

"Thank you, Tav. Truly. My family and I are eternally in your debt. Cal and Lia..." His eyes go slightly misty. "They're everything to me. I'm sorry you were injured, but I'm so deeply thankful for your help."

It's such a painfully genuine comment, and the only thing that feels right in the moment that follows is to rest your hand atop his free one where it rests on his knee. You don't say anything, but you don't think you need to. 

He clears his throat. "Right, I'm going to cast the spell now, if you're ready? It might sting due to the wound's depth, but I'll try to be careful."

You nod, "I trust you."

An emotion you can't quite place flickers across his eyes, and you squeeze his hand gently before withdrawing. He grabs your hand before it gets very far, though, and flushes as he places it on his knee. He pointedly avoids your eye contact as he laces his fingers with yours. 

"I... I can do it one handed."

You've absolutely not known him long enough for your heart to flutter the way it does, but you find you don't care very much. You squeeze his hand and shoot him a smile, before gesturing down at your abdomen.  

"Go ahead, I'm ready."

You feel his magic dance along your skin and you gasp at the sensation. It's somehow cool and warm simultaneously, and it tingles as your flesh knits together. The feeling is different to when the others heal you. Shadowheart's magic feels like being bathed in a warm light, Halsin's feels like blades of grass tickling your dermis. Rolan's healing magic feels more like a soft breeze blowing through an open window; it feels like the particles you can see in the air when the light hits at a particular angle. It's gentle and homely, like being wrapped up in a tender embrace, and it reminds you of the soothing voice someone might use to comfort a child. 

All too soon the feeling subsides, and you realise that your eyes have fallen shut. You open them slowly, blinking in the light of the room, and find Rolan already looking at you. His face is open and unguarded, and his eyes flicker across your features as though he's trying to memorise them. When he speaks, it's in a low whisper, as if the very air around the pair of you is fragile. 

"... How do you feel?"

You consider his question. You take in the lingering fluttering sensation of his dissipating magic, the feeling of his fingers laced through yours, the exposed expression he wears as his eyes dance over you. You're not quite sure what to say. 

So instead you say nothing, and you lean forward and press your lips into his. 

His mouth is pliant under yours, his lips satin smooth. You feel rather than hear his intake of breath as you make contact with him, and his grip on your hand tightens minutely. It's a tender, fleeting thing, the kiss you give him, and when you pull away you can't help the goofy smile that spreads across your face. 

"Far better, now." 

He scoffs, but there's a light in his eyes that wasn't there before, and he's leaning back in. There's no hurry to his movements as he parts your lips, and you sink into the feeling of his mouth against yours. When you separate again, he's wearing a beaming grin that matches your own. 

"As lovely as this is," the hand that isn't gripping yours comes up to caress your cheek, "I'd like to finish healing you. Is there anywhere else that hurts?"

You shake your head, then hesitate as the movement makes your skull throb. "Well... I have a pounding headache."

He chuckles, and both of his hands come up to the base of your neck as he leans into your space. He threads his fingers upwards through the hair there, the rest of your locks cascading over his forearms, and you shiver and let your eyes flutter shut as the hum of his magic washes over you once more. He scratches his nails lightly against your scalp and you let out a contented moan. Another soft laugh escapes him and you feel his breath against your cheek, which makes you shudder. 

When his magic recedes again, your head feels warm and fuzzy, and you lean into his touch to encourage him not to let go. 

"Don't fall asleep on me, Tav, I need to make sure you're fully healed."

You shake your head and plant your face into his neck, and Gods, his skin is so soft and warm. When he starts to chastise you again, you tilt your head and place soft open mouth kisses against his skin, and now he's the one shivering under your touch.

"Tav..." His tone is low, and you feel it in your chest. You hum in response which makes him shudder, and you feel his neck bob as he swallows heavily. "Tav, you need to rest."

You lift your face away from his skin, just enough to speak. "Do you want me to stop?"

He shivers again, and his fingers tighten their grip in your hair. "I should think you know the answer to that already."

You giggle, and reward his honesty with a light suck of the soft skin. He groans fully at that, and you feel the noise travel directly south. You can't help but pull the skin between your teeth and tease it gently.

"Gods," it's more of a breath than a word, "Tav, I- Can I kiss you? Please?"

You sit up and kiss him and he moans into your mouth as you slide your tongue against his. It's a maddening kiss, slow despite the underlying heat to both of your actions. Rolan's the one to break it, to your immense chagrin. You try to lean back in but he holds you at arms length by your shoulders. 

"Tav." His voice is chiding, the tone reminiscent of the one you might use to chastise a cat that won't stop bringing you vole. "I'm not finished healing you."

The groan you let out is fairly childish, but whatever. It makes him laugh. 

"Come on, I seem to remember you saying you wanted to lay down."

He eases you back til your head rests on the pillows. They're soft and downy, and Rolan's touch on your skin as he positions you on them is so light that you feel goosebumps raise on your skin. He sits facing you, one leg drawn up onto the mattress. 

"Gods, Tav, you look exhausted. When was the last time you had a proper rest?" 

You laugh at that, which probably isn't the reaction he was hoping for. "Never?"

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose again, before looking back at you. "Okay, I'm going to use a general healing spell over your whole body, to hopefully ease some of your aches and pains. It'll close up any small wounds and then you can actually sleep."

When you nod, his hands come to hover above you and the staticy feeling of his magic reaches out to you as he connects with the weave. His hands trail over your body without touching you, making their way across your whole form, and by the time he's finished you feel like you're surrounded by a cloud. He's gotten rid of aches you didn't even know you had. 

You only realise you're half asleep when you register the gentle touch of his hand on your cheek, so barely there that you could be imagining it, before you feel the bed dip as he moves to stand. You reach a hand out and grab at him blindly, catching the edge of his robe. It makes him pause, and you blink your eyes open. 

"Stay."

The look that spreads across his face is so raw and full of emotion that you almost feel like you should close your eyes to give him privacy. There's a softness to his gaze you've never seen on him before, and he swallows thickly and gives one small nod. You shuffle over enough to make room for him, and he unbuckles the silver gorget he wears over his robes, placing it gently on the small table next to the bed. You expect him to lay down then, but he stands for another moment hesitating, before eventually bringing his hands to the sash that holds his robes together. The flush that rises to your cheeks makes your whole face warm, and you watch his fingers (he has beautiful hands) as they untie the laces and drag the robe off his shoulders, so that he's left just in his plain undershirt and baggy trousers. 

You're pretty sure you've never been this turned on from seeing someone wearing clothes, but there's something about seeing Rolan in casual dress rather than his wizarding attire that ignites a fire low in your gut. He takes a moment to toe off his boots, and just as he goes to get in bed he pauses. 

"Is this definitely what you want? I don't want to intrude on your rest."

