#last night there were none- this morning dozens

[taintandviolent]

Star of the Show - Jimmy Darling x Reader

warnings: dub-con, drug usage, unprotected sex, orgy, smut (female and male receiving), reader x multiple partners (Amazon Eve and Jimmy Darling). a/n: 3k words! basically, this is uh - y'know. inspired by the orgy scene in Freakshow. this is... shamelessly also me dipping my toes into an Amazon Eve x reader fic because big tall lady make the brain go brrrrrr. that's all I can say about myself here okay? shh. also this was written after a very long bout of writer's block and exhaustion, so i'm rusty and clunky. apologies.

full fic & taglist under cut!↓ / ao3 link here! /

Warm sun filtered in through the canvas, warming your exposed limbs. Lids peeling apart, your first visual was red and white stripes, and the second visual was your own body. You’d woken up in nothing but a satin robe that didn’t belong to you. Still muzzy from sleep and whatever else you’d done, you stumbled around to find your dress and thankfully, it had been thoughtfully draped over a nearby bench. You replaced it with the robe, and made your way outside, pushing the flaps of the tent aside.

You weren’t sure how it started, or what was said specifically to cause your lapse in morals. Normally, you’d never do something like that. Honest. In fact, you were always such a good girl that if you ran home and told your friends what you thought you’d done, none of them would believe you. Not you, they’d titter. You can’t even tell a fella that you think he’s cute!

Last night, once the crowds had cleared the field, leaving nothing but crumpled tickets and popcorn bags, you remember wandering into the main tent. They were all there, the freaks. You remembered the way they’d looked at you, all of them smiling dangerously at you as you stood in your pretty mint-green sundress. For whatever reason, you’d been persuaded to take one, maybe two, maybe three, hits of whatever the nice German lady had offered to you - and that’s where it all went wrong. Or perhaps where it all went right. You didn’t remember much else after that.

Shading your eyes from the sun, you peered out into the fairgrounds. They were empty, save for the smaller tents and caravans that encircled the main big-top tent. Dabbing at your forehead with the back of your hand, you trudged through the high grasses. An eerie feeling settled over your shoulders, sending a chill down your spine despite the heat.

What had happened last night? You racked your brain. Tent full of people… German lady… that guy. The handsome guy with the … oh. Jimmy. His name was Jimmy.  

As you rounded the corner, recalling the most you had since you’d stumbled out into the morning, coincidentally, he was there. Across the field, The Lobster Boy bent down to hoist a heavy-looking bag over his shoulder before straightening back up. He caught your gaze with a grin and winked. The boyish charm he presented skilfully extracted a carnal reaction from your body. Suddenly, you remembered a whole lot more.

Last night…

As someone undressed you, carefully, you stared up at the massive inside of the tent. It seemed to go on forever. You had been looking at - no, gazing dreamily at the world through a sheer, white curtain, like the ones your mother hung up during the summer time; the ones that fluttered in the hot breeze and seemed to make the air that filtered through smell sweeter. Everyone was moving slower than they should have, and you leaned your head back on the curve of the chair, inhaling a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

It felt like there were a dozen hands on you, petting you, skimming the ticklish flesh of your inner thighs and the crooks of your arms. Some of them were cold, some of them were clammy, and some of them felt like they didn’t belong to humans. Everyone was murmuring and someone called you an angel. You threw your head in the direction of the sound, hoping you smiled. Another person caressed your cheek, cupping it tenderly. You hmm’ed in adoration, trying desperately to discern figures. You’d never felt so venerated in your life; everyone was obsessed with you. The star of the show. 

One figure that you could recognise, solely because of the height of them was Eve. Amazon Eve. The tallest woman you’d ever seen, and possibly the most beautiful. She, who you had immediately taken a liking to during the show, was now caressing your bare chest. The delicately explorative way that she handled your breasts, rolling your nipples in her thumb and index finger made you whimper in delight, squirming helplessly on the chair. She pressed a few delicate kisses along your jawline before pulling away to look at you, letting her hands ghost over your exposed flesh. She softly trailed her fingers along your ribs and your sides, fluttered over your hips and neared your centre before sweeping back up along your stomach. Your lids drifted shut, revelling in the sensation.

“Little pretty thing,” she said, very close to your ear. Your brows lifted high on your forehead, pathetically trying to pull your eyelids open again. Eventually, the seal broke and you looked around, focusing gradually.

She was above you with one knee on the chaise, towering like a building. A building that smelled like cherries and flowers. Behind her, blurred dots of string lights, framing her like a picture. She had a pretty face and a warm hand that stroked the side of your cheek. She leaned down, pressing her lips against yours. You melted, wrapping your arms around her soft neck to bring yourself closer, and deeper into her mouth. You’d never really thought of kissing a woman, but the warm, honeyed way that she tasted had you craning your neck to follow her as she straightened up, wanting more.

Eve leaned down, kissing you again. Her large, soft hands dipped in between your legs, and as soon as she felt the slippery warmth that met her fingertips, she looked off to someone. For a fiery moment, her middle finger encircled your clit, sending shivering waves through your body. But too quickly, the moment ended, and her hands gripped your wrists, fingers overlapping as she pulled them from her neck.

“My friend Jimmy is gonna’ take care of you now. Okay, sweetheart?” As she moved off the chair, she brought your hands down to your sides where you flattened them against the textured velvet. You babbled, protesting her leaving, but she shushed you with a single finger, assuring you that she’d be right there. You didn’t want her to – a thought that tantalized you. She was so gentle, but so commanding in her motions. 

At the sound of a belt buckle clanking, your head lolled sleepily to the side, lids heavy. Jimmy? Jiiiiiiimmmy…. you tried to remember who Jimmy was, but your mind was far too busy sounding out the name syllable by syllable, repeating it over and over again like a mantra to even conjure up any mental pictures. Thankfully, standing behind her was an attractive man with thick fingers. Long fingers. But something looked off.

You lifted your head off the chair and blinked heavily, giving him a woozy, half lidded look. His caramel locks were separated with sweat, a few stray strands hanging in front of his brow. You blinked again, clearing your vision. Open pants hung at his hips. Fused fingers wrapped around the base of a thick, red-tipped cock, hand pumping it slowly to keep it hard. Though, as soon as he saw you, naked and sprawled out on one of Elsa’s luxurious chaise lounges, with your legs falling open slightly to expose your cunt, he had little issue with that. 

C’mere, doll face.

He closed in the distance between you two, letting his erection guide him like a compass to what it wanted most. Another man and Jimmy exchanged some words that you couldn’t understand. Frustrated by the lack of attention, you reached out for him sloppily, like a sleepy child. Your hand slapped the air until it found the warm fabric of his cotton undershirt.

“F-feels…. mmmff…”

He chuckled at your avidity, glancing down at you. “Alright, baby, alright…”

You looked dreamily up at him, wanting him to fall on top of you and shower you in kisses. He had the darkest eyes you’d ever seen. The darkest eyes. Like two cups of black coffee, warm and inviting.

Jimmy’s thumb found its way into your mouth, pulling your bottom jaw down to make room for his cock. With peaked brows, you mewled dreamily, wrapping your lips around his single digit and sucking hard. His skin was salty, the sweat of the day settling in the creases of his hands.

“Ohh, god damn - you’re so eager…. Suck on this instead, huh?”

Again, he used this thumb to manipulate your jaw, tugging on it. You opened it further, your tongue lolling out hungrily. The corners of your mouth were pulled upwards; you felt so good, so light and breezy. He was so handsome and you’d do whatever he wanted you to.

You blinked, watching as his cock neared closer. You’d never given a man a blowjob before. For a brief moment, your eyes were wide, pupils dilating in concern, but as soon as the head of Jimmy’s cock was hot against your tongue and warm, salty pearls of pre-cum oozing from the tip, glistening and catching the reflections of the string lights from above, you eased into the action. Your mouth stayed open, as Jimmy was the one guiding his dick inside, knowing full well you didn’t have the strength to do it yourself.

Your lids drifted shut. For a second, he felt bad. You were real out of it, but before he had a chance to dwell on it, a wanton haze consumed him as your pretty lips closed around the blisteringly hot tip, your precious flushed cheeks caving in. Inside, your tongue caressed the slit, lapping up the pre-cum like it was ice cream. You hummed around his cock as he began pumping it in and out. You may have been out of it, but boy were you going at his cock. Your tongue flattened against the thick vein on the underside of his cock, rubbing at it.

He groaned low in his throat, caressing the underside of your jaw, all the while resisting the urge to bring his hand to the back of your head and guide his cock deeper into your mouth. He was weak with arousal. In truth, he was almost embarrassed at how badly he wanted to lose it in your pink, waiting mouth.

“Baby, baby….” Jimmy’s head lolled back on his shoulders, his lids fluttering helplessly as you sucked. You mewled again, the vibrations sending a shockwave through his cock. He bucked his hips in and out of your mouth, focusing hard on the way that your plush, soft lips popped over the head every time he pulled back.

“Take her, Jimmy,” someone said. It was a male’s voice, low and gruff, a slight accent to it.

Though you didn’t know who the voice belonged to, Jimmy hurriedly obeyed it. Whether or not he wanted to stop, the reality was that you had him wound up too tight; he was ready to bust and needed to quickly change positions before the inevitable happened. Sucking in a deep breath, he withdrew his cock from your mouth. Long, sticky strands of saliva and cum strung from your lips, dribbling onto your chin. Moving quickly, Jimmy took hold of his cock and crawled onto the chaise, on top of you, looking fixedly down at your form. You hadn’t quite recovered from the position change, and needed a little help; he let go of his cock, gently pressing his fingers into your cheek, and pulling it to face him. You blinked a few times, before smiling brightly.

“ H-hii …..” You breathed, woozy. “Hi Jimmy…” You were very proud of the fact that his name came out normal. In your current state, it felt like an arduous task. “Hi Jimmy,” you said again, delighted. You laughed girlishly, and Jimmy felt a pulsing heat in his groin. He hadn’t heard a sound as sweet as that in years.

“Hey, baby…” He smiled crookedly at you. Warm and soft like honey. “You want this?”

You knew what he was asking. Your weighted gaze dropped between your bodies. The feverish, scarlet tip of his cock was leaking beads of pre-cum onto your bare tummy, bobbing heavily up and down with each breath he took. You felt your pupils dilate again, hungrily, craving the monster in front of you. You knew what it tasted like, you now wanted to feel it ripping you in two. You gave him an excited nod. The inside of your brain felt like it was jostled around by the action, so you huffed out a steadying breath.

Excited by your consent, Jimmy wasted no time and reached down. The pads of his fingers found your slick entrance, toying with it slightly to spread the slippery, clear fluid around your cunt. He slipped one of his pincers inside, bringing a gasp from your throat. “You like that?” 

You nodded again, much slower this time and reached for his bicep. Once you found it, you gripped it tightly, readying yourself for the oncoming storm. He lined his dick up and brought his eyes back to you.

“Look at me, baby.”

You did. He grinned.

Watching you, he stuffed himself inside, swallowing dryly. His eyes danced over your face, picking up all the subtle, lustful little changes; your cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, your brows peaked together in an expression of slight discomfort, your lips parted with a delicate whimper as your slick walls swallowed him whole. This pulled a throaty groan from Jimmy. It was such a display, and for a moment, he wondered if you’d ever been with a man. How obedient and pliable you were underneath him… was that pillowy soft virginity or just the drugs kickin’ in?

Thinking was hard and instinct took over again, wiping all thoughts from his mind, save for the way you felt. You were warm and tight, clenching around his shaft. He jerked his hips up into you, protruding veins massaging your walls. Your attention dropped between you two again, eyes glazed over as his thick cock disappeared inside you, bottoming out each time.

Jimmy, on the other hand, had moved to focus on the way your tits bounced with the power of his thrusts. The visual drove him crazy. Made him hungrier. Craving your taste, Jimmy’s mouth was suddenly on yours, sloppy and hurried. His greedy tongue felt around every inch of your mouth and slipped wetly along your tongue. You did your best to keep up, tasting him all the same, but he was taking the lead. You inhaled a big breath through your nose and moaned into his mouth.

There was a cacophony of pleasure around you, coming from every direction. Wet sounds and hushed moans, peppered with lewd mutterings. Somewhere in your mind, you knew what you were a part of, what you’d stumbled into. Had you been more coherent, it might’ve embarrassed you, but the deep, carnal sounds that Jimmy was making were the only ones that mattered. Suddenly, you furrowed your brows, frowning into the kiss; someone was incessantly petting your hair and grumbling excitedly behind you. You tried to wave them away, but when you lifted your hand above your head, Jimmy reached for you, pinning your hand there.

“Mmmhh…” Breathless, Jimmy pulled away to look at you again, breath rushing out from between kiss-swollen lips. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”

His hands dropped to your hips, pulling you harshly onto his cock. You winced, but pressed your legs open further, hungry for the sensation. Eve came from behind Jimmy, pausing to run her hand through his caramel coloured hair, gripping it tightly briefly before letting go. Jimmy moaned above you, and before you could protest someone took hold of your hands at the wrists, holding them firmly above your head. With a little whimper, you tried to wrestle around from them, but failed. Eve’s sweet voice came from behind the chaise then, praises drifting down atop of you. Your head rolled upwards to the sound of the woman’s voice, again trying to find it. You couldn’t, and it didn’t seem like Jimmy wanted you to. His conjoined fingers were on your face again, gently pulling you back to face him.

“Eyes on me, baby… right here… that’s it. Atta’ girl.”

You blinked a few times, refocusing on his face. His tanned skin had a blush to it now, covered in sweat. He humped you furiously, his dick slipping in and out of your weeping cunt, rocking your body back and forth. You were close, there was an unmistakable tightening in your abdomen. Jimmy seemed to know this. More than knowing it, he could feel it; the way your tight little cunt quivered, clenching tighter and tighter around him. “C’mon baby, lemme’ hear that voice of yours…”

You opened your mouth, letting the whining moans free. 

“Good girl,” Eve cooed above you. “Such a good girl…” 

 As you continued meeting Jimmy’s thrusts with moans, he picked up his pace, hands snaking around the back of your body to take greedy, punishing fistfuls of your ass. His hands were so big and seemed to envelop you entirely, kneading your soft curves like dough. He came with a low grunt, gripped you hard and pulled himself into you as he climaxed. Jimmy coated your insides like the glaze on funnel cake, and you got to feeling even woozier than before. The feeling was too much, and pushed you over the slick edge. You let out a shrill cry, pulsing around him, fighting against Eve’s grip, who held you fast. There were sounds all around you as you came, excited murmurs and whispers. As your orgasm ebbed and Jimmy softened inside of you, finally, your hands were freed, and they found Jimmy’s florid, sweaty neck, pulling your forehead to his chest.

You remembered the way his chest heaved laboriously above you with each breath, shaky with expelled lust.

You blinked, your jaw hanging slack. He was still standing there, looking at you with that syrupy flirt in his eyes. You were suddenly dizzy with need. The ache between your thighs was no longer inexplicable, and your heart thudded in your chest.

“Hey!” Jimmy called across the field, one hand extended in a friendly wave. “We oughta’ do that again sometime, baby!”

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @garykingz/ @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @tatesdisasterofalover / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @enchanting-evan / @yesdevineruler / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake / @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @demxnicprxncess / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @babygorewhore / @quickandsilvers / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha / @randominstake / @throwinginmythai / @slvt4jamesmarch / @poltoreveur

[withacapitalp]

Reasons

I wrote this for the STWG daily prompt today which was "Joyce" and uhhhhh I'm sorry haha thank you for @stevethehairington and @hairstevington for beta and encouragement and generally being the best of the best!

Read it on ao3 here

The thing Steve had always loved most about the Byers home was the clutter. 

There wasn’t a single surface that was bare. The tv stand was filled to the bursting with scratched up VHS tapes, the bookshelves crammed with dimestore paperbacks. There were always dishes on the kitchen table, magnets holding up dozens of drawings on the fridge, even the hallway was littered with picture frames. It was a complete contrast to the house he had grown up in, with bare cream colored walls and perfectly immaculate rooms. 

It was a mess, and none of the things in the Byers home were worth much, but every item in the home was treasured, important, valued. Everything in their home mattered. 

Now there was nothing left in the house. Nothing but boxes and empty air. 

Boxes.

And Steve. 

And Joyce.

“Where’d Jonathan and the kids go?” Steve asked when the silence had finally grown to be too much, looking around the barren space that used to be the living room. 

Joyce had always apologized for how uncomfortable the couch was. Every single time he had ended up on her doorstep late at night, after every midnight mug of hot cocoa, every midnight conversation where Steve finally finally let some of his anxieties slip out, she had led him over to that couch and wrapped him in a hand me down quilt that smelled old and worn and loved and apologized to him about how lumpy the couch was. 

Steve had never known what she was talking about. He had never slept anywhere that felt more comfortable. 

But the couch was gone now. Probably tucked away in the big box truck outside, or sold at the garage sale they had held last week. Or maybe Joyce had just thrown away like the trash it had always been, finally getting rid of the dead weight of a couch she didn’t really like all that much. 

She probably wanted a new couch for their new house. Something better.  

“They’re all at the Wheelers. Jonathan snuck out around three in the morning to go stay with Nancy tonight, and all of the kids slept over in the basement,” Joyce explained, a wry little smile falling on her lips as she fondly rolled her eyes at her children’s antics, “One last campaign before we hit the road.” 

Steve hummed, acting like this was fresh news to him when he already knew. He was the one that had driven Dustin, Lucas, and Max there. Hell, he had stayed to watch part of the campaign, and to give El and Will one last hug when it was just him and them. 

He wasn’t exactly sure why he was playing along, why he was continuing to pretend, but it was easier than just staring at the place where the couch used to live in complete silence. Better than Joyce knowing exactly how little she knew about Steve’s life these days. 

“I’ve missed seeing you around,” She tried, creeping just a little bit closer to where he was standing, “We haven’t really talked much since…”

Joyce trailed off but they both knew what she was talking about. 

Since the realtor's sign had appeared at the end of the Byers driveway. 

Since Joyce had finally had to admit that she was taking Jonathan, Will, and El away. 

Since their big fight. 

“I’ve been busy,” Steve said shortly, turning away from the living room and towards the kitchen, hoping that would take the spike out of his heart.

No, now the pain was worse, because the kitchen table was gone too, whisked away like it had never existed in the first place. Like Joyce had never sat him down there and patched him up after Billy’s fight, both of their eyes drooping with exhaustion but her fingers still sure and steady. Like Steve had never leaned against it, trying to understand his homework while Joyce did her best to explain why the color of curtains in a story mattered. Like there had never been breakfasts, or dinners, or midnight cups of hot chocolate that were only ever for the two of them. 

Like Steve had never had a place here at all. 

“What do you need from me? You said you needed something,” Steve asked in a rush, turning away from the kitchen as nausea began to bubble over in his stomach. He wanted to run, to break free, to escape Joyce and the house and all of the feelings that came along with it. He just wanted to give her whatever last thing she wanted to take and get away before too much of him broke. 

“I did. I mean is there something else you’re doing today?” Joyce asked, startled by Steve’s sudden shift, “I thought you might want to be here when-”

“Robin and I are going to an interview,” Steve said, interrupting her in a flash. He definitely did not want to be here when they left, and he did not want to be here to say goodbye. He had already done that. He had already said his piece to Jonathan and Will and El. 

Steve had nothing left to give to Joyce.

So why was he here? What could she want from him? 

“It’s a big interview for a job for both of us.” He continued, laying it on thick when they both knew how thin the excuse really was. He and Robin could have done this any day, at any time. Now that the mall was gone, they had their pick of the litter for shitty jobs in town. 

But Steve had purposefully asked Robin to plan the interview for today. He had done it the second Jonathan had told him their moving date. And Robin, saint that she was, had done it without asking why. 

He made his bed, just like Joyce had made hers, and now they both had to lie in it. 

“That’s…that’s great,” Joyce said, crossing her arms over her chest, her fingers twitching like she wanted to go for a cigarette. 

“Besides it doesn’t look like you need me,” Steve said, unable to help himself. He looked around, a bitter smile on his lips, “You’ve got it pretty well handled.” 

“Steve, honey…”

“Don’t,” He said immediately, stepping back when she tried to come forward to console him. That wasn’t her job anymore, it had never been her job in the first place, and Steve wasn’t going to fall for it again. 

He was stupid, but he learned. Eventually, he learned. 

“You already know what I think, and I don’t want to argue.” He said woodenly, the words coming out short and full of static. 

He didn’t want to argue again. Not like last time. 

Steve and Joyce had at least waited until Jonathan and Nancy had ushered all of the kids out of the house before exploding, but once it was just the two of them, it had been a supernova. Steve could barely remember what they had said, but he knew it was bad. That he had claimed she never cared about him at all, and she had told him that he wasn’t her responsibility. 

Steve knew she had called him an entitled brat at some point. 

Steve knew that he had called her a selfish bitch too. 

And he had no way of knowing if Joyce actually thought he was an entitled brat, but he didn’t want to hear it. Not again. It had been hard enough to forget the way it made him feel the first time. 

“It’s not an argument.” Joyce said softly, her voice as fragile as glass as she slowly lowered her hand down from where it had been reaching out to bring him into a familiar, warm, hug, “I just need you to know that it’s over now. I don’t want you looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life, trying to find monsters that aren’t there.” 

“Do you really believe that?” Steve asked, finally looking Joyce in the eye, “Really?”

“Yes,” She said immediately. Steve could see it in her eyes, in her voice, in the way she held herself. 

She did believe it. Joyce really thought it was over. Or, at the very least, she had made herself believe that she believed it.

“Then stay,” Steve whispered, loathing himself for saying it. He had promised himself he would never again beg for someone not to leave, but now he had done it twice in just a month. Twice. Because the first time apparently hadn’t been humiliating enough. 

But Steve’s hope had always been more powerful than his shame, and he couldn’t help but pray that she would listen this time. Joyce would see what leaving was doing to all of them and change her mind. It didn’t matter that the house had already been sold and the truck was already stuffed to the bursting with their belongings, it could all be undone. 

Steve would carry it all back in himself, even. The couch, the kitchen table, the hand me down quilt, everything that had made this house the first place he had actually felt at home. 

She could undo it all. She could put their lives back together, back to the way they had been before, and Steve wouldn’t have to think about it ever again. He wouldn’t have to agonize over how Will and El would adjust to high school without the rest of their friends, or worry about Jonathan being alone in his senior year. He wouldn’t have to think about his own empty house and the bare cream walls that hated him just for existing. 

He wouldn’t have to wonder why he wasn’t enough to care about. Why everyone eventually always left him. 

“If it’s gone, then there’s no reason to leave,” Steve muttered, his eyes burning as he turned them downward to the floor between them, feeling like he was eight instead of eighteen. A child instead of the adult they both knew him to be. 

An adult. Soon to be the last adult left in Hawkins that knew about the Upside Down. The last adult the rest of them had to rely on. 

“There’s a thousand reasons,” Joyce sighed, pulling out her most beloved weapon, “And I have to protect my kids,”

Her kids. Her kids. Not her boys anymore, now her kids, because of El. 

But what about Steve’s kids? What about Max and Dustin and Lucas and Mike and Erica? How was he alone supposed to protect them when the monsters came? 

What about Nancy? What about Robin? They were older, but they were still kids, weren’t they? They still needed someone to be the adult. 

And a quiet, almost silent part of him, couldn’t help asking

What about me?

“From what? If it’s really over, then what are you protecting them from?” Steve asked, a question he had already pressed her to answer in their last argument. 

Joyce didn’t have an answer, because they both knew the truth. This wasn’t about the kids. Not Jonathan. Not Will. Not El. 

It was about Joyce. What she wanted, what she felt like she had to protect herself from. 

And the worst part was Steve understood. He got why she had to leave, why she couldn’t bear to stay here any longer than she had to, but what he couldn’t understand, what he would never understand, was the need to hide behind a shadow. 

“You don’t have to say the truth, but, please, don’t tell me a lie,” Steve said quietly, Joyce sucking in a sharp breath as he carefully threw her own words back in her face. 

She had said it to him dozens of times over the last year, and dozens of times he had caved and told her the truth. 

But Joyce was not Steve. 

“Steve, it's too late to go back on this.” Joyce said firmly, as if her tone would be enough to spontaneously change Steve’s mind. He scoffed, shaking his head and turning away from her to stare out the front window. He welded his lips together, planning to keep his mouth shut and ice her out until Joyce finally got annoyed enough to cut him loose. 

It wouldn’t take long. 

It had only taken her six weeks to pack up their whole lives and completely tear apart Steve’s. 

“I want you to come with us.”

“What?” Steve said, the shock of Joyce’s words enough to make him speak without meaning to. 

“That’s why I wanted you to come here before everyone else,” Joyce said, trying to walk towards Steve again. This time he was too startled to stop her and she entered into his space, a soft smile on her face. The same smile she used to give him when she would push his hair away from his face at night, and tell him that he didn’t need to stay awake. 

That she would be there, and nothing was going to get between her and her boys. 

She had always said it, and they had always both known that she meant more than just Jonathan and Will. 

“I wanted to ask you to come with us,” Joyce repeated, laying a soft hand on his arm. 

“I don’t understand,” Steve said helplessly, his heart starting to race, the bare walls beginning to close in. 

“The house we bought has a little condo next to it that’s free, and I’m sure that Doctor Owens would be able to get it put in your name the way he got mine,” Joyce explained, a plan laid out neatly, too neatly, “There’s lots of jobs out in Lenora, or you could even go to the community college there. Take some classes while you figure out what you want to do?”

This was not a spur of the moment offer. Joyce had to have thought about it before this morning. More than once. 

“You want me to move to Lenora with you guys?” Steve heard himself ask, a spring blossom blooming in his chest without his permission. A little seed of hope that had no reason to exist at all. 

Joyce nodded, her smile growing, and for a second Steve let himself think about it. Truly and honestly think about it. 

He let himself imagine a world where he didn’t go to his interview with Robin this afternoon, and instead stayed here. Packed up the rest of the boxes, hopped in the van with Joyce, and went out to California. Where there was never any snow to shovel, no Mother and Father to disappoint, no dead end job to hate. 

No monsters waiting to jump out of the shadows. 

A life that was only about what he wanted, what Steve thought would be best for him. A life that came with a family that wanted him. 

“It’s over and done and nothing is holding you here anymore,” Joyce pressed, looking around the empty house, “There’s no reason for you to stay.”

And the dream was gone. 

Crushed into bits, shattered like a plate against a skull. 

Steve had reasons, seven of them. Seven people. Seven people who had gone through hell three times for a town that didn’t care and didn’t notice. Seven people who  

Seven people who deserved someone to protect them. Someone who would put them first. 

Steve had never been enough of a reason for anyone to stay, never been enough to put first. Not enough for his parents, not enough for Nancy, and now not enough for Joyce. 

But he would never let his kids think the same about themselves. 

“No, there’s no reason for you to stay,” Steve spat out, hating how bitter he sounded, but hating even more that he had let himself fall for the same trap again. Somewhere along the way he had let those walls down, let another person in, and let her put herself where she didn’t belong. 

That was the truth wasn’t it? They both knew Joyce didn’t fit where they had put her. She was never going to be his mother, and Steve had never fit into her life, but he had played pretend anyway. Ignored all the signs, ignored all the little whispers in his head that told him he was getting too close, trusting too much. He had let her brush his hair, and help him with his homework, and say the words her boys like she meant to include him. 

And now Joyce was just reminding him exactly how much he meant in the grand scheme of things. 

And, really, Steve only had himself to blame for the way his heart was starting to break into tiny impossible to put back together pieces. His mistake. His stupidity. 

He just never fucking learned. 

“At least there no reason to stay that actually ever mattered to you,” He added with a laugh that did not sound at all funny, walking out the door before he could hear another one of her lies. 

[yeoja-dream]

Intertwined

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Pairing: BTS OT7 X Reader 

Genre: Fantasy, Magic, Eventual Smut, Plot, slight slow burn

Characters: Vampire!BTS, Elf!Reader

Content Warning: none 

Word Count: 4.3k

You finally wake when the rays of the late morning sun warm your face and hurt your eyes. You sat up groggily, rubbing the sleep from them with balled fists. Unwillingly, the events of last night flood your barely continuous mind. The memories have you kicking at your sheets with frustration. 

“What was his issue anyway?” You complained out loud. Maybe you’d never get to know. At least I get to say I’ve both instructed and kissed a member of BTS, you attempted to reason. The thought brings you little comfort. 

While you set something fragrant to boil on the stove, you checked your phone, finally, scrolling through dozens of missed notifications due to your late slumber. Habitually, you checked for new work emails, the top of which gave you immediate pause. “SUBJECT: I’m sorry. SENDER: KIM SEOKJIN. You’ve got to be kidding me.” You laughed incredulously. 

Dear Y/N, 

Firstly, I would like to apologize for contacting you via your work email. In my rush to leave last night, I forgot to exchange more proper means of contact. I would also like to apologize for my behavior. I understand that it must have been, in a word, confusing. If you would be kind enough, I would greatly appreciate the chance to explain myself properly in person. The issue is more complicated than I have a great understanding of, so I would also like to bring Namjoon who has a better understanding of the circumstances. However, I wouldn’t want to impose or make you feel like you were being ganged up on. 

Please understand we will take no further action with you, and should to ignore this correspondence we will take it as your disinterest in the subject matter and we will leave you alone. 

Best, 

Kim Seokjin 

“Jeez, this guy is uptight.” You mumbled, reading the message in totality. You sighed, sitting back in your rickety kitchen chair. Confusing is an understatement. You thought to yourself. But you also couldn’t deny that curiosity clawed at your insides. You sipped your hot, spiced cider, the taste giving you comfort and confidence. Something is telling me to hear them out, Dad. You thought to yourself. I just hope the cinnamon is enough.

Dear Kim Seokjin,

Sending emails is cumbersome, so here is my cellphone number. Text me whenever you’d like. 

Thank you for apologizing. I will decide whether or not I accept it after our meeting. It may be sudden, but I took the day off of work today. If today does not work, you can make arrangements with me after the studio closes every day at 10 pm. 

