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delicateflowerss · 1 year

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Scary Love (Tyler Galpin x Reader)

Tyler Galpin is a nice guy, always remembering your coffee order, and making sure to ask how your day is. So, when he asks you out, you don't have a reason to say no. Right?

Warnings: 18+, DUB-CON, slight violence, mentions of murder, blood, manipulation, obsession, pain kink, blood kink, dacryphilia

Word Count: 4.5k

Another person dead.

A bear attack, or that’s what they’re calling it.

It’s hard to fathom a bear did that, tore that man from limb to limb. But you’re not one to look under your bed for monsters before you go to sleep.

So, if the police are saying a bear did it, you have no reason to doubt them.

Even if it leaves a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

At least no one else is that worried, the people of Jericho going about their everyday lives like people aren’t being slaughtered in the woods.

You tuck your hands in the pockets of your jacket, shielding them from the cold weather.

You set your eyes on the building in front of you, stepping into much warmer air. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills your nose, and a slight smile forms on your lips.

The Weathervane is your sacred place. Any worries instantly leave your mind when you walk through those doors. You can just sit in your favorite booth, sip on something hot, and not have to think about anything that is bothering you outside these walls.

“The usual?”

You’re met with a familiar voice. The same pair of bright eyes peeking under brown curls that you see almost every day.

“Yeah. Thanks, Tyler.”

You flash him an appreciative smile as he starts making your latte.

You can’t say you know Tyler Galpin that well. You went to school with him, always knew of him, but never really ran in the same circles. It wasn’t until he started working at the Weathervane that you two really spoke, usually just small talk. But it didn’t take long for him to start remembering your order.

“What are you up to today?” He asks as he sets down your cup on the counter.

A small sigh leaves your lips. “I wish I could hang around here today, but my mom really wants me to run some errands for her.”

“Bummer,” he says, laced with sarcasm. A smile traces his lips.

“I guess my life could be worse.” The smile on your face says you’re joking, but your voice is sucked dry of any humor.

He doesn’t seem to notice, and if he does, he pretends not to. You hand him the money for the drink, fingers brushing against his.

You don’t think too much of it, grabbing your cup. “Thanks again, Tyler.”

“See you later, Y/N,” he calls after you. You’re already walking out the door.

Cluelessly, you walk across the street, not noticing how he watches you through the window.

There’s an uneasiness that has settled over the town, even if no one wants to acknowledge it. Whispers are starting, quiet gossip wondering if it’s really a bear that’s responsible for these attacks. People want to point fingers, blaming Nevermore, the school for Outcasts that lies on the outskirts of town.

You’re not sure what to think, grouping yourself with the people who don’t want to speak or think about it at all.

So, you keep your eyes on the pages in front of you. The sun has gone down, the red neon sign in the window now illuminating the words you’ve been reading all afternoon.

You don’t realize how late it is, or how you’re the only person left at the Weathervane. Besides Tyler.

You don’t know it until a mug being set down in front of you makes your head snap up.

“Thought you might need a refill.” Tyler looks down at you and the empty cup on the table. “I made it decaf,” he adds.

Your hand inches towards your wallet.

“Don’t worry, it’s on the house,” he assures as he sits in the booth across from you.

You move your hand away, relaxing. “Giving me freebies now?” An amused smile on your lips. “Thanks.”

“Don’t get used to it.” The tone in his voice matching yours.

Your smile doesn’t leave your face even as you sip your latte.

“Is it good?” He asks, motioning in your direction.

“The coffee or the book?”

“The book.” Before you can respond, he continues, “I mean it must be, you haven’t been able to stop reading it since you got here.”

You laugh but end up narrowing your eyes at him. “Does that mean you’ve been watching me?” Humor still seeps into your words.

He blinks, sighing, almost taken aback.

“I guess you caught me.” He straightens back up, his eyes on you as a smirk slowly spreads across his face. “But how could I not?”

Now it’s your turn to be taken aback. Any hints of a joke, gone. Your smile falls a little, realization creeping in.

He notices, concern creasing his face. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No!” You’re quick to remedy the situation. “It just… caught me off guard,” you finish.

“That I like you?”

You don’t expect him to be so forward with you.

“We just don’t know each other that well.”

“That’s true,” he says, furrowing his brow like he’s deep in thought about something.

A few moments pass before he says anything else. “We could fix that.” He searches your face for any sign of hesitance. “You could go to the Harvest Festival with me tomorrow night?”

You inhale, looking over his face, finding how hopeful he is. There’s nothing wrong with Tyler. There’s no reason for you not to go out with him. He’s attractive, nice, and now gives you free coffee. You’re just surprised that he likes you.

“Okay.”

You see him relax, like he just let out the breath he was holding. A grin is back on his face.

“Great. Pick you up at eight.”

You smooth out the wrinkles in your shirt, pulling a jacket over it. You’ve been thinking about your date with Tyler all day, nervously waiting for it. You check the time, noting that he’ll be here any minute.