You'd roll your eyes if you had enough energy, but instead you pat the bed beside you. He chuckles and finally clambers onto the mattress. He keeps a respectful distance, lying on his back with one hand folded onto his chest and his ankles crossed over each other. His other hand brushes against the back of your own where it rests between you. 

~~~

[dysfunctionalmaki]

Say My Name

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Chapter 05/?

Summary: You work all around at the local country club, to your advantage you flirted and used your beauty to get what you want, though with this certain woman your own way can't seem to work.

Warning: This work contains smut and foul language, minors DNI!!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

You pace round and round the living room and Yelena couldn't help but get distracted as you walked past her for the nth time. “God! Can you sit your ass down?” your friend grumbled considering she couldn't enjoy her TV show when you'd be there covering the screen from time to time. “How can I sit my ass down exactly? I pissed off Diana!” you stopped exactly right at the center of the television and the blonde which made her groan out of frustration. “See? Play stupid games and win stupid prizes.” looking at her with your brows furrowed. “I didn't know Wanda was going to be there!” you say and Yelena was honestly enjoying your little meltdown.

“Okay, from what you've told me about Diana when you met her, she's nice, rich, and so pretty that you think she may be a goddess.” Yelena just decided to turn off the television knowing it's useless to even attempt to focus and watch her show. “And she works at Wayne Enterprises, knows our boss Tony Stark… and also knows Wanda and her husband since both companies somehow work together?” you say and she couldn't help but laugh softly. “So you're screwed?” she asked and you decided to pace around, taking a seat next to your friend on the couch. “Yes, I'm screwed. Like, when she saw me and Wanda talking at the party… she wrapped her arm around me and then pulled me close! Like she's mine type of close.” your friend tilted her head at what you're saying. “Okay, that's kind of a stretch.” Yelena says.

“No! It isn't… is it? Am I reading too much into it?” Now, you're doubting what you're trying to say, though you can't help but groan. Your stomach's doing cartwheels, you can't help but imagine that the next time you step foot outside the apartment you'll be shoved in a white van… well, you happened to fuck around with someone who's crazy rich and now you're worried, which is understandable and that's why you're also shitting bricks. “Do you want me to text your redhead girlfriend?” Yelena teased, you instantly looked at her and shook your head. “No! I'd look totally uncool if you did that.” you exclaimed and Belova widened her eyes at what you just said. “Y/N, no one thinks you're cool.” you place a hand on your chest taking offense to what she said. “The one you should be talking about this is Wanda, after all, you two were the ones who fooled around.”

“I’m sure she can do something about it and if you talk to her about it then voilà she helps you, I mean it's pretty obvious that you two aren't going to be a one-time thing.” Yelena added, which reminded you of another thing you can't help but stress about the whole situation. “Everything’s about Wanda, it's Wanda here and Wanda there.” you let out while your friend couldn't help but agree with what you're saying. “I think you like her.” The blonde commented and you let out a sigh. “Nope, no can do, nuh-uh.” you are quick to deny what your friend says and she chuckled as if you're acting like a child. “Nuh-uh? What are you, a five-year-old?” You roll your eyes at her comment once more. “I've slept with many people, Wanda isn't anything special.” you stated yet a hint of doubt went through your head.

“I've hung out with Wanda a couple of times before, she's easy-going, can be mean at times, but she's charming in her ways... easy on the eyes too.” Yelena went to list down some of the redhead's characteristics then she looked at you once more. “The downside is she's married, not just any man but a man who works close to Stark, who also happens to be our boss, Y/N." she reminded you then the queasy feeling came back to your guts once more. “Can you stop reminding me of that? I'm still worrying about what Diana may do and there's me messing around with Wanda.” The blonde reached for her phone and without your idea she just decided to message Maximoff, she's a good friend honestly but she'll burst her eardrums if she listens to you go on and on about your worries, and you can't blame her for that.

This time you're in your bedroom trying to sleep off the uneasiness you're feeling, your face buried against the soft pillow, you were a total mess and this wouldn't have happened if you had taken control of yourself and didn't have a whole make out session with the older woman back at the party. An hour went by and honestly, you were just staring at the ceiling as much as you attempted to stop thinking about a certain redhead, she wouldn't stop running in your mind. You've never been kissed the way she kissed you, how she easily found ways to get you weak in the knees and tremble before her, Wanda knew how to please you when she had you cornered at the sink that night.

You hear a knock on your door, doing your best to get your ass off the bed. You knew this was just Yelena probably needing something from you, fixing the shirt you were wearing, adjusting the volleyball shorts that you have had since high school. The moment you opened the door, and those green eyes instantly met with yours, you couldn't help but be surprised and looked behind the older woman then Yelena was there with a smug smile on her face, mouthing “You’re welcome” rolling your eyes at her then you went to look at the redhead in front of you. “Hi- What are you doing here?” You ask confusingly while the woman before you lets herself in your bedroom. “Yelena told me you're freaking out about Prince and she can't spend another second listening to that.” Wanda explained. “Well, are you really worrying about Prince?” she asked.

Taking a moment before answering, you crossed your arms over your chest and nodded. “She probably noticed at the party, I mean probably caught a glimpse of the mark you left and noticed how we were easily conversing.” At the mention of the hickey the older woman smiled and you looked at her. “I mean it, Wanda.” you muttered then she sat on your bed, biting her lower lip while her eyes somehow landed on your legs then looking into your orbs once again. “What do you want me to do about it?” you sighed at her question and you looked away from her enchanting eyes for a second. “Assure me that your husband and especially Mr. Stark won't find out about us.” you requested.

Wanda ran her fingers through her hair then she collected her thoughts trying to come up with words to tell you. “Alright, come here.” she said, you did hesitate for a moment but you can't help but do what she asked you to do. Her hands went to your waist, gently pulling you towards her, and eventually, you found yourself straddling her lap while you faced her. “You don't have to worry about Jarvis and as for Tony… he's not a problem, he's got far too many on his plate to think about this or us.” Her answer sounded too confident and you didn't like how that easily came from her. “Wanda, you told me before that your husband likes to cause a scene.” you reminded her and she tilted her head staying silent as she wanted to hear what you had to say.

“Sweetheart, Jarvis and I are basically separated at this point.” she scoffed. “I mean, we do live in the same house but it's been years since we've slept on the same bed.” she assured you and slowly, Wanda moved her hand from your waist and went to the small of your back. “What about Diana?” you ask her. “Well, from how I see things with you and Prince… I made her jealous.” she says with a proud smile. “She won't do anything to harm you, you're too precious for her to even lay a finger on.” The redhead noticed that you weren't 100% on board with her yet and she thought maybe you were really worried. “Y/N, I promise you, no one's going to harm you, I won't let them.” she whispered, this time you moved your arms around her shoulders and the both of you knew what you both wanted.

“This little affair will be our secret, alright? Yelena, Natasha, and Carol are the ones who know about it, and probably that bartender guy you're friends with.” The older woman assured you once again, though the moment she was about to lean in for a kiss you pulled back. “Why stay with Jarvis, though?” you asked all of a sudden and you got off her lap knowing how distracted she was with you, so you sat on the chair by your work desk so she could tell her story straight. “It’s a long story, malysh, I don't see it relevant on why he should be brought up.” she said and you can't help but raise a brow. “I think he's perfectly relevant, I mean am I your little experiment if you like girls, you need someone to play with to pass time, or he cheated and you're trying to get back at him.” you rambled through the different scenarios and Wanda shook her head. “None of those, and I guess we're really talking about it.” Wanda says with a sigh.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ᗢ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

The redhead got comfortable on your bed while you went on to get some snacks and drinks for the both of you in the kitchen, after all, she did say it's going to be a long story. “I met Jarvis when we were in college, we shared this class and he was good when we met, he's a level-headed guy, he was kind of a nerd and I thought he's kind of charming for that.” She went on to tell details of how much she thought that her husband was such a good man and while she did you were pouring some red wine in your glasses since that's the only drink you currently have at home. “Then, we went on a couple of dates, and did the deed a couple of times until I got knocked up.” Wanda casually says then you widen your eyes not expecting that at all, then you take a sip from your glass just as you listen to her talk.

You loved how her accent would slip now and then, how she fiddled with her finger while she went to tell you the story of her and Jarvis. “Oh and even way before I met him, he has been under Stark's wing… Where was I?” “You got knocked up.” you answered her. “Right, I got knocked up and of course, he told Stark about it and he's told that he should take full responsibility, eventually we got married during my pregnancy.” Wanda took a moment then she went to take a sip from her wine then biting her lower lip. “Unfortunately, he started acting so differently, he has become hot-headed, he has been going out to more parties and all that, not to mention he's a drunk, add to the fact that we're graduating so pressure's through the roof.” she added. “I had a miscarriage with all the stress and… when he found out about it, he didn't care about the unborn child, all he cared about was that he got the hot girl.” the news sure did shock you, which made you finish the glass and you went to fill up your drink once again.

“I’m so sorry for what happened.” You softly spoke and this time you sat next to her on your bed, then she smiled sweetly at you. “It's been years since that happened, I've moved on and eventually, I've also moved from Jarvis.” she said. “Why are you guys still together though?” Your question caught Wanda off-guard, well, she did think that all questions about her husband’s over but it seems like she’s mighty wrong. “You really are going to push this as far as you can go, don’t you?” Wanda chuckled, then she lifted her glass of wine to her lips, looking at you for a second before deciding to take a small sip. “I’m only staying so he could keep his image squeaky clean.” it was a short answer and you knew better than to push the topic even further.

“Is the interrogating done, sweetheart?” The redhead asked as she finished her drink, asking for a fill when she handed her glass towards you. “Yeah- I was just expecting the whole cheating husband schtick and not even an ounce of what you said.” you honestly spoke as you poured her another glass of wine. “Is that all that you need from me though?” she questioned you once more, only moving her hand when you handed her back her drink. “Well, it’s just that I’ve never had someone catch me fooling around and didn’t know that it’d feel something like that–” “Something like what, malysh?” Wanda moved herself closer to you, faces only an inch apart from one another, your eyes were looking at her alluring ones. “I wasn’t expecting it to be so thrilling yet nerve-wracking.” you say as if you’re under her spell once again.

“I think you and I know that this isn’t going to be something that’ll only happen once.” Wanda whispered. “I think I’d have to agree with you.” you replied, finally, the older woman took your drink and placed it on your side table next to hers. You feel her soft hand palming your cheek, the redhead admiring you and looking at you as something… better yet someone she could treasure. The redhead caressed your skin for a moment with her thumb, it is something so simple and so innocent, you didn’t know whether it’s the wine acting up or it’s just Wanda who’s making you feel hotter, you scooted closer towards her and as you flutter your eyes close you caught a glimpse of her smiling when leaned into her. Wanda made the first move… She gently pressed her lips against yours, this time it’s much more gentle compared to how the both of you were the last time, you took your time matching her rhythm, taking a moment to get a good feel of her soft pair on yours. The two of you were picking up the pace steadily, she wasn’t rushing and honestly, you liked that she lingered at this pace.

“Wanda…” you whispered, yet you only received a soft “Hmm?” from the latter and after that it was just more kissing “The walls are thin here.” you purred against her lips. “Then I think we should be quiet, sweetheart.” the redhead cooed, with that being said the both of you went back to your makeout session. You were so used to taking the lead and now that someone’s taking that responsibility for you… you can’t help but fall right into her hands, allow yourself to be taken care of. Wanda shifted her hand from your cheek and located it back to your waist once again, her free hand moving towards the side of your thigh, grasping on it so she could usher you to move your legs and lay on your bed. Doing what she wishes for you to do, the redhead took off her office blazer, revealing the spaghetti strapped tank top before you, god, she was such a sight to look at. “You know I’m assuming that you like what you see.” Wanda chuckled softly and you can’t help but grow a smile due to what she said. “I do actually… I like what I see.” you replied.

She placed a finger below your chin making you look up to her, somehow a move this simple was enough for you to pool your underwear, as you gaze upon her emerald orbs you can’t help but see it so darkened with lust. Wanda went ahead to move her hands at the hem of your shirt, she did want you to see her taking your clothes off, so that it’ll be only her stuck in your mind, making sure that it’s her and her alone. You assisted her in taking your top off as you sat up and did the same for her, you easily discarded her tank top and you proceeded to put your hand on her back so you could take her bra off. Watching the strap fall over her shoulder, biting your lower lip as you admired her naked top right before you, the older woman knew that you liked this view even more, she took both your hands and guided them to her bare breasts, allowing you to massage them so gently, the way you held and fondled her was enough to make her grow sensitive to your touch.