Best, 

Y/N

You type the email and hit send before you can overthink it too much. What makes a man go from ready to take you on the floor to running out the door you couldn’t fathom, but you certainly looked forward to finding out. 

It was about 2 hours later your phone buzzed with a notification, a text this time. 

Hello, this is Jin. We all have schedules this morning, but Namjoon and I will be finished around 5 pm. Is it alright if I go ahead and make dinner reservations? Is there any place you like in particular?

Dinner reservations? You mused to yourself. That sounded formal, more formal than you were comfortable with. Dinner reservations were for dates, of which this meeting was certainly not. 

Dinner is fine, but there is no need for reservations. I’m in the mood for Mediterranean tonight, so you can meet me at Olive and Thyme at 7. You replied. 

Your phone buzzed again soon after sending. 

Olive and Thyme at 7. We will be there. Thank you. 

At that you tossed your phone to the other side of the couch, settling back into the cushions, zoning out to whatever insane dating reality TV show was on. Speculation is going to get me nowhere. You reminded yourself. 

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

It had been a while since you had a reason to get dressed up, you realized as you curled your freshly washed and dried hair. Except the concert you had attended just 2 days prior, you could list the occasions you had to dress up for in the last 20 years on one hand. The thought makes you sad. 

Your theme is cute but casual, you reminded yourself as you selected your pair of favorite high-waisted jeans, a plain crop top to match, and a light jacket to go over. There was also no need to go overboard with makeup, a little bit of skin tone-flattering eyeshadow, mascara, and a pink lipgloss would be plenty. 

Of course, you didn’t forget about your ears. You’d had the pointy pains in the ass your whole life, and as such, you had discovered dozens of ways to hide them away. Your hair was down today, so pinning them back with a dab of spirit gum on the back side of each was more than enough coverage. 

You stood back, admiring your handiwork in a standing mirror in your bedroom. Cute and casual, you decided. It was while looking at your reflection, that you also realized how remarkably well you had been taking things. Just two days ago, you were a faceless fan in a sea of other fans. You were meant to enjoy a fun performance and return to your daily life, and yet impossibly, not but 24 hours later, the oldest of BTS was running out of your dance studio after a steamy make-out session, and now supposedly wanted to meet up to discuss something cryptic. It was absurd, anyone would agree. Even in your most delusional of fantasies you couldn’t have dreamed up something more ridiculous. Maybe that was what was keeping you calm, sane. Maybe this was all just a crazy dream. 

The time to leave fast approached, and with those lingering questions you found yourself in the back of an Uber on your way to destiny. 

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

The interior of the restaurant was dated in its decor and sparsely populated, even when it was time for the dinner rush. You were the first one there, the aromatic smell of spices and wine hit you like a wall causing your stomach to clench painfully in hunger. The hostess was a small, mousey woman, who upon your request, sat you in one of the booths on the far side corner of the restaurant, more privacy, you figured. 

Quickly the cool-headedness you were able to maintain from the safety of your home gives away to waves upon waves of anxiety. Bouncing your legs and chewing your nails was all you could do to relieve some of the pent-up nervousness as the seconds felt like hours. You cursed yourself silently for needing to arrive early. 

Your suffering is somewhat short-lived, however, and as the clock hit 7:00 on the dot, the bells on the entrance door chimed as two handsome, well-groomed men walked in. It was easy to identify the pair as your evening guests. 

They were nicely dressed in outfits not dissimilar to your own. They too spotted you easily, and with a swagger in their walks that made you need to look away, they both slid next to one another in the seats opposite to you. It was weird, though. Having both THE Kim Seokjin AND Kim Namjoon sitting across from you should make you feel 10x more anxious than you had before, and yet, slowly, you felt the tension in your shoulders come to dissipate, and when you really focused, the buzzy, electrical feeling from the previous night was becoming more and more prominent. 

“Thank you for meeting us,” Jin took the lead. “This is Namjoon.” 

You cracked a smile. “I know.” 

“Well, I didn’t want to presume…” Jin trailed off embarrassed. You didn’t think you had ever seen Jin get embarrassed before, it was cute. 

“Hi,” Namjoon said, offering his hand to you. You took it, and before you could greet him back, the very same warm, tingly sensation zipped up your hand and down your spine. Your smile quickly faded as you found yourself needing to grip the table to reorient yourself. 

“Woah…” you breathed, shaking your head to clear some of the building haze. 

The two boys looked at each other, then back to you. 

“We’re going to talk about that, actually,” Namjoon said. “But first let's put our orders in.” 

It was easy enough to flag down a waitress and place your orders. Small talk was easy to pass the time until your meals were served.

“So…” you began, picking at your salad. “Every time I touch you guys I get a weird feeling, whenever I am around you guys I get a different weird feeling, and at least Jin was acting weird around me.” 

The pair sat back in the booths and sighed, before looking to one another. 

“I’ll start,” Namjoon said. “What do you know about soulmates?” 

“Basically what everyone else knows.” You stated. “One true love and all that. Although…” you trailed off. You triggered a memory, distant at first but grows with clarity when you concentrate on it. 

“Daddy, what’s a soulmate?” You asked, book in hand, curled up in your reading nook in his laboratory. 

“Well I suppose that depends on who you ask,” He said, not pausing from his work. “If you ask most people, I think they would tell you that it was someone they love a lot, or maybe someone who they feel like they’ve known for longer than they’ve actually known them.” 

“Hmm.” You responded. “What if I don’t ask most people?” 

“Hm?” Your dad asked, confused. 

“Well, you said if I asked most people, that they would say all that. What if I don’t ask most people.” 

“Ah,” He said, holding up two liquids seemingly comparing them. “Well, some other people would tell you that soulmates are different than just people you love a lot. They would tell you that souls are real, and when a soul is created, it is created alongside another. Usually, they are created in pairs, but it's not unheard of for them to be created in groups larger than that. Each soul is placed in a different vessel, but it will always pine for the soul it was created with.” 

“Woah…” You respond in awe. “What happens when you meet your soulmate?” 

“They say when you meet your soulmate, you’ll just know.” He said, notating something down in his journal. “Your soul calls out to theirs, long lost lover and friends reuniting after millennia. You burn and ache for the other until your souls are finally tied in a tying ritual. The tying ritual gives you a bond that you can communicate simple ideas or feelings over.”  

“Wow! What kind of ritual do you have to do?” You asked, curiously. 

“Oh well,” he paused from his work, looking away. “It is a bit too complicated for you now, but when you get older I will explain.”

“Do I have a soulmate?” 

“Of course, you have a soul don’t you?” 

“Ew. I don’t want a soulmate, Daddy.” 

He laughed at you, walking over to you to pat your head. 

“I’m afraid there are just some things in life that we cannot control, Pumpkin. Besides, I’m not going to be around forever, and it makes me feel better that you’ll have someone to keep you company someday.”

“Nooo!” you whined. “Who else is going to make strawberry rhubarb pie with dinosaurs? You have to stay around forever, okay Daddy?” 

He laughed at you again, kissing the top of your forehead before returning to his work. “Sure thing, princess.” 

You shake your head bringing you back to the present as the memory flicked by. “Souls are created alongside other souls and put inside of people who then spend their whole lives looking for each other and once you find the person you just know and you can tie the souls together and they’ll be happily ever after.” You summarized from your memory. 

“Pretty much,” Namjoon said. “I was worried you were completely unaware. Have you ever met anyone you felt that way about?” 

“Like just knowing? Not really.” You admitted with a shrug. You had loved before, certainly, but you guessed that soul mates were something bigger, much more profound. Someone you loved and knew deeper than summer romances and puppy love. 

“We have,” Jin spoke up this time. 

“Oh,” You said, eyebrows coming together in confusion. 

“But I kissed you, you must be now wondering,” Jin said. You nodded slowly in response. 

“When you are near me, what sensations do you feel?” He asked. 

You took a moment to gather your thoughts. “I feel like there is a current running through me, and the more I spend time with you and the closer in proximity to you I get, the stronger the feeling gets. My brain gets dizzy and hazy like I’ve had a few glasses of wine, and yet my acuity is still razor sharp. And when I touch you, it feels… weird.” You confessed. When I touch you it feels really good and it makes me want to touch you endlessly you added in your mind. 

They shared a knowing glance before Namjoon spoke. “THAT is the feeling. THAT is knowing.” 

“Huh?” You asked, cocking an eyebrow. “I thought knowing was more of an abstract concept, like wow it feels like I have known this person my whole life, I think I want to marry them someday.” 

“In the movies, absolutely,” Namjoon agreed. “But those feelings are your soul, physically calling out to ours.” 

“You’re kidding.” You said, unbelieving. 

“Let me ask you this then,” Namjoon begins. “Yesterday when you were kissing Jin hyung, I bet it felt so, incredibly right, right?” 

You looked at Jin. If you could be honest with yourself, you wanted to climb over this table and kiss him again. Maybe then he’d bend you over the table and take you right here, Namjoon’s hands on you helping bring you to completion- you cut yourself off before the thought can continue further. 

Namjoon looked at you knowingly. 

“So if I am to believe that what you are saying is correct, I am the soul mate to both of you.” You asked, matter of fact. 

“We are suggesting that you are all of our soulmates,” Jin stated, looking at you seriously. 

“As in, all 7 of you.” You asked again matter-of-factly.

They nodded in response. 

You laughed, exasperated. “Bring out the cameras because this is un-fucking-believable. This has to be a joke.” 

The serious expression on both of the boys’ faces says otherwise.

“I know this must be a lot to take in,” Jin said honestly. “It was a lot for me as well. And the others.” 

“What?” You asked, confused again. 

They share a look and Namjoon nods encouragingly before Jin speaks again. 

“We are actually all mated to each other, all 7 of us.” 

“Wow,” you breathed. “You guys are as close as you portray online.” 

The pair chuckle at that. 

“Me and Yoongi found each other first and from there we found different members at different times. Every member struggled with it in different ways, so you probably aren’t alone in anything you’re feeling right now.” Namjoon said. 

“You said mated. What does it mean to be mated?” 

“Oh, it just means that we marked each other.” Namjoon rolled up his sleeves, showing off two gashes, dark in coloration one next to the other. “We all have one. You can either accept the pairing and become marked, or reject it and become a single soul.” 

“What is the marking process?” You ask.

“You don’t know?” Namjoon asks, before putting on a serious face. “In short it is a bonding ritual involving sex.” 

You flushed red at that notion. “So if I wanted to be marked by each of you I would have to…” You trailed off, imagery and fantasy flooding your brain causing you to snap your knees closed. Namjoon looked away, swallowing hard. 

“Yes,” Jin states plainly. “But there is a rejection process as well. None of us are familiar with it, but if that is the choice you’d want to make we’d happily assist you with that.” 

“We should be a little more clear with you as well,” Namjoon looks at you again. “You have full choice and freedom in this case, but ultimately, now that you have found your soulmates, the empty, hollow feeling you will have when we are apart, and the buzzy electric feeling when we are together will become more and more unbearable as time goes on and if you don’t make your choice at all, it will drive you mad.” 

“How long do I have to decide?” 

“A few days, a week at maximum.” He answered earnestly. 

“You are right this is a lot to take in.” You sighed heavily. “With all due respect, I know you based on some well-edited clips and your music. You are all attractive as hell don’t get me wrong, but I don’t know you, and intertwining your life with someone you have an entirely parasocial relationship with is, in a word, insane. And for you guys too, you don’t even know me. 

“That is true, but we didn’t know any of the members that well when we went through the mating ritual,” Namjoon said with a shrug. “Besides, did you really think the universe was so unkind as to leave you without a way to break the bond? People can change, become abusive and cruel, and with or without your partner's consent you can break the mating bond at any time.”

That brought you some comfort. At least there was an ejection seat if the shit hit the fan. 

“This is a lot to process,” you stated, rubbing your temples in frustration.

“I am the oldest, but I was the fourth to join,” Jin started. “When I found out I was pretty upset, I had a solid lifestyle going for me that I didn’t intend to give up.” 

“How did you overcome that?” You asked.

“It was Namjoon that convinced me,” he said, gesturing at the younger man. “He asked me to get to know them. That the divines or the universe or fate had good intentions and I would be sorry if I didn’t at least try.” 

“I was a bit heavy-handed and naive,” Namjoon cut in, embarrassed. 

“At any rate,” Jin continued, “I resolved to give it a month. I wanted to date them, get to know them, you know?” He laughed. “I think I barely made it a week. Something about the all-consuming pull of your soul is hard to resist.” 

“I bet…” was all you were able to mumble in response. “I feel bad,” You confessed. “About the whole getting-to-know-you thing.” 

“What do you mean?” Namjoon asked. 

“I think it’s fairly obvious that I am a fan,” you began, “and while I can’t claim to know you, I would certainly argue that I know each of you just a little more than you know me.” 

“We have forever to get to know you,” Jin said with a wink. Namjoon elbowed him in response. 

“For starters, I’m sure you understand that our public personas are different than our public ones,” Namjoon began “But put more politely, Jin is correct. In the way that some humans go through with arranged marriages that sometimes work out, sometimes something bigger than us calls us to make a leap of faith and trust that it works out.” 

“That sounds like we are putting pressure on the situation. I think I speak for both of us when I say we meant to simply arm you with the most amount of information we can provide. Besides, on the getting-to-know-you front, we know more than you might think,” Jin said.

“Do tell.” You stated, raising an eyebrow. “It appears you somehow found out who I was, and further that I was a dance teacher.”

“I know you’re hiding some cute ears under all that hair,” Jin said with a lilt. 

You instinctively reached up to make sure they were still in place. “How could you possibly…” you mumbled. 

“The truth is,” Namjoon started, lowering his voice. “We aren’t exactly human either, and our, shall we call it, conditions, allow us to sense the energy of different creatures.” 

“So you’ve known the whole time?” You asked, flabbergasted. 

“Pretty much,” Jin stated. 

“Sorry, that's just like, probably my biggest secret and it is just out there so I’m a little off-put. Not that it’s your fault just, in conjunction with everything…” You trailed off. 

“We thought it important that you also knew,” Namjoon said. “That we are vampires.” 

“Vampires?” You repeated. “All of you?” 

“Yes,” He replied. 

“No wonder you are all so unearthly attractive,” you mumbled under your breath. 

They both chuckle at that. 

“When we meet a soulmate, sometimes something darker, more carnal comes out. Vampires, once they are connected with their mates, can only feed off of them. All other blood becomes a virulent poison, so everything in a vampire’s body commands them to claim and mark their mate as soon as possible. Prevents their only food source from walking away.” Namjoon stated. 

“That’s why I kissed you suddenly in the studio,” Jin explained. “It’s not that I didn’t want to already, but I had resolved to not make any physical contact with you until all of this had been laid out, but the way you were looking up at me, the feeling of your hand on my body, your smell in that warm, closed room…” he trailed off before clearing this throat. “It was too much to bear. It brought out that dark side and well, you were there. I’m sorry for doing that without giving you the proper context.” 

“It’s fine,” You admitted. “Truthfully, I wanted you to kiss me, and I enjoyed it.” I wanted you to do more, you thought to yourself. “I was more hurt and confused when you, superhumanly I am now realizing, left with barely a word.” 

Jin’s expression was nothing if not apologetic. “I realize that must have been upsetting, and again I’m sorry for that too.” 

“But wait,” You began, tilting your head to the side. “If you are all vampires and are mated to each other, then do you drink each other’s blood? Do you even have blood in your body to drink? And if a vampire can only feed from their soulmate once they’re found, what happens if rejection occurs?” 

“Yes and no,” Jin said. “It is actually a myth that vampires don’t have blood. The vampire toxin mutates the blood of the person being turned and makes it so it's the only way for the new body to get energy. Problem is, vampiric blood isn’t very nutritious and it takes forever to regenerate by itself, so we have to supplement with animal blood usually. It's barely edible, and not that much more nutritious but it's better than being dead.” 

“Fascinating,” You said. “The universe really fucked you all over making you all mates and vampires then, huh.” 

“Tell me about it,” said Namjoon. 

“Well, what about my other question?” You asked. 

They exchanged uncomfortable looks. 

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Namjoon said gravely. 

“I thought we were being honest with each other?” You asked, feeling slightly frustrated. 

“We are, it’s just…” Namjoon sighed. “It would add stress to a stressful and confusing situation and I don’t want you to worry about it.” 

“Well, now I am worried!” You exclaimed. 

A few beats of silence passed between you all. 

“Just tell her, Joon,” Jin said. 

Namjoon sighed at that. “When a vampire is rejected, or when a vampire’s bond is severed, the vampire dies. Jin mentioned that we can subsist on animal blood for nutrition, but what he didn’t mention, is that the consumption of energy is also part of what vampires consume when they eat blood, and once you find your soulmate, it is only their energy you can subsist off of.” 

“So you’re saying…” You trail off, flabbergasted, before starting again. “You’re saying should I choose to reject you all, I am dooming you to starve to death and die.” 

“You understand why I was reluctant to tell you.” 

You put your head in your hands, head spinning with the information dump of the last hour. How could it be in just 48 hours you went from a passing fan to suddenly, apparently, being the deciding factor whether or not BTS dies? It was too much to handle, and with the added pressure, you felt like your head was going to explode. 

“I need time.” You managed to say. 

“Perfectly understandable,” The pair agreed. 

“I have to go, I think,” You said, starting to stand up. “It was lovely to meet you but being so close is messing with my mind a little.” 

“By all means,” Namjoon said. “Don’t worry about the check, it’s the least we can do.” 

“Okay, thank you.” You said, standing fully now. “You have my phone number, text me any time, I guess. Bye.” You began somewhat robotically walking away from the two men who had just turned your life upside down, out of the restaurant, and into the cool early night air. 

You walked for hours, the outside had always been a place of meditation and peace for you. Your mind swam, full of questions and concerns. On one side, your heart soared at the chance to be with BTS, by all appearances they were hot, funny, kind, and interesting people that just about anyone would sell their grandma to be with. On the other side, you worried. About how you didn’t really know them personally, how they didn’t know you, how stupid and impractical it was to make a life promise to someone you barely knew let alone 7 someones, and most importantly, it concerned you how loudly something deep within you called for you to accept them. Now, there was the added pressure of not killing them. If only you were here, you sighed inwardly. You’d tell me what I should do. 

Somehow, you found yourself full, your feet sore, and no closer to a conclusion. You collapsed on your bed, exhausted, sleep finding you and carrying you off as soon as your eyes closed.

[jackhues]

stay for breakfast - angel's world

NOTE: this takes place on OCT/18/23, the day after the isles vs. yotes game (pt 2)

this is a series/interactive au, so feel free to send in any ideas/requests/thoughts you have about this!angel's world au masterlist!!

PART ONE || PART TWO || PART THREE || PART FOUR || PART FIVE || PART SIX - SMAU (COMING SOON)

verstappen!twin reader x mat barzal ,, f1xhockey

angel turned around in bed, freezing at the sight of a face.

her brain took a minute to load, realizing it was none other than mat in bed next to her. it took another minute for her brain to remember the events following the islanders win.

a night that led to angel and mathew sleeping together.

quietly, angel slipped out of mat's sheets, embarrassed that she'd even stayed so long. she should leave, and quickly. before he woke up.

picking up her discarded clothes, she changed quickly, grabbing her phone. she switched it on, nearly dropping it at the constant 'ding', signalling someone was spamming her.

"no, no, shut up," she muttered, fumbling to turn her ringer off.

mat stirred, opening his eyes slowly, and finding angel standing by the door of his room, ready to leave with a guilty look on her face.

"good morning," he greeted her, sitting up to stretch out in bed.

angel blushed, looking away as the sheets pooled around his naked hips.

mat smirked to himself, catching her actions.

"you were much less blushy last night," he commented.

"yeah, because you were blushing the entire night," she countered. "someone's gotta balance it out."

mat laughed to himself, slipping into a pair shorts. he got out of bed, finally realizing how close angel was to the door.

"you're gonna go?" he sounded... hurt.

"i, uh... you were sleeping," angel stuttered. "and i didn't want to wake you. i- i have to-"

"stay," mat blurted. "i can make breakfast."

"max is looking for me," angel held up her phone, showcasing the dozen notifications of the entire group chat looking for her. "i don't want him to worry."

"you stayed away for the night, what's another hour or two?"

he saw the hesitation on angel's face, and tried again.

"look, angel, i like you," he admitted. "i really like you. ever since we met, the highlight of my day was when i'd talk to you. and if you like me too, then i wanna do this with you. i want to be with you. i don't want this to be a one night thing, and then never again. i want to hold your hand as we walk down the street, i want to take you to see all the places i grew up around, i want us to be a thing." he met her eyes, "and i'm pretty sure you want that too."

angel stared at mat, sinking in his words.

finally, she nodded, dropping her purse on the table.

"you better have pancake mix," she told him. "i'm craving waffles."

[farfromsugafanfic]

Skz forgetting their s/o bday!

+ I enjoy your writing and felt like letting you know that you’re appreciated! Thank you!!

SKZ Reaction To Forgetting Their S/O's Birthday

Genre: light angst, fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: Thanks for the request!

Chan:

To be honest, I think it's unlikely that Chan forgets your birthday at all. He's good about those sorts of things and would set a calendar reminder just to make sure. If he did forget your birthday, it would likely be due to his schedule or overwork. Instead of making a huge gesture to beg your forgiveness, he'll simply show up with flowers, an apology, and your gift. It's so sincere that it's enough.

Minho:

He would think Felix was joking at first when he mentioned it was your birthday. When he realized that it wasn't a joke, he would immediately drop whatever he was doing to go get a last minute gift and come to your side. I think he would pretend like he remembered at first, but if you call him out on it, he'll admit it and apologize profusely. Ultimately, you'd get an extra cuddly and affectionate Minho which was rare, so it made up for it.

Changbin:

This poor man would absolutely hate himself. At first, he would isolate to collect himself and his thoughts. Early the next morning you'd wake up to dozens of flowers, a copious amount of your favorite snacks, and an apologetic Changbin. You'd spend the rest of the day watching movies and eating snacks. From then on, he'd set a reminder in his phone to ensure this never happened again.

Hyunjin:

Hyunjin would rely on you to remind him because he is hopeless at remembering birthdays other than his own and Kkami's. If he did end up forgetting it, depending on how much importance his partner puts on their birthday, he would sacrifice sleep to take them to dinner. If his partner didn't care too much for birthdays, he would give them their gift a few days late and apologize for missing it on the day.

Jisung:

Similar to Changbin, this man will beat himself up. He'll probably shyly apologize and practically beg with his eyes for you not to be mad. He would spend the next two to three days making it up to you. This may include bringing you your favorite boba, letting you pick takeout every night, and taking you for walks along the Han River. After letting him stew for a bit, you'd tell him that it really wasn't a big deal.

Felix:

Honestly, Felix would be surprised if he forgets his birthday. It would likely only happen if they were preparing for comeback or if he thought it was on a different day. Luckily, he ordered your gifts well in advance and so he is able to give them to you with an apologetic look that makes it impossible to be mad at him. Expect a soft Felix for a few days with lots of forehead kisses, playing with your fingers, and the sharing of a playlist of songs he wrote for you.

Seungmin:

He may not see it as a big deal at first because if you forgot his, he wouldn't care too much. However, if his nonchalance causes a fight, he would realize just how much your birthday meant to you. He'd take you out to a nice restaurant and take you shopping after to pick out anything you wanted. Back hugs, soft and shy compliments, and later he'd send a large text about how he's sorry and how much he loves you.

Jeongin:

Similar to Minho, he may try to joke about it, but for him, this is an awkward deflection tactic as he figures out what exactly he's going to do. When he realizes you're mad mad he'd leave to pick up some of your favorite things as well as the present he had actually gotten you months ago in preparation for your birthday. Still, he knew gifts couldn't totally make up for it, so he'd make sure to be extra gentle and eventually talk about it.

[artzee-bee]

Jealousy

Fandom: My babysitter's a vampire; Ethan Morgan x reader

Request: "basically, reader acts like she hates ethan because she thinks he has a big crush on Sarah, but eth hears her talking about him to Erica or smth??? I just think it would be sooo cute tysm"