While you're occupied with her breasts, she took the moment to take off your as well, her lips were instantly painted with a smirk when she saw that the mark she left was still there. “I see that you've kept it.” she teased, though the moment you felt both her hands on your tits, you knew it's her turn and she'll take such good care of you, letting go of her breasts the older woman gently pushed you to lay back on your bed once more. You know how to please women and that you're confident with, you've had dozens of one night stands hitting you up so you'd do them for a second time and that's how good you are, somehow when it comes to this woman on top you… you're the one who's craving, wanting for a second night, desperate for her touch.

Wanda knew her way around you, maybe it's just the fact that you're easily pleased when she's the one doing you, as you lay underneath her you can't help but place a hand over your lips, letting out muffled groans as the redhead wrapped her mouth on your sensitive nipples, her tongue swirling against your nub and you can't help but feel your own wetness soaking your panties. The older woman made sure both your breasts got the equal attention from her mouth, she'd suck on them to her own contentment and she loved the fact how you couldn't keep your eyes on her, more so that your eyes kept on fluttering close all because of the pleasure she's giving you.

Eventually, her lips moved downwards leaving a trail of her kisses from your breasts and heading to your stomach, her hands found its way on the waistband of your shorts. “Do you want me to continue, Y/N?” the way your name slip from her lips sounded way too good, this woman is heaven sent. “Yes, please– please do continue.” you whimpered when she'd tease you with kisses on your lower abdomen. Wanda took your shorts off along with your underwear, she finally saw how much of a wet mess you are underneath your clothing. You somehow got shy with the fact that you're so desperate for her and Wanda got a feel that you did feel embarrassed about it, she smiled at you. “Oh, malyshka, this really is long due isn't it? I probably made you wait too long.” she purred when she moved herself so she'd face you once again.

“I’ll make sure to give you such a good time that none of your women could ever match with.” Wanda whispered, her lips lightly brushing against yours as she spoke. You felt the tip of her fingers feeling your skin, she gently ran her fingertips from your lower abdomen, heading down to your thighs, and her hand rested on your inner thigh. The redhead kissed you once again, her tongue swiped against your lower lip and you slightly moved your lips so she could gain more access. You could feel her hand against your private and it's more than enough to send shivers through your body, the older woman went on to move her tongue along with yours though just as she took over, you felt her finger slide in between your folds.

You softly moaned against her mouth, her finger moved painfully slow against your clit, knowing to herself that she's teasing you, she can't help but smirk seeing how frustrated you were getting that you were moving your hips just so you'd be able to feel more of her touch. “Wanda, please… just fuck me.” your words were honest considering the fact that it really is what you want. “Hmm, I need to hear it one more time and I think I want you to nicely ask for it.” her finger kept still considering you were shifting your hips against her digit, you weren't one to beg but with how desperate you're getting you didn't want to protest against hers anymore. “Wanda, can you please fuck me?” never in your life you thought once that you're the one asking to be fucked but here you are.

“Your wish is my command, malyshka.” her thick accent came on once again, Wanda took her finger off from your pussy for a moment and placed it against your lips. “Lick and suck it good, sweetheart.” she tells you, making sure that you obey her, you kept your eyes on her as you licked the base of her finger, your tongue moves to the very top of it. The older woman felt herself get soaked as she watched you move your wet muscle against her digit, before you'd take her finger into your mouth she added her ring finger along with her middle.

Wanda watched how obedient you are as you took both her fingers in your mouth, she felt how you're sucking on them and just as she knew that they were lubricated enough with your saliva, she gently took them off your mouth. The older woman rubbed her fingers on your clit in a circular motion, just the right pace to keep it stimulated but not enough to get you close to your orgasm. The moment she moved her finger at your entrance, you bit your lower lip trying to muffle whatever sound that may come out of you the moment she pushed her fingers into you. You gasp at the feeling and the redhead pressed a kiss on top of your head, she can't help but groan softly when she feels how wet and warm you are inside.

The redhead started to pump her fingers in and out of your pussy, you couldn't get a single word out of your mouth other than the sinful moans that you were holding back considering you didn't really want to traumatize your best friend next door. Wanda was thrusting her digits knuckle deep into your hole, you loved how you're a wet mess for this woman before you, she was taking such good care of you and took mental notes of where you are most sensitive, used it to you advantage so she could take you closer to your orgasm. “You’re taking me in so good, malyshka.” she purred and as much as you wanted to respond to her, she only got your moan as her feedback and it was more than enough for her.

Picking up her pace, Wanda went to thrust her fingers into you much faster and rougher than it is earlier, this time your legs were involuntarily shaking with pleasure, your toes curled up with how much she's making you feel good. Your mind was clouded with lustful thoughts and all of it contained Wanda, you thought about more ways she can fuck you, your mind went over to different ways she can do you and you wouldn't even mind being her own bitch. “Fuck, just do me like that please…” you begged Wanda when she finally got you where you're most sensitive. “Say my name, I want you to moan my name, malyshka.” she growled. “Please, Wanda, I'm so close… please fuck.” you cried out at this point, string of curses left your lips along with the older woman's name being moaned at as well.

The moment Wanda felt how you tightened around her finger, she knew you're about to hit your orgasm, the redhead pressed a kiss on your lips so she could at least help you muffle your moans during your orgasm. The redhead had let you take your time to ride off your high, just as your lips parted with hers you took a moment to catch your breath and the latter moved beside you, moving her arm under your head so you'd rest it there instead of the pillow, when your eyes met with hers, she looked at you with her kind smile once again. “And you're not even out of all your clothes.” You say when it sunk in to you that she still has her pants on. “What can I do? I've got a girl who needs to be taken care of.” she teased you before leaning in to peck on your lips. “Why don't I take it off for you?” You offered and the redhead nodded her head, after all… she knew how much you craved for her.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ᗢ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

You lay on your bed naked and beside you was Wanda who's currently in a phone call, it did sound important though you're wishing that she'd stay a little longer on this bed with you. You two had multiple amazing rounds of sex and it did tire you both, and not because you have favoritism or something but this could be the best sex you've ever had. The redhead had set her phone down and had looked at you as well when she noticed that you were staring. “You've got to go, don't you?” you ask her, the latter nodded her head and you can't help but let out a sigh. “You know that there will be a next time, Y/N.” Wanda softly spoke as she sat up.

She got up to use your bathroom and you decided to get up and tidy up the room once again, picking up the clothes on the floor and you went on to neatly fold her clothes at the bed, you put on your shirt once again and it's enough to cover your privates. A couple of moments later, Wanda went back in the room, probably took a quick shower and she went to press a kiss on your cheek when she noticed that you arranged her clothes. “Maybe you'll see me again tomorrow, Carol’s been asking us to play golf with her for the past couple of days and we happen to have a clear schedule.” she said. “By seeing you, you mean me being your waitress.” you replied and while she puts on her clothes, she tilted her head at your answer.

“Let me know when is your next off, maybe I can match my schedule with yours, let me at least take you out.” She offered and you bite your lower lip. “Sure, just friends though?” you ask and she can't help but chuckle softly. “Friends? Is that what we are?” she purred. “Mhmm, of course that's what we are, friends who happen to have such hot sex.” she teasingly says and you softly laugh. “I make sure not to disappoint.” While you two went on to chat while Wanda’s getting ready, you went ahead to wear your shorts and it didn't take long for the redhead to finish.

“We both know that if we want something serious it's not going to start now, sweetheart. Plus, as I said before I want you all for myself.” she honestly spoke. “And as for you, I know well that you wouldn't want to share me with anybody.” she confidently said and she pressed a quick kiss on your lips once more. “It’s like you read my mind.” you say and she winks at you. “I’ve got to go, okay? I'll see you around.” she says and you went to walk her towards the driveway outside the apartment, the two of you didn't see Yelena so you figured she must've went for a walk with Fanny. Wanda bids her goodbye and you can't help but instantly think about your next time with her, until it hits you.

Maybe you really are now hoping for something serious with that woman.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta @reginassweetheart @lvinhs @alexawynters @mfd-101 @dorabledewdroop @sokovianbaby @scarlettbitchx @nickelyy @lovejaylux

[jillsandwhichs]

RE Character x Reader Smutshot Collection , Chap 6 , Time crunch

Masterlist

Pairing: F!reader x Ada Wong

Summary: Ada is about to leave from the extraction point in 10 minutes. That gives you just enough time to say goodbye

Status of your guy's relationship in this one shot: Partners in crime

WC: 2.1k

Type: NSFW

Warnings: This is very vanilla, sorry y'all. Hookup, making out, slight dirty talk & oral sex (You receive)

A/n: Hi! Hope you all enjoy. Please check out my masterlist, there's a lot of stuff there. You can get to know me, you can see the rules of my blog and then you can see all of my fanfictions. You'll be able to find the previous chapters to this fic and upcoming ones. You'll also be able to find my Wattpad & AO3. Comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated. Thank you

Silence.

It felt awkward.

The two of you just shared a very steamy kiss.

Yes, the two of you have fucked before, but never on the job, you kept it strictly professional when working, it was just a code you both lived by.

But knowing she'll be gone for awhile after these final ten minutes, neither of you can hold yourselves back, especially yourself. Ada, despite her many flaws, means a lot to you. You've both formed a bond due to your similar interests in life and work, even sexual interests. Ada is a mysterious lady, but that hasn't stopped her from allowing you to at least explore her body, in which you've done quite a bit.

You've been working together for a year now, exactly a year one month ago. Ever since, you two have always chosen each other for missions. You're both reliable and make sure the other escapes, even if your guy's selfishness begins to interfere. Ada has had to save your ass more than you have had to hers but either way, you both are there for each other. Ada was much more hardened when you first met, she's softened up somewhat now.

"How long?" "How long what?" "How long will you be gone for, Ada?" You wondered, crossing your arms and walking back and forth. You'd be alone from now on. Where was she even going and why? "Just a couple of months. I have some unfinished business to attend down in China, you understand?" Ada hummed to you. Ada was leaning against the brick wall, her thin arms at her slender sides. You do understand. She has work, and sometimes work requires you to travel.

Gazing at her, you thought about the kiss you two had just exchanged. It was hot. It was erotic. Kissing for you two is the ultimate form of intimacy. You two tend to get very touchy whenever you kiss or make out, you can't help yourselves. "I hate to say it, but, It'll be difficult without you." You admitted, your tone very low, almost as if you didn't want her to catch onto what you said. "I understand. If it makes you feel better, this won't be the last time you see me. I plan to even remain in contact with you while I am overseas." Ada also admitted something.

Her words meant a lot.

It's not like she owes you that though. You two aren't in a relationship. You two hookup, it feels good, it's nice, that's it, it isn't anything more. But, it almost seems hard to avoid one another. Ada is a drug, morphine to you. You need that woman in your system at least once within the day. Just being around her causes arousal to stir up inside of you. Every single time you both finish a mission, you guys meet up and fuck. It's a ritual at this point.

You stood there, your head tilted down, your eyes glancing at the muddy ground. It had rained not to long ago. You and Ada were slightly wet from it, but it's dried up for the most part - In some places... You looked back up at Ada, she was gazing at you with a soft look. You began to amble closer to her, your heart thumping repeatedly in your chest as you did. Oddly enough, you felt nervous this singular time when approaching her. "I want you... For one last time." You whispered, your front finally pressed up against hers.

"You may have me for one final time." Ada bit her lower lip, it was tinted a darker shade of red, her lipstick was always an attraction.

You cupped her face in your hands, aggressively, yet passionately, pressing your lips against hers. Your lips moved in sync, it was rather beautiful actually. Ada's miniscule hands encased around your back, making sure you weren't going nowhere. She held you, her hands stroking your entire time. Her touch felt like a thousand suns. You'd miss it so very much. You are sure it won't be the last time you feel her - It can't be the last time.

Ada licked your lower lip, desperately wanting to taste you. She couldn't live without kissing you, kissing you with her tongue. Your mouth is a safe haven for her. Your mouth went slightly agape, and her tongue slipped into your mouth, an honest moan coming from her when she pushed it in. "Fuck." You grunted, your bodies flipping so that you were now against the cold, hard, red brick wall. Both of you are switches at the end of the day.