Genre: fluff

Warnings: cussing

A/n: anyone wanna come up with titles for me? I'm done.

~~~

“Is she still staring at me?”

“Yep” Ethan went to adjust the hood of his hoodie again.

“Can you be any more obvious than that?” Benny remarks and Ethan’s hands go down slowly

“What’s her deal anyways? What did I even do wrong?”

“Why are you asking me? How would I know?”

“Hey guys!” a certain blonde boy appears , with a tray of food in hand

“Rory, sit down and eat your food!”

“Well someone’s in a bad mood today, damn Benny.”

Ethan is still staring down at his lunch. The mere thought of putting something in his mouth feels overwhelming. Anxiety runs through his body and he can’t stop his leg from shaking under the table. He’s trying not to make it obvious that he can feel your gaze on the back of his head from the other side of the room but that’s very difficult.

“What’s wrong with you E? What's wrong with everyone today?” Rory, the ever-so-oblivious, picked up on him acting weird. That’s definitely a bad sign.

“Y/n has been tearing him limb for limb with her eyes for the last 5 days and he has no idea why.” Benny answers

“Why?”

“...didn’t I just say…” and the normal banter starts again

Ethan does the same thing he’s been doing every night for the last 3 days: think. Think back to the day you stopped talking. Where was he? Well at school, it was monday. What did he do? Nothing unusual. Just classes and then lunch with the guys. He’s gone through his routine a dozen times by now, there was nothing to point out new and the more time passed, the more blurry his memories got.

The most frustrating part was how sudden it had all been. You two were so close, in fact you were the closest you had ever been. Ethan met you around 3 years ago now, when you joined their little friend group but in the past month, it was like you and him were growing so much closer within your own relationship. There was a lot more time spent between just the two of you, a lot more messages exchanged. Late night video game competitions and sometimes study sessions, although those would more than definitely turn into a regular hangout session with no work done. Ethan was enjoying how much more time you would spend at his house everyday and how happy you seemed to always be. He felt so comfortable with you. There was a sense of never having to worry about being anything other than himself, because he knew, without a doubt, that you liked him just as he was. He didn’t need to show off, and that was nice!

And then suddenly you’re not wishing him good morning when you walk past his locker. You take a seat at a different table in your shared classes. When Ethan approached you to see what’s up, you quickly made some lame excuse and got out of there, every time! You stopped replying to messages, let alone come over like you used to. At first he thought you were going through something and needed your space, so he tried to respect that. But the more time passed, the less ignored he felt and much more resented. The nasty glares, purposeful ignorance of him. You didn’t even make the effort to reply to him when he approached you at school anymore, instead walking right on ahead without eye contact. Now you were sitting at a different table for lunch, staring arrows at the back of his head. It was really aggravating how what he considered to be a nice, open and honest friendship was now turning into what felt like a rivalry. He didn’t like accepting it but your behavior was growing aggravating. It was getting on his nerves and even he could tolerate it any longer. He couldn’t stand the thought he did something wrong. He was perfectly innocent! None of the people he asked could think of something he did wrong. HE couldn’t think of something he did wrong. You were so absurd for this! You were so absurd in your behavior for no reason at all!!

The days passed on like that. One week turned into 2 and you still weren’t talking. In fact Ethan had resolved to send you his own nasty glances. When he catches you staring at him again, with the same aggravated frown, he simply raises his eyebrows in a challenge instead of pretending not to notice. It sure didn’t help mend things but he was exhausted of you. If you were looking for attention you’d have to find it elsewhere!

And things kept getting worse! Ethan was still upset and could not get over you. Could not go back to being his old, cheery self knowing you were mad at him. He tried to push his questioning thoughts away but sometimes they were just too much. One positive thing came out of that though: he created a mechanism. When he felt his head too heavy with thoughts, he would go out for a walk. It’s not anything he generally did, but it helped now and it was probably good for him to get some fresh air so it’s ok. That’s how he found himself hearing your laugh. At first he thought he was imagining but no, it was definitely you. Even tho he wasn’t sure where the noise was coming from, it was definitely you!

He tried following the sound, which led him down the street to a convenience store. He didn’t have to pass the corner of the building to know you would be there. He could now clearly hear you and Erica talking.

“It’s not my fault!” your annoyed voice was somehow comforting after so long of no contact

“Listen, I’m never gonna be the one to blame you. If anything, boys are always at fault!”

that got a laugh out of you. So sweet and innocent, it made Ethan feel weak. He knew he shouldn’t be listening into your private conversations but God, it was too interesting to back out now.

“Whatever. I mean he can like who he likes, it’s not my problem to deal with but also, I don’t wanna just sit on the sidelines and watch that happening. Gross!”

“Do you think she would say yes to him?”

“Erica I seriously don’t wanna think about it”

“I mean Sarah is way out of his league in the first place. And definitely uninterested. I mean could you actually imagine them together?”

“Ethan and Sarah? Yeah, I’ve done my fair share of imagining, thanks!”

This made E’s heart drop to his stomach. Him and Sarah? What the hell was this about? There was nothing going on between them. Yes, she was a pretty girl and he used to have a crush on her but that was a long while ago now. He’s swiftly moved on since she made it very clear that she was uninterested. Plus, the closer they got, the more he grew to understand that they would really not work, so it was all fine. So why were they the subject of conversation?

“Of all the girls in the world, you were the closest to him. Honestly, if he was gonna fall for someone, it should have been you!” and you scoff at this

“Well it wasn’t. I heard them talk. He’s into Sarah and all the guys are supportive of that. They are good friends and I wish them all the best but he made his decision and it was not me so I’m moving on in the only way I know how. Creating distance.” “Whatever you say girlie!” Erica’s voice seemed uninterested

Ethan left after that. He had heard too much. ```

He couldn’t find the courage to approach you about what he’d heard immediately after. A part of him was worried you would get mad for listening in on your conversations, the other part of him kept questioning what he’d heard and if it was really true. Did you want him to choose you? Because he will. He already has damn it, just didn’t have the courage to express it. Is that why you were so cold all of a sudden? Would this count as jealousy? He blushed anytime he thought about it. You were jealous because you wanted to be with him! How much luckier can a guy get?

At first he wanted to talk to Benny about it, get some advice but on second thought, decided not to. For a small second he considered asking his mom but quickly changed his mind. He had never really had ‘girl problems’ if you can even call it that, he wasn’t sure who to go to for advice. 

It took about a week for him to build up the courage to talk to you. He had pondered the idea back and forth basically every waking moment and was never sure what to do really. When he saw you waiting at the bus station one day after school, all alone and scrolling on his phone, he pushed back every thought and insecurity he felt and approached you, almost mechanically.

“Hey!” his voice cracked a little, giving away the nerves swirling in his head. You barely spared him a second of your time to look at him before going back to scrolling 

“How have you been?” he tried, admittedly lacking the old confidence he had around you

“Just peachy. You need something or what?”

“Just making conversation.”

“yeah…don’t really feel like it. Long day, y’know?” but when you caught his eye, the boredom was so clear in your eyes. It hurt him more to see you didn’t even care about hiding your distaste for him anymore

“Yep, got it.” Ethan laughed in response. All his courage, gone! Within seconds!! That irritated him so much. He had prepared for this. Went through every possible scenario, even tried acting out some speeches in his room in preparation and you still had him at your feet with a glance. He felt pathetic and for the first time ever, genuinely enraged by this whole situation. You used to be best fucking friends and look at you now! All within a matter of weeks and from a misunderstanding at that too!!! He knew how to fix this, he just had to say it so why couldn’t he? 

“I don’t even like Sarah like that…'' he snarled, under his breath and frankly it was a miracle that you heard him over the white noise of the busy town.

“Like shit you don’t.” 

That’s what you had to say? Of all fucking things that was your first reaction?!

“How would you even know how I feel?”

“Clear as day on your face and actions! I don’t need to be a mind reader to crack into that big head of yours!”

“You have no idea what you are even talking about! I act with her the same way I act with all my friends!” Ethan’s voice failed to hide the anger surging through his body. Now, as he faced you completely, head tall and fists clenched in frustration, you seemed just as uninterested. Your gaze didn’t shift from the cracked screen of your phone, shoulders hunched, totally disengaged. It just fueled E more.

“ You don’t even have a problem with Sarah!” he started again, throwing all logic to the wind and speaking whatever came to him “ You just hate that she’s a girl! You would have made this shit up regardless of who it was I got close to!”

Finally, your attention was on him!

“What the fuck makes you think I care enough for that?” you stood up, looking him in the eye

“You mean to tell me we’ve been friends for years with no problems but the second a new girl enters my life and I start spending time with her, you act all crazy and throw a fit? What am I supposed to make of that?” “This has nothing to do with Sarah to begin with! See? There you go making false assumptions again and acting all smart about them, like you actually did something!” “I’m not the one making unbased theories and running with them! You never even asked me about my feelings for Sarah! You just draw a conclusion yourself and then go complain about me to Erica, don’t you?” Anyone would have been able to see the dots connecting in your head at that time. You didn’t spend that much time with Erica anyways.

“You were there?”

“I was behind the corner of the store”

“You were hiding?! What the hell?”

“I wasn’t doing anything! I was out on a walk, I happened to hear your voice!” but his explanation gains him nothing but an irritated scoff. You go back to your phone, seemingly ready to ignore him again, but that just won’t be enough

“So now that all the cards are on the table, can we address the elephant in the room?”

“As I said, you like Sarah. It’s very clear. And that’s fine and you can do whatever you want!” your voice didn’t carry the same rage as before, much more mellow and distant. 

Detached.

“I liked Sarah! A long time ago. I don’t now!”

“Okay” said with absolute indifference. Ethan, couldn’t help a roll of the eyes

“You’re unbelievable!” “What do you honestly want me to do right now?!”

“Just say that you like me, if you do!” “I fucking like you Ethan! God damn, I’d think you’d be smart enough to piece it together yourself but clearly you’re just-”

The grasp Ethan had on the back of your head felt strangely powerful and as he pulled you into him, locking your lips together, you genuinely felt yourself considering if this was the same man you knew! Truth be told, Ethan thought about this moment forever! About kissing you, about confessing to you! When he heard your conversation with Erica however, perspectives changed. Now all his thoughts were clouded by you confessing to him, admitting that what his speculations were, in fact, true. He thought about what he would say, how he would react to receiving that confirmation. He practiced the soft smile he’d give you in return, the quiet but tender confession of his own feelings. One thing he never expected himself to do is to aggressively pull you by the back of your neck and kiss you powerfully. He never thought himself the kind to have enough confidence to just go in for such a shameless kiss, but in that moment he wanted nothing more than to just shut you up!

It took a little bit to register, to wrap your head around the sharp pull of your hair and the sloppy moves of his lips on yours. Every conceivable thought in your head told you to pull away, slap him, tell him to leave you alone but your body had a mind of its own and you found yourself tugging him closer by the collar. Your lips moved on his with just as much intensity and fervor as his! The build up of emotion, frustration, anger, all of it boiled down to this moment. Ethan’s hand sneaked around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer and finally, as if satisfied with this outcome, his grip on you loosened. His kisses turned progressively softer. The hand in your hair moved to cup your cheek and almost instinctively, you followed his lead, letting go of the tight grip you had on his shirt, resting your hand of his chest instead.

It felt like a real kiss. Like all the kisses you dreamed about every time you thought of him. You knew your cheeks were burning up and that now, after your anger had subsided, the reality of your situation, the confession, Ethan’s fingers pressing into the plush of your waist, all of it made you shy. When he finally pulled away, bruised lips and breathing heavily, you couldn’t look at him. All this time, you used your anger to cover for just how weak in the knees this man had you but now, somehow, even that had been stripped away.

“I…um..sorry about that! I...should have asked” Ethan was blushing just as much. He was starting to second guess his actions. He took 2 steps back, giving you room again, the feeling of your ragged breaths so close to his lips made his head spin

“It’s ok” you whispered. This was an unusual situation. In one move, all your cards had been turned upside down and now there was no point in even trying to deny the truth.

“So are we good?” Despite trying to sound confident, you could hear the edge of nervousness in Ethan’s voice. It’s the kind of knowledge that comes with many years spent together, and the thought makes you smile.

“Yeah. We’re good.” “Can we possibly be more than good?” Ethan’s chuckles, as if he already knows the answer, if the blush on your cheeks is anything to go by anyways. You giggle in return and nod.

[bokettochild]

Sometimes happiness is something so evasive. We spend hours creating stories and art and they get forgotten very quickly or never seen, but then the things we do very quickly, the little things that we don't think matter, they get noticed, they get seen, they bring so much light.

I made cookies for my pseudo-grandfather for his birthday. His wife died years ago and her chocolate chip cookies were his favorite. He has the recipe, but no one makes them right. His grandson visited for his birthday as well, and they enjoyed the cookies together. He smiled at me last week. "Did I tell you what my grandson said about your cookies?"

"No."

"He said they were the closest he's ever had to his grandmother's. We really enjoyed them."

I was in a rush to make those cookies and worried through every moment whether they would be good enough. I didn't even have the same recipe, just my mom's. I had a dozen things going over the course of that and the previous week. Those words lit up my day.

Last week, one of the guys in my group told everyone that he'd bring pumpkin soup for dinner at our next meeting; this Saturday. I offered to make rolls. I scrambled for ingredients the night before and came up short. I grabbed some from the store early the next morning and mixed up the dough before leaving it to rise while I was at work. It took forever to bake and it smelled odd, but the looks on everyone's faces when I walked in-

"We started without you. We waited, but everyone was hungry."

"It's fine. I brought rolls by the way."

Off comes the tea towel I wrapped around my bowl of still steaming rolls. The sounds of delight as everyone hopped up to grab more soup was amazing. The "these aren't rolls, these are full on loaves!" from one of the guys was amazing.

I can't describe how simply lifting a cloth and setting down a bowl made my soul light up, or the whole room, but the way there was none left, how people were munching on them all night, it was worth it.

Drawing and art is hard these days. Doing anything is, but the little joys and the happiness from things I never expected would bring it, that's what's got me still going right now :)

[f1tyreslightmyfyre]

Immortal Artistry - Ch. 2

Series Main List

A Vampire AU F1 Fic Featuring Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader, George Russell x Fem!Reader, hints of Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader, Lestappen, Sebchal, and Sainzell (or Russainz?)

Also on AO3

Ch. 2 Warnings: Language; sexual content; non-major character death; stalker behavior; vampire blood violence and thrall; WWII references to Hitler and Nazi regime; non-graphic violence, murder and death

2023

Stepping back into your boss’ executive conference room the next morning, you have a mild heart attack. The table’s surface is clear of all the paperwork that Charles signed last night and even the canister of pens has been straightened up. You blink down, still stunned by the sight. Filing paperwork is one of your job responsibilities. Why would anyone else be in your boss’ private, securely-locked conference room touching paperwork for a case that isn’t theirs, unless…

You don’t hesitate to knock on your boss’ door, opening it wide when he bids you entry. “Good morning, sir,” you say, careful to keep your voice even. “I met with Mr. Leclerc last night to sign the power of attorney paperwork laid out on your conference room table, but this morning –”

“Ah, yes,” Xavier cuts you off with a stiff attempt at a reassuring smile. “Yes, I took the liberty of filing the paperwork myself this morning. There were… some finer points that I wanted to handle personally.”

None of that sounds right. Why would your boss stoop to such a menial task? Especially for paperwork on standard forms that you’ve seen dozens of times on other cases. Despite the confused torrent of your thoughts, you offer a slow nod. “Oh, well, glad to hear that they’re not missing. Erm, thank you for… taking care of that.”

“Not at all.” He placates with another disconcerting smile. “Thank you again for taking the meeting last night. I have an appointment to meet Señor Leclerc at his office in three days from now, but I’ve been reassured that it’s not to discuss anything negative from last night’s meeting.”

Your conversation with Charles flashes in your memory, and again, all you can immediately summon is another nod. “Sounds good, err – thank you for clarifying, and for letting me interrupt.”

“Not at all.” He says again, turning back towards his laptop, and you close the door behind you.

You can’t make heads or tails of it. Something about the entire situation feels so incredibly off, but you can’t place your finger on it. Taking a deep breath to try and displace your unease, you walk back to your office and unlock your laptop.

Unbidden, the memory of George’s smiling, handsome face flashes in your mind. You remember your new days at this firm all too well, and maybe that’s what you need to feel normal right now – commiserating with a fellow new paralegal about the woes of work.

Clicking open the office chat program, you search for ‘George Russell’. Your brow furrows as nothing comes up. Perhaps you misheard him and instead, you just search ‘George’. Several names appear in the results, but there’s no last name that even comes close to resembling Russell. Had you really misheard him that bad? You debate going to ask his boss, Musconi, about him, but you don’t need to stalk him like that.

You just need to drink your coffee and get on with your job, no matter what weirdness has transpired in the last twelve hours.

But four days later, you nearly spew coffee all over your kitchen when the news breaks.

SENIOR PARTNER AT PROMINENT MONEGASQUE LAW FIRM FOUND DEAD

Senior Partner Xavier Marcos Padros at the prestigious law firm of Hunt & Lauda was found dead in his home during early hours this morning. Authorities have already launched a full-scale investigation into his death that sources are calling a homicide. There were no immediate signs of forced entry at Padros’ residence, but the victim was found in the kitchen in a pool of blood believed to be his own.

Authorities also paid a visit to Padros’ office at Hunt & Lauda, and found the place ransacked. With papers strewn about and drawers ripped from cabinets, sources suspect that a theft has also taken place, but are careful to note that no such scene of destruction was observed at Padros’ residence. At this time, it’s unconfirmed that the two incidents are linked but authorities are investigating all leads.

You have to read the article twice to fully understand it. The shock of it slams through you, and your hand trembles to think of your boss just suddenly… dead. Murdered, even. Again, you scan the mention of homicide and your stomach sours. Especially as you do the quick math and realize that last night was his meeting with Mr. Leclerc. Though, didn’t he say that the meeting was at Mr. Leclerc’s office?

Just what the hell had happened last night?

Closing the article, you open your work email and look for any sort of corporate announcement. But there’s nothing new in your inbox at the early hour and with shaky motions, you go about getting ready for the workday. The sight of the office building twists your gut as you park and the buzz of the sodium-vapor lights does little to reassure you. As you ascend the floors in the elevator, you decide to stop in the main lobby and confirm that your floor is even still accessible. If the authorities are investigating Padros’ office vandalism, then maybe, they’ve closed off the whole area.

A scene of pandemonium greets you as you step out of the elevator. A cordon of building security and police hold back a horde of clamoring journalists as harried employees and clients try to get through the front door. The receptionist at the main desk looks frazzled and teary eyed as she contends with all the commotion while still trying to do her job. People form a line in the elevator lobby – and goodness, it’s just barely 0630 hrs, but it might as well be midday for all the activity that flurries around you.

A cry of your name rises over the din, and you look around with wide eyes. It sounds… oddly familiar, and you stare in wide-eyed surprise as George works his way through the crowd. “Oh, my goodness,” he comments, glancing around, “this is far too much.” Searching your face, he places a supportive hand on your forearm, steering you towards an open space along the wall. “How are you doing? Are you alright after such tragic news?”

“Wait,” you exhale uneasily, shaking your head as you still try to process what’s happening. “How… how do you know that I’d be upset about Padros’ –” your voice sticks in your throat as you realize what you’re able to say aloud. “... death?”

George’s eyes soften with kind concern. “The office chat program lists your supervisor, and I saw that it was Padros.”

“That’s funny. I tried looking you up and couldn’t find you at all.”

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “Sounds like all IT departments are the same in that they move at a snail’s pace. I’m sure it’ll be updated soon, but you still haven’t answered my question. How are you doing?” His fingers give your arm an encouraging squeeze, and it’s more comforting that you realize.

Slowly, you nod. “I’m alright, I think… in shock more than anything, I suppose. He was just… I mean, I just saw him yesterday. And now he’s… dead? And they suspect homicide?” It’s still a lot to process, and despite yourself, a tear stings the corner of your eye. “He was a good guy – he helped people. I mean, who wants to murder a lawyer?”

George chuckles gently, and really, there is something beautiful about his crystal blue eyes. “Did you really just ask that question aloud? Aren’t lawyers always the bad guys?”

“They’re just messengers. Representatives, really.”

“They’re also the keepers of secrets and lies. The twisters of words and the weavers of tales.”

Your brow pinches in mild affront. “And yet you work for them?”

George shrugs with a modest, boyish smile. “I didn’t say that those are necessarily bad things, but things that someone – an aggrieved party, perhaps – might be willing to kill for.”

“But none of his cases were so contentious…” Your words trail off as you try to quickly think through his open case files. Honestly, you don’t know how many in total he handled via his team of paralegals, but you know that none of your case files were so intense. And if not, intense… then, maybe there was just the one unusual case… with Mr. Leclerc.

“You know the police will come asking.” George says, glancing around the bustling lobby with a wary eye. “That’s probably what the reporters are all waiting for, either that or they’re waiting to see if anything is positively identified as missing from his office.”

“God, I can’t even imagine how anyone could ever confirm it for sure, he has so many case files.”

“Then, maybe it wasn’t a file.” George’s brow furrows in thought. “Do you know if he received any packages lately? Or items from a client?”

You purse your lips as you shake your head. “Nothing that I can recall, but I can’t see his office from my desk, so it’s possible, I suppose.”

George nods silently in acknowledgement, giving your arm another gentle squeeze before letting go. “Well, I’m sure the police will turn up something… they won’t be able to live it down otherwise. But I should stop wasting your time and let you get on with your day.”

Your mouth curls to a soft smile. “You’re not wasting my time, George. And it is good to see you again.”

“Yeah, you, too.” He agrees, offering a brilliantly handsome smile. “Take care.”

“Same to you.” You turn in the direction of the elevators, surprised as he moves back down the corridor. “Hey,” you call out after him and he turns back around, “aren’t you heading up to your office?”

“Nah, I want to get a coffee first. You go on ahead.”

Nodding numbly, you offer him a farewell wave and join the elevator queue. You still don’t know if your floor is open or not, but when the elevator dings and the doors open, your day upends.

A team of investigators swarm the floor, leaving no stone unturned as forensics conducts their business and employees are questioned. After confirming your name and job position, you’re instantly swept into your office with an officer for what seems like an endless stream of questions. Hours pass and your brain is a puddle of mush when they’re finished, but really, you don’t know what else to say.

Well… perhaps you could have been a little more truthful about your unease with the Leclerc meeting earlier in the week. Perhaps you also could have mentioned that your boss supposedly had a meeting with Mr. Leclerc last night, but once they gain access to his phone and schedule, they’ll learn that for themselves. Besides, you only have an unfounded hunch and that’s no basis to pin the suspected murder of your boss on a relative stranger, no matter how unusual some of the finer details are.

“There were… some finer points that I wanted to handle personally.”

Just what had Xavier meant?

When the police finally leave you to the silence of your office and the tumult of your thoughts, you wonder if maybe… just maybe the Leclerc paperwork is still in the building. Maybe the police haven’t confiscated it as part of their investigation, and you can see just what you might have overlooked.

In the meantime, the contents of your inbox have exploded, and you lose several more hours answering emails and reassuring clients that more information about the status of their cases are forthcoming. The sun slides below the horizon before you realize the hour – a common habit in your profession – and with it, the hum of investigative activity has also decreased.

In fact, as you head for the break room to refill your water bottle, you notice only one or two other fellow employees on the floor. The path to the filing room is clear and now seems like the perfect time to make your move. Pulling open the filing room door, the automatic lights overhead illuminate the rows of filing cabinets, and it doesn’t take you long to locate the ‘L’ section.

The Leclerc folder is thick from decades’ worth of business that Hunt & Lauda has handled for them, but the newest forms signed by Charles Leclerc, III, sit on the very top. Now, they bear the official embossed seals of authenticity, and you start reading through the rows of printed legal agreements. None of it looks unordinary. None of it looks unique. None of it looks like… some finer point that Padros would need to handle personally.

His words make even less sense now. Putting the paperwork back, you leave the filing room behind and return to your desk. A dull ache throbs in the back of your skull, and you power down your laptop. You don’t know if the main lobby is still a media circus, but you bypass it entirely and head straight down to the parking garage.

Your heels clack off the concrete, approaching your car as a yawn hinges your jaw and pinches  your eyes closed.

When you slowly open them, your heart stops at the sight of a man suddenly standing between you and your car.

1940

“You lack finesse,” Sebastian’s voice carries over the rush of blood in Charles’ ears. “But you have remarkable control.”

Charles swallows the last mouthful of invigorating elixir, feeling the warmth of the man’s blood mix with the ice in his veins. It surges through him with a vitality that transcends everything he thought he knew about being alive. But now he understands just how naive he was. How naive the rest of the human race truly is. 

The human in his grasp falls limp from blood loss, but Charles has no intention of killing this one. Just because he needed a snack doesn’t mean this man has to die. Sebastian made that clear from the beginning. 

Once the red fog of bloodlust passed and Charles adapted to his newfound senses, Sebastian started to teach him so much. And proves to be the most curious person that Charles has ever known, his nationality notwithstanding. 

At first, hearing those German syllables rankled him. How could it not when Hitler was hell bent on Germany conquering all of Europe? 

“That’s where you couldn’t be more wrong.” Sebastian countered, staring him down as fire blazed in his icy eyes. “One man does not speak for a whole nation, and my countrymen are severely misguided for their belief in such a notion. It would appear that humanity has learned no lessons since the Great War and remain more focused than ever on their self-destruction.” 

“Then, why are you here?” Charles asked. “The Allies are fleeing the continent, and Hitler’s forces are conquering everything in their path. So, why are you right in the middle of it?”

Sebastian’s mouth curled with an enigmatic gleam. “War evolves as humanity advances and supposedly betters itself. And war creates opportunity. We just have to find it here, but it does wait for us.” 

Charles shook his head against the pillow, letting himself sink further into the plush, downy mattress. “You say ‘we’... but why me? You… could have chosen anyone. You could have given me the choice to willingly…” 

“It’s not something that one can explain.” Sebastian coolly dismissed as he pressed up against Charles’ side. “Knowing what you know now, would you choose to remain mortal?” 

“Would you?”

Sebastian’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “And miss out on the last 592 years? Miss out on meeting you?” He leaned close, brushing kisses along the slope of Charles’ throat. “Never, schatz.” 

A delicious shiver raced down Charles’ spine and his spent cock twitched with renewed interest. As a mortal, he never had stamina like this… nor did he ever dare to indulge such taboo proclivities so brazenly. 

With a nip on Charles’ collarbone, Sebastian continued. “As for your other question…” he paused to press a kiss over a sensitive nipple. “Do I really need to stroke your ego again?”

A drunken smile came to Charles’ face as Sebastian’s fingers danced along the curve of his hip. “But I do so like having my ego stroked,” Charles teased, gasping as Sebastian finally cups his burgeoning erection. “Among other things…”  

Charles lost the ability to blush when his heart stopped pumping blood, but the memory still triggers a lingering sense of embarrassed modesty. Seb keeps telling him that those notions will fade with the centuries - that eventually Charles will realize that so much of the inner-conflict he experienced as a mortal serves no purpose and has no bearing on the meaning of one’s existence. 

Even now, it's still a lot to take in. 

He loosens his grip on the soldier’s uniform, lowering the slumping man down to the ground. They’re somewhere in Poland, largely untouchable by the war-waging mortals around them (unless a bomb lands on top of them) and largely unnoticed in the chaos as they move around the continent. 

It’s strange in so many ways, and yet… if the world must be embroiled in global warfare and if Charles must now experience it as an immortal bloodsucker of legend and myth, then maybe this isn’t too bad. 

Approval glints in Seb’s eyes. “I do mean it,” he continues. “For one so young, you have excellent control of your thirst.” 

“Did you not?” 

“Goodness, no.” Seb shakes his head as they continue down the street. “My master scolded me all the time for it. I left more bodies in my wake than I probably should have… but in hindsight, those were far more merciful deaths than leaving them to perish from the Black Death.” 

Charles struggles to recall the finer points of his history lessons. “That was the bubonic plague, no? The first time it swept through Europe, taking almost half the population with it.” 

“Yes. Centuries of progress and growth just grinding to a halt. Dark days as illness held sway, endemic warfare ran rampant, and the unity of the Catholic Church shattered.” A sigh sounds in Sebastian's words. “At the time, though, life didn’t seem quite so bleak. How could it when you have nothing else to compare it to? I suppose that’s one advantage to being what we are now - stewards of humanity’s legacy, eternal historians among those destined to create it.” 

Charles glances over with a bemused smirk as they round a corner. “You’re oddly poetic, you know.” 

“How dare you.” Sebastian glares over in mock-indignation. “The Italian Renaissance was absolute torture. Give me the Age of Reason any day.” 

Laughter bubbles in Charles’ throat but it quickly dies as a squad of Nazi soldiers march onto the street ahead. They file out of the half-bombed cathedral, arms laden with golden and glittering relics. Looting has always been the privilege of the victorious, but this war is far from over. 

A primal growl stirs in Sebastian’s chest and he leaps into action before Charles can blink. That’s also something Seb has reassured him about - that Charles' lingering respect for life will fade. After all, without the prospect of damnation, why should Charles worry about stains upon his soul? 

The soldiers don’t stand a chance against Sebastian’s speed or strength. Necks snap and bodies drop to the ground with dull thuds. He doesn’t even need to bare his fangs to finish them off and by the time Charles strolls up the stoop steps, Sebastian is already rummaging through the looted goods. 

“Don’t tell me that you killed them just to take the spoils for yourself?” Charles asks even as he is unable to resist looking over the admittedly impressive collection of wealth strewn amongst the carnage. 

“Religious relics hold little interest for me, but they do not belong as spoils of an army who have so little respect for life and tolerance of religion.” 

Charles nods gently, stepping over to a large, folded panel. Crouching down, he unfolds the first pane, and his mouth drops open at the sight. “Mamma mia….” He hisses under his breath as he unfolds the remaining panels and stares down at the revealed masterpiece. “It’s a van Eyck…”

“What is that?” Sebastian steps around to study the painting. 

“It’s a Jan van Eyck painting - his signature and motto are unmistakable since he’s the only one of his time to sign his work.” Charles raises a hand, skimming over various aspects of the painting. “And his blending of the spiritual and material worlds through symbolism is all here.” 

“How do you know all this?” 

A wistful sigh escapes him. “I wanted to study art at university, but my father said that wasn’t a suitable degree - but in my spare time, I attended every lecture that I could and painted just….” He trails off, shaking his head, still stunned as he stares at the painting. “This is a classic and must be worth a fortune… I can’t believe it was almost destroyed..” 

“We don’t know if they were going to destroy it.” Sebastian’s near-silent footsteps sound behind him. “Perhaps they were taking it for themselves-”

Heavy footfalls echo inside the church and Charles glances up just in time to see a German officer step out onto the stoop. Above his crisp uniform, his face holds a heavy frown as he glowers at Charles and Sebastian. 

“Hände hoch!” He bellows, reaching for his sidearm.

“Nein,” Sebastian holds a hand up as he strides forward. “Schau mich an… schau mich an…” 

The officer’s face falls slack as he succumbs to Sebastian’s thrall, and a stab of envy shoots through Charles. Seb makes it look so easy, but he has also reassured Charles multiple times that it will come more naturally to him as time passes. There’s just so much Charles has yet to learn. 

Fortunately for him, Sebastian is a master. 

A low conversation in German occurs, and for all of Charles’ trilingual skills, German isn’t among his repertoire. Instead, he turns his attention back to the painting, still marveling at what he’s seeing, even as it lays so pristine on the battered ground. 

"They're under orders," Sebastian suddenly says. "Direct from the Führer himself. Acquisition of all cultural artifacts for the glory of the Nazi regime." 

The words drop like rocks in Charles' stomach as they echo in his mind. "What on earth will he do with all that art? He can't possibly hope to sell it all…?" He stands up, glancing back over at Sebastian just in time to watch him soundlessly drop the officer. "Maybe he'll ransom it, or worse…"

"Somehow, I very much doubt that he wants all this artwork for his bedroom." Sebastian agrees as he draws back up to Charles' side. "But whether he means to ransom it back or privately sell it, cash flow like that would energize his war machine beyond comprehension." He pauses in a moment of contemplation before an impish smile brightens his face. "Like I said, war creates opportunity, and my dear Charles," his hand falls to Charles'shoulder with the heavy weight of approval. "I think we may have just found our opportunity."  

Series Main List

Tag List: @fictional-l0v3r

[starzblvd]

Somethin’ Stupid | pt.2

Ellie wasn’t one to do sports but she sure as hell was when you started cheering for a certain blonde soccer captain

AN; To preface, next part will be the last one! This was supposed to come out earlier really sorry for the delay, I got really sick recently and I had no energy, I don’t really have an idea how soccer teams work so bear with me if it’s slightly off</3 + thank you to all 200 followers!! Sending love to everyone of you 💕 I noticed my series don’t do as well so I’ll definitely try harder for plots, autumn hc’s coming soon because I love fall and I’m tired of summer🍂 jealous!ellie and Abby trying to stir shit

This early in the morning Ellie didn’t take your sleep into consideration, not when she was knocking on your door dozens of times. After a minute of you groaning into your pillow refusing to get up she picked up the amount of strength she put into each knock at the door, that coupled with the let me in’s Ellie yelled into the gap of the doorframe.

She’d usually give a notice before coming over, initially you thought you’d slept through the notifications from any calls or messages of giving a prior notice, but there were none from Ellie. Had she even seen the messages you left two days ago? Ellie went off the grid for those two days, you were hesitant on continually calling to check if she was okay. Each time you contacted her in any form the voicemail she forgot to setup would play over again.

Finally allowing Ellie to come in, she beelined straight to the unmade bed right on top of the disheveled blanket.

“You weren’t replying yesterday so I decided to check on you, to make sure you weren’t hurt or anything.”

“I’m so sorry El’s I was just,” Some part of you felt guilty for hanging out with Abby, despite Ellie knowing, what Ellie didn’t know was how much you truly enjoyed hanging out with Abby.

“just what?” Ellie was deliberately interrogating, making it known with that authoritative tone you’ve only heard her use a bit speckled overtime, almost like she knew just exactly how you were smiling and laughing along with Abby’s stories. Ellie was just waiting on your retelling of what Dina let her in on, the girl you meet in a cafe yesterday, and the girl that even walked you back to your room.

“Was just meeting up with Abby, it was whatever.”

Had it been truly whatever you wouldn’t have set another day to see her again, playing for the team Abby was so boastful about. She gleamed when you agreed to attending her game and taking the offer to see her win in the front row. No matter where’d you could’ve taken a seat Abby would notice you regardless.

“must’ve not been whatever if she took all your attention all night in that stupid cafe.” Ellie’s eyebrows met closer and closer, the lack of insight of the evening you shared with Abby was making her disgruntled. More so when you refrained from giving any form of details.

“how’d you know we were there?” The situation was not descuaslating, the air was choking out any possible leeway to ease the tension.

“Just…Just thought you’d be there.”

Ellie looks around the room, growing conscious to how heavy this conversation was growing into. She didn’t mean to come to you solely to shame the lack of attention you spared Ellie into spilling the entire evening to her, she wanted to see you. In a way to make sure that the single outing didn’t take any more of your special attention that only Ellie seemed to hold.

“I really am sorry-“

“It’s fine you know, going out with Abby. It doesn’t bother me, if that’s what you think.” Her eyebrows settled back into their natural position, truly it did bother her and knowing that felt sweet. Maybe too sweet, the feeling was clawing your insides with plenty of guilt even further so.

“I’ll make sure to keep my phone off silent next time.” The familiar smile shining onto Ellie took some weight off her back, her head fell towards the floor laughing at the situation and herself for the reactions she was strongly conveying to you in your pjs, the sleep in your eyes begging to let your eyelids shut again.

Catching the new pace of the conversation she was ready to surprise you with the news she was preparing the previous two days to be able to say aloud.

“You know that game next week? I’m that games goalie now.”

Ellie went into a small proud gloat, the story as to how she made her way into the team was that the previous goalie conveniently failed a drug test recently, an urgency for a fill in, and a small white lie of previous experience.

“When’s the last time you actually tried in sports? You’ve got to be lying.”

“it wasn’t that hard to get in, have some faith in me.”

Her gloat transferred right into her smirk, she knew exactly what this eluded too. How could you cheer for a girl you met just recently over the girl you’ve harbored a friendship for more than a year with? Ellie was cutting right into any of Abby’s plan of having your eyes only follow her on the field.

“Maybe if you cheer hard enough for me I’ll let you keep my jersey.” A toothy smile sprung right onto her face.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

“This isn’t right, how the fuck did she get a position?” Abby was pacing rounds into the carpet of her dorm. She was more than furious about the new temporary fill in to the teams setup.

“Look, she is credited to be not half bad compared to the rest of the contenders, and you can’t have an empty spot when a game is so close.”

“I’ll personally find someone else, literally anyone else than Williams.”

A migraine was pounding straight into her skull, Abby was up and ready to kick Ellie to the curb from her team if she physically could. Angry at not being involved with the discussion of choosing a new member for a team she captained for.

Abby knew exactly why Ellie made her way into a team and sport she never prior had interest in. The only interest she could’ve really had was you, she had not doubt that was the reason. This was evidently pilling more wood to the flame that was feeding Abby’s temper.

It was Abby’s turn to set her mind on a plan to keep you away from the competition, to the extent of making all her intents and further actions to getting back at whatever Ellie was pulling off. Abby was sure to make it hell for Ellie as the teams new goalie.

“You know what, don’t bother.”

In her mind she was already conjuring just the plan she needed. Hanging up she immediately ran to find your contact, sending out rings from your phone when she did. Seeing you again would set her at ease enough to get through her sudden stress being flung at her.

“Hey it’s Abby, you know I just noticed I had some free time and since you have no plans today I thought we could meet up again.”

Meeting with you was a small tactic to consume more of your time and thoughts, or enough to keep you distracted enough so you’d choose her and not Ellie’s company.

Your voice isn’t what Abby’s invite would receive, on the other line it was replaced with an annoyed reply from Ellie, “She’s busy.”

Abby swore the prolonged beep of the hang up was going to make her ears pop then go insane.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

“who was that?”

Since Ellie’s stay was lasting longer than initially expected you were working something up for her to eat. Especially knowing Ellie practically made her journey to you immediately after waking up.

Ellie’s hunger was clouded by the immense amount of cockiness she was emitting, couldn’t help the smirk that was tattooing itself on her face.

“Just some telemarketer, don’t worry about it.” Didn’t take much work to remove any slight evidence that indicated Abby tried contacting you. To Ellie this included the complete eraser-sure of Abby’s contact information in general, had she sent any more messages she would’ve gone all out to block her number.

”ugh they’re so annoying I swear, it’s embarrassing when my phone rings when I’m somewhere quiet.”

“yeah they’re really annoying.” Ellie watched the grip of your hand holding the pan still for you to properly scramble her eggs. Moments just like this made it so it would feel like this was a moment taken from a regular day of a couple that’s shared years of days just like this one.

The gaze of her eyes could’ve scorched you red if you’d see the exact way it’d linger on you. A gaze that always remained reserved just for you. Unknowing to the face that Ellie never focused on other people as intently as she currently did, fixated on you prepping her breakfast.

Ellie walked over to find a spot right beside you, having her shoulder press against to yours. You couldn’t differentiate if you were warming up from the portable cookers flames or the blooming pink that appeared on your face following Ellie’s slight touch.

You could’ve happily stayed stuck as is in this spot with Ellie, but the toast had already jumped up and the eggs were done. Unwilling you left the cozy standing point to finish Ellie’s meal, it wouldn’t matter as she followed you around like a lost puppy, here and everywhere else you’d go together for that matter.

With an urgency to continue spending more time with Ellie it occurred to invite her along to a mundane much needed shopping trip.

“Hey do you want to tag along with me to the store I need to pickup some stuff,”

“yeah, I’m down.” Right as you finished placing Ellie’s warm plate down she laid her head onto your back. You could feel the small breathes escaping her nose in slow intervals, turning over you to face her you could closely inspect the smallest details of Ellie’s face.

The deepness of the scar left on her eyebrow, every wrinkle on her lips, every single sprinkled on freckle she had, the gentle way Ellie’s eyelashes beautifully accompanied her eyes and the messy hair you’ll always love. For a singular moment you were compelled to come into closer proximity and cut the distance to her face to plant a small kiss on the lips you’ve yearned for, and maybe in that moment it it would’ve all been natural.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

Walking with Ellie on campus compared to the walk back with Abby contrasted heavily. With Ellie, laugh after laugh escaped from the both of you, talking about anything with her was entertaining enough for you.

Walking over to a grocery store wasn’t a big issue because of how close they were to the campus. Because of the shortcut Ellie suggested on taking you’d have to pass by the regular location soccer practice took place. It was the weekend so Abby and her team wouldn’t be there, they weren’t supposed to be. So when Abby was practicing with only a few other players it caught you off guard. Radiating under the sun with the built up of sweat glazing her arms and face.

“Your shoes untied.” Ellie hitched you out of the shocked state after seeing the people a few yards away from you in your peripheral vision.

“Oh yeah,”

with Ellie right next to you didn’t help soothe the nagging paranoia that was eating away at you. After Abby laid on the question if Ellie was your girlfriend it felt counteractive to be parading around Ellie so fondly publicly the next day. In the few seconds you were hurdled over your shoe quickly looping the laces together, praying Abby would fail to notice you and Ellie. Attempting to ignore the feeling of a stare digging into your skin, but you wouldn’t have to worry as the stare wasn’t fully directed towards you.

A loud kick shot out from their direction then another loud thud was sent next to to you, plunging straight into Ellie’s face. By how strong of a kick it was the impact left a painful sting and it was burying down into her skin, Ellie grunting flashing whoever sent the ball her way a sharp scowl. It just had to be Abby.

[mychoombatheroomba]

Hell of a Vacation

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 31

Your time at Fort Benning comes to an end.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

CW: implied smut

The meeting with Commander Cortez didn’t go well, and it was partially your own fault. Only partially. Valeria had started it, but you hadn’t helped matters. The blame was something you and the other four would share, as well as the punishment. 

You were already in a strange mood - the confusing happiness of falling asleep in Leon’s arms the night before combined with the sometimes dizzying pain in your ribs made for an interesting morning. You’d had to go for round two of hiding that pain from the doctors, and then an extended run of it as you marched towards your reprimanding. You did your best to look dignified when you arrived, but you were sure that you just ended up looking beat up and pissed off instead. 

You and the rest of your squad had that in common. 

Black and blue patches had been put on display over all of them. Williams’ nose had been reset but was thoroughly purple and inflamed. Alenko had an eye swollen more shut than your own. Valeria was nursing her own bruises, her lip split, and Leon . . . his own inflicted war-paint had darkened since last night. 

Last night, when he’d held you as you fell asleep-

“Anyone else feel like we’re about to be read the riot act?” Williams had said as you all waited outside the Commander’s office, and you couldn’t help but agree with her. 

Then a few moments later, you were in an office - more spacious than the one Krauser had on your own base, and with no music playing despite the little radio off to the side.

You really wished that the mini radio was playing. That way there might be something pleasant about this encounter. 

You were met with a disappointed stare, and you certainly knew you weren’t about to get a pat on the back. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but for the fact that Taylor was absent from the meeting. Missing out on the Commander’s disappointment. You hoped it was because Cortez would talk to him and his cronies separately. Or, better yet, because he was still knocked out cold and had been left for later. That didn’t make you any less angry at the way the Commander looked at the five of you like you had been the ones who fucked up. 

To the victors went the blame, you supposed. 

“Look,” Cortez said, and you knew that there was about to be some bullshit thrown your way, “I know that Taylor has been antagonizing you all-” 

“Oh, antagonizing is a nice way of saying it.” Valeria interrupted, and you watched the Commander’s face become even more severe. 

He glared at her, and you wondered for a moment if you were about to fight a Commander, too. “I’m aware of his behavior, Soto. I’m also aware that you broke one of my men’s arms last night.” 

Oh. That was news. No wonder he looked pissed off. 

“One of the men who tried to jump us, you mean?” It was Leon this time, and you felt cautious pride swell in you, just as sure as you felt another surge of agony from your ribs as you took in a breath. Good to know it wasn’t just Krauser’s authority he had a problem with. 

Cortez didn’t share your appreciation of Leon’s sharp tongue, though. 

“Yes. A dozen men who will be missing out on important instruction because of this little incident.” 

Maybe it was because you were in pain, struck in an old wound that was a source of trouble at the best of times. Or maybe it was more a case of being pissed that Cortez wasn’t cutting you all slack for being the targets of the attack that happened last night. Or, perhaps, it was actually the relatively good mood you’d woken up in. Maybe we were both fucking brilliant. Leon’s words echoed in your mind, and you didn’t just feel that way about your performance or his. Even if there were bruises and broken noses, your squad won. You’d faced down impossible odds, and none of you deserved this shit. So, you felt an old part of yourself come back to life as you met a commanding officer’s eye and didn’t flinch. If this conversation had been building towards sympathy on Cortez’s part, it likely died in its crib as you opened your mouth and let the scathing words on the tip of your tongue loose. 

“Train them to fight better. Then maybe they’d be able to report for drills.” 

Your squad mates, those that weren’t used to you saying much, all snapped to look at you. Leon’s lips, meanwhile, curved up in a little smile. You’d been spending entirely too much time with him. 

The Commander’s eyes just flashed. “And none of you five will be reporting, either. You can all spend the day cleaning around the base, since you’re all in such good health. And you, Sergeant,” he branded you with a hot glare, “can drop and give me twenty right now.” 

And just like that, even if there was no way for him to know the state of your injury - by your own fault - Commander Cortez made it onto your shit-list. Still, you’d been given an order. 

Good test of how bad things really are, you thought to yourself. 

And then you were in sharp and stabbing pain for the next few seconds. Twenty push-ups would have been nothing to you normally - Krauser had seen to that personally. You weren’t sure if the Major would be proud or furious if he knew what you were doing now. Hiding an injury to keep on training. Whatever the case, even as gravity put pressure on those likely-damaged bones, you set your face in stone and pushed yourself back up. Then you did it nineteen more times, wishing at least that the little radio was playing music as it would be if this were Krauser meting out the punishment. 

Just get through it . . .

Your arms shook, not from the effort but from the pain. You hid your grimace, any expression of pain . . . 

This wasn’t going to break you. It was all pain that you’d felt before. 

Your breathing was more ragged than it should have been by the end of it, your eyes set in a hard and fiery stare. But you managed it. As you forced yourself through the last pushup, you clenched your jaw tight, and stood. And as you met Cortez’s stare, you felt something in you stir. Something long since buried. 

The urge to cause trouble. 

“Keep that attitude in check, Sergeant,” Cortez warned. “Same goes for the rest of you.” 

You nodded once. Repressed another remark and instead answered with the usual line. “Yes sir.”  

None of you complained when the punishments were meted out. You, at least, had expected something like it, especially with how Valeria and Williams’ earlier confrontation with Taylor had been handled. You’d all be cleaning the next day, and then you’d been put on watch duty for the rest of the week. Then, after a good scolding about the need for unity and respect between branches of the Army, you were all dismissed. 

Leon wasted no time, even though his concern was perhaps more obvious than you would like. “Are you alright?” he asked as soon as the group of you were out of Cortez’s office. 

And even if you were still very much in pain, you shrugged and let a grin curl your lips. You didn’t have to lie as you answered. “Yeah. I’m good. Hell of a night, that’s all.” You knew he’d understand what you meant.  

Leon looked at you, very clearly concerned, but something in that concern softened. Shifted. “Hell of a night,” he agreed. 

“Hell of a day ahead, too,” Williams grumbled. She didn’t seem to share your newfound contentment. 

“We’ll all live,” you said. You didn’t care about a day of cleaning. 

At least, not until Valeria reached up to loop an arm around her shoulders. “Cheer up, princesa,” the shorter woman said. “Bruises aren’t just teachers, you know. These ones?” She pointed to her own cheek, where a purple splotch stained her tanned skin, and smiled. “These are badges of honor.” 

⧫⧫⧫

Valeria proved to be right, Leon found. People’s eyes were drawn to you all by the bruises. Visual proof of the stories circulating Fort Benning. Twelve against five. It was quite the tale. One Leon was all too happy to let others hear. He wasn’t one for tall tales normally - especially ones concerning him - but now? He was glad that the story of you five putting your attackers in the hospital seemed to finally set the record straight. The message was clear:

The STRATCOM visitors were not to be fucked with. 

And a damn good thing, too, because even if you were good at hiding it, at pushing through it, Leon could see that you were hurting. You were lucky that you weren’t under Krauser’s instruction for another week. Both because he’d have you doing twice the physical exercises, twice the combat drills, and because he would have been furious with you for hiding your injury in the first place. At least, Leon hoped that would be the case. He hoped the Major would be able to talk some sense into you when you all returned, because no matter how often Leon tried, his words didn’t seem to take much root. 

You would just tell him you were fine. That he shouldn’t worry. And you said it with such conviction that he almost believed you. 

But you had a week left at Fort Benning. A week where the watch duty you’d all been assigned would prevent you from resting as much as you needed to. He knew you were tough. He remembered your words about letting you learn from your hurts, your assurances that you would be fine. He might have even done the same in your position.

That didn’t stop him from worrying when he saw you grimace through cav scout drills, or hiss when you loaded a shell into the tank, though. It wasn’t just some sense of him wanting to protect you, he didn’t want you to cause any permanent damage. No matter how often he spoke to you of it, though, you wouldn’t budge. 

Fortunately, he wasn’t the only one who noticed something was wrong. 

⧫⧫⧫

“So, I’ve been thinking . . .” Alenko leaned towards you at lunch, and that tone of voice made you look up from your food with a raised brow. He had never been nervous around you, being a few years your senior, but he seemed a little apprehensive. Hell, there was a shift in energy at your table as he started, with Williams glancing up from the water she was drinking across from you. Still, Alenko spoke plainly as he voiced just what had been on his mind . . . and you found your eyes widening. “I want you to have command for the final assessments. In the tank.” 

Alenko loved the tanks. He loved driving them, he loved issuing commands in them. You knew instantly that something was off to make him request this. And besides . . . “You’ve had more time in command. I’ll load the shells like usual. Like we’ve been practicing.” 

Something flashed behind the older soldier’s eyes, and he glanced away for just a moment. Like he was looking for help from those at his side. 

He got it when Williams answered. “You’re just as good. And Krauser always tells us we shouldn’t get stuck in one way of thinking. That we’ll have to work with people and command styles we’re unfamiliar with,” she offered, and it sounded suspiciously like she’d been thinking of these arguments for a while. “Besides, you’ve been giving us directions for weeks now. Just with knives.” 

The points she made were all fair, but it still didn’t make it all sit with you any better. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to switch up our positions if we want to do well-” 

“Not a good idea for you to be lifting shells with fucked up ribs, either.” Valeria cut in, and your eyes flashed as you snapped to look at her. The other three around you did the same, with Leon looking ready to reprimand her for butting in. You, in the meantime, just wanted to know how the hell-

“What?” she asked, looking between the three others and then to you. “Don’t act like you weren’t struggling to get through twenty push-ups back in Cortez’ office. Shaking like a leaf-” 

She’d managed to get you in a sore spot, and so your response was sharper than it should have been. “Fuck you, Soto,” you said, and felt guilty for it instantly. 

Of course, her self-satisfied smirk made that guilt wane pretty quickly. “Not interested, Sarge. Not that you could do a good job in the state you’re in-”

“The point is,” Alenko interjected, ever the peace-maker, “we’ve seen you’re hurt. And you taking command would make for a lower chance of further injury.” 

And then, after a moment, another voice cut in. One that had been silent up until now. Leon. “And you won’t do the team any good if you can’t heal.” 

There it was. 

The truth you’d been avoiding. It made you tense, your ribs throbbing as you sucked in a sharp breath. Here you were, looking around at your squad, your team, and feeling somehow more overwhelmed and outnumbered than when Taylor and his comrades had rushed you. And as you looked at your squad, you wanted to be furious. You wanted to explode at them for doubting you, for sticking their noses where they didn’t belong. You really, really wanted to feel that anger. 

“I’m guessing you put them up to this?” you said, looking towards Leon because he was the one who you’d confessed your injury to. He was the one who had been begging you to slow down. In your embarrassed anger, your first thought was that he’d gone behind your back and asked your team to do this. 

Then guilt flooded you when you saw his eyes and you knew you’d bit back when there was no threat to you at all. “No,” he shook his head. “I wasn’t in on this one, but . . . I agree with them.”

You stared at him for a moment, and then at the rest. At the squad that was concerned for your well-being, even if you didn’t want them to be. 

“Look, Sarge,” Alenko said, his expression becoming easier. “We trust you. You haven’t led us wrong in practice, you won’t lead us wrong here, either. Give yourself a chance.” 

You looked at him, then at Leon, then the rest. It was democracy that included everyone’s opinions but your own, it seemed, and you knew there would be no real use arguing. So, you nodded once. “Fine.” 

Leon gave you a grateful smile and you tried to hold on to that anger, that frustration. It didn’t quite work, though, because . . . well, because it had been a long time since so many people had been concerned for you. You’d almost forgotten what it was like, to have an entire group looking out for your best interests. Even if you disagreed. And you knew that Leon was the one who, above all, cared for you. That he was right. 

Didn’t mean you weren’t going to have a discussion with him, though.

So, when the time came, you climbed into the tank in the commander’s seat, taking a breath and looking around you. Preparing yourself. Assessments were nearly upon you. Your team was relying on you, now as they had in the fight. You had won then, and you had to help them win this now. After all, even if you all had won that fight, even if you’d all proven your prowess, you were here to learn. To become better soldiers. 

Being given yet another opportunity to show up Taylor and his still-healing friends was just icing on the cake. 

Pettiness wasn’t something you’d felt for a long time, but motivation was motivation, you supposed. And after Cortez had punished you all for the fight, even if you’d expected it, you sort of wanted to stick it to the Commander, too.

And over those remaining days at Fort Benning, you felt yet another aspect of yourself reawakening. One you hadn’t trusted yourself with much since Finland. 

The leader you might have been, if things had been different. 

The leader that you still could be, you realized.

Because, as you guided your partners through the course, as you sat out during sparring sessions but still gave notes and observations, you found that missing part of yourself. By the time the final assessments rolled around and your time at Fort Benning came to a close, you didn’t worry about your ability to lead. You didn’t let your mind talk you into yet another dark spiral. You pushed through, just as you pushed through the pain of your injury. You just did what needed to be done, and when you all loaded into the great metal machine for the final time, you were ready. You gave Williams the instructions she needed, directing the tank’s path. With Leon manning the guns and Alanko loading the ammunition, they listened to you just as they did when you gave a correction in sparring. You worked as a group, just as you had in the fight. You weren’t a collection of skilled individuals. You were a unit. Deadly and determined. And when the time came, you directed your crew through the final assessment, and let them guide you in turn. 

It wasn’t exemplary, but it was more than enough for you all to pass. Cortez was begrudging in his congratulations, no doubt because Taylor and some of his men were still out - or facing discharge, as you found out. 

You didn’t care about Cortez’s approval, though. You had all the approval you needed. And you made sure your crew, your squad, had the same. “So,” Williams smiled, and you could tell she was proud of her performance. As she should have been. “How’d we do?” She was asking you. Asking for your opinion. 

And you looked from her, to Alenko, and then to Leon at last. And that feeling of pride you’d reserved for Leon so often of late extended to the rest of them, too. “Damn fine work,” you nodded. 

“Not bad so bad yourself, Sarge,” Leon said to you, and you raised your brow.

“That’s commander, to you,” you corrected, and because you never could fully manage it with him, your attempt at hiding your grin failed. You weren’t so mad that you couldn’t hide it, now though. Because, honestly? It was a pretty good day. 

⧫⧫⧫

A good day, but an even better night, Leon found, there on his final watch shift at Fort Benning. He stood in a guard tower, looking over the base that had housed you and him and all the rest of your squad for the last few weeks. When dawn broke, you would all pile up in the Humvees and head home. 

Leon was . . . well, he wasn’t exactly happy about it, but he would be glad to be back to some semblance of normalcy. Even if that normalcy was Krauser finding new and strenuous ways to test you all. 

Of course, he had to make it through his last shift before that was even a concern. A shift that - like all the others he’d been forced to endure as punishment for the fight - seemed like it would be completely and utterly uneventful. 

But then he heard someone coming up the watchtower to join him, and he knew that he was about to be proven wrong. 

“Thought you already had your watch,” Leon marveled as you emerged from the shadows, and you shrugged. 

“Traded with Valeria,” you said, moving in beside him, keeping your voice down. 

Valeria. Of course. The unlikely supporter of yours and Leon’s escapades. And Leon was sure it had nothing to do with the fact that your shift happened to precede Williams’. Nothing at all. Still, Valeria could have whatever reasons she wanted, as far as Leon was concerned. So long as it meant spending time with you alone. And as you leaned against the railing, your back to Fort Benning and your arms braced back on either side of you, Leon couldn’t help but feel he might have owed Valeria for this. 

But then again, maybe this was her making up for knocking him out cold the night of assessments, all those weeks ago.

Whatever the reason, though, you were here and that was enough. 

“Wanted to apologize,” you began, “for snapping at you, back when Alenko brought up switching with me.” 

Leon just shook his head. He’d put the moment aside almost as soon as it happened. “Don’t worry about it. Though . . .” he smirked at you then, raising a brow as he leaned a little closer. “I’m a little hurt that you took advice from them about taking it easy and not me.” 

 You laughed, then, soft enough that it wouldn’t hurt you, and looked back at him. “Yeah, well, they didn’t really give me a choice, did they?” 

“Guess not.”

“I am going to,” you said after a minute, your voice more serious. Leon quirked a brow at you, but you went on before he needed to ask for clarification. “Take your advice, I mean. I’ll go to the med staff when we’re back at base. Tell them what happened, see if there’s anything wrong.” 

Leon . . . hadn’t been expecting that. After months of knowing you, of you refusing to give yourself a break, of you pushing through pain no matter how bad . . . “You’re serious?” 

You fixed a look on him. One that said ‘don’t sound so pleased’. “You were right,” you admitted. “When you said I wouldn’t be a help to anyone if I let this get worse.” 

As you said it, he could hear defeat in your words, resignation of something you didn’t want to admit. But you were admitting it, and Leon was all too glad of it. “That’s good,” he said, moving closer to you, resting a hand on your shoulder. 

“It’s shit,” you grumbled. “But . . . it’s got to be done.” 

Leon laughed again and nodded. “True enough.” 

“Not used to people other than you looking out for me,” you finally admitted after a while, your eyes fixed on the floor. “Almost forgot what it was like. To be part of a squad.”

He knew what you meant. Not a squad you worked with out of necessity only, but one you could rely on. A group that had your back, and you had theirs. It was a quiet sentiment, but one that Leon could feel was heavy for you. One that was heavy for him, too. Because he’d thought he'd be alone through all of this. He’d been alright with it at first, too. If he only had himself to look out for, there was only one person to fail. 

Things were different now. All because of you. 

A peaceful quiet settled between the two of you then, as you looked out towards the base stretched out in front of you, blanketed in darkness beyond the eyes of the spotlights. The place that had, quite literally, kicked the shit out of both of you, but might have given you something more in return. “Hell of a vacation,” Leon eventually said, and you laughed. He was glad that it was a sound he heard more and more often these days. 

“If this was your idea of a vacation, Kennedy, then I feel sorry for you.” 

“My idea of a vacation is somewhere quiet and warm,” Leon defended, “but I’ve learned to take what I can get.” 

With a hum from you, another blanket of quiet settled between the two of you. It was comfortable, and Leon was happy to spend the last few minutes of his shift in it. Wasn’t enough for you, though, because a moment later you moved. You pushed yourself up from the railing and walked towards him. Leon felt his heart beat hard in his chest when he thought you were going to kiss him . . . but then it beat even harder when you sank to your knees in front of him. 

He murmured your name, caught between you and the railing, his eyes going wide. 

You didn’t seem deterred, though. “If this is a vacation, might as well make the last night memorable, right?” 

Oh, god.

His belt buckle came undone beneath your fingertips and he was glad of the dark to hide the bright red blush that came to his face. “Not . . . not worried someone will see?” he asked, and you shrugged. 