"I wanna taste you." Ada mumbled, her lips finally detaching from yours. You were panting, trying to catch your breath. Her seductive tone was enough to have your panties soaked and your pussy wanting her even more. Ada has a way with words.

You smiled at her, your head diving into the crook of her neck. Your lips found her sweet spot, and you took advantage of that. You pecked all along her neck, your breath sharp as you breathed in. Her scent was lovely too, she smelt like Vanilla and that was very sexy to you. Maybe she knew that because anytime you hookup, its what she smells like. It drives you crazy. "You want to taste me?" You cooed on her throat. "You know I do, honey." Ada responded truthfully.

That just made you drip more.

Adas eyes locked with yours as she moderately lowered her body until her face was at an alignment with your core, a look of need was on her face. Disbanding the eye contact, she gandered at your jeans and the buttons on them as she began to undo them, wanting you terribly now. "We have to be quick." "I know." You replied. It seriously sucks that she'll be going away for some time. You'll miss the way her firm tongue feels on your pussy.

Her lean fingers pulled your pants down with haste, your damp panties directly in her face. "I can already smell you." She sighed softly, breathing it all in. You moaned softly. You didn't know where to set your hands, she hasn't eaten you out in this position before. "My shoulders baby." She cooed, as if she could read your mind. Obliging, you placed your hands on her slender, boney shoulders; The stability will come into use later.

With your hands on her shoulders, her hands went to your panties, tearing them off of you as quickly as she could. Your soaked cunt was revealed to her alas. The cold, windy air hit you like a bullet, causing you to shiver. "I'll warm you up." She teased right before she buried her face in your cunt, her tongue profusely lapping at your wet folds. "Oh." You whimpered in surprise, shocked that she so soonly began to eat you out like it was the last time she ever would.

Maybe it is.

Your head leaned back against the wall, your hair already becoming a mess. The brick wall was cold on your rear, the texture of it wasn't the best either but you'd endure it just for this. "Fucking hell..." You panted, her tongue was going mad on you. Adas eyes were closed. It seemed as though she was channeling everything inside of her to make you feel good, which was clearly worked. Your legs already felt wobbly. You felt like you could fall at any second, you held onto her tighter.

The lewd noises that were being made only enhanced the sexual pleasure Ada was making you feel. That extraordinary pit in your stomach - The one that lets you know your orgasm is about to rush over you, was slowly yet surely taking over.

As she continued, Ada began to adjust your legs to be sat on her shoulders. You helped, shifting them and blowing out deeply as you felt the comfortability of it. It felt way better this way. You began to moan much more loudly, Adas tongue causing your muscles to tighten inside of you. It was hard not to, but you began to practically ride her face. You grinded your pussy up against her mouth. She didn't seem to mind, if anything, she reveled in it.

"Faster." She spat out, her nails digging into your plump thighs. Another thing about Ada is that she worships your body, especially your thighs. She'll stare at you and get horny. There is just something about you that does that to her.

Listening, you began to ride her face quicker. Your movements were sloppy but you didn't care, just as long as she was licking you, tasting you and making you feel pleased. "Oh Ada..." You let out a sharp breath. Your hands ran through her jet black hair, it was soft, healthy, easy to tug on - Which you did. "Right there, that's it." You whined. Her tonuge on your clit was exactly what you needed. The sensitive bud needed to be focused on.

She suctioned your clit between her lips, slurping on it. You slammed your head back, your back arching too, you were going to cum on her tonuge.

"Oh..."

Your orgasm flew over you. Suddenly, the crisp air made your nipples hard and your body to shake slightly, that was due to it mixing with your climax. You rode her face for a few more seconds and then you pulled away, pushing yourself up against the wall. You were still dripping, your wetness with the mixture of your squirt dripped onto the ground. Ada stood up, maintaining her gaze on you as she did.

Wiping her mouth as well, Ada spoke up.

"You tasted amazing." She said softly, stumbling over to you. You just giggled, your vision still felt hazy, you were a bit out of it, that's for sure. You stared at her for a moment. You wish you two could have more time together, you wonder if you have enough time to at least eat her out as well. Probably not. She's a very coordinated lady, she'll want to get out of her the second the correct time strikes the clock.

You pulled your panties up and then your pants, you rebuttoned them up too. You didn't want to look like a mess when it is time to go, your boss will be concerned. "Do you think we'll have time to-" "No. Two minutes until I must leave." Ada interrupted you. She just didn't want you to get your hopes up for disappointment. For some reason, you're upset. You don't care for Ada a whole lot as a person, you guys are simply forced to team up. That doesn't mean you don't care at all. A part of you is going to miss her.

As Ada was letting her eyes roam around as she waited patiently, you grabbed onto her, pouncing your lips onto hers. She gasped but quickly melted at the gesture. She swathed her arms around your neck, her fingers messing with your tied back hair. "This is my goodbye to you." You hummed, your tongue slithering along hers; The texture of it turned you on once again. "This is a good farewell then." She smiled into the kiss. Not your average smile though, very small and barely noticeable.

You slid your hands down her back and onto her ass, holding it in both hands. You squeezed her, a sigh coming from her. "I won't be gone too long." "A couple months is long, Ada." You stated. You found it to be too damn long. No one will suffice like Ada does. "You'll be fine." She cupped your face, her thumbs caressing both sides of your cheeks before she finally had to pull away, her watch buzzing.

"Gotta go."

Her hands were in yours. You wanted to homd onto her as long as possible but she backed and backed away slowly til eventually, your hand dropped from hers.

"So long, beautiful." She winked as she tilted her head before she randomly used her grappling hook to sail away. You could hear what seemed to be a helicopter in the distance, most likely her getaway vehicle. You stood there in silence, all that could be heard was that motor and your soft, calm breathing. All you can think about is how much things will be different. You'll either be alone or with a new partner, both options don't sound pleasant whatsoever.

You blew out a deep breath, collecting yourself.

"Time to go home." You whispered before you began to run off, the events of tonight on repeat in your head.

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

“Love you a little too much.”

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ Earth 42! Miles Morales x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, eventual angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ so I kinda switched it up and in this fanfic, reader is the one giving mixed signals.

Chapter 2: The Secrets You Keep

Warning ೃ⁀➷ Profane language, underaged smoking, mixed signals, horrible Spanish, mommy issues.

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Silvery pavements, busy streets, neon lights, and brick-cold air.

New York never truly rests, as they say. A concrete jungle where dreams were once made of. All of what was once so promising about the Yorker dream was plucked out individually with each passing year; money, careers, romance, and peace. Even now, you try to find the beauty of what was once the New York your mother adored, yet what only stared back was this desolate, tragic dystopia. A city that's fallen to ruin.

As the traffic unknots, Miles gently nudges you to the inner part of the sidewalk— subtly shielding you away from the vehicles.

Gentlemen, your mother used to always say. You'll find them not in the fineness of their clothes, but in the way they treat their women.

You can almost picture her, sitting right in front of you with that sickly sweet grin on her face, pearls hanging from her neck and mascara running down her cheeks. Buried beneath her wedding band was a dying cigarette, to which she pulls to slip in between her lips— taking consecutive sips.

There was almost never a time your mother was a mess.

Almost.

Staring at your mother was like staring into a wretched mirror. You were everything she could've been, and she was all you might become.

There was nothing more frightening than looking into your future and finding nothing promising.

"Hey, that's new." And Miles, yet again, pulls you out of your murky thoughts.

"What is?" You pique, the sight of the city dragged back into your sights. Miles points at the ivy-covered building in front of you. It gleamed in warm colors inside, a sight utterly fitting of the autumn season. Its wide, Palladian windows were embellished with orange curtains and striped green dormers. Atop the roof sat a sign, the name of the establishment written in bold, vermilion cursive. You were lulled by the smell of s'mores, hot chocolate, and pie— all the sweet things that reminded you of your precious childhood memories. It had you standing there, reminiscing over the times that were long gone.

"I think it's a café and a book store. Two in one, pretty neat." Miles mentions, looking over to the sight of you. The store's lights seeped out the windows, its golden hues gleaming over your face, highlighting your lashes. You were too lost in thought to even notice his staring.

"How pretty." You airily whispered.

"Yeah." Miles replies, sights still glued onto you.

His gaze soon lowers, noticing your trembling hands fiddling with the hem of your hoodie— a habit the both of you shared. Hesitantly, he lifts his finger, urging to intertwine it with yours.

"Do you think I can apply as a part-timer there?"

He shoves his hands down his pocket instead.

“You wanna apply?”

“Yeah. I wanna save up for summer.”

He raised a brow. “That’s still next year, though?”

“I’m planning on going on a road trip.” You began, a clear view of your plans surfacing in your mind. “I’m getting my driver’s license next year too, so I really want to make the most of it.”

“Driver’s license?”

“Yeah, I’m sixteen.”

“Damn,” Miles shook his head in amusement. “Y’know, I tend to forget you’re older than me.” He then places his hand next to your temple, aligning it with his shoulder. “And it doesn’t help that you’re… This short.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And of course, Miles indeed didn’t shut the fuck up.

"… Y’know, I bet you'd walk out on your first day with an arson charge."

The two of you meet gazes once more. Miles looked at you with a dead stare, as if he was serious. "What? You're the one talking shit about wanting to go to jail."

"Yeah, I'm boutta fulfill that part of my checklist after I'm done strangling you."

He raised his brows, subtly amused. "Kinky."

You try to slap his arm, but he manages to dodge your hit. He stares deep into your oh-so-fiery glare, cheeks bursting from laughter.

"Look at'chu, you fight like a munchkin from the wizard of Oz."

Pulling your sleeves up, you ready yourself to brawl. "Yeah? Talk your shit, Tin Woodman."

“Oh, I will talk my shit, lollipop gild.”

Amidst your squabble, you and Miles push and pull against one other, lightly shoving each other off like little kids. Your fingers dig into the cloth of his jacket, gripping against his chest with fingers like steel. Though your little plan of shaking him by the collar is spoiled when an itch suddenly burns your nose. You turn around and sneeze, pulling away from his grasps.

".. God, I hate the cold."

He feigns a grimace, taking a step back. "Eww, germs."

"Shut up, you—“

"Stay away, you bubonic plague virus haver."

As you try to search for a comeback, you feel the same itch burn your nostrils— inevitably putting your words on hold. Miles watches as you placed your icy hands over your mouth, sneezing a couple more times. You could almost feel the cold climb up your arms like a ladder, leaving you a shivering mess. Some sort of heat begins to poke in the back of your neck, as though you were flustered like a little girl with a crush. You pull your sleeves down, stabbing your nails into your palm. Miles takes this moment to go behind you, his hands reaching out to unzip your bag. He probes inside in search of your scarf, the long silk pouring out with the grip of his fingers, like [f/c] bleeding into his palm.

As you sniff, the boy turns to you, gently wrapping the cloth over your neck. You look up, beholding the sight of a serious Miles who was too preoccupied with tying the scarf, mumbling about what's the point of bringing the damn thing if you weren't even gonna use it.

“M’not even gonna get a bless you?” You tease.

“You got me: the biggest blessing of your life. What more do you need?”

You hum. “Lots of sleep and an essential oil bath bomb.”

“The fuck’s an essential oil bath bomb?”

“What I need.”

As he finished, he slowly smoothes out the creases with both palms, looking up to meet your stare.

"… What'chu looking at?"

With an airy laugh, you reply. "Just.. You."

His hands pause, yet they stay on your scarf.

"... Idiot." Miles mumbles, grip tightening. "Stop lookin’ at me like that."

"Like what?"

Like you'd follow me to the end of the earth.

"Like a dumbass." He casually answers, flicking his nails over your forehead. "Now get moving, I’ve gotta get you home.”

Miles look over to the café once more, a hand over your shoulder. Slowly, it slips off and trails down your arm before falling to his side. Instinctually, his finger lifts to reach out for your own, though it drops when he hears a buzz in your pockets.

Despite the amount of times it rang, you simply ignored the damn thing. Eventually you did reach out for it, but without even glancing once at the texts, you set it all on 「☾ Do Not Disturb.」

It was only then, as each street passed, that Miles began noticing how the both of you were slowly exiting Brooklyn's poorest areas and started entering what seemed to be the finer parts of the borough. From skeletal buildings and desolate apartments, colorful brownstones appeared before his eyes— showered in leaves of scarlet and orange. It was the sort of Brooklyn you'd find in the movies, the dreamy sort of Brooklyn it used to be three years ago.

An immediate fresh breath of nostalgia.

There was that tiniest hope that lingered deep inside of him, believing that Brooklyn’s still savable.

Eventually, the both of you spot the local Gristedes down the road, the building growing larger with each step. Miles opted to slow his steps down, just to walk longer with you and yet, you paced hurriedly. He follows the sight of your silhouette prancing around, admiring you from afar. When you can no longer sense him, you turn around and halt your walk, waiting for him to keep up. Miles hurriedly jogs to meet you, humming a sweet tune when a sort of blurry vision clouds his mind.

A piercing pain shoots through his temple, making him wince. For a moment, his vision blurs and spots of red taint his eyes. Suddenly, you appear before him in the midst of a fire— glaring at him with such hatred. Your silhouette appears as a dark burgundy, taking center in a world set ablaze.