“Know the great thing about being assigned watch duty for a week?” you asked, your voice a purr. 

Leon could hardly contain his excitement as he answered. “You know where the cameras are blind?” 

“Dead on.”

“You’re sure you’re okay to do this?” It was a hard question to ask, while you were in the midst of undoing his pants. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself-”

“Then I’ll be careful.”

“I’m serious-”

“So am I.” You looked up at him, your movements stalling. “I’ll be careful. You helped me relax after the fight. Let me do this for you.”

God, he fucking loved you. 

“You know, I’m still technically supposed to be on watch,” he pointed out. 

You tilted your head, then, and the little light that slipped into the guard tower from the spotlights overhead showed him your expression. It was more carefree than he’d ever seen you, and it was a sight he would never forget. Of course, he wasn’t likely to forget the shrug you gave him, or the words you murmured, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Then be a good boy and watch.” 

And just like that, the flush under his skin turned into an inferno. 

⧫⧫⧫

Commander Cortez bid your squad a strained goodbye. He wouldn’t be accompanying you all back to base, it seemed, and Leon was perfectly alright with that. Instead, it would be some other ranking officer, who looked entirely pleased about the opportunity for a break. Even better was seeing Taylor’s men standing in the distance, watching you all load into the Humvees. No Taylor, though, given the disciplinary action he was facing. 

Leon was sad about that one. He’d have liked to wave that asshole goodbye one last time. 

Still, he couldn’t deny that, despite everything that had happened, he was in a damn good mood as you all loaded into the Humvees. 

And an even better one when you climbed into the back seat opposite him. 

You, him, Williams and Alenko. The same team that had operated the tank. And as Alenko pulled the big vehicle out behind the others in your little convoy, Leon felt a sense of kinship he hadn’t thought to find. “I can’t decide if Krauser will be pissed at us for getting into a fight . . .” Williams mused, as your Humvee passed out of Fort Benning at last, “. . . or proud of us for winning it.” 

“Probably a bit of both,” Alenko smiled, glancing back at you all before turning his eyes back to the road. 

“Probably,” Leon agreed. 

“He’ll be proud,” you declared. “He’ll act pissed, but he’ll be proud.” You sounded so sure, and you looked it, too. Doubly so now that your black eye was healing so well, and the evidence of the fight - beyond whatever was wrong with your ribs - was disappearing. Of course, your eye not being so swollen anymore let Leon see the glint there as you reached down into your pack. “Probably be less proud of this, though.” 

And then, with a self-satisfied grin that would have rivaled even Valeria, you pulled a little radio from your pack. One Leon thought he recognized. 

Williams and Alenko looked back as you set the radio between the four of you, and their eyes went wide.

“Is that-”

“Cortez’s,” you nodded, sitting back in your seat. You didn’t give any further explanation.

Leon stared at you, and it took everything in him not to kiss you right then and there. 

“How the hell did you manage that?” he asked, looking between you and the stolen radio. When had you managed that? He could have sworn he’d seen the radio in the Commander’s office just a day ago, but here it was. And by your expression, you weren’t going to be telling him how it had ended up in your pack any time soon. 

“I can’t give away all my secrets, Kennedy,” you said, and Williams laughed. 

She reached back, taking the radio and turning it on, beaming as she did. “However you did it, hell yes.” 

And so she went about switching the dials, surfing different stations, audibly reacting to each. A few songs went by, the air in the Humvee turning to laughs between Alenko and Williams in the front two seats, with Leon chiming in as well when a song he liked came on. But you . . . you just smiled easily, not speaking but rather letting your squad mates have all the fun.

Until Leon thought he heard something as Williams switched through the stations. 

“Wait! Go back . . .” a few clicks of the dial and he was sure. Women singing. An upbeat backing. Nonsensical lyrics. And your eyes going wide in the seat beside him. “This one,” Leon nodded, all too pleased with himself.

Williams, however, just looked back at him in utter disgust. “This?” she said, like she’d never heard worse music in her life. 

Leon, though, just met her eyes and nodded. 

“Huh. Didn’t . . . uh, didn’t think you’d be into the Spice Girls, Kennedy.” 

His smile got even wider as he shrugged. “Why not? They kick ass.” 

You looked at him, then, your lips parted, your eyes fixed on his. Were you really surprised? Of course he remembered. And he might not have entirely shared your views on that kind of music, but hell, if you’d gone to the trouble of stealing a radio for them, then he’d make sure you heard what you liked. If the smile you gave him then was any indication, you appreciated it. “Kennedy’s right about that,” you said, your voice soft. 

“Oh god, not you too,” Williams groaned, but then Alenko led the coup de grace. 

“Alright, this does not leave this vehicle . . .” he said, smiling and glancing over his shoulder before looking ahead once more, “. . . but I enjoy this song.”

Williams looked like she was going to blow a gasket, and Leon could only laugh. “Looks like you’ve been outvoted.”

With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, Williams relented. “Fine, fine. But you know I thought the radio was so this trip would be less painful.”

“You’re welcome to pick the next station, Williams,” you said, and for a moment, Leon wondered if he was seeing the old you. The one he’d heard allusions to, the one who seemed to have been buried six feet under after whatever you saw in Finland. The thought brought no small amount of warmth to his heart. 

Maybe Krauser had been onto something, sending you all to Benning. 

Not that Leon would ever admit it. 

That was all he could think as Alenko started bobbing his head along with the too-happy beat, with Williams looking utterly annoyed, resting her head against the window. It was a damn fine end to a strange little journey, one that Leon would value greatly after everything.

But then-

“Oh, what the fuck?” The Humvee lurched a bit as Alenko slammed on the brakes, stopping just as the one in front of you all stopped. 

Confusion flashed across Leon’s face as he looked up, through the windshield of the Humvee, past the line of other vehicles . . . and felt his blood go a little cold when he saw the reason for the halt. 

Two massive transports blocked the road, each painted black. Two other vehicles flanked them. APC’s with mounted turrets. When he didn’t see any markings, nothing identifiable, his worry turned to dread, cold and deep-seated and gnawing at him. 

Then, from out of the APC’s, came men dressed in black, each wearing a mask, and each carrying an assault rifle. All but two.

Two suits along with the rest, approaching the first Humvee in your squad’s lineup.

The music seemed to become distant as you all traded glances, confusion and anxiety building like static, warping the world around you. You all watched as the officer accompanying you all climbed out of his vehicle, and with his back to you all, you couldn’t see his expression. Only an exchange of words, the inspection of what looked like a badge, and then he stepped to the side, allowing the armed and armored men forward. Towards the rest of you.

Leon could only swallow as they approached.

“Maybe they’re here for a stolen radio,” he offered.

All he got was a side-eye from you . . . and then there was a knock on the Humvee’s door. 

Didn’t seem like there was much choice but to open it.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

[universitypenguin]

Chapter XIV

Summary: Lloyd sets his sights on orchestrating Holbrook’s downfall and uses skills from his former life to serve up his own brand of justice. Meanwhile, Princess interviews a witness who casts doubt on key information in the case. 

Masterlist

Word Count: 7,352

Warnings: Explicit discussion of murder and serial abductions. Mention of extortion, police corruption, drugs, and kidnapping. Spy/intelligence agency themes, general violence depiction of criminal behavior. Minor foul language. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. No minors. 

Chapter XIV

Lloyd scowled at the muddy road as he navigated around the section that had been washed out by last night’s thunderstorm. The damage to the ranch’s main road aggravated his simmering frustration. He would need to order a truckload of gravel first thing on Monday. 

He’d left the house at dawn and spent the day running around like a chicken with its head cut off, searching for Elliot. As light faded into the western sky, he had nothing to show for the effort. Every potential hiding spot he’d searched turned up empty. He’d spent the morning checking abandoned hunting cabins and old flop houses he remembered druggies frequenting. After lunch he expanded his search radius to the forest service cabins up in the Sawtooth mountains, then hunting blinds, and remote campgrounds. 

In the evening, he’d driven out to Redfish Lake, apprehension growing with each mile, and searched the boat shed. It was empty. The only residents he’d found were of the eight legged variety. After closing up the shed, he’d surveyed the lake’s perimeter, visiting the remote places with heavy foliage that could disguise the activity associated with disposing of a body. None of them appeared disturbed. Overall, the day had been a waste. 

The weight of failure settled over him as his eyes lit on an unfamiliar sight ahead. 

A strange pickup truck was parked in front of the ranch house. Lloyd’s gut tightened. He jerked the wheel and pulled off into the cover of a grove of trees. Holbrook wouldn’t drive the beat up ‘97 Ford parked in the yard if his life depended on it, but it would be just like him to send someone else to do his dirty work. Concealing his vehicle in the trees, Lloyd reached behind the seat for the PTR-91 rifle he’d stashed there and slung it over his shoulder. He secured it to his back and checked his ankle holster for Joe’s Sig Sauer. In the shoulder holster he wore a Glock17 - his weapon of choice in his previous life. 

The weight rested comfortably in his palm as he snuck through the trees and across the lawn. He kept his finger wrapped around the trigger guard, and the weapon hidden behind his thigh, as he climbed the steps to the porch. Every creak of the wood under his boots felt magnified as he approached the door. He scanned the shadows along the edge of the porch, searching for signs of movement. The front door was unlocked, and the knob turned easily. 

The scent of fresh coffee surprised him. Lloyd stepped inside, gun raised and took measured steps as he swept the living room. His guest hadn’t turned the lights on. He glanced around, seeking signs of the intruder, and spun to the kitchen. The brightness from the picture window stung his eyes, blurring his vision for a moment. When they refocused, his heart skipped a beat. 

Elliot Hansen sat at the kitchen table. He was slouched over a mug of coffee, which if the dark rings under his eyes were anything to go by, he desperately needed. 

“Lloyd. I’ve been waiting for you.” 

The tension drained away. He lowered the gun and studied his cousin for a moment before turning back to shut the front door. Lloyd laid the Glock on the table and sat down across from Elliot. A dozen questions filled his mind, but he hesitated to ask them. Elliot didn’t fill the silence. He just took a long drink from his coffee, looking ready to fall asleep at any moment. 

“Elliot?” Lloyd found his voice unexpectedly soft as relief shifted to concern. “What happened? Why did you come here?” 

“I need your help.” 

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

You picked your way through the crowd of shoppers, scanning ahead. The entrance to Zach’s office was between a hand-rolled ice cream shop and a Kate Spade store. If you weren’t paying attention, the discreetly placed entry was easy to miss. It was painted the same color as the wall and served as access to the outlet mall’s second floor, which had been converted to office space during the Great Recession. You found the door and unlocked it with the code he’d sent. 

The curving marble stairs led to a wide corridor brightened by tasteful chandeliers and intermittent skylights that invited in the natural light. In sharp contrast to the busy mall, this level was quiet. At the end of the hall you reached his office, pressed the button, and waited for the chime that announced the door had been unlocked. 

Zach was in his office with his feet propped up on his desk. The soles of his moc-toe Carhartt boots were so worn that you could hardly make out the original tread pattern. The deep worry lines in his forehead and the dark circles under his eyes immediately caught your attention. Before you could ask, his expression shifted into a smirk. 

“Morning, Princess. What brings you in so early on this lovely Saturday?” 

“Ha ha. You called me.” 

“And was shocked when you picked up the phone. I was going to leave a voicemail.” 

“I got up early to meal prep, then remembered Lloyd’s fridge is fully stocked.”

Zach made a face. “Be careful in there, he eats weird stuff.” 

“I can’t take that warning seriously from a man who ate fried rattlesnake and liked it.” 

“A man has to draw the line somewhere and I draw mine at blood pudding.” 

“Do I want to know?”

“If it looks like sausage and it’s in his fridge, don’t touch it.” 

“I’ll take your word for it. Now, why am I here?”

“With Lloyd in Idaho, we don’t have a Mandarin translator, so I called in a favor from an ex-teammate. Roth has cleared him to work on the case.” 

“What are we doing that requires a translator?” 

“An interview. I got in touch with the archivist in Julia’s home town. He asked to meet after work, so you have an hour to prepare.” 

You took the overflowing file he extended. 

“When did you put all this together?”

“Yesterday and last night.” 

“Have you slept?”

“No, which is why you’re doing the interview. I’m heading home to crash once your translator gets here. He’s apparently running late.”

“It’s Saturday, no one’s late on Saturday,” you said. 

“I like the way you think.” 

A deep voice behind you made you jump. You dropped the file and whirled, catching your heel on the threshold, and falling with an undignified squeak. A pair of strong arms stopped you from hitting the ground and pulled you upright. Gasping, you braced a hand on your rescuer’s shoulder and turned ninety degrees to look at him. He had dark brown hair and a short, trim beard that emphasized his high cheekbones. His eyes, an unusual blend of blue and green, were crinkled with amusement. A full, expressive mouth was drawn into a crooked half smile at your expense. 

“Sorry, darlin’, I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

The newcomers’ accent was crisper than Zach’s drawl, but not as familiar. 

You noticed he dropped the ‘r’ in darling, turning it into ‘dah-ling.’ Immediately, your mind went to New England, but the way he rolled his vowels was distinctly Southern. The vestiges of a southern accent, perhaps? 

“I’m fine. I didn’t realize you were behind me.”

“How’d you get in?” Zach asked, his voice edged with annoyance. 

“I slipped in behind her.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“To see if I could.” 

He flashed a Cheshire Cat grin, full of mischief. Your disapproval melted at his boyish enjoyment. Wasn’t it better to find a weakness now, than when it really counted?

“I’m having Jake update the alarm system first thing when he’s back. Y/N, this is Marco Lattimer. He and I served together on the teams. Besides being a first class troublemaker, he’s fluent in five languages.”

Marco smirked. “Fluent in five, but I speak seven.” 

“Wow. That’s… impressive.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Marco will be your translator. I’ve already briefed him on the case.” 

Zach turned to Marco, eyes sharpening. “Lattimer, don’t even think about flirting with my colleague.”

“What if she doesn’t mind?” Marco said, winking at you. 

“She’s Lloyd’s research assistant and you’ll have to deal with him regarding the ‘what if’ part, but I’d advise against finding out. Princess, you’ve still got that taser I gave you? Marco’s harmless, but if he gets on your nerves, you have my permission to zap him.” 

You grinned at Marco’s disgruntled expression. 

“I’m sure we’ll get along fabulously,” you said. “Go home Zach, I can handle this.” 

Ten minutes later you were in the conference room with Marco, waiting for the Zoom call to start. 

“So, how’d you end up working with Lloyd?” Marco asked. 

“I interned at his law firm. He stole me from the paralegal department for my research skills.” 

“Sorry to hear that. It must be miserable to be around him all the time. I swear, he’s the reason lawyers get a bad rap. He could teach classes on how to be insufferable.” 

This was a sentiment you’d heard many times before. 

“Lloyd and I get on fine.” 

“Do you have the patience of a saint, an addiction to benzos, or just do a lot of meditation?” 

“It depends on the day. Most of the time meditation works, but a stash of benzos is always a good back up plan.” 

By the time the computer lit up with the incoming call, you and Marco were on friendly terms. He was charming, funny, and definitely flirting with you. The flirting didn’t concern you because you sensed his pursuit was less about genuine interest and more about target practice. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and folded his arms in a way that showcased his biceps. You would’ve thought it was deliberate but his posture was too nonchalant to be premeditated. 

You relied on Marco to make sure Mr. Liu was comfortable and let him engage Liu in small talk for a few minutes. Working with a translator always provided a great excuse to sit back and observe your subject’s mannerisms before starting the interview. Mr. Liu appeared to be in his sixties, with horn-rimmed glasses and neatly combed hair. He wore casual office attire and judging by the fit of his light blue button down, he starched his shirts. He fit the role of village archivist like he’d been sent straight from central casting. After he was settled, you turned the discussion toward pressing matters. 

“Did you have any personal connection to Julia or her family?”

Mr. Liu spoke and Marco translated. 

“Yes, I knew her family. Her parents were lovely people. Unfortunately, they passed away some years ago.” 

“I'm sorry to hear that. Are you familiar with the circumstances of Julia's death?” 

“Yes, we were all horrified by the tragedy. It was a shocking incident that saddened the entire community. The pain it caused her family was immeasurable.” 

“The investigation into Julia's death has been reopened based on fresh evidence. DNA tests have revealed a connection between her and another woman who was murdered in a similar manner. They’re believed to be full siblings. Does Julia have an older sister?” 

Mr. Lui’s brow furrowed, and he paused for a long moment. 

“That's impossible. Julia's parents were not together for long before she was born. Her father had left the island to serve in the army and spent three years stationed in Vietnam prior to her birth. There is no chance of an older sibling.” 

His certainty piqued your attention. 

“So, her father was away during that time. Do you have any records that could shed light on Julia's family or explain the existence of an older sibling?”

The archivist’s voice was firm as he responded. Even without Marco’s translation you would’ve understood the statement as a denial. 

“I assure you, there was no other child. Julia's parents were committed to each other and their daughter. The entire village would have known if there was another pregnancy or a sibling. It's simply not possible.” 

You leaned closer, eager to see his reaction to your next words. 

“Mr. Liu, we have evidence suggesting otherwise. We need to uncover the truth about Julia's past, no matter how unsettling it might be. Can you think of any reason they kept this information hidden?”

His head lowered, shoulders rising in symmetry as he frowned. 

Liu stumbled over his words as he answered. Translating like you’d asked him to, Marco repeated his statement verbatim. 

“I… I can't imagine why or… how such information would have been concealed. Our village is tight-knit, and secrets are rare. Not rare to be kept, but rare not to be noticed and revealed. If there's something hidden, it must have been for a grave reason and Julia’s parents weren’t that sort of people.” 

“Thank you for speaking with us, Mr. Liu. We appreciate your time. If anything further comes to mind, please contact us, or the Virginia State Police, directly.” 

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

Lloyd sat down across from Elliot. He didn’t totally disarm himself but rested the rifle on his thighs under the table. 

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Joe had a stash of drugs. A big one, according to Holbrook. He thinks I know where it is.” 

“Why?”

Elliot rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been taking care of the ranch. Joe paid me for it. He could have hired a cowboy, but you know Joe. He didn’t trust people he didn’t know. The work brought me up here at least a couple times each week for the past three years. What conclusion do you think Holbrook drew from that pattern?” 

“And? Was he right?” 

“No! Damn it, Lloyd! It took me years to get clean, I wasn’t moving his drugs!” 

Lloyd knew, given Elliot’s history, Joe wouldn’t have trusted him around the product. All the same, he had to ask, because one good look at his cousin tipped off Lloyd’s intuition that Elliot wasn’t as clean as he claimed to be. 

“I don’t know about a stash of drugs. Joe never told me anything about his business and I didn’t ask. We barely talked, except for emails and text messages about the ranch. He always paid me on time and I appreciated the side income. That was it. But the Sheriff won’t let this thing go.”

Twenty kilos of coke, thirty of heroin, either would be worth more than a million on the street and small enough to hide in a carry-on case. 

Lloyd sighed. “Holbrook has to go.” 

“He’s untouchable.”

“If I learned anything in the past twenty years, it’s that no one is untouchable.” 

“This isn’t London, or Berlin, or some fancy place you’ve been. It’s southeastern Idaho and Holbrook is the King.” 

Lloyd grunted. “To be clear, you’re sure this stash actually exists? It wasn’t sold off years ago?” 

“I can’t be sure, but Joe always preferred to have a backup plan.” 

That rang true. A stash of drugs would’ve served as insurance against stock market fluctuations, housing crises, or whatever rattled the economy next year. 

“Alright. Tell me about Holbrook. What’s his weak point?” 

Elliot stared. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly. Who has a grudge against him? Are there any deputies on his payroll?”

“Aside from me, I don’t know of any grudges, but his department has a suspiciously high turnover rate.” 

“Ex-associates? A disgruntled secretary? Jilted lover?” 

“Uh… would a former drug dealer count?” Elliot asked.

“Does this drug dealer have a name?” 

“Carl Shepherd. The Sheriff gave him carte blanche to deal locally, then the feds came sniffing around. Holbrook cut him loose and they’re not on good terms, but Shepherd says he has Holbrook in his pocket.” 

If the dealer had two brain cells to rub together, he’d have exhorted Holbrook for protection. Lloyd begrudgingly approved of the plan. 

“But he’s too scared of the Sheriff to flip on him.” 

“Why bite the hand that feeds you?” Lloyd murmured. 

His mind moved quickly, considering the various options available. Elliot grimaced. 

“I’m never going to get out of this mess.” 

“How do you feel about pulling a kidnapping? Say, tonight?”

“Uh… given how that worked out for you last time… lukewarm.”

“Oh, come on. I’ve turned over a new leaf. Carl Shepherd doesn’t have any ex-spooks overly invested in his well-being, though, right?”

“Not that I know of,” Elliot said.

“Great, then let’s get this show on the road.” 

After some persuasion, Elliot agreed to the plan. He was nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs as he drove them into town in his rattle trap pickup. In contrast, Lloyd was bubbling with excitement, a feeling that intensified as they navigated the narrow lanes of the Oxiana Trailer Park. It was akin to the anticipation before a rollercoaster dropped into free fall - an exhilaration he’d missed from his old life but only realized now. Elliot parked in a shadowy spot about a hundred yards from Shepherd’s house. 

He pointed to a gray trailer with peeling paint. “That’s his place. He drives a ‘68 Camaro.” 

“Nice car.” 

“Uh-huh. What’s your plan, again? You weren’t exactly clear about the how.” 

“We’ll see how it plays out. Kidnappings never quite go according to plan.” 

“You’d know.” 

Lloyd snorted. “Shut up. I’ve seen your rap sheet, you’ve got no room to talk.” 

“I was high for that stuff.”

“Yeah? Same.”

Elliot turned, resting an elbow on the steering wheel as he studied Lloyd. “Are you kidding? You were the quarterback, the golden boy. You never touched that shit.” 

“I took Adderall to cope with test anxiety and smoked weed.”

“That’s your drug of choice? Adderall? Dude, that’s pathetic.”

“It started with light stuff. Weed, then Adderall. Senior year I started popping Xanax to cope with anxiety. At first it was just when I was struggling, then it became a daily habit.” 

Elliot considered him. “I knew you were into weed, but not the rest.”

“Things didn’t get serious until I was at Harvard. I got hooked on pain pills after a football injury and when the team doctor wouldn’t give me more Vicodin, I bought Percocet on the street. From there I got into Ketamine, Valium, and Prozac. The market for drugs was thriving on campus, so I bought extras and re-sold it to the partiers. It didn’t take long before I was taking my own product.” 

“Joe would’ve skinned you alive.” 

“Beaten me to death is more likely.”

“What’d you get hooked on the most? Percocet?”

“Cocaine. I had a taste for Ecstasy, too. My main addiction was Coke, with a little Xanax in the mix. When I graduated and had the money for it, I got back on Vicodin.”

“Damn. You know what really shocks me?” Elliot asked.

“What?”

“You went for the cheap stuff. Coke? Back in the day, I could get a bag of Coke for like sixty, seventy bucks. Meth was like six times that much.” 

Lloyd chuckled. “I’d seen what meth and heroin did to a person. Cocaine felt less risky and more… fun. Until I was in prison, I didn’t think I was addicted.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I kept a lot of secrets before. Now I try not to. Also, if you think I don’t get what it’s like to have your past catch up with you, I want you to know that I do.” 

Elliot ducked his head, looking away. 

Lloyd turned back to the road. They sat in silence for the next twenty minutes while the sun dipped behind the horizon. A car pulled around the corner with no headlights on and Lloyd squinted, trying to make out the model. 

“Is that him?”

Elliot straightened up. “Yeah. That’s him.” 

They watched as Carl turned into the driveway and parked, then walked around to the trunk to unload grocery bags.

“What now?” Elliot asked.

“Wait here for thirty seconds, then go up to him. Get his attention. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Elliot nodded and wiped his palms on his jeans. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. Lloyd slid out of the truck and shut the door quietly. Keeping one eye on Carl as he took in the first load of groceries, he snuck through the neighbor’s lawn and around their house. Maneuvering through a hole in the chain-link fence he crossed into Carl’s backyard and used the cover of the peeling gray trailer to mask his approach. He listened to footfalls on wooden steps, then pavement, and gauged the distance. A truck door slammed and a moment later, Elliot’s voice rang out, calling a greeting to the drug dealer.

Lloyd burst from his hiding place and ran, aiming at Carl’s back. Electricity crackled as the taser found its mark. The volts sizzled in the air as Carl convulsed, then dropped to the pavement, unconscious. 

Elliot jerked back, his face leaching of color.

“Holy shit! What voltage is that thing?!” 

Lloyd smirked. “What’s wrong? Can’t handle a little excitement? Help me get him in the trunk.” 

“You don’t mean…”

“Leaving his car here will arouse suspicion. If we take it, the neighbors will assume he’s out of town.” 

“Maybe we should stop adding to our rap sheets while we’re still ahead,” Elliot suggested.

“I usually agree with the principle of only committing one felony at a time, but we’re on the clock here. Grab his feet, would you?”

Elliot groaned, but obliged, taking Carl’s feet while Lloyd guided his upper body into the trunk. He slammed it shut and grinned at his cousin’s pale face.

“There. Felony number six, complete. Although technically, in this state kidnapping isn’t a felony until you’re a hundred feet away from the property on which the abduction occurred. So, to be precise, we’re still in the act of felony number six.” 

“You’re insane.”

Lloyd smirked. “Not according to my doctor. And given the circumstances, I think this was the most appropriate course of action we could’ve taken. Now, go on ahead of me and make sure everything is set up. I can’t speed with a body in the trunk.”

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

You sat next to Marco, looking at the murder board.

Zach had set it up in the corner of the conference room and after the interview you’d migrated over here naturally. Your chairs were adjacent, facing the bulletin board like students in a classroom. Marco had ordered coffee and a late brunch for the both of you while you explained the details of the case. 

“And they found the sister’s corpse right next to the first victim?” Marco said. 

“Yeah. It’s mind-boggling.”

He shook his head. “What’s weirder is that these two are sisters, but the rest of the girls on this board are as different as night and day. Different hair colors, ethnic backgrounds, different kinds of jobs.” 

You turned your attention to the victim’s pictures. They were organized by date of disappearance and below them was a horizontal timeline that stretched from left to right across the width of the board. There was a topographical map of the Fairfax area in the lower right corner, with colored pins making locations. 

“There’s a variety in the women, but what’s mostly consistent is the age range, the manner of disappearance, and their social status.”

Marco leaned back, hooking his left ankle over his right knee. 

“How do you investigate a case with so many missing variables?”

“You’re referring to the other six corpses?”

“The lack of them, specifically.” 

His comment tickled a thread you’d been playing with since Singapore. Rather than answering, you stood up and crossed to the bulletin board. First, you untacked the sketch on the far left of the timeline. It was of the unknown victim - Julia’s supposed sister - and then took down the photo underneath her, representing her daughter. Then from the far right of the timeline, you untacked Julia’s photo. 

You sat down next to Marco and faced the board again.

“What about now? Does that make more sense?” 

His mouth tilted in a half smile. “I’m not the investigator here. How would I know?”

“Technically, Lloyd and Zach are the investigators and I’m their errand girl. You’re a fresh set of eyes. I’ve been trying to figure out how removing the sisters and the little girl changes things.” 

“Do you see a pattern here?” Marco said. 

“Maybe. If Lloyd were here, I’d bounce this off of him, but look…” 

You laid the photos you’d removed on the table and returned to the board, pointing to the photo of the first woman to go missing.

“The first victim, Stacey Moore was twenty-six. She worked at an indie publishing house in D.C. and had just graduated from G.W with her master’s. She disappeared in June of 1999.” 

You pointed to the next photo. 

“Maya Sutton. Twenty-four. Tax associate at PriceWaterhouseCoopers, recently hired off an internship program, master’s degree in accounting from William & Mary. Disappeared in August of 1999.” 

Marco listened as you ran down the list of victims, and reported their ages, jobs, and degrees. He was nodding along by the time you reached the last photo.

“The women were close in age. Twenty-three to twenty-seven, born and raised in the U.S. and focused on their careers. They were successful despite being young, and except for Lucy Lund, they all came from upper middle class backgrounds.”

“They’re all born in eastern Virginia, too,” Marco said.

You checked the notes and sure enough, all the victims had been born along the Virginia coast. The pattern was even closer than you’d realized. 

“Good catch.” 

You rehung the photos of Julia, her sister, and the niece, off to the side, separate from the serial killer victims. 

“They found these victims. That doesn’t feel like an accident. If he made six women disappear without a trace, why leave three corpses in the same spot? And Julia’s body wasn’t even properly disposed of.”

“That deviates significantly from the pattern,” Marco said. 

“And with the timeline laid out like this, it looks like Julia’s abduction occurs too early in the year. He’d abducted someone during the last week of May before, but Julia disappeared in April, which is a month before he usually began taking victims. There’s also a stopping period between the 1999 victims and the 2000 cases. In 1999 the last victim disappeared on September 3rd. In 2000 the last victim was August 15th.” 

“Seasonal employees might be a good suspect pool to explore.”

“Removing the discovered bodies gives us a pattern. But when you add these three cases, it muddies the waters. I think we’re looking at two different crimes. A serial killer and… this mess with Julia, whatever it is.” 

Marco crossed his arms, studying the altered layout of the board.

“You’re right. Julia really doesn’t fit his victim type.”

“She was too tall, not from the United States - and not from Virginia. She didn’t have a college degree, let alone a graduate degree, and didn’t work outside the home. The serial killer’s victims were ambitious, professional women. They were all under five foot five and didn’t weigh more than a hundred and sixty pounds, but none of them were exceptionally thin. The abductor seemed to pursue women of average build.”

“Julia was five-nine and weighed about one-thirty,” Marco said. 

“Going off victim type, that made her not only too tall, but too thin.” 

“What’s hard to understand is that he’d suddenly screw up a body dump after getting it right so many times. For his first victim, sure. He’s inexperienced. But doing it again with Julia, several years later… the only way it makes sense is if he put the sisters together.” 

Goosebumps raised on your arms. If he put the sisters together…

What if the sisters’ deaths were connected? Maybe even to the serial killer, but not as victims who he’d hunted. Had they gotten in the way? Or was there something else, completely unrelated to the disappearances, going on at the same time? Was that possible in a town as small as Harmony?

“What are you thinking?” Marco asked.

“I think it’s two different cases. Everyone was waiting for the pattern from ‘99 and 2000 to re-emerge. They were mentally preparing for the next victim and Julia was the next woman to disappear. In a small town riddled with disappearing women, why wouldn’t they think she was part of the spree?”

“That’s logical, but the way you’ve explained it makes better sense. What about the sister and the niece? They’re an even bigger deviation from pattern than Julia. How can they be identified when there’s nothing to go on?” 

“I’ll figure out something,” you said. “Lloyd won’t be back until Tuesday, so I’ve got time.” 

 “Where is he?” Marco asked. 

You noted his demeanor changed when Lloyd’s name came up. His arms crossed, creating a subtle barrier between you, and the paper cup in his hand crumpled in his grip. His attention was riveted on you, belying the casual tone he’d spoken in. 

“He’s out west, taking care of family matters.”

“Huh. So, Lloyd didn’t hatch from an egg?”

“You worked with him before, you’d probably know more than me.”

The comment slipped out, not entirely by accident. Meeting people who’d known Lloyd in the past alway stirred your curiosity. Lloyd’s life had been a series of transformations: a gifted law student turned cold-blooded intelligence officer, then a disgraced ex-spy who’d become a ruthless mercenary and landed himself in prison. You’d only known Lloyd after his metamorphosis into a law-abiding citizen. Discovering the previous version that had existed before was a constant source of entertainment. Gruesome entertainment, perhaps, but you couldn’t check your impulse to fish for information whenever the chance presented itself. 

“Do you enjoy working with Lloyd?” 

Marco’s question took you off guard. 

“Yes. He was a bit of a pill at first, but then I discovered he could be charming when he wanted to be. After that, I made sure he had reasons to be charming.”

“What makes him want to be charming?”

“Rewards. Lloyd responds best to positive reinforcement. It works wonders.” 

“Really?” 

“He’s like a border collie. If you don’t keep him occupied and engaged, he’ll start chasing squirrels and digging up the yard.”

Marco chuckled. You pressed him harder.

“What was working with Lloyd like for you?”

He pursed his lips. “I knew him when he was on Zach’s team. They were doing God-knows-what in the same area where I was deployed. He was obnoxious.” 

His fingers tightened on the paper cup, crushing it nearly in half, unaware of the action. 

“Yeah. But Special Forces attracts a lot of obnoxious people.” 

His lips twitched, and he inclined his head in acknowledgment. 

“One day Lloyd showed up with extras. Tag-a-longs from Langley, I think. They assigned my team as their support crew. We were waiting at a checkpoint to help them exfiltrate, which should have been simple, but things went sideways and we had to extract them. Everyone was accounted for - except Lloyd’s extras.” 

You watched Marco’s lips compress. His shoulders bunched and you read anger in the lines of his body and the set of his jaw. He’d crumpled the coffee cup flat. Silence stretched. You waited, knowing he’d eventually fill the silence. 

Marco’s eyes flickered, shifting to internal focus. You could tell he was picking his words carefully. 

“The most dangerous predators wear the most charming masks. Lloyd… Lloyd is a viper in Gucci loafers. He takes pleasure in manipulating people, especially emotionally. Lloyd comes across brash, but underneath it he’s malicious, with a ruthless streak ten miles wide. I’ve seen it in action. Trust me, his blood runs cold.”

You were silent, thinking of Lloyd’s revelations in Qatar. He’d cultivated a certain image in the intelligence community, and clearly, Marco had experienced it. Silence hung over the room as he continued to weigh his words. 

“We were behind enemy lines at that point, but I offered to turn back and try to save the tag-a-longs. Lloyd laughed. Straight up laughed, and told me everything had gone according to plan. The agents had been on a one way trip from the start and he’d risked the whole team’s lives to dispose of them.” 

“What did you do?”

His eyes flashed. 

“I went back for them. One was alive. They’d slit the other’s throat. I reported the incident to command and got transferred to a different continent the next day. Later I found out the guy I’d saved died in the hospital because of a medication error.” 

You nodded, studying his reactions. They were full of anger and distaste. Marco’s story was authentic and his emotions genuine. Defending Lloyd, explaining that he’d changed, wouldn’t help Marco. He’d known a different person than you did. That version of Lloyd had done terrible things without remorse and he was still capable of it, when pushed. 

“Lloyd is charming, but be careful. He’s not trustworthy.” 

“I appreciate the warning, and I’m familiar with his background. He’s changed a lot since prison. There are still rough edges, and the ruthless streak is still there, but the malice isn’t.” 

Marco raised an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting conclusion.”

“If you want to say ‘bullshit,’ just say it. There’s no need to take that tone.” 

“Noted. Why don’t we find something more pleasant to talk about than Lloyd? Say, over coffee? Or better yet, dinner?” 

You wanted to accept, so you could find out more about Lloyd, but the invitation was clearly romantic. 

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m seeing someone right now. Maybe another time.”

His lips curled into a rueful smile. Before he could speak, there was a loud buzz. Your heads turned toward the front door in unison.

“Where’s the video feed?” Marco asked.

“I think there’s one at the front desk.”

The buzzer sounded again. Who would visit Zach’s office on a Saturday? Anyone who had business being here on the weekend would’ve had a key. With Marco on your heels, you headed for the lobby. Behind the receptionist’s desk, you found a monitor discreetly mounted into the wall, displaying the feed from the hall. A man in a shirt and tie, with a gun holstered on his right hip, stood outside. 

He looked into the camera and you recognized Detective Roth. 

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

Carl Shepherd woke up with a headache. A second later, he realized someone had tied him to a chair with his hands cuffed behind him. There was duct tape securing the cuffs to prevent him from picking them. 

“What the fuck?!”

“Well, well, look who’s awake. Had a good nap, Sleeping Beauty?” 

His head swung, searching the darkness for the owner of the voice. A switch clicked and Carl hissed, whipping his head away from the 10,000 lumen work lamps that burned his eyes. His head throbbed in protest at the dazzling light and the quick movement. 

“Fuck! What are you doing? Are you trying to blind me?!” 

The beams from the industrial lamps were like looking at the sun. He squinted out of the corner of his right eye, trying to see his kidnapper. 

“You can’t do this! I’m untouchable, damn it! I make one call to Sheriff Holbrook and you’re running for the rest of your lives. What kind of psycho are you?!” 

“We’re the Canadians,” the voice said. “We’re here for a stockpile of drugs a former business associate of ours misplaced. Rumor has it you’d know something about it.”

He laughed. “Canadians? You don’t scare me.”

“I don’t need to scare you, but what should scare you is suffocation. Because guess where we are?”

Carl looked around, noticing the corrugated walls of the room.

“A shipping container.” 

“Bingo. We seal the vents and shut the door and you’re dead. It’s not the lack of oxygen that kills you, it’s the carbon dioxide poisoning from your own exhalations. First, you get a headache, then nausea sets in and your heart rate spikes. You pant for breath, but you can’t get any, so you start to feel dizzy. Then vomiting, seizures, and finally you pass out before officially suffocating to death.” 

Carl considered the threat. His kidnapper took this pause as defiance.

“I’ve run the numbers and given the volume of this container, the ratio of oxygen, the probable rate of consumption, and other variables, suffocation should take about 22 hours. Horrible way to go, trust me. I’ve seen it before.”

He could easily imagine the owner of the voice hovering in the shadows, wearing an oxygen mask as he watched his victim suffer. A long silence lingered as he waited for the kidnapper to continue.

“Alright, suffocation it is…” 

Clothing rustled and the lights illuminated the outline of a man as he stood from a chair on the other side of the work lamps.

“Hey! Wait, don’t!”

“You want to talk?” the kidnapper asked.

“I can’t give you the drugs. You’re looking for Joe Hansen’s stash, right? I don’t have them, it was Deputy Russell who took them!”  

- - - - - 

Elliot leaned against the Camaro, staring straight ahead. 

“We’re screwed. We’re totally screwed.”

Lloyd resisted the urge to point out that Elliot was screwed, not him. If push came to shove he’d kill Holbrook and slip out of town. That wasn’t something his cousin was hardened enough to consider. At the moment taking out the Sheriff might not be the worst plan. Elliot could serve as his alibi. After seeing how he’d handled the kidnapping, it was obvious he’d be a terrible accomplice, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t set Lloyd up for an acquittal based on reasonable doubt. 

“Holbrook will never believe his right-hand man crossed him,” Elliot said. 

“Deputy Russell is his second?”

“Yeah. Luke Russell.”

“Huh. I think I had a run in with Deputy Luke the other day. Is he partial to a pump-action rifle?”

Elliot’s eyes widened. “That’s him. How’s you get away?”

“Charm, wit, and of course, I’m too pretty to kill,” Lloyd said, and winked. “Listen, this is just a setback. We can work with this. The plan is the same as before - we get the Sheriff busted. Once he’s locked up, you’re in the clear.”

“How? We don’t have any drugs!” 

“Tell me about Deputy Russell.” 

“He’s careful. Paranoid. Kind of off-kilter, socially. When he tries to cover it up, he comes across as creepy. He’s almost as crazy as the Sheriff.” 

Lloyd considered the odds that Holbrook had found another psychopath to partner with. Someone less polished than him, so he’d never have to worry about competition for his elected position. Birds of a feather flocked together, especially the unstable personalities with criminal tendencies, like Joe and Holbrook. They had remained allies for fifteen years before their falling out. Perhaps history wasn’t exactly repeating itself here, but it seemed to rhyme. 

Joe and the Sheriff had gone from partners to enemies. Now, Holbrook and Russell’s alliance was approaching the same crossroads, and Elliot was caught in the middle. 

“He wouldn’t move the drugs? Or check on them?” 

“No,” Elliot said. “If he had the slightest idea we knew about the stash he’d destroy it. Russell is paranoid, in capital letters.” 

“Well, we can’t have that,” Lloyd mused. “Would he sell them?” 

Elliot frowned and scratched his jaw. “Maybe. He’s in this for the money and a quick sale would cover his tracks.”

“Alright,” Lloyd said. “Here’s the new plan.” 

- - - - - 

Carl watched the two men enter the shipping container. His eyes had adjusted to the brightness, but he still couldn’t see anything but shadows past the work lamps. To his surprise, the kidnapper in charge stepped into the light. Dread curled in Carl’s stomach. If he was seeing his kidnapper’s face, that only meant one thing.

“What? What do you want from me?”

“Call Deputy Russell and tell him you found a buyer for the drugs.”

“Are you out of your mind? He’ll kill me!” 

The mustached kidnapper sneered. He reached behind his back and pulled out a Glock. 

“Listen up, Carl. You have two choices. Get us a meeting with Russell, or say goodbye to your kneecaps.” 

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

Detective Roth hadn’t spoken for twenty minutes. He sat with his arms crossed in the waiting room, opposite from you and Marco. The clock ticked loudly, counting off the seconds as you waited for Zach. 

Marco shifted beside you, his leather jacket creaking. He’d refused to leave you alone with Roth. The protectiveness amused you, since you had no qualms about being alone with the detective, but Marco had taken an instant dislike to the man. It didn’t help that Roth had refused to explain the nature of his visit. He’d breezed in like he owned the place and immediately demanded you round up Zach, Bishop, and Lloyd. 

Your phone vibrated with a text from Zach.

On my way up. 

A moment later, the door opened, and Bishop entered, followed by Zach. 

You did a double take at the sight of Bishop’s outfit. He wore khaki slacks and a novelty golf shirt that made the patterns in Lloyd’s closet look tame. His black polo was decorated in neon-sign print. Hot pink flamingos, lime green palm leaves, turquoise margarita glasses, magenta watermelon slices, and chartreuse pineapples covered the material.

For a man who wore nothing but white or blue shirts and neutral ties to the office, he apparently swung to the opposite end of the spectrum on the weekend. Next time you needed a gift for Lloyd you’d ask Bishop where he bought his golf shirts. 

Zach pinned the detective with hard eyes.

“What brings you here, uninvited, on a Saturday afternoon, Roth?” 

“Which one of you contacted the press?”

“Excuse me?” Zach said, tilting his head. 

“Who leaked evidence to the media? If you speak up now, the punishment won’t be as bad. I’d recommend doing so quickly, because I’d rather not get angrier than I already am.”

“None of us would do that,” Bishop said. 

Roth grunted. “What about Lloyd Hansen? Why isn’t he here?”

You answered. “His father died. He’s in Idaho taking care of family matters.” 

You tried to speak neutrally, but despite your best efforts, anger sizzled in the words.

“The Rolling Stone ran a cover story on the unidentified victims of Shun Nguyen today. The highlight of the piece was that the recently discovered victim was found by the Xiarong crime scene, where she’d been lying undiscovered for the past twenty years.” 

He paused, letting the statement sink in, then continued.

“A podcaster was waiting for me in the parking lot this morning. Guess what he wanted? He wanted to know how we could miss a second victim only a few hundred feet away from the first. That was a fun question to field at six a.m.” 

Zach’s lips compressed and goosebumps rose on your arms as the shock settled in. 

“Do you have any idea how much harder my job just got?” Roth demanded. 

“Our job,” Zach said. 

The detective snorted. “Given the magnifying glass we’re about to be put under, go ahead. Call it your case, please. It’ll keep a few reporters off my back while they chase you around.” 

Zack and Bishop exchanged a glance. You wondered if you should mention what you’d learned from Mr. Liu this morning. Questioning the DNA test when Roth was already upset didn’t feel too smart, but you didn’t want him to think you were hiding information. One look at his tight-lipped expression decided your course of action. 

“We weren’t the ones who contacted the media,” you said.

“We’ve had limited hands on this case in the department and only a few people knew the details published today. I trust all of those people. By default, that puts you all at the top of my suspect list.” 

Roth looked around, studying each face. 

“The only explanation is that someone in this room compromised the investigation. You betrayed your responsibility, mishandled classified information, and screwed me over. As of right now our cooperation is over. Until you hear differently, stay the hell away from my department.”  

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

Next - Chapter XV

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[aerynwrites]

Ruined

Vampire!Silco x Fem!Reader

Arcane Halloweek: Day 4 - Monster AU

A/N: I have been so excitedly sitting on this one shot for days now and I’m so happy to finally share with y’all. Also…I just Just of made up my own vampire rules so just ignore that lol. Hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: angst | slight pining | boss/employee relationship | blood | mentions of knives and cuts | biting | vampire feeding | blood drinking | silco being a teasing bastard as usual | fluff | suggestive themes towards the end.

not beta read - apologies for any and all grammatical/spelling errors.

You should have known this was a stupid idea. 

You should have known your mistake and consequent solution would come back to bite you in the ass. Just like every other time you try to go out of your way to appease everyone. Yet, here you are, suffering the consequences because some fucking assholes decided to jump you and the caravan on your way back to the Last Drop.

Sevika, Ran and the other goon with you had made quick work of most of them, their superhuman speed making them efficient in their jobs. However, a few of the thieves managed to get away with almost half of the supply. 

The blood supply that keeps Silco from having to roam the lanes in search of food. 

You can’t help but kick yourself, as you remember the damning words you uttered to Sevika in the aftermath when she asked what you were going to do. What you were going to tell the boss. 

I’ll take care of it.

You might be one of the few humans in Silco’s employ, but you’re good at you’re job and you’re loyal - two things that lead to the right hand woman taking you at your word. Plus, it’s not like you lied. 

You are taking care of it.

You’re just trying to take care of it with Silco being none the wiser. As far as he knows the pickup went off without a hitch, his blood supply being unaffected. If only due to some late night visits to Singed for blood draws to replace the missing product. 

It felt like a great idea at the time - a simple, easy way to ensure the boss has what he needs without any needed stress. Except as the days wear on, everything starts to catch up with you. 

Reports seem to pile up, your focus shifted as eyes droop with each written line. Thirum having to shake you awake at the bar when you drifted off mid conversation, brows furrowed in confusion. Your head pounds almost every morning, eyes foggy as they try to focus on the world around you. And on top of all of that, you’re fucking exhausted almost constantly. Arms and legs move slower, you can never seem to get fully warm. 

And if Silco’s sidelong glances or frustrated sighs when he has to repeat himself for the hundredth time, say anything…He’s starting to notice that something is off. 

A faint call of your name pulls you from your thoughts, bringing you back to the bustling bar of the Last Drop as a large hand settles on your shoulder. You turn and come face to face with Sevika, who’s looking at you with that all too familiar frustrated scowl. 

“Didn’t you hear me the first dozen times I called your name?” she asks, casting a glance at your barely touched drink. 

You shake your head, gesturing around you lazily, fatigue already setting in. “It’s loud.” you offer lamely, smirking when she rolls her eyes. 

“Boss wants to see you.”

You sigh, “I already gave him my reports-”

Sevika cuts you off, practically hauling you off the barstool. “Now. And he didn’t seem keen on waiting.”

The tone of her voice is sobering, pushing your fatigue to the side as you look towards the stairs. You don’t offer Sevika any response other than a wary glance as you make your way to Silco’s office. 

The stairs creak beneath your feet as you make the journey until you are outside the familiar door. Raising a hand to knock, your knuckles don’t even meet the surface before the familiar drawl of Silco’s voice stops you. 

“Come in.”

Entering without hesitation, the door closes behind you as you make your way into the room, stopping just behind the chairs in front of his ornate desk. His chair is facing away from you, the smoke curling delicately over the top the only indication he’s sitting in it. 

You clear your throat softly. “You…wanted to see me, sir?”

The chair turns to face you smoothly, teal and orange gaze settling on you as he takes a deep drag from the cigar at his lips before snuffing it out in an ashtray on his desk. His eyes never leave yours as he exhales slowly, the smoke enveloping you in a distinctive spicy aroma. 

He must see the way your nose scrunches at the smell, never being one for cigars or the way they smell, a detail he’s picked up on in your years of service. 

“A distinct smell, is it not?” His voice is like silk as it leaves his lips.

Brows furrowed at the random line of questioning, you nod slowly.

Taking a deep breath, he picks up the cigar once more, twirling it between long fingers as he studies it. “A distinct taste too,” he continues, “each cigar tastes different than the last. Some have a certain headiness about them while others are more delicate - sweeter, even.”

You shake your head, heart thumping nervously in your chest as you lose any idea of why you were called up here. “Boss, I don’t understand-”

“Blood is the same in that sense,” he says, cutting you off as he pulls open the top drawer in his desk, procuring something before placing it on the desktop. “Everyone’s blood tastes different. Not a single one is alike. Which is why-” he taps the object on the desk twice, “I know this shipment of blood is different from the rest.”

Your eyes fall to the desk and you feel your stomach drop through the floor. It’s a blood bag, just like the same ones that typically come in the shipments. But the only difference is the slight difference in the labels. You tried your best to replicate the labels on the typical bags, but you couldn’t perfect them. 

This is one of the fillers you slipped in. It’s your blood that’s been emptied from that bag, and you can only hope he hasn’t connected the dots. 

“If there’s an issue with the product I can talk to the supplier and see if they’ve made any changes,” you say, voice coming out weaker than you anticipated. 

Silco regard’s you for a moment, before he slowly gets to his feet, eyes never leaving yours as he rounds the desk, that oh-so-familiar saunter sending a chill down your spine.

“Were there issues with the shipment?” He asks plainly, getting closer to you with each calculated step. “Because there are just a few too many coincidences for me to dismiss.”

He’s in front of you now, a mere foot away as he looks down at you, orange iris blazing as he starts a slow circle around you. 

“The shipment was delayed, then the product differs vastly from those in the past, and at the same time as all of these discrepancies are occurring, one of my best employees starts to decline in health and their duties…” 

You can’t find it in yourself to move as he stalks behind your back, breath fanning over your ear until he pauses just over your left shoulder. 

The one thing that you could never seem to get used to with vampire’s, despite spending most of your time with them, was their lack of warmth. You almost expect to feel heat seeping into your back through your thin shirt, but all you feel is bone shilling coolness as he leans forward, lips brushing against your shoulder as he speaks. 

“I have a theory,” he whispers, lips trialing ever so slowly upwards to rest just over your jugular, “and I'd like a chance to prove it.”

The faint scratch of unnaturally sharp canines against the delicate skin of your neck, makes your voice waver as you speak. “W-whatever you need.”

He chuckles darkly, and you feel ashamed of the excitement that shoots through you. 

“Be careful what you so willingly offer.”

Before you can blink, a strong hand wraps around your wrist, spinning you until you are pressed up against the edge of the desk, trapped between Silco and the hardwood behind you. But that isn’t what sucks the break from your lungs. 

No - it’s the glint of steel in the fading light of his office that has your breath leaving you in anxious pants. 

This is it. You think, eyes instinctively clenching shut. He’s going to kill me for lying to him, for trying to cover up my mistake, for breaking his trust-

A sharp gasp leaves you as a stinging pain erupts across your fingertip. Eyes fly open only to see Silco tossing his knife onto the desk behind you as his dual colored gaze falls to the hand held between you. 

Your hand. With one finger extended and a delicate pearl of blood bubbling to the surface. It feels as if you aren’t even breathing as he takes the digit into his mouth, tongue laving at the small wound. Contrary to what you imagined, his mouth is warm and tongue slick as it moves to collect every scrap of blood from your finger. 

After what feels like an eternity but is probably just a mere moment, he pulls back licking his bottom lip thoughtfully before fixing his gaze back on you. He fixes you with that wicked smirk, the one that always makes your knees weak. 

“It seems I was right,” he says simply. “I had a feeling something happened with the shipment, and in an effort to correct the accident, you filled the gaps with your own…supply.” 

You go to speak, but Silco cuts you off just as you take a breath, leaning down ever closer to you, your noses brushing gently as he speaks. “I could taste the difference immediately. The regular supplier most likely supplements the blood with nutrients and other things and it makes it taste…bland, medicinal…” he trails down lower, nosing at your jaw, “lackluster.” 

“But yours…” His breath makes your skin prickle and you can’t stop the shiver as he dips lower, lips brushing the spot just below your ear. “Your’s is different. Brighter, more vibrant, sweeter…” his words melt over your skin like warm honey, and you can’t find it in you to care when your hands come up and grip his arms for purchase as he continues. 

“I had an idea of what you were doing right from the beginning, and as I kept drinking, kept tasting you, well…I couldn’t help but wonder what it tastes like directly from the source.”

As if to emphasize his point, he runs his tongue over the delicate skin above your jugular, and the words leave your lips before you can stop yourself. 

“You can. I’d…I’d let you.” 

The confession is a broken, desperate thing, but he must enjoy it if his bemused chuckle is anything to go by. You want nothing more than for him to do it, to take what you've been willingly giving him for days now. But to your confusion, and slight disappointment, he pulls away, eyes roaming your face.

“I know you would,” he reveals, lips ticking upward in that smirk once more at your shocked expression. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. The way your heart speeds up in my presence, your stuttered breaths, dilated pupils…” 

He pulls even further away then, reaching up to pull your hands away from him with a gentle grip, a drastic contrast to the delirious way he’s teasing you. 

“As much as I desire to accept your offer…you’re weak,” he deapans, letting your arms fall to your sides once more. “This plan of yours has left you barely able to function, let alone let me feed from you.”

He sidesteps you gracefully, rounding the desk as you turn to follow his movements until he is back in the same position he was earlier. Sat in his chair with all the power in the world as he pulls a new cigar from inside his desk, snips the end off and lights it with calculated precision. 

His eyes fall from you down to the scattered papers on his desk as he takes a deep inhale from the cigar before letting it out once more. 

“Take the next few days to yourself. I expect you to be at full capacity before the next shipment.”

His words are a clear dismissal, and you have to stop yourself from physically reeling from the whiplash the last several moments have given you. But you don’t stay to ask questions, instead taking it for what it is. 

The door to Silco’s office clicks shut behind you as you exit into the hallway, and your brain can only seem to focus on one thing.

What the fuck do you do now?

───── 𖥸 ─────

It’s been weeks since the shipment incident, and just about the same amount of time since your moment with Silco in his office, and his words haven’t stopped ringing in your head. 

As much as I desire to accept your offer…

Sure the offer had been made in the moment but…you meant it. Years spent pining after your vampire boss had left you thinking about the idea more than once, and…

He didn’t outright refuse you. He just…deferred it to a later date. 

At least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself as you’ve tried to find a way to bring it up again in a casual way. 

Initially you weren’t ever going to speak about it again - in fact, once you returned to work you had planned to pretend that the whole fiasco never happened. The new shipment came in without a hitch so things went back to normal.

…almost…

You have your energy back and you’re back to your old self, no longer missing meetings or dozing off at the bar. But Silco…something is different since you’ve come back from your mandatory recovery leave. 

Your meetings with him to go over reports feel more…intimate. Before, you typically stood a few feet from the desk, rattling off numbers and important details while he looked at the papers. But now, it’s vastly different. 

Now he invites you so sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk as you go over the reports. Oftentimes standing to pour you both a drink - another new addition - before taking his place in the empty seat beside you. 

The first time it happened, it caught you off guard, stalling your speech as you looked over at the kingpin of the undercity who only lazily gestured at you to continue. 

Once you gathered yourself again you had indeed continued, but you didn’t miss the way he leaned forward, elbows on his knees and leaving very little space between you as he read over the parchment in your hands. 

Each time he’s so close you can smell the faint scent of his cologne and the spice of cigars on his breath when he mutters a question. And you swear a few times you even heard him take a deep breath just a little too close to be coincidental. 

You also noticed that the blood supply is lasting him longer than usual, which means he’s either finding a supply elsewhere or just not using it. 

Maybe he was so used to mine…he doesn’t like the taste of the other stuff now…

The thought is fleeting, and you try to shove it down before it takes root, but you can’t. It’s the only thing you can think about as you slowly ascend the stairs to Silco’s office, nerves alight with anxiety as you finally stand in front of the door. 

What if he doesn’t want it? What if he laughs I’m your face and calls you out for the foolish child you feel like? What if-

“Quit lingering at the door like a wraith. Either come in or get back to work.” 

The all too familiar voice meets your ears through the thick wood for the door, and you can’t stop the warmth that floods your cheeks. 

The door is unlocked so you walk in easily, letting it click shut behind you as you step further into the room. Your eyes fall immediately to the man who’s been plaguing your thoughts. 

He stands in front of the large window behind his desk, the light casting his office in a green hue and making him nothing but a silhouette against the backdrop. 

Instinctively you shove your hands in the pockets of your jacket, trying to hide the way they shake as your nerves get the better of you. 

Finally, Silco turns to face you, his orange eye bright and glowing against the darkness of his silhouette. It makes you shiver for an entirely other reason and that alone seems to give you the little courage you need to approach the desk. 

His features make themselves out as you come closer, the light not distorting them as much, and you’re able to see the way he raises a brow just as he lowers a cigar from his lips. He makes a point to blow the smoke away from you, and you silently appreciate the small gesture, licking your lips as you try to find the words you want to say. 

However, Silco beats you to it, voice smooth as he speaks. 

“If you have something to say…say it.” He says bluntly, eyes locked onto you. 

So he knows. Or…at least has an idea.

Pulling your hands from your pockets, you clasp them in front of you, trying to appear more confident than you feel. 

“I just noticed that the new supply might not be up to your…standards. And I just -  wanted to let you know that my…my offer is still on the table.” 

Your last words come out in a whisper, confidence slipping away from you the longer you hold Silco’s unrelenting gaze. 

The suggestion sounds pathetic when you say it out loud, and you’re ready to take it all back to tuck tail and run when a chuckle meets your ears. 

It’s the same as the ones he gave you last time, dark, humorless - but not cruel or demeaning. Just like he’s privy to a joke you don’t understand, an irony you can’t fully comprehend. 

And as he stalks from behind the desk, snuffing out his cigar on the way, you find that your eyes never leave him. Not even when he comes to stand almost toe to toe with you, that damn cologne tickling your nose and making your eyes flutter as he leans in closer. 

“Do you have any idea what you’re offering me?” He asks, voice genuine, as if he truly wants you to rethink your precious gift. 

But you have thought about it. Thought about the possibilities, what could go wrong, and what could go so mind-nubmingly right. 

You just hope this will fall under the latter. 

You give him a small but firm nod, voice not wavering as you speak. “I do. And…It’s yours. I-If you want it.” 

The breath of air he releases is one of relief, you can practically feel the way he sags into your space, nosing your jaw as hands ghost up your sides. 

“Oh, my dear…” Breath fans over your ear sending shivers down your spine. “You have no idea how much I’ve craved it.” 

You don’t know what you were expecting. Part of you was expecting him to take you right there, teeth plunging into your neck unceremoniously to drink directly from the source like he wanted. Part of you maybe expected him to be a touch softer, walking you through it before sharp canines pierce delicate skin. 

But you never expected a kiss. 

Never expected cool lips pressed against yours with a ferocity only intimate lovers possess. Never expected the feeling of his tongue running across the seam of your lips or granting him access as easily as you draw breath. 

He hums lowly into you, and you can feel the vibrations from within his chest as he wraps strong arms around you to pull you impossibly closer against him. Fingers press greedily into your sides as he guides you backwards and you don’t even have the wherewithal to wonder where he’s taking you. 

Only when he turns you both with incredible grace and sinks down onto the plush velvet of the sofa does it register, and by then you’re already in his lap and too far gone to care. 

He breaks the kiss as soon as you slide onto his legs, thighs straddling his own as lips trail from your mouth to your cheek, then lower. 

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?” He husks, voice like broken gravel as he nips at the edge of your jaw, those impossibly sharp fangs scratching teasingly. 

“You’ve ruined me. You gave me a taste and it’s made everything else taste like the toxins swimming in the river Pilt.” He’s at your neck now, teasing, nipping, tongue laving out to soothe the little bites. “Bitter, acidic, bland-“ he takes a deep inhale as he nuzzles into you, and you can feel the way his lashes flutter against your skin. “Nothing like this, like the divine ichor that seems to run through your veins-“

“Silco, please.” 

Those two words. The utterance of his name and the way you beg so sweetly are his undoing. They are enough to snap the thin little thread of control he still had and allows him to finally take what he’s so desperately wanted for longer than he can remember. 

The pain is both as intense and yet, lesser than you had thought it to be. It’s a piercing, searing heat that flows from your neck to your fingertips where they grasp for purchase in his fine silk vest. Yet the ecstasy that courses through you moments after is enough to overwhelm all else. 

It’s…strange. But it feels good. With each languid pull, each pass of his tongue over your skin, the way his arms tighten around you, crushing you to him as he feasts - it all makes the heat in your belly burn brighter. 

He groans against you as he drinks, pressing harder against you as if that will somehow make the blood come forth faster, nose digging into your shoulder as one hand comes up to tangle in your hair as you nuzzle into his own neck. 

It feels like an eternity when he practically rips himself from you with a grunt of effort. Pressing one last kiss the delicate skin which stops the gentle flow of crimson. You were just beginning to feel the telltale signs of fatigue, sleep tugging gently at your eyes when cool hands come up to cradle your face. 

You’re pulled from your place on his shoulder gently, and brought up only so caring eyes can look you over. The teal iris, the one so many seem to overlook, is eclipsed by the black of his pupil, hunger still present in his gaze. 

There’s still the faintest hint of red on his lips, one corner darker than the rest - and you can’t help but reach up to wipe at it. It’s the first time you’ve truly touched him throughout all this, the first time he’s ever let you touch him. So, you try to commit it to memory. The way the scars marring his upper lip feel beneath your thumb as you wipe gently at the blood left there. 

Without thought, his tongue peaks out to wipe up the excess, brushing against the pad of your finger before retreating once more as he reaches up to take your hand in his own. 

You’re momentarily struck by the gentleness of his actions, the way his brow seems to draw together in concern. Which is why you can’t fathom why the words spill from your lips. 

“So, was it better directly from the source?” You ask, voice soft and bringing a rare half smile to the man’s lips. 

He nods. “As I said,” he begins, leaning in so lips ghost over your own, and you can almost taste the metallic tang on his breath. 

“You’ve ruined me.” 

[cowboygenesis]

two: sign from the skies | geralt x reader

part 2 of the "threads of fate" series: masterlist.

pairing: geralt x reader

chapter warnings: none.

word count: 4.4k

series summary: geralt begrudgingly accepts a monster contract issued to him by a strange girl, thinking it to be an opportunity for some quick coin. nothing goes as planned.

notes: here we go, chapter two! i want to add a lot more geralt-reader interactions from now on… i live for the tension. if you're disappointed with the lack of smut so far, please bear with me! i'm working on some smutty oneshots on the side if you're interested, to satiate all of us as this longer fic comes along.. enjoy x