You call out his name in the feverish illusion.

"Miles."

He winces, taking a step back.

"Miles!"

Suddenly, he's pulled back into reality with your voice.

There you stood, eyes so riddled with worry.

"... What..?"

"Are you okay?" You walk back to him, placing a hand over his forehead. "Are you sick? What happened?"

He gasps for air, but only once. Seeing you now, looking so worried about him, it was enough confirmation that what he saw was all just a dream.

But what in the hell what was that?

As your hand presses against his cheek, Miles cups over it with his own, following the lead of your voice to find peace. "Sorry," He finally spoke, voice too much of a whisper for you to process. "It’s like I hallucinated or sum.”

You click your tongue. "You just had one hit of vape, man, the fuck you on?”

He mumbles an incoherent explanation, to which you grumble. “Do you need medicine? Maybe I can—“ You frantically turn your head in search of a place. “Maybe we can go somewhere and get you some medicine.”

“I’m fine, ma, don’t get all riled up.”

“You’re hot.”

“I know.”

“Not in that way!”

“Ouch.”

“I’m just– I’m worried about you, Miles.”

“Oh, are you now?” He teased, placing a hand over yours.

Miles gently places your hand down, eventually taking your other and burying them both in his palms. Your hands were much smaller and softer compared to his. Like velvet to leather, a paw to a claw.

He gently squeezed, an urge to hold them forever ringing in his mind. Miles looked up to see you and the way your eyes traveled from his hands, to his chest, up to his chin, and then straight into his gaze.

“Do continue worryin’ about me.” He whispers. “I’m feelin’ very special right now.”

You scrunched your brow, looking up with the softest gaze you ever endowed.

“Oh, is that right?”

“Mhm.”

It was enough to steal the air from his lungs. Of all the things, Miles didn't fear for this to all be a dream, he feared that this would all just be a game to you. Dreams would mean that this wasn't you, but a trickery of his mind— his anxiety. He'd be able to keep you once he wakes up. But since this was real, he'd have to suffer through the pain of either losing you or hating you, none of which were choices he liked.

He found you most confusing at times like these.

Most of the time, you were an open book. Your mouth was unfiltered, whether it be in conveying your emotions or saying the most out of pocket things, but at the same time, you often kept to yourself. He hardly heard anything about your family, your friends, or your life— aside from a few side stories you'd recall in the midst of reminiscing— other than that, you kept a lot of secrets.

And he didn't want to invade your privacy, or overstep your boundaries. He figured you'd tell him someday: the things that would bother you, or the memories that'd make you zone out for a few seconds.

He was too afraid of you finding out who he was. Too afraid of losing you, or hating you.

But moments like these were a detriment to his rationality.

In that icy weather, all that made Miles shiver was you.

“Miles.” You called out his name again. “... I think.. I have to go.”

Unconsciously, he mutters. “Already?”

“We’ll see each other again tomorrow.” You couldn’t help but comfort of him. “I promise.”

Let’s meet in our little place. I won’t call it my home, because home is wherever you go.

He swallows the lump that had formed at his throat, hesitantly releasing your hands. “Okay.” He sighs. “Okay, get home safely.” He detangles your fingers, savoring the warmth of your skin. You pivot your heel to leave, pulling your hood over your head. Miles simply watches as you walk and turn one last time.

“Bring your sketchbook next time, alright?”

He nods. “I will.”

“Buh-bye.” You wave one final time. Miles raised his hand to bid you adieu.

If only you knew.

As you disappear down the block, Miles clutches the notebook carefully hidden in his inner pocket.

It was at that moment, Miles couldn’t help but ponder.

How could I show you my sketchbook when all it’s filled of is you?

Uh, uh, catch me ridin’ like a bitch

Got the six forty-five, catch me ridin’ with my bitch

Uh, long hair, Lana, that’s my bitch

Uh, You can tell by the swagger and the lips, uh

The radio eases down with the volume upon the flick of a finger.

“How was she?”

Snapped from the voice of his uncle, Miles’ head perks up. An icy water bottle flies past Aaron’s hand, tossing it over to Miles as it landed straight into his palms. “Did’ya finally tell her?” He adds, to which the boy slumps deep into his seat and grumbles.

Drenched in sweat and small bruises, Miles took his well-deserved break atop his uncle’s couch— chest rising and falling with each heave, wifebeater all soaked. He squints at the ceiling while lazily popping the cap off the bottle. “I don’t even have to tell her, man. She knows— I know she knows, but I dunno if- if she likes me too or if she’s jus playin’ w’me.” Miles manages to rant in between heavy breaths, mind and body completely exhausted from training. Aaron sits by his side, dragging a towel over his neck.

“Yikes. What makes you think that?”

The cold water smoothly flushes down his throat, easing his fatigue. “She flirts with me more than I flirt with her— damn, I can’t even get a single line in.”

“.. You like a chick that’s got more game than you?” Aaron reiterates, amused by what he’s hearing. He laughs at Miles’ frustrated face, shaking his head. “You sure you’re my nephew, man?”

“Oh, I’ve got game.” The boy defends himself. “I held her hands and everythin’. She’s prolly hella into me too.”

“Or, she just plays the game better than you do.”

“Nah—“ Miles denies, but it makes him think. “Nah, she’s into me. I’m sure of it, but I think she’s kind of like… Denying it or I dunno.”

He recalls the way you scrunched your brows, and looked up at him as though he was all you could ever want to look at. It’s got him zoning out, nibbling on the brim of his bottle like a nervous little pup. Aaron simply shrugs. “I’m just sayin’, Miles, it’s not like y’all are in the Titanic. I don’t see why she wouldn’t go for ya.”

“I mean,” He scavenges for the right words to say. “I mean, what if she’s like.. Not ready or sum?”

“… How old is she?”

“Sixteen.”

Aaron’s head spun in a quick flash. “Sixteen!? Aren’t you fifteen? Damn, now I don’t blame her. You’re a whole kid in her eyes, my man.”

“A ki— a kid!?” He scoffed. “I’d have to squat down just to reach her height— why the hell would she see me as a kid?”

While taking a sip off his bottle, Aaron lifts a finger cautiously. “That,” He spoke in between sips. “That’s the reason why she sees you as a kid.” Miles furrows his brows, completely anonymous to the reason. “You’re too defensive. You should be more suave, my man. Be a gentleman.“ He pulls up a couple moves. “Jazz her like this. The ladies love dancing.”

“You telling me I gotta dance with her or sum?” Chewing on his cheek, he grumbles. “Now, how the hell do I do that?”

Aaron hums.

“You know all about the shoulder touch?”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Dark halls, hushed voices in a box.

“I’m not having this conversation with you again.”

The chair’s legs screech against the marble as he stands up.

"She's turning sixteen next year, hardly even eighteen, if this gets out— not only would it be harmful for our family reputation, she'll be permanently eradicated from receiving opportunities in the future."

A dead gaze hung in the darkness, eyeing the figure that stood before him stubbornly.

"Your sister is incredibly capable, and she's doing a lot to support our means for the sake of the family."

Tick. Tick. Tick.

"Which is more than what I can say for you, Antonne."

Antonne stood before his father, chin held high and gaze, unyielding. The old man tapped his pen against the mahogany, each tick filling in the spaces between the clock's ticking. Within the spaces, and with each passing second, Antonne stood in the thick tension that filled the office like a soldier keeping his head above water.

The old man’s pen points at him accusingly. "Be happy for her, as she's cleaning up after your mistakes. Who would you be without your sister?”

The boy tenses.

“Do you think you’ll be able to save yourself?”

Antonne stood by the hall, eyes daunt and staring a thousand yards deep into an invisible void. For a while, he shortly allowed his mind to go completely blank. Well, it wasn't entirely blank, it was full— but everything was all blurred together that it was better to think that he was thinking about nothing.

A restless mind paired along with an unfortunately still beating heart.

His head’s piqued when a familiar sound of footsteps begin to permeate amidst the hall. The steady sound of heels thumping against the carpet, like a careful warning to those who stood in her way.

“Antonne,” Her voice calls out. “What are you doing out here?”

Your presence emerges from the shadows like a ghost who’d waited for too long. He steps in front your father’s office door, as if to block your entrance. Parting his lips, he calls for your name.

“… Your job. Are you sure you want to partake in such a thing?”

You raise a brow, understandably befuddled by his sudden disruption.

“I’m going to be honest with you.” He begins. “Our family is not the best. Our money doesn’t come mainly from sanctioned ways although we parade it as though it were. I can forgive all that, but what I can’t forgive is ruining all your potential.”

“I don’t understand. Where is all this coming from?” Your gaze narrows harshly. Though you try to appear genuinely ignorant of what he’s saying, the knowledge of it was enough to make your blood boil. Antonne sighed a deep sigh, a million words pouring into his mind like waves crashing.

“I am simply worried about you,” He claims. “You’ve been handling these affairs since you were thirteen. And it’s unfair for you to handle such things when you’re only fifteen—“

“I’m sixteen.”

“… When you’re only sixteen.”

You scoff. “Do you even have any idea of what I’m doing?”

“.. The job you’re doing, was my job three years ago.” Antonne’s words made you grit your teeth. “I know all about what you do, and I may have failed in what I did— I’m not as smart or as cunning as you— but I’ll never forget how that job ruined me.”

You snicker. “You talk like that, but you want the job to yourself.”

Your brother stiffens, but his face remains ever-so stoic.

“It’s better for you to give the job to me.”

“This is what it’s all about?” Your voice lividly lowers into a hush as you take a step towards him. “You abandoned all your responsibilities, made me carry the hotel for three years, and now that the work’s lighter, you want to take it away from me?”

With each step you take, Antonne soon finds his back pressed against the door, swallowing the lump that had formed at his throat. With one final attempt to get you to listen, he finally pulls.

“Does he know?”

Gesturing over to the fineness of your clothes, the shine of your pearls, Antonne then hissed.

“That boy you meet in Brooklyn. Does he know who you are?”

Visibly startled upon the mention of Miles, your frustration crumbles into caution. Your head turns away, lids twitching. “I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about.” Was your attempt of a lie. Antonne straightened his lips, determined to rekindle his confident stature.

“… How naïve of you.” Antonne seethed. “Do you think father’s going to let this go once he finds out?”

You scoff. “Is that a threat?”

“A warning.” He corrects of you. “Have you forgotten who you are? You’re our family’s only daughter— you’re the face of our family in high society. Not only that, but you’re engaged.”

“I’m sixteen. Fuck you mean ‘engaged’? That engagement’s hardly been processed as a legitimate promise. You and I both know it’s for the sake of shutting up the Fisks, anyway.”

“It’s scandalous.” Antonne spewed with venom on his tongue. “You’re not a kid. You’re two years away from being an adult.” He thrusts an accusing finger into your shoulder blade. “And everyone’s eyes are on you— if people were to ever find out about your little escapade, you’d be ruined.”

“Then cover it up.” You ruthlessly shoot back. “That’s all our family ever does anyway.”

As you try to maneuver past him, Antonne then interjected.

“Then what about that boy? What would he think?”

And that’s enough to make you freeze.

“Would he be able to handle you? You… Don’t forget that he could’ve known someone who was a victim.”

You could almost imagine Miles’ face contorting into disgust upon the unveiling of the truth. An inevitable scene. You’d been trying to run away from the scene like a dog with your tail caught between your legs. Your teeth dig a little too deep into your lips, blood seeping in the corners of your frown. Though you try to keep your composure, the mention of Miles was enough to send you trembling.

“No matter how much you hide it, he’ll learn about your identity sooner or later.”

“He won’t.” Your reply came out haggardly. “He won’t find out.”

“And what makes you so sure?”

Your jaw clenches, eyes bloodshot from exhaustion. You think about throwing something at him, or pulling on his hair— yet you ease your nerves like any other dignified girl.

As if on cue, your father opens the door, exchanging glances between you and your brother, reeking of fresh tobacco and dust.

“What the hell are you two doing, bickering in front of my door?”

His voice is harsh and demeaning, like winter at its worst peak. A voice that haunted you all throughout your younger years, now it was just nothing but another normality to you and your dull days.

“It’s nothing, dad.” You reassure, casting a side-eye at Antonne. “Nothing at all.”

Only then, you pulled the manila folder up to exit the situation. “In regards to the landscaping for the hotel, I have the submissions. I figured we should discuss about it.”

“Right,” He snaps his fingers. “Shall we?”

You leave Antonne in the darkness, shutting the door with a slam.

“God… She’s going to be the death of all of us.”

[pastorfutureletthembe]

Here we go again--

TRIP ABROAD TURNS INTO BUTTERFLY EFFECT

First thing worth mentioning is that the prime color in this artwork is pale blue. I feel like it's quite rare, most of INPLICK arts for Link Click have the same palette: burgundy red, shades of gray and black (except for the whole Surprise Beat thing which is splashed with flashy pink). All but this one:

(probably when they were 17 or sth)

For the sake of the argument, let's say it is a significant distinction to make. The reason is simple: the teaser of the airport scene and the trailer prove that shit started three years ago, when CXS and LG made a trip after graduation. If this chronology is correct, then blue probably symbolizes Lu Guang's innocence or happiness. Blue used to paint Lu Guang but now he only sees the world in black, white and red. In the birthday official arts, blue is associated with his character. His flower is freaking Forget-Me-Not; Myosotis.

So yes, that's why I think the color palette here is relevant to the time period we're going to explore in the Yingdu Chapter.

The couch itself is blue when we're so used to the pair sitting on a brick sofa. The cakes and the flowers are the usual shade of red, though.

On the table: red roses in a vase. Petals are all over the place. Ominous.