The air was dewy and cold that morning. Geralt had woken up at dawn to the scent of musk, grass, and a sleek layer of moisture on his skin, cool and sensitive to the soft breeze nipping at his ears and cheeks. As promised, he had taken camp at the edge of the nearby woods; far enough to drown out the buzz of Posada’s rich nightlife, yet close enough to watch the churchbells swing rhythmically once the sun began to rise over the horizon.

“No trouble sleeping last night, Roach?” the man nodded towards his steed, earning a soft neigh. “Last night was peaceful. No sign of that creature the barmaid spoke of, or of anything else for that matter,”

Geralt’s eyebrows raised in agreement, stretching his torso against the rough bark of an oak tree. “Perhaps it only awakens for the foragers after all.”

He crouched down next to the remains of a crude, makeshift campfire. The heavy, weathered stones encircled a blackened pile of ash that housed a tiny, dying flame. The man hummed lowly, reaching his arms into a canvas sack as his fingers poked around the flailing mound of cloth, testing the textures and mounds of the treasures inside. Shining gold, glass potion vials, scraps of leather, and unread letters… finally, his index brushed against a smooth, waxy surface.

“Ah, so we’re not yet doomed.” he smiled coyly, picking out a small, luscious apple and bringing it up to the sunlight. The red skin glistened deliciously, and Geralt could almost feel the tart juices on his tongue.

Roach whined, hooves stomping precociously on the soft grass below. Her beady little eyes were bright, pleading, and Geralt chuckled softly at her reaction to such a delightful treat. With a flick, he tossed the apple towards her and watched as it rolled on the grass, finally making contact with her slender front leg.

“I know you’ll appreciate this more than I would,” he remarked with a nod, legs flexing to stand up once again. He grunted, metal clinging and slashing against his pauldrons while he swiftly fastened his gear. He adjusted the steel and silver swords in their holsters and finally fingered at his chest piece until a metallic wolf revealed its head from under his blouse.

“We can resupply in town, but if there is any truth to the talks of this beastie I might as well see what it’s about. Perhaps I’ll be in luck to find a rabbit or two while I’m at it.” Geralt mumbled, and his mare snorted in reply. Her snout lapped at the red apple in curiosity, tongue slowly flicking against the short stem before she made her first bite.

Geralt moved his gaze away from Posada’s rooftops and instead directed it at the lush forest behind. The treeline was thick, twisting and turning in the soft, white light of the morning sun. Considering their current location, these woods could span for dozens of kilometers with no habitable settlements in between, making the witcher’s next hunt more complex, or, at the very least, very time-consuming. He huffed at the thought, but with a full suit of armor now on, persevered ahead.

Geralt strolled in, boots squelching and creaking against the plush, moss-covered ground below his boots. As he made his way deeper into the pits of nature, the birdsong became sporadic. It dulled down to an occasional tweet, drowned out by the echoing volume of a cool wind weaving through the green and yellow leaves above. This breeze would grow in strength ever so often, tugging at thinner branches and whistling an eery melody into the morning dew.

When Geralt looked up again, the tree crowns had thickened to such a degree that the natural light struggled to pass through. Only singular, thin batches of light made their way through the thicket, beaming down on the earth below and illuminating the surface of a small stream. The clear waters had carved a small grove amongst the trees, allowing for a steady flow of life through the otherwise tranquil, idle surroundings.

There was a snap from behind. The man’s arm quickly tugged at the padded handle of his sword, half-unsheathed as his eyes narrowed. He scanned around, focused and unmoving while he confronted the perpetrator of chaos head-on.

Up ahead, just by a thick, decaying oak stump, stood an animal. Her tawny coat shone with a matted kind of luminance, a thick bristle dotted with milky spots and lines that trailed down her slender limbs. She raised her head, beady eyes looking into Geralt’s through a fan of black lashes. She chewed peacefully on a patch of green moss, nose glistening with a healthy sheen of moisture and no apparent desire to escape her pursuer.

Geralt readied his weapon, slowly letting it slide out of its protective casing as his right foot stepped up. The steel swished against leather, now gripped with two hands: mightily, purposefully. “Better than a rabbit,” he muttered under his heaving breaths.

The man advanced slowly, watching as the doe made peace with her fate. Her head stood still, jaw clenching and unclenching with the chew of her final meal.

Suddenly, another snap, from up ahead. The animal’s ears perked up, large head darting behind, then back forward. She looked at Geralt with glazed eyes and a wet nose. His legs tensed up. Then, she galloped away.

Her speed was unthinkable, furry body darting through the thicket while the witcher sprinted after her. The doe’s nubby tail twirled, hooves stomping on moss and soil before she made a final jump ahead, disappearing into a tall honeysuckle bush.

Geralt’s feet stuck in place, halting rapidly with a quickened breath as he examined the greenery. The blood in his ears was deafening, the birds and wind abruptly silenced. He readjusted his grip on the sword, sweat trickling down his forehead as steel slashed at the twigs ahead. With the self-made opening, he squeezed his body through the branches, feeling a sting as they tugged at his exposed skin. His eyes squinted at the sunlight pooling onto his face, stepping ahead cautiously with his blade leading the way.

He was in a small clearing. The glade was filled with an array of wildflowers and poppies, lined with sparse, decaying fencing and housing a small, swampy pond at the right-most edge of the valley, speckled with rounded stones and water reeds.

Ahead, down a decline, stood a wooden hut, its roof angled awkwardly, holding the four walls together in a matter of unbelievable asymmetry and heedlessness. The small, rectangular window perched on one of the sides had been covered with a decrepit plank, rotten and mossy from the test of harsh elements and time. Walking closer, Geralt realized the shack was completely uninhabited, and perhaps for a while at that.

Seeking an entrance, he strutted alongside the wall, gloved palms feeling the roughened, brittle surface of the wood. A small porch could be visible from just beyond another honeysuckle, this time easily traversable by foot.

He slumped down through the thicket, eyes squinting as he made it to the other side. The air felt stagnant. Geralt’s eyes trailed towards the porch, down the betrodden path, and towards the blinding red below.

The doe was dead. Her soft, white underbelly rested against the soil, tufts of fur stained a brilliant crimson that speckled her snout, ears, and backside. Her eyes looked the same as when she was alive, beady and lifeless. Geralt’s eyes trailed to the liquid pooling at her wound, eyes following her flank. Four deep gashes were carved into the tan bristle, cutting skin and muscle with apt precision. Geralt’s grip tightened.

He stepped away, circling the body cautiously. The porch fencing was tangled up in a mess of twine and ivy, and nestled within a cracked open entrance; an inconspicuous, wooden doorway with no knob or handle. Kicking away at stray vines, the witcher positioned himself against the entryway, shoulder-angled and tense. He breathed in, and out, and with a quick bodyslam, the door slung wide open.

The stench within was indescribable. Sour, earthy, and musky, with hints of myrrh and lavender, heavily lacing the atmosphere within. Singular streams of sunlight flooded into the hut through boarded-up windows, revealing constellations of dust particles dancing and swiveling through the air like stars.

The ceiling was adorned with bundles of dried herbs hanging by a thin twine, so dried up they had begun to flake off onto the floor in little piles.

Along the first wall stood a kitchen drawer, hanging out of its hinges and exposing the void within; the second wall was occupied by a bed, covered in hay and a small, child-sized quilt. Despite its visibly decrepit state, the textile was able to retain traces of handiwork: small, colorful stitches connected individual pieces of cloth, some of which bore tiny floral designs and some kind of animal iconography.

Geralt furrowed his eyebrows with a hum. He took another general glance around the room, licked his chapped lips, and adjusted his gaze to the flickering glimmer at the corner of his vision. He sheathed his sword and cautiously approached, eyes squinting at the object. He dropped his right knee, fingers reaching out to grab a crooked floorboard. As he pulled, the blackened wood crumbled between his fingers, the stench of mold unraveling under his nostrils.

The glimmer of light faded as his figure obscured the sunlight, the small compartment below the deck emanating with darkness. Geralt reached his hand down, feeling around the moist soil and cobwebs before his knuckles brushed against a hard spine.

A book, bound in a weathered skin of tan fur and leather. The cover was simple, unsigned, yet bearing a sizeable silver plate. The metal dipped into a shallow grove in the center, worn with scratches where the valley was deepest. His fingers sunk under the side of the cover, flipping through a few pages until the book lay flat on the ground.

The pages were yellowed, stained with dirt, grease, and herbal residue, but otherwise blank. Geralt flipped a few pages in bulk, but the paper held no writing. A few more, and still, nothing. Raising his arm, he bit at the loose fabric of his glove and with a grunt, removed it entirely. His hand hovered over the crease binding the book together, eyes closing. The exposed skin of his fingers reverberated, gently caressed by an unseeable force emanating from the paper.

“Magic,” he muttered, his hoarse voice cutting the silence of the cabin like a dulled knife. “Unreadable, perhaps purposefully locked away.”

His legs tensed against the dusty floor, smacking the book shut before he rose to his full height. A hum escaped his throat, echoing through his head as his eyes scanned the leather cover of this newly discovered artifact. If there was a sorcerer in town, he could try and decipher the pages. Hells, perhaps an alchemist could aid him.

With a cautious turn, Geralt turned towards the doorway. The outside light was beginning to fade, the cool tones of dawn melting into a soft warmth. He pushed at the rotted wood and walked out with two short strides, shutting the door behind him. The hinges creaked with the impact.

The air felt fresh. A gentle breeze carried through the small valley, kissing his eyelids as his gaze wandered to a splash of red—the dead doe.

He inhaled, circling a patch of moss until the tips of his boots grazed the animal’s fur. The pool of blood had spread since he last examined her, forming a shallow lake around his feet and sinking into the porous material. With a sharp exhale, he propped his arms under her stained belly. The exposed skin of his left hand dipped in the crimson liquid, letting it lap at his creased palm and sinking under the fingernails. Once his grip felt secure, he lifted with a soft grunt. The deer’s head sunk, lolling lifelessly in the air as Geralt threw the body over his shoulder. The doe felt light, so fragile she could break at any moment if his movements were to become brazen.

The witcher took one last look behind, the insides of the hut greeting him once again with a dark void. He hummed, turning away at the sensation brewing in his gut. His feet stomped across the soil, grunts filling the air as he adjusted to the extra weight on his side. The doe lay perfectly still upon his collarbone, her white tuft of a tail now motionless next to Geralt’s cheek.

Thick clouds had emerged on the azure backdrop above once the witcher had finally returned to his campsite. The sky pulsed in shades of blue and white, clusters of grey hanging with a suspicion of rain, perhaps a thunderstorm if his luck was really down that day.

Geralt had thrown the fresh carcass onto a flattened boulder, letting it sit a while as he re-sparked a fresh batch of coals for a campfire. The sleek, steel blade slid against his flint in jots of white and gold, the sound of slashing metal harmonizing with the sudden onset of distant grumbling. The sky began to darken, the distant clouds fat and ashen with moisture. Geralt hummed, striking the flint once more. Volatile sparks flew into the mound of dried lavender and sage piled amidst black coals.

Another roar in the atmosphere sent Roach into a manic spree, her hooves kicking spastically into the air, cries of fear filling the cool air.

“Easy, girl,” Geralt commanded, yet a gentleness laced his grave tone as a hand raised in the air, reaching towards the mare’s snout. Her snorts calmed, eyes scanning the man’s pale face in search of something familiar and comforting. He smiled. “Just a thunderstorm,” he reassured, “judging from the wind, it might be headed away from us.”

The warm glow of the growing flame lapped at Geralt’s knees, giving the two companions a tiny bubble of comforting illumination. He hummed, gripping the slender blade in his rough palm, and swiftly crawled towards the deer. Her body looked flaccid, restful almost, as she continued her eternal rest against the jagged surface of the flattened boulder.

His eyes shifted towards the horizon, hovering over the betrodden path and along the navy overskirt of a woman heading his direction. His eyebrows furrowed, the firm grip on his blade loosening as she approached with a bright smile plastered across her tired face.

“Geralt?” the girl called out, breaking into a fiddly sprint. Her movement was jagged and awkward, possibly inhibited by the size of her hand-me-down boots that croaked loudly, even at a distance.

“Geralt!” she affirmed, giddiness laced into her breathy voice as she placed a protective hand over the sizeable item in her other arm- a woven basket. She approached the man with a half-jog, eyes wide and bright.

“I… I looked around… everywhere for you,” she heaved, struggling to catch her breath. Her face was reddened and moist with sweat. “I remembered… I’m so glad you decided to stay!” she exclaimed with a kind smile, dusting off her apron. The material was off-white and stained with ale, but came alive with the addition of small beading and sewn decals at the seams. The colors were mismatched and varied, yet somehow brought the girl’s features out in just the right way.

“I took your job offer,” Geralt reminded her with a nod, hand hovering over the deer’s thick bristle. The girl’s eyes dropped at the gesture, her smile fading into a frown; not fearful or disgusted, simply upset.

“Poor girl,” she said quietly, kneeling with the basket perched upon her hip. She placed a nimble hand on the animal’s back, slowly trailing towards her belly. Her pinky grazed gently against Geralt’s, making her withdraw shakily. “Such beautiful animals.”

Geralt remained silent, watching the woman’s eyelashes brush her blushed cheeks as she studied the carcass with a profound fascination.

“I hope she didn’t suffer,” she added with a sharp inhale, hesitantly dragging her gaze away from the doe’s white belly. Geralt hummed with an acknowledging nod, deciding to stay silent. He didn’t know whether the doe suffered or not, and bringing that up to the woman felt fruitless at the moment.

“When I was little, I would try and count the spots on baby deer, the little white freckles. My mother told me every one of them meant a past lifetime. I think it was some sort of tradition she picked up from her own mother,” the woman continued, that same soft smile returning to her lips. Geralt maintained his composure, hands placed firmly against his knees as he watched the woman fidget nervously. Her nailbeds pressed into the coarse material of her apron, and Geralt scanned along the place where it met her corset. This one looked looser, clinging onto her waist a lot more comfortably than her tavern attire. She must have been taking a day off.

“Anyway, I’m sure you don’t want to deal with my chattering this early in the morning. I hope you’re hungry, I brought you something as a ‘thank you’,” she chuckled dryly, giving him a grin as her hands reached into the basket. She dug around for a moment, one eye closed in concentration before she finally withdrew a large loaf of bread. Her other hand unraveled a checkered napkin, which she opted to spread by the campfire. She placed the bread on top, then dug out a small paper parcel and leather decanter. She passed the latter into Geralt’s hands, and he grabbed it haphazardly. “For helping us out,”

The tanned leather felt cool against his fingertips, rough around the seams and adorning a crimson-stained cork at the top.

“The deer was dead when I found it,” he muttered, twisting the flask open. The cork squealed at the pressure, revealing a strong aroma of tart cherries and foreign spices. He tilted the bottle and looked inside, catching a glimpse of the bright-red concoction that swirled in the soft light.

“What is this?” Geralt questioned with a sniff.

The girl’s eyebrows seemed to relax at the notion that the doe didn’t suffer at his own hands, despite that conclusion being far-fetched and faulty. Sparing her the details of the strange occurrence in the woods seemed like the wisest course of action, regardless.

“Black cherry wine,” she declared with a smile, “A traveling merchant was selling these in bulk at the market this morning, for real cheap too. I hope you like it, though the spices might not be to everyone’s taste, I find.”

Geralt placed the nozzle to his lips, taking a modest sip and letting the tangy liquid slosh along his palate. The initial sweetness of the cherry transformed into a mild burn of cinnamon and cloves, filling the witcher’s chest with a comforting warmth that radiated down the stomach and limbs.

“It’s good,” he commented ingeniously, earning a satisfied nod from the girl.

“Right? It’s not so bad,” she chuckled, hands hovering over the fat loaf of bread warming against the fire. Her fingertips pressed into the crisp skin, as she eyed the witcher’s blade. “I don’t drink so much anymore, but these fruity wines from Skellige are always worth the trouble. ‘Lush’, I think they call them, traditionally. Something about the method of preparation. May I?” she trailed, pointing at the man’s knife with a mingy finger.

Geralt paused, taking another drink from the leather decanter. The supposed infamy of Skellige’s wines had never come to his mind. He cleared his throat, tossing the knife upwards to reposition his grip. His hands gently clasped onto the blade, handle aimed at the woman in front. She took it carefully, anxiously, letting the hilt land in her elfin hands, analyzing it meticulously and toying with the base. She let the flat of the knife slide against her palm, securing it in her grip.

“You don’t have to eat that doe anymore, you know?” she declared quietly, her voice laced with uncertainty. She didn’t look up, instead continuing to stab into the soft flesh of bread with a certain might and precision. The knife sliced into it smoothly, producing three slices of perfectly thick wedges that looked soft and delectable in the harsh light of the campfire.

“It’s a waste of meat if I don’t,” he replied, hand extending as the girl handed him two of the three slices in her possession. They felt moist against his skin, rough around the edges where the skin had baked into a thin crust.

“How about you sell it at the town’s market? The butcher could pay you handsomely for such a prime doe,” the woman suggested, peeling back the paper parcel to reveal a white goat’s cheese. She used the knife to slice it, placing the soft rectangles onto Geralt’s bread, then did the same with her own. “Venison spoils quickly, and you won’t make good use of the animal nearly fast enough.”

Geralt hummed, sinking his teeth into the morsel. The cheese was fresh and soft, spilling buttermilk on his tongue as he savored the delicate flesh of the bread below. Perhaps a fat pouch of coin would prove more beneficial than spoiled deer, indeed.

“Would you lead me to this market, then?” he questioned, quaffing the cherry liquor in intermissions. The girl’s eyes lit up, cheeks bunching with a smile. Her teeth sunk into her meal, chewing quickly and negligently. The bread disappeared quickly amongst her teeth.

“Let’s set out after our meal, in that case. The clouds have been brewing all morning, haven’t they?” she pointed at the horizon, thick gusts of silver nipping at the rooftops. “We wouldn’t want to get caught in that squall. Posada is infamous for these storms.”

The refreshments were gone quickly, replaced by a lulling comfort in their guts as Geralt stood up to prepare them for travel. He doused the campfire with water from his carafe, kicking at the remaining flames with his boot. He then unloaded his gear onto Roach. The deer hung off the steed’s backside, accompanied by the witcher’s travel pack and his visitor’s hand trailing gently along the mare’s muzzle.

“Hi, girl,” she spoke with a smile, rubbing her hand alongside the horse’s cheek. Roach whinnied, leaning into her touch. “Oh, just how precious you are! What’s your name?”

“Roach,” Geralt grumbled out, securing the leather saddle onto the horse’s back.

“Roach,” the woman repeated, scratching behind the mare’s ear. “Why Roach?”

“I name all my horses the same,” Geralt huffed, hands snaking down the thick bristle until his fingers tangled into the reigns. The woman chuckled at his explanation, and he raised an eyebrow in response. Her laughter was warm, hearty, and completely uninhibited by her company, it seemed. “There’s only space for one with the deer in the back. Get on.”

The woman’s face turned to face the witcher, lips pursed as she eyed the leather saddle under her palm. She approached slowly, neck craning as she maintained eye contact with the flaxen-haired man. Her cheeks flushed with a soft pink, dusting her nose and temples as she exhaled. She looked at her companion pleadingly.

Geralt hummed with an acknowledging nod, circling behind her back. His arms extended, hands hovering over the dip in her waist. He took note of the woman’s moss-green blouse, sitting loosely against her shoulder blades and exposing a fragment of the soft skin beneath.

She looked down, locks of mussed hair caressing her neck as her breath quickened, heavy in her chest whilst her breast expanded with every sharp inhale.

“May I?” Geralt questioned, his right hand gently resting atop her hip as he awaited confirmation. With the indication of a quick, subtle nod from the woman, he positioned his grip firmly against her waist and lifted. She gasped softly at the touch, her blue overskirt swept in a gentle breeze as her buttocks landed firmly against the saddle.

“Thanks,” she breathed out shakily, fingers wrapping firmly around the cantle. Her lips curled into a coy smile, watching as Geralt tightened his grip around the leather reigns and tugged, bold gaze relentlessly conversing with hers. He exhaled sharply, letting Roach trail ahead while he placed a free hand on the mare’s neck, nearing the girl’s hip.

“You’re strong,” she declared candidly, followed by a suppressed chuckle.

“Does it come as a surprise?” he questioned, head turned safely away from the woman’s curious gaze as he let a cheeky smile creep onto his lips. She laughed heartily in return.

As they led Roach down down the glade, she let her gaze trail along the stormy horizon, watching as the clouds approached in proximity to the red rooftops of Posada hovering solemnly in the distance.

She shuffled in the saddle, legs crossed as she let her eyes meet with the witcher’s long, flaxen hair, watching it trail down his heavy-set shoulders and toned back. He must have been robust under all that armor, certainly, after years of fighting monsters by hand and sword.

He strode down the beaten path with an air of inexplicable confidence and a certain, palpable grit that was made apparent through the fluidity of his movement. The woman gazed through half-lidded eyes, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“There’s another reason I wanted to speak to you,” she declared, stroking down Roach’s mane. Geralt kept his steady walking rhythm, allowing the girl to continue with his comfortable silence. “I know you spoke to Sylvanus in his room last night.” she trailed.

“And?” Geralt surmised, eyes glued towards the sky. The woman’s foot fiddled with a stirrup, eyebrows furrowed.

“I spotted him in the market square this morning, while I was resupplying ale for the tavern. He had just left the alchemist’s shop with a hefty purchase, and it very much appeared to me that he didn’t want to be seen or questioned about it, by anyone,” she confided, tone laced with slighted apprehension at the memory.

Geralt hummed in acknowledgment, fingers tightening around the leather reigns in his palm. He recalled the strange man’s declaration last night, his gravelly voice echoing in the witcher’s mind as they trotted down a patch of grass.

“Show me to that alchemist once we’re in town,” he commanded, a loud, crackling rumble filling the atmosphere suddenly. The woman gasped softly, eyes gazing into the darkened skies as the ozonic air entered her lungs, flushed skin met with the soft droplets of the first autumn rain.

[wickedlittleoz]

Hanzo is three, dashing down the halls in the estate to the agony of his nanny, who's trying her best to catch up to him after he ran off while she was using the bathroom. He's giggling, excited, tiny hands reaching out before him for whatever they can grab onto; diving under legs and furniture, until at last he reaches the desired door: his baby brother's nursery.

"Mama!" He calls out, small knuckles rasping against the door softly. There's a minute of pause before his mother comes to the door and in the meantime the nanny finally manages to reach him. She quickly scoops him into her arms as he wiggles and whines.

The door slides open and the nanny is quick to bow her head and say, "I'm very sorry, madam-"

With a kind smile and a gentle tone, the woman cuts in, "Not a problem. It's his big day, right Hanzo?"

Though she's holding a week-old Genji in her arms, Hanzo throws himself at her and she leans in to kiss his face and give him a sideway hug. "Here, say happy birthday to your big brother, Genji," she coos softly as the baby stares up at them with big, round, curious eyes.

Hanzo leans closer to the newborn as the nanny pulls him back. "Be gentle, now," his mother says when he inches closer again. He presses a very soft kiss to Genji's forehead and the baby giggles in response. Both women laugh at the cuteness of that moment.

-

Hanzo is ten, sitting quietly on a bench, watching as about a dozen kids in Halloween costumes run around the estate grounds. Genji is among them, his vampire cape flapping behind him in the cold night breeze. He sighs, looking down at the bag of sweets in his hands, full to the brim. But none of it is his - it's Genji's.

It's all about Genji these days.

The crunch of heavy feet on gravel has him involuntarily straightening his back. The hand lands on his nape, strong and controlling.

"Get your brother," Sojiro says without looking down at Hanzo. "We're cutting the cake."

He backs off without another word and Hanzo breathes in relief. Sometimes, like now, he misses mother so much it hurts. But he can't show his pain to anyone, doesn't want father to think he's weak. So he collects himself and gets up, calling out for Genji and their friends.

When they stand side by side at their shared birthday table, Hanzo realizes they forgot to write his name on the cake. The family governess has to add a "And Hanzo!" at the end of Happy birthday to you because father calls out Genji's name and claps loudly as if that were the end of the song and there was no one else worth mentioning.

He feels sick, like he might throw up on the cake, so as soon as the singing is over and everyone is busying themselves with candies, he disappears from the crowd and locks himself up in his bedroom. He doesn't come out until the next morning, when everyone - including him - can pretend nothing out of the ordinary happened.

-

Hanzo is twenty-two, blowing cigarette smoke into the night air at the window. He knows that he should sleep, but can't seem to relax. This room feels too big for him, as do the shoes that he's having to fill since father's very recent death. He's been trained for this job all his life, but now that it's here, he doesn't feel prepared.

The door behind him slides open and he doesn't have to look to know that it's Genji. Hanzo continues staring at the cloudless sky until a body presses behind his, one arm going around his middle and the other reaching out until Genji steals the cigarette from his hand.

They smoke in silence for a moment. Genji puts out the butt on the windowsill and he finally glances towards his brother, reprimanding. All Genji does is smirk; he'd done it on purpose, to get Hanzo's attention.

The hand around his waist crawls all the way up to his hair, brushing gently at his temples. He feels as Genji tries to curl it around his fingers, but his hair is too short now, so he just plays adoringly with it.

"It's almost time," Genji says in a whisper. "I got you a present."

Hanzo looks at him again, eyebrows shooting up. Genji has never been most thoughtful... But maybe losing father has made him realize people can just. Be gone someday, out of nowhere. It has certainly made Hanzo painfully aware of that.

"You shouldn't have," he says, but as Genji's hand travels once again to wrap around his, he allows himself to be dragged away from the window and walked back towards the bed.

When he sits at the end of the bed, Genji is quick to once again curl himself around Hanzo's body; one of his legs around his back, the other over his lap, chest glued to Hanzo's side. He holds Genji's waist and watches as he pulls a tiny velvet bag from his pocket. He tugs at Hanzo's free hand until he's holding it out, palm up, so he can dump the contents of the bag in Hanzo's hold.

It's a pair of golden bands that he immediately recognizes as their parents' wedding rings. Hanzo gasps, hand shaking as if the metal could burn him. His stomach feels cold as he stares at the rings and tears threaten to spill from his eyes; he misses mother more than ever, and even though losing father felt like freedom, he misses what he represented in their lives - the figure of authority that Hanzo didn't have to be.

"Hanzo," Genji starts and he forces his eyes to move to his brother's face. "It's you and me now."

This thought, though to Genji it might mean something else, to him is a relief. He has Genji, so what else could Hanzo need? Besides, he is at the head of the family now, and he wants his brother at his side. He will have it his way.

There are tears in Genji's eyes, too, when he adds, "I'm yours if you're mine."

And for the first time since father died, Hanzo allows himself to cry.

He pulls his hand free from Genji's waist and takes the ring, slides it reverently onto the finger that his brother holds out. Cries silently as Genji does the same to him. When they kiss, it tastes like fear, salt and love.

-

Hanzo is twenty-five, hands shaking and covered in blood as he fumbles with Genji's corpse for the wedding ring. His katana rests at his feet, bloodied and sharp.

He did not have things his way.

-

Hanzo is thirty, barging uninvited into the Shimada estate to make an offering to Genji's spirit in the temple. His katana rests on the altar like a trophy. Genji lives in his heart.

-

Hanzo is forty-one, climbing to his feet and crossing his room in Gibraltar in silent strides. The old bag he hides at the back of his wardrobe has a secret compartment, a hole in the lining that he's used for over a decade now to hide a certain box.

When he returns to the bed, heart racing with anxiety, Genji is still blinking awake. But he smiles a sleepy thing and reaches out for Hanzo, who slips back into his arms. Genji spends a good minute laying a plethora of kisses over his face, neck, arms, hands; crushing Hanzo in a passionate hug.

His voice is croaky when he murmurs, "Happy birthday, old man."

Hanzo just chuckles. "Don't worry, you'll get there."

But he's hit with a wave of gratitude - to Mercy, to the gods, to the universe - that he knows Genji will get to 41, too. When for years he spent his and Genji's birthdays wallowing in guilt that his brother never knew 23, 24, 25... All thanks to him.

"We'll be celebrating in the retirement home," Genji jokes and he laughs again. He would have it no other way; having Genji at his side until the end of their lives is his only plan for the future.

Hanzo sits up, then, and Genji follows him with his eyes. Curious eyes, like that week-old baby; gaze that doesn't lose a single move while Hanzo digs out the small box and gently opens it. The shine of gold has dulled some after years of dust and lack of wear. Hanzo surprises himself that he still remembers which is which.

He takes Genji's hand, holds it with the same reverence he had that night, almost two decades ago, in his bedroom in Hanamura. The ring slips easily and fits with perfection onto his finger. It's as if time hasn't passed at all, but it has. So much of it has - and thank the gods for that.

Genji is the one to gasp and freeze in place this time, staring at the ring, at Hanzo's face. Doubtless running over the memories from that night as well. His face doesn't betray a single emotion as he slides Hanzo's ring into place and Hanzo fears that this was a mistake, that maybe some mementos are meant to be just that - objects to remember the past by. Not things to build a present and future with.

But Genji brings his hand to his face and kisses the ring, and sits up to kiss him on the lips, and Hanzo knows they're fine. They're more than fine, they're-

"-yours and you're mine," his lips moving around the words that Genji whispers, and though it's early morning and so much has yet to happen today, this has to be his best birthday by far.

Life sure has its way of making all the right things fall into all the right places, sooner or later.

[rosemaryreaper]

Where was Nick when Hancock evacuated the Diamond City ghouls to Goodneighbor?

Back in September, I started working on a fic that covered exactly that…then I tossed it aside because I thought it was bad. But now I actually want to finish it. It’s a short Nick POV fic that follows the three days before McDonough passes the Anti-Ghoul decree. Also featured are Ellie, Security Captain Lennie Sullivan, and a still human Hancock. Here’s a snippet from Chapter 2, which is the night before everything goes to hell.

* * * *

In the end, there was nothing to be done but wait. Ellie returned with more than enough documents to fit the bill, and after another round through the line, the guard let him through with minimal hostility. When he tried to subtly linger to keep an eye on things, Security threatened to shoot him for loitering, so there was no choice but to return to the office. Lennie never returned. Neither did many of the ghouls.

Convincing his old circuit board of a brain to focus on work after that morning was difficult, but it didn’t change the fact that he still had a half dozen interconnected missing persons cases on his desk. Sitting around doing nothing wasn’t going to help anyone, ghoul or missing girl, so the least they could do was be productive with the spare time. He got Ellie to bring out what she had dubbed “the conspiracy board”—a big map of the Commonwealth they had pinned to a corkboard—and the two of them spent the afternoon moving around colored pins and strings, trying to work out which route the traffickers were using to smuggle these girls around the state.

“Think Bunker Hill could be a stopover?” Ellie asked, tapping her fingernail on a red circle to the northeast.

“They’d have to go through Goodneighbor first,” Nick said.

“I don’t doubt it. Sounds like the sort of business Vic’s gang would get mixed up in. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s responsible for this whole horrible trade.”

“Still could be a third party. Or a bit of both. We won’t know till we learn more.” He paused. “But I wouldn’t be surprised either.” He added another pin to the board. “If they’re using Bunker Hill, then they aren’t the only party stashing that particular kind of cargo there overnight. I have a contact I can talk to, see if his guys have noticed any odd goings on.”

“Sounds promising,” Ellie said.

“Let’s hope so. This is one trail I absolutely do not want to leave to get cold.”

Arturo was the neighborhood tourist. Nick would have to catch him alone sometime soon; ask him to get a message through to Deacon and his crew. If anyone was an expert on smuggling people through the Commonwealth undetected, it was the Railroad.

The door screeched open, and a choked sob tumbled through its frame. Violet shuffled in, fully weeping within Riley’s embrace. To her, Riley said, “Here, sweetheart, let’s just sit down for a spell, okay?” To the rest of the room, she said, “I’m going to fucking kill someone.”

“Oh, Violet.” Ellie rushed to grab a blanket from the bedroom. “Here, have a seat, honey.” While Riley lowered Violet into the cushioned chair, Ellie wrapped the blanket around the poor ghoul.

Jax stumbled out of the bedroom, bleary-eyed and in their undershirt, which had rolled up to expose their bandages. “Vi? What happened?”

Riley’s brows shot up. “What the hell happened to you?”

“New exercise regime,” Jax said.

“Jesus Christ,” Riley said. “Somebody jumped you.”

“What?” Violet gasped through tears.

“It’s nothing, Vi,” Jax said. “What’s wrong?”

Violet let out another sob. “I’ve never been s-so humiliated.”

“Oh no,” Ellie said. “They didn’t accept any of your papers?”

“None! The boys and I tried everything. Yefim even tried to draw up something last minute, but they wouldn’t take any of it! Now I’m going to lose everything—my home, my job. I won’t survive outside the Wall, not for a night.” She bowed her head and cried.

Ellie yanked open the drawers of her desk, pulling out a whole stack of handkerchiefs and a mug, the latter of which she filled from the coffee thermos. She murmured to Violet, out of even Nick’s broad earshot, until she could convince her to hold the mug in her hands. Nick sent a silent thanks to fate that he had hired her. He had been about to say something a hell of a lot more blunt.

“Nonhumans,” Riley snarled. “Nonhumans! We’re not another species. We’re not animals. I have half a mind to march up to the Stands right now—kick down doors until I find every councilman responsible. They want to see feral? I’ll show them feral.”

Nick said, “You’ll get yourself shot.”

“I’ll get myself shot outside too. This way will be quicker.”

Jax said, “None of our lot are getting shot outside if I can help it. Not if they stick with me.”

“Oh, look, it’s the ghoul savior,” Riley deadpanned. “Right now, if I had to bet on who would win in a fight, you or a mole rat, I’d back the mole rat.”

“It’s not all hopeless, is it?” Ellie asked, rubbing Violet’s back. “Some ghouls still managed to vote. Riley, you did.”

Riley scowled. “I did, barely, because I’m fortunate. They gave us no warning, no time to get our papers in order—and a lot of ghouls didn’t. Screw all the drifters, I guess.”

Nick could sense Jax giving him a look out of the corner of his eye. One of the “I told you so” variety. Ellie was giving him a different kind of look. One that placed far too must trust in his nonexistent ability to overcome the odds. You can do something, Nicky. Right?

Nick could do something. He could turn his investigation towards the city, root out who was pulling the strings—who had organized the guards, who had influenced the Council, who had to benefit from all the chaos. It would take time, but he was nothing if not persistent. His joints hadn’t rusted to a halt yet.

But the ghouls didn’t have time. They had tonight. The proverbial nuke had already been launched. Catching the crook here wouldn’t save anyone until after there was no one left to be saved. So, Nick would do something all right: he would shield them from the blast best he could and help those who survived out of the debris. No more. No better.

“Jax is working on an escape route,” Nick said. “I’ve been scrounging up supplies. You need something—help organizing a caravan, a spare gun, anything—you say the word.”

The room calmed, but not in a comfortable way. The room calmed in the same way a snake calms when it is too cold to move. Violet had quieted. Jax looked determined; Riley grim. Ellie turned her face away.

Jax crossed over to Violet, offering her a hand up. “Come on, Vi. Why don’t we get you back to the Dugout? You look like you could use something stronger than coffee.”

Violet accepted, sniffling, and they slipped an arm around her shoulders. With a quiet murmur of thanks to Nick, she and Jax made their exit. Riley didn’t follow. She gazed down at the empty chair, then up at Nick with that grim expression. She stalked forward, and he froze, startled, as she threw her arms around him.

Most folks weren’t lining up to give the metal man hugs. It wasn’t the kind of relationship he had with Ellie, who was technically his employee, and it wasn’t something he would ever initiate with a client, no matter how distraught. He was hyper aware of his own strength as he lifted his arms, and they hung suspended for too long as he tried to recall the last time he had calibrated them. He briefly considered blacking out to run a quick diagnostic.

But the moment had already gone on too long, and something of the old Nick kicked in. He rested his hands on her back.

“Hey now, Doc, this isn’t like you,” he said with something like humor.

Riley chuckled, with something a little less like humor. “Just saying thank you, gumshoe—for everything. In case I don’t get the chance to.” She pulled away. “I could use a drink too. Might as well celebrate my last night, while it lasts. Feel free to join.” Then she made her exit.

Ellie was on the verge of a question again, but she still didn’t want to ask it, because she still wasn’t looking at him. He looked at the board with all its strings and pins. He looked at the empty chair, the abandoned blanket, the untouched coffee. He released a long breath, forever weaker than it should be. Then he donned his coat and his hat, and he offered his secretary his arm.

It got her attention. With a faint smile, she linked her elbow with his, resting her other hand on his forearm. And they made their exit too.

[jomiddlemarch]

to be two chaoses 

The nightmares began after Rose was born. 

Resumed was the more accurate term, as Hermione had nearly become dependent on Dreamless Sleep within a few weeks of Harry’s victory over Voldemort, when the multiple years’ worth of trauma, especially the torture she’d experienced at Malfoy Manor, had come bearing down on her like the Hogwarts Express on steroids, an expression Harry would pretend not to understand and Justin would shrug at in commiseration. Her parents, sequestered in Mugglish obscurity in Melbourne, would not have been any help if she’d been able to get to them and restore their memories, something she repeated to herself as a mantra, since she couldn’t get to them and it turned out she couldn’t restore their memories, orphaned in a way no one around her grasped. There was a nightmare about that, but it wasn’t in the top tier, such that she almost welcomed its arrival; it was the only way she saw her parents when they knew who she was to any degree. Though it ended in devastation, it always started with her mum smiling at her.

*

If Ron hadn’t been able to help her, they never would have stayed together. She knew that in some deep, indefinite part of herself, just as she knew not to tell him. There had been lust, initially fierce and apparently unslakable, and the affection of their schoolyears together, the shared jokes, the homely memories of jacket potatoes and Madam Longbottom’s horrific flower-pot hats secured with jeweled pins that were nearly as deadly as a wand, the scent of the first snow, and so many recollections in candlelight, but none of it would have been enough if he hadn’t taken her into his arms and held her the first night she woke breathless from a scream she’d swallowed, the arm Bellatrix had cut burning terribly, the scar from Dolohov as heavy as the weights they’d used to press witches with in Salem. He’d said her name completely, not dropping a syllable, Hermione, and then I’ve got you and nothing else, letting his heartbeat and his breath be the only sounds she could hear. He’d grown into his frame that last year on the run when she’d starved in the woods, losing her period and handfuls of her brittle curls, and he’d somehow known how loosely to hold her so that she was able to nestle against him. The fragrance of the herbs his mother used in her laundry spells was faint but present, familiar. There was nothing sexual about his embrace then, but there was an intimacy greater than any fucking in the way he reacted, the inviolable memory of the agonized way he’d cried out when he’d heard her being brutalized that lived between them, as potent as the delight he took in her ecstasy.

She’d wondered that first night if it was a fluke, his ability to comfort her, and had told herself not to expect anything the next time but she’d been glad to be wrong. She put aside the sedative potions in their battered flasks and let herself fall asleep with a book in her hands, her hair still damp from the bath she’d taken, able to rely on his presence in the dark, the slight gleam of bronze in the moonlight that was his hair, the nearly grey blue of his eyes. They didn’t speak of it during the day, other than the infrequent mornings he greeted her with all right then instead of a nuzzled kiss to her temple or collarbone. The nightmares began as an onslaught and they waned slowly, slow enough Ron didn’t even ask when she might consider having children, though Hermione recognized the Weasley impulse to obscure their losses with babies, Fleur glowingly enceinte within a few weeks of Victoire’s birth, Ginny’s hand lingering over the small matinee sweaters her mother knit by the dozen. Percy’s return to the fold was eased by his hand at the small of his bride Penelope’s back, her radiance reflected in Molly’s face when they announced they expected a set of twins by the solstice. Ron gave Hermione what she needed to sleep and he gave her time to let the past become the past, her bloody, broken youth a shore increasingly distant. He couldn’t give her everything, but what he did was enough she’d been willing to let herself conceive the future he wanted so badly. He’d wept when she told him, burying his face in her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her instead of laying one large hand on her belly. It was his hands on either side of her spine that reassured her she’d been right.

*

The pregnancy was ordinary enough. Her only real dilemma was how to satisfy her cravings for Branston Pickle and Hobnobs without offending Ron’s mother or drawing too much attention from his father, whose fascination with the miscellany of Muggle life hadn’t declined with the end of the war. Ron, displaying the thoughtful observation she’d first found impossibly attractive while watching him play Wizard chess, maintained a calm affection towards her in company, a quiet tenderness when they were alone that made her worry sometimes he was trying to be someone he wasn’t just to please her. And then there were the times she found him gazing out a rain-streaked window at the Burrow. She knew he was thinking of Fred, of Tonks and Remus, of the scars on Bill’s face, the brother Ron most resembled, and she knew he’d been forged by grief as much as by victory. Hermione ate, she slept, she complained of heartburn and was told she must be carrying a ginger with curls as wild as her own. She read what passed for child-rearing books in the Wizarding world, nearly decapitated Harry chucking the third book across the sitting room in an only-partially hormonally mediated rage and bought every glossy paperback on the display at Foyles, which gave her some idea of what she might expect if she’d been a Muggle and included the concept of a birth-plan. Plans, as ever, held an irresistible appeal and were nearly as tranquilizing as Professor Binns.

*

When she mentioned that bit about the birth-plan to Ron while they were visiting his parents, George hanging about as usual, Percy working on some document at what passed for a desk over in a corner Hermione couldn’t remember previously existing, her mother-in-law just managed to keep from saying “Nonsense.” Hermione could clearly see that was what Molly had wanted to say and that she decided against it at the last minute after taking in at the book gripped tightly in Hermione’s hand and then Ron’s blue glare. Arthur kept fiddling with an immersion blender the way a Muggle child would handle a Rubik’s cube.

“A birth-plan is a very good idea, dear, but you’ll need to follow a witch’s plan and I do think, with the number of other witches you’ll require, you’ll be more comfortable at home or here at the Burrow,” Molly announced. Hermione glanced around and saw everyone present agreed with her mother-in-law.

“I’ll need to—or else what?” Hermione asked, curiosity outweighing her annoyance at Molly’s declaration.

“It’ll be too dangerous, for you and the baby,” Molly said. “Wild magic’s always an issue during delivery. For a witch as powerful as you and the baby likely to be the same—”

“It might be a boy,” Hermione said.

“Yes, I suppose it might,” Molly replied, her tone now entirely humoring-the-pregnant-daughter-in-law. She was convinced Hermione was carrying a girl, though Hermione and Ron had declined to find out when offered the chance at St. Mungo’s. “I meant the baby is likely to be magically gifted, considering her, that is, their parents. You’ll need at least four witches and seven would be safer. Obviously, Ginny and I will be there but you must decide who else you’d like.”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said. She’d never imagined childbirth to be organized like a tea-party. “I hadn’t thought to have anyone with me except Ron. And a midwife.”

Would she have wanted her mother with her, if she’d had the choice? She didn’t let herself wonder.

“If you don’t mind, dear, I’d suggest Augusta Longbottom,” Molly said briskly, making it clear that the if you don’t mindwas merely pro forma. 

“Neville’s gran?” Hermione said.

“She’s a very powerful witch and she’s quite fond of you,” Molly said. “She’s got better control than Minerva, though I’ll never admit that I’ve said that, and she’s no little experience with a laboring mother.”

“I’ll have Luna,” Hermione said. Ron gave her a quizzical look but knew enough not to say anything else, though she could see the effort if took for him to keep from mouthing nargles? at her. “That’s four, that’s enough.”

“Seven would be less dangerous—"

Who else would she ask? Part of her longed to throw up her hands and tell Molly to stuff it, she’d rely on the NHS to see her through, she still had her card, but then the baby kicked, sharpish, as if to scold her for being an absolute ninny, and Ron was still holding his tongue when she knew it cost him to be quiet. He worried about them both, she could tell he’d be a good father, and Molly was only trying to make sure they both came through it, privy to knowledge Hermione couldn’t easily learn from any book.

“I’ll have Luna, but I’ll ask Andomeda, in case Luna isn’t able to come,” Hermione said. “There’s no trouble with five if they both show up, is there?”

“No. There might be a wobble, but nothing Augusta and I couldn’t manage between us and Andromeda’s a light hand,” Molly said.

“A light hand with pastry?” Ron asked. 

“That too,” Arthur put in. “I believe your mother meant in channeling a magical surfeit, but she does make a very satisfying treacle tart. Not a patch on your mother’s, but close. Quite close.”

*

Molly was right.

Seven would have been safer, but Hermione and Rose bloody well squeaked through, as Ginny put it, earning herself a sharp glance and then an approving nod from Augusta Longbottom. The toucan-adorned hat had come off as Hermione entered transition and Madam Longbottom had had to exert herself to contain the burst of near Fiendfyre Hermione had unleashed. Luna had commented, with clear admiration in her usual dreamy tone, that Hermione was very equitable when it came to her elemental wild magic, as they’d had to contend with not only flames but a gale, a wave that overwhelmed Molly’s hastily conjured hip-waders, and a trembling underfoot that had made Arthur pop his head in and ask whether he ought to firecall St. Mungo’s or the Department of Mysteries. The gnomes had all cleared out and there was an ominous odor of brimstone seeping through the latched windows.

It was terrifying. What she was capable of and how proud they all were of her for it. She nearly burnt down the Burrow and Molly was as red-faced as she’d been battling Bellatrix Lestrange at Hogwarts by the time the baby was crowning, but she had a smile Hermione had never seen directed at herself before, a deep satisfaction that only grew more pronounced when Rose was delivered and discovered to be a little ginger witch, complete with a birthmark shaped like a phoenix’s tail-feather at the nape of her neck. Every peach on the trees Neville had painstakingly espaliered on the south wall withered in an instant and Augusta Longbottom only remarked, “Well done, you.” Luna had almost suffocated before she’d thrown up a Protego and her eyes were bright as she patted Hermione on the shoulder and Ginny had let out a long whistle, as if Hermione had captained the Harpies to a world championship when the Burrow had rung with the sound of the good china shattering.

A new marker appeared on Molly’s clock, the hand for Hermione pointing to “A Mortal Danger” instead of “in.” 

Ron grasped Hermione’s dismay, but he was more concerned with her health and Rose’s. Once reassured, he kissed her softly and then asked to hold his daughter. Something about seeing his big hands cradling the swaddled baby and the tears in his eyes when he looked back at her made Hermione think everything would be all right.

That was probably the hormones and the residual magic kickback.

*

She chalked it up to sleep deprivation, since she was nursing and Rose was a little colicky and Molly said, no, believe it or not, dear, there wasn’t a spell that was safe to use to help settle a colicky little witch. Hermione knew this meant there was some Dark magic that would do the trick, but she’d probably be sacrificing her pinky finger or years of her life or Rose’s, so she gritted her teeth and reminded herself she’d get to sleep again. At some point. Likely before Rose went to Hogwarts.

The first dreams to return were from her earliest days of Hogwarts. The troll, the bathroom, the terror of being alone in her curtained bed and hearing Parvati and Lavender chattering away, but now there was an overlay of Rose’s crying to mix with the tears Hermione had swallowed back or sobbed out silently. In the manner of dreams, the smallest details were vivid—the nap of the velvet bed curtains, the shimmer Moaning Myrtle made in the mirror above the sinks—and yet Hermione woke with only a sense of dread, no memory of the lengthy half-imagined conversations she’d had with Harry or Ron.

Those were the easiest dreams to deal with.

Days turned into months. Rose grew, her silky ginger hair showing a decided curl, her eyes the same warm brown as Ginny’s. She babbled and scooted, crawled and stood and ran, and only Hermione hoped it would be a little while longer before her magic manifested. Hermione’s dreams grew darker, more terrifying. There were a thousand Horcruxes. Harry didn’t survive the final battle. Ron turned away and didn’t come back.

Snape bled to death in her hands.

Fenrir Greyback took her in the flight of the Harrys.

Azkaban. Gringotts. The Room of Requirement.

Bellatrix, laughing, singing, coaxing. Cruciatus until Hermione woke with tears in her hair, afraid it was her brain leaking out. Ron calling out for her under the chandelier, Dobby whisking her away, the knife in Harry’s back.

Everything impossible that had never happened.

Everything possible that had.

They became less gruesome, more disturbing. She thought she might be losing her mind. She worried about having another child and leaving Ron with two children to raise alone, being locked up in the Janus Thickey ward. Not knowing she was locked up, trying to play the out-of-tune piano because she had once wanted to play Liszt’s “La Campanella” at Carnegie Hall. She couldn’t decide which would be worse.

She spent as much time doing Arithmancy as she could and walked away when the conversation turning to curse-breaking or the old days. Hugo was conceived, carried, and delivered with far less fanfare and commotion than Rose and he was a solemn-eyed baby who needed a lot of rocking in the night. She dozed but didn’t sleep deeply enough to dream. It was a respite.

She grew used to it. She perfected her glamour for the shadows beneath her eyes. She learned to manage her hair after a jaunt to a Muggle stylist in London who scolded her for using a brush and sent her off with a bag of oils and conditioners and advice on a silk head-wrap for sleeping in. She worked her way up in the Ministry and Rose levitated herself to their roof along with the seemingly immortal Crookshanks. Hugo made the apple trees bloom at Yule. She lived. She dreamed. She considered the alternatives she’d dreamed and tried to be satisfied with silence.

Rose began to resemble Hermione’s mother.

Hugo hummed off-key under his breath like her father.

Rose turned eleven, got her letter, found Hermione’s old copy of Hogwarts: A History and packed it first along with a set of Extendable Ears from her Uncle George.

They went to the station platform.

Hermione saw Draco Malfoy for the first time in over a decade. His wife fussed with their son, the strap of his satchel. Ron reminded Rose that the Hogwarts pumpkin pasties wouldn’t be as good as Nan’s but she wasn’t to let the house-elves know or that would be all she had to eat for a week.

Draco looked back at her.

He knew.

*

He sent the letter to her office at the Ministry and not their home, the thoughtful tact therein encompassed being the primary reason she responded. 

Yes, she would meet him at the coffee-shop he’d specified. The time was agreeable. No, she did not need directions in Muggle London. 

She didn’t tell Ron about the letter or her answer. There needn’t be anything to tell. She knew how much omission was required for their marriage. She loved him. There was no betrayal.

She wore Muggle trousers and a cashmere jersey that hadn’t come from Molly’s needles beneath robes she Transfigured into a Burberry knock-off trench. It was a kind of armor, like the wand holster strapped to her forearm, the leather charmed to feel like silk and be stronger than dragonhide. She left early, to get there first. She wouldn’t be taken by surprise again.

Draco was sitting at a table off to the side when she arrived. He’d left her the place backed up to the wall, leaving himself the vulnerable party, the nape of his neck bare, his kidneys neatly framed by the slats of the chair. When she got close enough, she saw his eclipse-bright hair had begun to turn grey. The cufflinks at his wrists were malachite, neatly secured.

There was a tea-service set between them. The steam smelled of bergamot and smoke, an Earl Grey made with lapsang souchong. Her favorite but not a secret, something it would not be difficult or intrusive to discover, something that showed attention, discretion, and care. Slytherin, as always. He rose when she approached, waited to sit until she’d settled herself. His old-fashioned manners were exercised without any awkwardness, the politeness he would have shown to any witch. 

“Thank you for agreeing to meet, Madam Granger,” he began, using the title she had decided on after completing her Arithmancy mastery via correspondence under Professor Ergodic. When Bill had pointed out the more traditional address was Domina Nimue Granger, Ron had nodded and stopped making his incipient fuss.

“Do we need to be so formal?” Hermione asked. “We’ve known each other since we were eleven.”

“Whatever you prefer, Hermione,” Draco said, his voice giving a slight upward inflection to her name. She couldn’t recall him ever using it before, only Granger said with a sneer, but the boy who’d smirked seemed long gone from the solemn, careful man sitting before her. “You are the one doing me the favor—”

“Am I? What exactly do you mean?”

“You read my letter. You responded. You showed up,” he said. “You didn’t need to do any of it.”

“I read the letter you sent after the trial,” she replied. 

It had been delivered by a splendid eagle owl she did not recognize, the parchment hand-written in a perfect copperplate hand. The opening section had been rendered in ancient Etruscan, indicating the gravity of the statement, a Pureblood ritual she’d had to ask Ron, Molly and finally Neville’s gran to explain to understand the significance thereof: there was no greater level of ceremony invoked, the abasement of the writer compleat. If it had been a final examination paper for a mastery, it could not have been more exquisitely and thoughtfully written. It was a letter than required no reply and sought none, a detailed acknowledgement of Draco’s transgressions against her. Still, it went across her inarguably upper middle-class background to fail to send some kind of response, so she’d managed to find some monogrammed stationery her Aunt Judith had given her for a birthday gift and had penned a quick note in her crabbed hand to say Draco’s apology was duly noted and accepted. She had balked at wishing him well in his future endeavors, but to be fair, she had been eighteen, effectively orphaned, unable to sleep more than three hours in a night, and had been known to hold a grudge.

“Yes, I know. I didn’t mean that letter however,” Draco said. “I meant the one I sent last week. After the train station.”

“You didn’t say what you wanted to talk about,” Hermione replied.

“I thought you would be more likely to show up if I didn’t,” he said. “Your curiosity remains renowned—”

“Are you insulting me?” Hermione asked, without any of the heat of her girlhood. 

“Not at all, though I should be able to express myself more skillfully than this, if you’re wondering,” he said. There was a wryness in his tone that was new to her. “I wrote because of the dreams—”

“What dreams?” she interrupted.

“I have them too,” he said gently. 

“I don’t know what you mean, why you think we have anything in common, it’s mad—”

“They are a torment,” he said. Like four notes, the Tristan chord creating the opening between them, leaving her struck by the misery in his voice, the utter candor.

“I—they don’t—” She could not finish the sentence, could not think of what to say next. Draco picked up the teapot and poured them each a cup, stirring a lump of sugar into his own, never once hitting the china with the spoon’s lip.

“You’re not going mad,” he said.

“I know that,” she snapped.

“Then you’re ahead of me, as per usual. I’ve wondered, worried, for years. When Scorpius was born, I thought, maybe I’d be locked up in a straitjacket somewhere by the time his magic emerged. If it did, if he wasn’t a Squib,” Draco said.

“You were worried your heir would be a Squib?” Hermione said.

“I was worried the son of two Purebloods with known genetic disorders and curse-damage would be a Squib. I was worried I wouldn’t be there to defend him from the rest of the family,” Draco said. “You wouldn’t have had the same worries. Hybrid vigor, brightest witch, and the Weasley-Prewett line—”

“They thought we might both die in childbirth from my wild magic,” Hermione said. Draco cocked his head to one side and nodded. “We should have had seven witches present.”

“I did hear something about it,” Draco said. “My mother was quite impressed, though she did say they should have let the Burrow and all its tat burn to the ground and start over with the Ministry money.”

“What?”

“There’s money set aside for those situations, a fund. It’s because it only occurs when there is a surfeit of power. It’s in the Ministry’s interests to make sure a family with such a witch remains properly housed,” Draco explained.

“Oh. I thought maybe I’d die when she was born,” Hermione said.

“And then the dreams would be over,” Draco finished.

“Yes,” Hermione said. She took a sip of the tea, the universal panacea, unsurprised when once again it did nothing for her. It was properly steeped, she’d give him that, since he hadn’t been able to use magic in the Muggle café.

“It was Bellatrix,” he said. “You and I, I believe we’re the last sane survivors of her spells. That’s why we have the dreams, why they don’t attenuate.”

“Dark magic then,” Hermione said.

“Not exactly,” Draco said. “There was something wild about her even before she turned to Dark magic and you know the Blacks are given to madness, throw off restraint like a stallion bucking the bridle.”

“Is that all, then? I suppose it’s helpful, to have some idea why, though it’s not much of a relief,” Hermione said. She refrained from pointing out he was also of the Black line.

“Master Mamu at Uagadou has a theory we’ve been corresponding about,” Draco said. “Oneironautika, whether a charmed potion could function as an inducer, what a traveler could reliably affect within the dream structure, it catalysis is the only viable intervention. But Neville—”

“Neville knows? He’s been writing to Mamu?” Hermione exclaimed.

“They prefer to Floo. Such a mess, all that ash, but I suppose it’s nothing to the greenhouses and Bubotuber pus,” Draco said. “Neville’s been quite helpful, even though it’s not his area of interest. But his parents, well. He and his grandmother have years of observation to draw on.”

“Does Neville know about me?”

“Only if you’ve told him. He may have put two and two together, he’s quite brilliant for someone who was such a duffer,” Draco said with such fondness Hermione could not be roused to irritation. “I can’t imagine he’d ever speak of it to anyone, even if he suspects. Though if your glamour starts to fail, exquisite work, that, I shouldn’t be surprised if he sends along his alternative to Dreamless. He uses heather honey in it, it’s a revelation, but it’s not as much dream-lessening as muting.”

“You want my help,” Hermione said, having figured it out. It was what anyone ever wanted from her. “With Master Mamu, Neville, you want me to work the Arithmancy, perhaps to interpolate the runes—”

“No,” Draco said. “Rather, if you wish, you are most welcome, a witch of your caliber could only be a tremendous asset, but that’s not why I wrote you. That’s not what I wanted.”

“What do you want? Pardon me if my directness offends your Slytherin sensibilities,” Hermione said, tired, the tea in her cup cold, the broken night beckoning.

“I want to help you,” Draco said. “To make you feel better.”

“No one can do that,” Hermione said. Ron did what he could, steady now as he hadn’t been in their youth, astute enough not to speak of it.

“I can,” Draco said.

*

“You can,” Hermione repeated. “You can do something no one else can and beyond being able to, you additionally want to. There’s no life-debt between us, Draco, even if I believed you, there’s no reason for you—”

“I didn’t protect you when I could, Hermione,” he said. Had his eyes been lighter when he was a boy or had they always been this stormy shade, grey clouds over a grey sea?

“She would’ve killed us both,” Hermione said. 

For a moment, she was lying on her back looking up at the chandelier, the bare outline of a girl around nothing but pain. She couldn’t not have told anyone her name if she’d been asked. Ron had been screaming but his voice had been distant, as distant as the future and the past, while Draco’s eyes on her had been a tether. They’d been bound in that second, in hopeless, blameless recognition and agony, and there had been some tiny, inviolate spark of herself that loved him then in a way she could never love anyone else. “You do mean when Bellatrix cursed me, don’t you?”

“I didn’t protect you then. Not before. Not after,” Draco said.

“Well, we were enemies,” Hermione said. She waved over a waitress, asked for a fresh pot of tea and a plate of lemon biscuits while Draco stared down at his hands. They were well-made, beautifully shaped, the hands of a sculptor or a pianist. Neither was the career a wizard would undertake, certainly not an aristocrat like the heir to the Houses of Black and Malfoy. 

“No, we were schoolmates. Rivals. We were children and then teenagers,” Draco said. He rubbed a hand across his eyes, bowing his head. “I liked you—”

“You liked me?” Hermione snorted. “Is this revisionist history? Are you going to tell me you wanted to take me to the Yule Ball and buy me sweets at Hogsmeade weekends? Were you terribly fond of Harry and did you think Ron was a good chap whose family was just a bit down on their luck?”

“I liked you, Hermione,” Draco repeated, his voice low. “I wasn’t supposed to, wasn’t allowed to, but I did. I do.”

“You’re married. I’m married,” Hermione said. “Handfasted. Your family isn’t the only one to follow the Old Ways.”

(She would have married Ron at the Ministry, but Molly wouldn’t hear of it. Hermione’s own parents wouldn’t hear of it at all, so she’d acquiesced to the whole thing, the ring in the garden, the saffron yellow veil, the woad, the unsalted cakes she and Ron had had to bake in a solar oven without any magic. The only part she’d liked had been laughing together as they looked at the ugly lumps of dough, the gleam in Ron’s eyes as he’d told her they’d only have to choke down one bite each.) 

“I know. I’m not trying to interfere. Weasley’s a good man and I would never dishonor Astoria,” Draco said. “But he can’t do this for you. You know that. He’s done what he can and you’re still suffering.”

“You’d be my Healer then? Without any certification, Healing mastery, apprenticeship?”

“Your friend. A fellow-traveler,” Draco said. “Whatever you’d allow.”

“My friend,” Hermione said. 

“You are the same person who pledged her friendship for life to Potter and Weasley after being brought together in a bathroom by a troll,” Draco said. “It shouldn’t be that great a stretch for you.”

“Perhaps I’ve changed,” she replied.

“Perhaps,” Draco agreed, then hazarded a very small smile. “I don’t think so though. Not in this regard.”

“Will it help you with your own dreams?” Hermione asked.

“That’s not relevant,” Draco said. “That’s not why—”

“It’s relevant to me,” she said firmly.

“Of course it is,” he said, under his breath, as if he could get away with it sitting across from her, the café much quieter as the late afternoon rush had ended. 

“Well?”

“I don’t know. Possibly,” he said. For the first time, he sounded put out, frustrated. It was the throughline to the boy he’d been and she found herself liking him for it.  “Before you ask, it’s very unlikely to make anything worse for me. This isn’t some grand Gryffindor gesture of sacrifice on my part.”

“I think we’re beyond House identification, Draco,” she said.

“Is that a yes?” he asked.

“It’s a tell me more about how you mean to proceed. What this dream-walking entails precisely,” she said. 

“Will you let me show you something?” Draco said. Hermione considered. They were in a public place and she had faced greater horrors than a prematurely greying Draco Malfoy in his Savile Row suit. She nodded. Draco pushed the teapot and their cups to one side, reached over and took Hermione’s right hand in his own. His palm was warm against hers, his grasp charged with the familiarity one had with their wand, the tenderness of a long-awaited reunion. Hermione looked at their hands and then up, to find Draco watching her.

When she didn’t pull her hand away, he reached out with his left and took her other hand. Something surged between them, electric and yet sustaining, soothing. Something that was not magic but was of it, an ardent affection that sought only to give, to cherish, some fundamental realignment. Later, she would puzzle over it, scribble equations, then manipulate them with her wand, with an incantation of runes. She would find a way to explain it to Ron so that he’d understand. When he did, she might. 

“Yes?” Draco asked. She could tell what he hoped for and that he would wait as long as she wanted. She could tell he would let their hands fall apart if she refused.

“Yes,” she said. He held her more tightly then and the brightness in his eyes was like moonlight, like the first time she had cast Lumos and banished darkness. Between them, it was as if a cup was filled, spilled over. She could not, however, resist poking.

“You must’ve worked some part of it out. I’ll want to review your notes.”

“Certainly,” he said. 

*

Master Mamu authored the definitive text on oneironautika, but Draco wrote the introduction and Hermione the acclaimed chapter on runic expansion.

Draco insisted Hermione be the editor of the journal. He provided the funding for the first five years. After that, as he’d predicted, no financial assistance was required.

Ron wasn’t remotely put out, though he did scold her a bit for worrying he might be. “You the one always telling Rose and Hugo love’s not a pie. Well, that means you can’t get too full or lose your appetite for it.” At the service for Astoria, Ron told her to go over to Draco and played a three-hour game of Wizard chess with Scorpius he worked hard to throw stealthily enough the boy didn’t notice. 

They weren’t one big happy family. But they could be happy and they could be a family.

When Kimah was born, there were seven witches present.

Draco collected a handful of knuts warm from Ron’s pocket when Scorpius announced she had red hair, Transfigured them into a bouquet of apricot tea roses, and gave them back to his son for his daughter-in-law.

Hermione, who had been up all night, slept.

And dreamed.

@artielu you are my main Dramione mutual so I hope you enjoy this atypical offering!