On the trolley: 1 bottle of wine, 2 CXS's feet, 3 glasses, 4 cakes, 5 individual desserts. The glass half full is Liu Xiao's, since it isn't on the trolley in the original artwork he is absent from. I said it in another post but the plate counts 4 portions, as in 4 antagonists, while the pudding might be Lu Guang's. The cakes are probably metaphors for timelines/curves, clocks dressed as desserts with a red fruit representing a dead Cheng Xiaoshi. V and VI are the only missing parts, just like Qiao Ling's one. CXS put his feet on the trail and I think it's both funny and tragic. I believe the correct saying is "put his foot in his mouth" but in french we say "mettre les pieds dans le plat", which literally translates "to put his feet in the plate" (to say something brutal with no tact or to do something stupid without thinking it through). He has both feet nearing timeline cakes and his head is five inches away from doomed flowers.

On the floor: 1 vintage phone. 1 camera. 2 envelopes, 3 pages of letters. 4 polaroids. Probably: 2 magazines and 3 pages of newspapers. The vintage phone could be relevant to THE TIDES, era-wise. The camera is taking polaroids and two of them are still dark, meaning they just took a shot and are yet to be revealed. The rest must be related to this chapter's plot. So much for holidays, guys (are they investigating CXS' missing parents?)

If you look closely, you'll see four different mentions of time:

Lu Guang's watch (hold this thought)

The polaroid: Big Ben

What looks like newspapers

The hourglass

We also have four mentions of information/communication

Letters

The polaroid: a public telephone box

Newspapers/magazines

Vintage phone (I was wondering why the phone had twelve numbers but after some research, I realized that some of them had # and *)

On another note, I don't know if their hands--

I mean, there's something definitely happening here but let's say for the sake of my sanity that what is supposed to be noticed are the sunglasses. If I'm being honest, this is the real oddity here and the teaser weirdly showed them off?? They're standing out because everything else is so blue for one thing.

They're pink-ish, which is close enough to magenta, so one of Lu Guang's colors (cf. Dive Back In Time). The color itself is weird for sunglasses. Lu Guang doesn't care about fashion, he wants practical. As a girl who loves pink sunglasses, I'll tell you: pink is shit at doing sunglasses' job. CXS told him to wear a cat hat, okay, but did he choose every other accessory?? My guess is that the pink served a purpose in connection with light.

And why is Lu Guang's watch on the other wrist in the artwork? I checked and LG wears it on his right wrist in the donghua and manhua. It can be the opposite for some artworks though... Or blocked from view for some reasons. It's almost as if we're not supposed to know which side is the actual reflection. 👀

Something else is reversed here, actually: the colors AND the pocket of Lu Guang's shirt. It could be a mistake, though.

>>>>> Basically, I think the artwork is telling us that the Yingdu Chapter is going to hurt and make us cry. If we're indeed about to see Lu Guang lose his humanity to try and save Cheng Xiaoshi for the first time therefore destroying worlds, I have no doubt it would be after Infinite Sadness™.

The real question this teaser isn't answering is either we'll go through the original timeline or a rewind. The last episode of season 2 makes me frown. How to be sure that the Lu Guang who dives exists before and not after the events we see unfold for two seasons? Is Yingdu Chapter a flash black or an actual dive itself? Lu Guang seems to be determinate and in a bad mood in the PV after all, could directly happen after one of CXS's deaths.

EDIT: someone mentioned that LG wears his watch on the left wrist when we get images of CXS getting stabbed. (It hurts right here in my meow meow)

[desideriumwriter]

Summer At Grimmaulds | CH 1

Chapter Summary - Your parents bring you to the mysterious looking place you'll be staying at for the summer, turns out your stuck with a pair of redheaded twins, and a doxy makes a surprise visit for you.

Pairing - George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Category - friends to lovers, fluff

Content Warnings - reader gets chased around by a doxy? poorly proofread tbh

WC - 2.5k

A/N: shitty summary but im way too tired to try and come up with something better. anyways based off this request <3

Series Masterlist | G.W Masterlist | Next | Navigation |

Since the incident with the Triwizard Tournament, the Order of the Phoenix had been revived. Which meant your mum and dad had been going out on missions and meetings, doing whatever was needed, whatever they were told to do.

They had explained to you the other week that they’d be gone most of the summer due to some mandatory work they had to do. You weren’t surprised or shocked, this had become common now that your parents worked in the Order.

They also didn’t like nor did they trust you being home alone all by yourself for an entire summer.

So, now you stood in front of 12 Grimmauld Place. Except, there was no number 12 on any of the doors. The numbers on the doors went from 11 to 13. You’d never heard of it before anyways, but your parents said you’d be safe and well taken care of there.

“Here we are!” Your mother smiled at you, while you yawned, standing in front of the rows of townhouses.

“Mum, why’d we have to come this late? It’s nearly midnight.” You complained as you put your rucksack and suitcase down.

Your mother only shushed you in response, pulling her wand out and with a flick of her wrist.

Before you could question her about the numbers being wonky, a rumbling began under your feet. You stumbled a tiny bit, holding onto your suitcase for balance.

The building began to pull apart, however one townhouse appeared in the middle of the split. You grimaced at the sight of it.

Different was the least you could say about it. It was definitely different compared to the others.

The building's bricks were much darker than the others beside it, nearly black. You could see the dirty glass windows, the paint peeling off the door, the water stains on the wooden panels, and the flickering front porch light.

It looked like it had been untouched, collecting dust for a long time now.

“This is it?” You muttered to yourself, unfortunately your mum heard you.

“Oh be nice, Y/N. They spent the last few days cleaning it up for you kids.”

Those last two words echoed in your mind. You were never told there would be other kids staying with you.

Hopefully the Weasleys, they were the only other ones who had living families in the Order. You decided to ask anyway.

“Mum, you never told me who would be-“ The door flung open and a short, orange haired lady stood in front of the three of you.

“Molly!” Your mum happily shouted. Mrs. Weasley grinned as she said your mum's name in response, stretching her arms out and pulling her into a tight hug.

“Oh, it’s great to see you again! Come in, it’s much nicer on the inside!” Mrs. Weasley stood to the side of the doorway, making room for your parents and you to walk in.

Mr. Weasley and your dad were shaking hands and already making jokes, your Mum and Mrs. Weasley were busy complimenting each other on various things as you entered the ground floor.

You could only stand quietly and awkwardly to the side. Hoping that the greetings would be over soon so you could finally put your hefty bag and suitcase away. You were tired and hungry and your hands hurt and-

A strange noise came from behind you, almost like a quick pop, maybe even a crack.

“That looks heavy. What’re you hiding in there?” You felt your bag being taken off your shoulder, you whipped around to see a tall redheaded boy standing there.

George Weasley. A gigantic grin cracked onto his face, he nearly knocked you over when he pulled you into a hug.

"Glad to see that you decided to show up." You chuckled as you wrapped his arms around his tall frame nervously, not expecting him to be so welcoming.

You weren’t that close with George. You didn’t know him very well, you only knew him originally because your parents were friends and worked together. You also had the same charms class with him and Fred last year.

"Oh please, I knew you'd be bored without me here." He teased, looking down at you and smirking.

You’d been hugging long enough for your liking, you unwrapped your arms from him and he got the hint, letting go of you too.

“So, where’s Fred? I rarely ever see you guys separated.” You looked around the hallway, searching for the other twin.

“Stealing food from the table.” He nodded in the direction of the kitchen, and he was correct. Your eyes stopped to see Fred there, attempting to sneak a bread roll from off the long wooden table, his hand was smacked away by Ginny standing across from him.

You had no idea that you’d be staying here with the Weasleys for the summer. However, George did, and he was ecstatic about it.

“I can show you to your room! If you'd want me to!” He quipped, taking your suitcase out of your grasp.

You didn’t get to answer, George was already moving past the chatting adults and down the entrance hall, you followed.

The inside of this place wasn’t as bad as the outside. Old looking gas lamps were lined up along the hallway walls, casting light over the peeling wallpaper, aged paintings, and threadbare carpet. A grand staircase leading to the upper floors sat at the end.

You cringed as the wooden stairs creaked with each step you took, the walls were decorated with the occasional row of shrunken heads of past house elves, they sat on plaques mounted to the wall. This caused you to grimace and look straight ahead for the rest of the time on the stairs.

Sure, the inside of the house had the same amount of gloominess as the outside, but George's presence here added light to it.

“You wouldn’t believe the amount of doxies we had to get rid of.” George said as you reached the first floor. He stopped in front of a dark wooden dresser, sliding open a drawer and rummaging around for something.

“Here, keep this in your room.” He pulled out and handed you a spray bottle, the word Doxycide written across it. “The smell of that is absolutely rancid. I’d say only use it if it’s urgent, since you can stop doxies with a freezing charm.” He continued to move, stopping once he reached the first bedroom.

“And here’s where you’ll be staying, you’re sharing a room with Ginny and Hermione.” He said while he opened the door and stood beside, jokingly bowing to you and gesturing to the inside of the room.

You entered, strolling over to the bed that hadn’t obviously been slept in yet. George followed behind and dropped your things down on the mattress.

“You can unpack after dinner.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and began to take steps back towards the door. “We’re just waiting on Harry and the rest to get here, they should be any minute now.”

You left the room and went with George downstairs. As George and you walked down the stairs, Harry and other adults, who were most likely working for the Order as well, walked in.

Mrs. Weasley was already greeting them happily, keeping her voice at a hushed tone.

A purple haired woman accidentally tripped over the troll leg umbrella stand that sat right next to the entrance. She looked around at everyone as fear entered her eyes.

“Tonks!” Mrs. Weasley cried out, exhaustion and annoyance in her voice. Tonks began to apologize.

You heard that pop sound coming from the side of you, it was the same sound you heard when George appeared next to you. Except this time it was Fred. Now you had a twin by each side of you.

“You should probably cover your ears.” Fred said amusedly.

Before you could question him, a loud screech boomed through the house as curtains flew open from an old painting on the wall. It was of an elderly woman, wearing a black cap. She looked absolutely enraged.

“Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers!” She screamed, waking up all the other portraits in the house and causing them to yell too. That's when you covered your ears.

Mrs. Weasley attempted to close the curtains on the painting, Fred and George took you into the kitchen, hoping to get away from all the noise.

“Oh my God, who is that?” You scowled, removing your hands from your ears. The twins leaned against one of the wooden counters.

“Sirius’s mum. Lovely woman, isn’t she?” George gave a tight lipped smile, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“She’s got quite a way with words.” You joked, earning a laugh from the both of them.

The beginning of dinner was simple, but chatty.

Harry caught up with Sirius. Hermione and Ron talked to each other. Ginny and Tonks gossiped. The rest of the adults conversated about the Order and what to do. The twins bragged to you about all of their new inventions.

“We’ve been working on all new products for our Skiving Snackboxes during the past few months.” George boasted to you.

“Fainting Fancies-“

“Puking pastilles-“

“Ton-Tongue Toffees-”

“Nosebleed nougats.”

“Nosebleed nougats?” You repeated, sitting up from your bored posture.

“The name pretty much explains it.” Fred looked at George, then back to you.

“You eat it, you get a wicked nosebleed.”

“Me and him both tried it, tested it out.”

“Mum thought we had been dueling!” George said before the both of them began to snicker at the memory of it. You let out a small laugh with them.

The boys both noticed the obvious exhaustion weighing you down, Fred looked at George, who was looking at you.

“Why don’t we show her our little harmless prank we keep spooking mum with?” Fred suggested, nudging George who was (still) busy staring at you.

“Oh, right! Watch this.” George smiled and nodded his head in the direction of his mum, who was happily chatting with Lupin.

In the blink of an eye, Fred and George suddenly disappeared from their chairs and appeared right behind their unsuspecting mother. She shrieked in terror at the surprise, slamming down the silverware that was in her hands.

“Just because you’re allowed to use magic now does not mean you have to whip your wands out for every tiny little thing!” Mrs. Weasley shouted, emphasizing each word with a smack at the boys.

They giggled like schoolgirls and ran out of the kitchen, then apparating back into their seats.

“We’re just trying to save a bit of time!” Fred and George proudly said together.

It didn’t take long for you to unpack. There really wasn’t much that you had to take out of your suitcase, just a few books you planned on reading during this summer.

You sighed while pulling out a few books from your bag. It hasn't been a full two weeks since you left school for break and you’re already stuck somewhere else.

You stacked the books together, placing them neatly on the dresser that stood between you and Ginny's bed, and in front of a large window.

The window was covered with dusty velvet curtains, you pushed away the drapes, hoping to get a look outside, instead you were met with a small squealing noise. A full grown but still small doxy came flying towards you with its beetle like wings.

Grabbing a book from the stack, you began to shriek and swat at it with the book.

It became a game of cat and mouse. You were the mouse, literally being chased by a doxy, which was the cat.

For most likely a minute, you continuously shrieked in horror while running around in the room, holding the book in one hand, using it to swat at the creature while your other hand was feeling around your clothes, searching for your wand. You felt nothing.

It was still in your bag, sitting on your bed. You absolutely did not have the time to search for it.

The next best thing you had was Doxycide, but you accidentally knocked it over when you attempted to grab it while running past. The bottle rolled underneath Ginny’s bed.

You ended up causing yourself to be cornered. You only had a few inches of space between you and the wall.

The doxy squinted its eyes, letting out a small growl while it floated back, getting ready to pounce. You really had no way to escape without getting bit, if you were to run past it now, it’d probably bite you somewhere on the face, and you had no idea if there was any antidote for doxy bites hiding in the cabinets here.

You held up the book in front of your face, preparing to have your arms torn up.

“Immobulus!” George's voice shouted.

A dash of blue light struck the small creature, just as it opened its mouth to bite, its movements slowed then fully came to a stop, leaving it frozen in midair.

You let out a heavy breath of relief, closing your eyes as you leaned against the wall and dropped down your hand, letting the book fall out of your grasp as well.

George ran to you, completely ignoring the paralyzed pest in the air.

“Are you alright? You’re not bit are you? Did you get bit?” He questioned as he grabbed your hand, frantically inspecting your entire arm for any bites or scratches.

“I didn’t, I’m okay.” You assured him, trying to catch your breath. Georges sped up, he had the same amount of fear you did while being chased, only his was caused by the thought of you being hurt.

“Okay, okay, lovely.” He was still holding your shaky hand, your arm.

“You can let go now, you know.” You let out an awkward laugh, he really didn’t want to. Your skin felt so soft against his calluses and rough hands. Even though his hands were rough, they moved smoothly against your arm with how gentle he was.

George cleared his throat, turning his attention to the still doxy in the air, he grabbed it carefully and pocketed it.

“What are you going to do with that?” You said concerned and confusedly.

“Fred and I have been wanting to experiment with doxy venom for our snackboxes. We’ve got a spiffing amount of ideas for what we could make using it. Our biggest one-” The sound of multiple footsteps interrupted Georges rambling.

“What in the bloody hell happened? It sounded like you were getting murdered!” Ron's voice came from the doorway, where he stood with Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Fred, all with looks of worry on their faces.

“There was a doxy.” You stated, embarrassingly. “Erm, George caught it though.”

“You got rid of it? Right?” Hermione asked, her stern tone coming out strong.

“Of course I did!” George shrugged, not a single drop of untruthfulness nor worry in his tone.

“Any of you want to eavesdrop on the adults?” He changed the subject, pulling a pair of Extendable Ears out of his pocket that didn’t have the doxy hidden in it. Fred and George gave each other mischievous looks while the group excitedly filed into the hallway one by one.

George took a quick look back at you, shooting you a wink, you gave him an amused smile in return.

Maybe being stuck here this summer won't be too bad.

tell me what you thought or ask to be added to my taglist! <3

[ceruleanangel]

Diamond of Zaun- Chapter 3

Pairings: Vi x Reader, Silco x Reader could be more later...

Tags: f!reader, performer!reader

Content Warnings: Drug Use, Angsty Angst

a/n: Hey guys! had to take a bit of a break cuz scholarship essays were due 🙃 but I'm back! you'll get a little glimpse of what I meant by may be more later, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Two

You awake to a searing pain in your head. The pain travels through all of your limbs, burning like the fires that surround you. Your eyes slowly open, taking in the ash and rubble that blur and crowd your vision. 

“Vi?...” you mean to shout it, but it comes out of your throat, a hoarse whisper. As you sit up, a chill runs through your body. The building around you is crumbling. You hear a shift in the foundation, looking up, you roll away seconds before a piece of concrete would have smashed you into the ground. You stagger to your feet, limping away from the structure, watching as more of the upper floors collapse. You feel a dull throb in your head, placing your hand to it, you see crimson coat your fingers.

“Vi?...Mylo?...Claggor!...” Your screams become more desperate as you lethargically claw at the rock, digging, searching for anyone, until your fingertips bled. 

You collapse in a heap, tears running down your cheeks, sobs painfully forcing their way out of your throat. The sun casts a vermillion shadow over your face, reflecting the pools of blood all around, bathing the new day in the carnage that took place in the one before. 

You were too late.

Ekko had come running to you as you were about to step on the train to Topside.

Your bag was left sitting on the platform, along with your letter of acceptance, as you were already halfway to the abandoned building. You arrived only to be blown away by a blue explosion.

 All you could see was a twinkle in the smoke before you slammed into the brick and it all went black.

You were too late.

“Y/n?”

You turned to be bombarded by a small boy with white hair. Your hands quickly held him tightly in your arms. 

“Are they..?” Ekko started. You glimpsed at the building, still burning, most walls broken down, exposing the debris inside to the morning light. “They’re…they’re gone,” You whispered, cradling his head with one hand. You felt Ekko's arms tighten around you, feeling your shirt grow wet beneath his eyes. You thought of Vi, probably crushed, burning amongst the rubble.

I’ll protect you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, holding your tears back. You pulled little man closer, swearing to yourself, and Vi,

“I’ll protect you.”

…

You brushed down your skirt and checked your face once more in your hand mirror, glancing up at the sign above the building. You entered, brushing leafy vines out of your path, passing masked and unmasked patrons lounging about the couches and carpets, their eyes and hands wandering… You continue brushing past a draped door to the front desk, to a woman taking a drag on a pipe.

“I want a job.”

Current Time

You fumble to unlock the back door to The Last Drop, shaking in anger. How dare she say that I don’t care anymore!? Where has she even been?... If she wasn’t dead, then …where?

You walk through the door, leaning back and slamming it closed. You take a breath, your hand going up to cradle your temples. 

“You sure are out late…”

Your head whips up to the almost empty bar, eyes widening. A man sits, back straight as he takes a sip of a glass of whisky. He turns, his heterochromatic eyes boring into yours before moving down and scanning the rest of your body.

You quickly relax your tensed shoulders and force a small smile onto your lips, quickly crafting a lie you hope he’ll take, “Just taking a look at my new billboard, it looks especially bright at night.” You walk towards the bar, taking a seat next to the man. “What has you up so late,…Silco?” The man stares into his glass before setting it before you. You take the cue and take a small sip from the glass, letting it burn its way down your throat.

“I hear there's word of a pink-haired girl in the Lanes.”

You choke on the liquid, setting the glass down with a thud. You feel his hand calmly patting your back as you struggle to intake air. Once your breathing steadies you turn towards him feigning ignorance, “You don’t think it’s…” You cast your eyes down at the wood of the bar, “ We both know she died that night…” You do your best to sound convincing despite the pounding in your chest, that you hope he doesn’t hear. Silco studies your face, his hand coming up to turn your chin to face him. He moves to cup your cheek, caressing it with his thumb.

 “I know that she’s dead, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay…We both know the effect she had on you,” He pauses, glimpsing from one of your eyes to the other, “No one likes shadows of their past showing up to haunt them…” You resist the urge to hold your breath, keeping it even as his hand slides up to touch his gifted flower in your hair. His hand moves down your cheek, stroking the column of your neck, pausing on your shoulder, “Stay in tonight,” He stands, slipping a strand of hair behind your ear. He turns away and steps toward the stairway, halting on the first step,

“Shadows tend to make their way out at night.” 

…

You stared into your dressing room mirror, the bright saturation of the flower standing out among the locks of your hair. You carefully remove it and gently place it back into the vase, making sure it connects to the water.

 Threading a black mask around your ears, you fix it to cover the bottom half of your face. The green bills feel rough in your hands as you count through them, making sure it’s all there before stashing the wad in your pocket, and slipping out the window. You walk through the neon lights and the old buildings, making your way to the oasis within the dust, but something catches your attention. You look down from the bridge you currently stand on, catching a glimpse of a pink-haired girl, limping, and a blue-haired one trying to support her. 

Vi?

Yet again, you’re filled with questions, all of them having something to do with this pink-haired girl. Intrigued, you jump over the edge of the bridge, sliding down a rooftop. You run past walls of rock before glimpsing down into the pit below,

 Why would they go…here?

 You take a few steps back before running forward, jumping to grab a hold of a metal pole, gliding down to the ground. It’s dark, but you know not to shine a light, some things want to stay hidden. Swiftly walking past all the groans and reaching the hands of the beings that surround you, you finally glimpse a hooded figure, standing upright unlike all the others. You even spot a bit of blue peeking out from underneath the fabric. 

You walk up behind her, softly placing a hand on her shoulder. She immediately whips around, her gun pointed and ready. The sudden motion knocks you off your balance and sends you falling to the ground. 

“Easy, easy! You make a display of showing your empty hands before lowering one to remove the mask from your face. “It’s just me…” Her eyes widened, recognizing you from earlier, before shoving the gun closer to your face.

“Why are you here?” she questions, furrowing her eyebrows. You glimpse the building behind her, the building that harbored so many memories. Your eyes turn back to her, “I saw Vi limping… is she okay?” The girl frowns deeper, weighing the pros and cons of trusting you,

 “She’s been stabbed…she needs a doctor" she states sternly, lowering her gun. Your eyes widen, racking your brain of how you can fix a stab wound down here. A more grim solution is the only remedy you might be able to get in time. 

“There’s no doctor,” you cringe, “ But there may be something else.” You motion for her to follow you, making your way to a stand covered by metal bars. Your fingers reach out, causing melodic chimes before an inner door slams open. 

“Ailment?” You confer with the apothecary, trading before a magenta-colored potion is set on the ledge in front of you. Taking it, the blue-haired girl turns to you, placing a hand on your shoulder, “Thank you…truly,” You look towards her hand giving a brief nod. She takes her hand back nervously.

“It’s Caitlyn, by the way.” You’re only half listening to her words, your attention turning again towards the dilapidated structure that Vi currently resides in. Caitlyn notices and takes a few steps, gesturing for you to follow, “You should come along, Vi would like to see a familiar face.” You shake your head, looking toward the ground, a pained smile making its way onto your face. “Vi’s seen enough of me, she only wants to see her sister,” Caitlyn pauses, her face covered with confusion. 

“You can’t seriously think that can you?” your eyes raise to meet hers, your face mirroring her puzzled expression. “The second she heard you were at The Last Drop she came running for you. 

She was looking for …you? 

Caitlyn turns and makes her way back to the hut, yet again emotions run through you, anger, sadness, fear, fear of rejection, causing you to step back on one foot, feeling the need to run away. But the same words bubble up to the surface of your mind, 

“I’ll protect you.”

And yet again you feel yourself running to see the same pink-haired girl another time. 

Chapter Four Coming Soon...

[cherrycola27]

Red, White, and Rooster

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption. Frenemies to lovers, relationship of convenience. Political situations. Allegations of affairs, military and political inaccuracies. Smut. 18+ Minors DNI. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

Specific Chapter Warnings: Violence against women, torture

...........................................

Chapter 15: The Great War

You groaned as consciousness slowly made its way back into your body. Everything hurt. Your head was pounding, your mouth was dry, and your body felt stiff. "Ugh," you sighed as you tried to sit up from the wooden floor.

You slowly blinked to take in your surroundings. You shot up as the memories came back to you. You tried to stand but were quickly pulled back down thanks to a set of handcuffs that were attached to the floor beside you.

"Well, look who's finally awake, and just in time." Someone said. You snapped your head in the direction of the voice. "You." You sneered as Preston Baxter strolled into the room. "I should have known you were behind this!" You growled at him.

"Of course I'm the one behind it. I'm the only person who's life you ruined, aren't I? Or are there others?" Preston asks as he tilts his head to the side.

You flare your nostrils and tug on the cuffs.

"Now, now, don't hurt yourself." Preston chuckled.

"How are you out of prison?" You demand. "A good lawyer and a temporary insanity plea." He states before grabbing a chair and walking over to sit in front of you. You slide away, putting as much distance between the two of you as possible.

"Well, aren't you going to ask me how I did it?" He says.

"How you did what?" You spit at him.

"How I kidnapped you silly." He exclaims.

"Okay, I'll bite. How'd you do it?" You ask him. You've seen enough action movies to know that if you get the bag guy talking, they might slip up and tell their plan.

"Well, first off, I had my baby brother Alex hack the White House so he could get himself a job on the security team. He forged all the documents and changed his last name to not raise red flags. After a few months, he was put on your detail. I waited for the right time until we had an opportunity. Once we had it, we took it." Preston tells you gleefully.

"You've been in prison. How were you able to plan all this?" You ask him

"You see, that's the thing about prison. It gives you plenty of time to plot your revenge. I spent two and a half years perfecting this plan, and you're not going to ruin it for me this time. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a ransom call to make." He claps his hands.

"Ransom call?" You question him. "Yes, while kidnapping you is a great revenge arc for me, extorting your husband for money—it just sweetens the pot," Preston says before getting up.

"The president doesn't negotiate with terrorists, foreign or domestic." You spit at him.

Preston, let's out a breath. "In normal cases, he wouldn't. But he's already proven that when it comes to you, he doesn't think rationally." He tells you before Alex brings him a phone that looks like a brick. He taps his foot before the call connects.

"Hello, am I speaking to the president? Wonderful. Well, Mr. President, I'm not going to mince words. We both know that I have your wife, and if you ever want to see her alive again, I'm going to need one hundred million dollars wired to an offshore account. I just sent the information to Mr. Rodriguez's email." Preston says into the phone. There is a pause before he sighs and brings the phone closer to you. He clicks a button before holding it in front of your face.

"They want proof of life. Gone on. Let them know you're alive. But don't try anything stuipd." He urges you before placing the phone on speaker.

"Bradley. Bradley, Dearest. I'm alive. I'm okay." You assure him.

"Sweetheart, I'm going to get you. I promise everything is going to be okay." Bradley tells you.

You shoot your eyes up at Preston. It crosses your mind that Bradley might not know who took you, so you do the exact thing that you knew Preston wouldn't want you to do.

"Preston Baxter and Alex are the ones who took me!" You shout into the phone. Rage flashes across Preston's face. You continue to yell as he takes the phone away. "Don't give them a dime, Bradley! Don't give them—" a harsh slap across your face sends you tumbling to the floor.

"Didn't I tell you not to do anything stupid you bitch?" He sneers as he crouches down next to you on the floor.

He grabs you by your hair and pulls your eyes up to meet his. "I hope you know just how much I'm going to enjoy making your life hell." He tells you.

"Fuck you." You growl before spitting in his face. He roughly drops you, and your forehead makes contact with the wood floor. You curl up, protecting your midsection before he gives a swift kick to your ribs and exits the room.

After a few minutes, you find enough strength to sit up. You drag yourself until you're leaning against the wall. A few tears prick your eyes, but you will them away. You won't let them see you break. You place a hand on your stomach and stroke it. You weren't sure how you were going to make it out of here alive, but for the sake of the child growing inside you, you knew you'd have too.

.................

It had been six days since you had been taken. News of your kidnapping had hit the mainstream media, and tips from all over the globe were coming in. Bradley made sure each one of them had been followed up, but nothing had come from any of them.

He sat at his desk with a now cold cup of black coffee, a copy of the Times, a stale muffin, and more cigarette butts than he cared to count. Dark rings framed his eyes, and his five o'clock shadow had morphed into a three a.m. blackout.

"Jesus, Rooster, you look like shit." Jake said as he came into the Oval Office to check on him.

"Well, Hangman, please forgive me for not looking front page ready while my pregnant wife has been missing for almost a week." Bradley snapped back.

Bradley saw the hurt face across Jake's face. "I'm—I'm sorry. I can't eat, I can't sleep, and we are no closer to finding her than we were a week ago. I'm going crazy Jake. Every tip we get gives me some hope, and then when it doesn't pan out, I'm back to rock bottom again. The only helpful information came from that couple who saw the abandoned car at that rest area. They said the SUV that was leaving was headed south. Do you know how many places are sound of D.C.? And what if they aren't even in the country anymore? It was hours after she went missing before the first call came through. And the ransom call wasn't until the next day. She could be anywhere in the world right now!" Bradley sighs before sinking back down in his chair.

"How the fuck did we not know that Preston Baxter was released? How did we end up hiring his brother for her security team?" He sighs.

"I did some digging, and apparently, his little brother is a genius. Graduated from MIT, ran a software company, but ended up getting mixed in with the wrong crowd and did two years from hacking a bank in the Midwest. IT found a hole in the White House firewall. They think he hacked a server and forged his information to get him a job here." Jake tells Bradley.

"I feel like this is my fault. No, I know this is my fault. If I had never run for president, none of this would have happened." Bradley sighs as he rakes his hands through his hair.

"You can't blame yourself for this Rooster. If you hadn't had done this, you never would have met Wise-woman. You never would have married her or made a kid with her. He'll, I wouldn't have met the love of my life either. It's not your fault. Y/N is smart. She left those notes for us. She told us who took her. She's going to be okay. She's strong. She's a survivor. She's a Bradshaw for crying out loud. Now, you might want to shower and fix your face. Yout in-laws and Mav and Penny just got here." Jake said as he patted Bradley on the shoulder before leaving.

Bradley did what Jake said. He took a shower, cleaned up his face a bit, and put on fresh clothes.

He wanted to shoot himself in the foot when he came face to face with your mother. He could tell that her tearful words and sullen expression were more of an act than anything. He'd tried to get in contact with them the day he found out you were gone, but they were in Greece and had finally decided to join in the search now that it was getting national attention. Your father seemed genuinely concerned, even offering to to man the tip room phone lines if that would be helpful.

Maverick and Penny tried their best to comfort Bradley. That evening after they had come to the White House, Bradley pulled Maverick and Penny into the Oval Office to tell them you were pregnant. He swore them to secrecy. It was on a need to know basis, and your parents were not in that loop.

Later that evening, Maverick made a few phone calls and called in a few favors. There wasn't much the Navy could do, but if Bradley needed them, Pete Mitchell would make damn sure the entire Dagger Squad would be ready for him.

...............

It's nine days after your kidnapping that Preston reveals the true reason why he has taken you. You're woken from a fitful sleep by the sound of a table and chair being slammed on the floor in front of you.

"Rise and shine sleepy head." Preston calls as he pulls you to your feet and plants you in the chair. Alex brings a laptop and places it in front of you before opening it.

"What do you want me to do with this?" You gripe.

"I want you to use that fancy security clearance you have to log in and get us into the encrypted server. Once we are in, my dear brother is going to steal something more valuable to us than you." He tells you.

"Nuke codes. It's always nuke codes." You breathe out. "Why would you need those?" You ask him.

"Let's just say that before I was in prison, I made some deals with some shady people. I borrowed a hefty sum of money, amongst other things, and promised to pay them back in nuclear codes once I was chief of staff. However, you came along and wreck those plans. Now that they know I'm out of prison, they are demanding I pay up. So, get me those codes." He demands.

"Can't your brother get them?" You ask him. "Unfortunately, the security is too good. Alex can't hack it, he's tried." Preston informs you.

"Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but when you become First Lady, you don't get top secret clearance. My information doesn't work anymore." You cross your arms.

Preston slaps you hard enough to knock you out of the chair. He grabs your and jerks you up. His fingers dig into your arm.

"You wanna do this the hard way, fine, will try again tomorrow." He says before twisting your arm and leaving.

After two days of him not giving you any food, you realize that Preston is going to try and starve the information out of you. He tried beating it out of you, but the bruises on your face and arms are proof he didn't get anything. When the third day comes, you're almost ready to break. Not for you, but for your child.

When the door to your room unlocks, you expect him to come in again for another round, but instead, it's Alex, and he's carrying a bag.

You scamper to the far side of the room, trying to put as much space as you can between the two of you.

"It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." Alex says as he holds his hands out like he his trying not to spook a wild animal.

"I brought you something to eat." He tells you as he brings the bag over and sets it next to you before walking away and sitting down on the floor across from you.

It's not a five-star meal, but you gladly tear open the pack of beef jerky and chips he brought you before gluping down some of the water that's also in the bag.

"Preston is out checking in with his parole officer and running some errands in the city. I went to the little gas station a few miles away to get this for you." Alex tells you.

"I know it isn't good for pregnant women to get dehydrated or starve." He says. You pause mid chew and look up at him with wide eyes.

"How—" you can't finish the question.

"I saw you leaving the clinc that day. And you got sick the first couple of days here. Don't worry. I'm not going to tell Preston. He's already done enough to you." Alex shakes his head.

"Why are you helping him?" You ask him. "I'm the reason he owes so many people money. A few years ago, I was trying to prove to some buddies of mine how good of a hacker I was. I stole money from the wrong people. Pres, he—he kept them from killing me. I owe him." Alex shrugs. You can see in his eyes that he never intended for it to go this far.

"I know it probably doesn't mean much, but I'm sorry. You didn't deserve this." Alex tells you before getting up and leaving the room.

Your eyes drop back to the plastic bag in front of you. There is a sleeve of powdered donuts and some peanut butter cups inside and another bottle of water. You grab the candy, and that's when you notice it. A small slip of white paper. You grab it and realize it is a receipt from the store. You quickly read over it and smile. There, printed in tiny black letters is the name of a town and a state. You know where you are. Now, you just have to figure out how to let Bradley know.

Two days later, Preston brings the computer set up back again. Only this time, when you refuse to do anything, he pulls a gun from his waistband.

"Recognize this?" He asks you as he cocks his head to the side. Of course you recognized it. It was the same one he'd tried to kill you with once before.

"Type in your information, or I shoot you." He states coldly.

"You and I both know you are going to do that." You tell him with a smirk. "And why wouldn't I?" He sneers.

"You're not going to kill me because you need me. You can't get the codes or the money without me. You've been sending Bradley dated proof of life videos every two days. If those stop, what makes you think he won't track you down and blow you and this shithole off the face of the earth?" You state. "Me being alive is the only barging chip you have. You may be dumb Preston, but I don't think you're stupid." You say.

"Shut your mouth before I blow your brains out." He threatens you.

"Just make sure you don't miss this time." You laugh as he cracks the handle of it across your face.

"Type. Now." He demands. And for the first time, you give in. But you purposefully type your password wrong. You know that after five incorrect log-in attempts, your account will be locked, and cyber security will be notified. You are praying that they look at the attempted passwords. Each one you type in is a bit of information about where you are. After the fifth attempt, the screen goes black.

"See. I told you. My credentials don't work anymore." You smirk as you point to the screen.

Preston shoves you out of the chair and screams. "You fucking bitch. You did this on purpose!"

"No, I didn't! I don't have access anymore!" You defend yourself before his fist makes contact with your face.

"Fine. If I can't get the codes from you, I'll just have to get them from your husband. Maybe a good old-fashioned torture video will be just this thing to motivate him." He says before storming out of the room.

..................

"Mr. President!" Dante yells as he bursts into the Oval Office. Bradley shoots up and looks at him. He can tell Dante has news.

"Sir, we think we know where she is." Dante breaths out. Bradley sucks in a breath as he waits for him to explain.

"It appears she tried to log on to the White House server, but used the wrong password five times and locked her account. IT looked at each incorrect attempt to see what was going on because they knew the activity was suspicious. Each one is a clue about where she thinks she is. Look." Dante says as he hands a paper to Bradley. He reads it. "North Carolina, RidgewoodFalls, House, GasStation, Help." He says.

"We looked into the town and found out that a few months ago, an old farm in Ridgewood Falls was bought in cash by someone named Peter Brandon. We think that might be the alias Preston is using. We are currently working to get a rescue team together. The only issue is that the farm is near the town. We have to be careful going in without alerting him." Dante says.

Bradley agrees before dismissing Dante. He leaves his office and makes his way to the bedroom. He sits on the bed and grabs the framed photo of the two of you from your summer in San Diego. He touches your face and twists his wedding ring. "I'm coming for you, Sweetheart."

Two days after finding out where you are, almost seventeen days after you were taken, the White House receives a video of what they think is proof of life. Instead, they are met with the sight of you tied to a chair and gagged while Preston breaks three of your fingers and punches your face until its bruised and bloody. It ends with demands for nuclear launch codes in addition to the ransom money.

Bradley's blood boils as he watches the events unfold. He throws the coffee he is drinking across the room, and the mug shatters into a million pieces before he screams in anger.

He demands that the Navy SEAL team that Dante and others were organizing be sent in immediatly to extract you. Dante informs him that it isn't so simple.

"I DON'T FUCKING CARE WHAT IT TAKES! If you won't have the SEAL team go in and extract her then you'll leave me no choice but to fly Air Force One to North Carolina so I can get her myself!" Bradley screams before slamming his hands on the table.

"Sir. I understand your frustration. But we haven't been able to arrange air coverage and support for them. We need jets and pilots and don't have them yet.

"You need jets and pilots? Well, why didn't you say so. Bring me, Rear Admiral Mitchell. Now." Bradley says as people scramble out of the room.

"Mav," Bradley begins as he enters the room. "Is Phoenix sit the commander of the Bush carrier?" He asks.

"She is." Maverick answers. "How fast do you think we can get the Dagger Squad to Norfolk? They are the only people I trust for this mission I'm about to send them on." Bradley says.

"I made some calls. They were stationed there last week. Just in case." Maverick tells him.

"Thank you, Mav." Bradley says before calling for Dante.

"Dante, I need a secure line set up now. I need you to get me in touch with Captain Natasha Trace on the U.S.S. Bush in Virginia. You need a team of pilots. I'll get you the best damn team in the entire world." Bradley says.

"Sir, with all do respect, how do you know that they are the best?" Dante asks him.

"Because they aren't just any old team of fighter pilots, Dante. They are my team."

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