You head downstairs, finding your mom on the couch, watching some stupid reality TV show.

“I didn’t know you were going out.” Her voice rings out over the TV.

“I thought I told you I was going to the Harvest Festival.”

She turns down the volume, her attention more focused on you now.

“You’re going alone? Are you sure that’s a good idea? With everything that’s been happening-.”

“I’m not going alone,” you cut off her rambling. You continue at the sign of confusion on her face, “I’m going with Tyler, he’ll be here soon.”

“The sheriff’s son?”

You nod yes.

You can see her visibly relax. The worry being replaced with joy.

“Oh, that’s great, honey.”

The doorbell ringing saves you from anymore explanations.

“That’s him. Bye mom!” You call out, opening the door to your date.

“Have fun!” You hear before shutting the door, stepping outside to greet Tyler.

You don’t think you’re ready for any awkward introductions just yet.

The air around you is buzzing with excitement. People around you jump from ride to ride, from food stands to carnival games.

You didn’t expect Tyler to be such a gentleman. Out of all the dates you’ve been on, you’ve never had a guy open the car door for you, but Tyler did.

Once you two got to the festival, you’ve been on almost every ride. He made sure to buy you cotton candy, which you offered to pay for, but he insisted.

You two ended up playing some game where you try to pop balloons with a dart. Tyler was determined to win you a stuffed animal. After a few tries, he finally did. Or maybe the guy working the game just felt bad for him. You’re not exactly sure.

You cradle the teddy bear in your arms as you wait in line for the Ferris wheel. It’s been nice to get to know him more and for him to know more about you than just your coffee order.

Your eyes roam over him as he looks off into the trees ahead, where the festival stops, and the woods start. You wonder what he’s thinking about.

He must feel the weight of your stare because he catches your eye, face brightening. Your cheeks get warm at getting caught.

“Next!” The man working the ride, yells out.

You sit close to him as the ride starts to move, your thigh touching his. You try to ignore how warm he feels next to you.

“This has been really fun. Thanks for taking me,” you say, trying to slice through the silence.

“Yeah. Thanks for coming with me.” He has that boyish smile again. “I was worried you were going to say no.”

You shrug, a little unsure of how to respond. “I’m glad I didn’t.” You tighten your hold on your teddy bear. “No guy has ever won me a stuffed animal before,” you laugh.

“It took a while, but I got it eventually,” he says, chuckling.

“I’ll cherish it forever.”

His green eyes soften at your words. He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize you, like you’re the only thing of importance, not bothering with anything that’s happening around you.

Something flutters in your stomach as you feel almost embarrassed to hold his gaze. The moonlight shines off his curls and you can feel him lean into you.

Your eyelids flutter as his lips ghost over yours. His fingers find the back of your neck, and his lips finally capture yours. You match his movements, his thumb reaching up to your cheek to slightly caress it.

The kiss starts slow and gentle. But his fingertips press harder into your skin as he deepens it, licking inside your mouth.

It surprises you a little, the kiss beginning to feel hungry.

Teeth sinking into your bottom lip knocks you of your daze. You pull back from Tyler, your finger wiping the part of your lip that hurts, only to look down and see a bit of blood.

You don’t notice how he already licked away the taste of your blood on his own lip.

“Sorry, Y/N. It was an accident.”

You hear him apologizing, sincerity in his voice, but you catch a glint in his eye.

You decide to brush it off. He was just caught in the moment.

You reach over to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “It’s okay.” Your smile causing the guilt to leave his face.

A loud boom moves your attention to the night sky, colors dancing on the black canvas. His hand reaches for yours, squeezing it as you both watch the fireworks.

Tyler lied.

Ever since your date with him, you’ve gone to the Weathervane every day. He’s made it a habit to give you your coffee for free, pretending he never said he wouldn’t.

You and Tyler have wordlessly decided to take things slow. There’s hasn’t been any real conversation about it, but you can tell that he respects your boundaries.

When you went over to his house for a movie night while his dad was at work, Tyler didn’t try anything. The closest he got to you was him wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

It’s not like you don’t want him, but you feel like you moved too fast with your other relationships, and they didn’t turn out so great. So, you want to prevent anything souring between you two. Tyler’s a good guy, something that’s pretty rare to find.

You mostly enjoy talking to Tyler when the Weathervane empties. The only people there are you two, occupying a booth and feeling like you are the only ones that matter.

He’s told you all of the stuff you wouldn’t tell someone on a first date, like that he goes to therapy, and how he wishes his dad talked to him more, or more about one thing in specific.

The death of his mom weighs heavy on him. You can tell it’s a touchy subject for him. He stops himself from talking too much about her, an emotion passing through his eyes that you can’t name.

The only thing you can do is tell him you’re there to listen when he’s ready to talk about it, comforting him with a squeeze of your hand.

Whatever darkness that rolled over him, is now gone, returning to the Tyler you know and see every day.

You’ve wanted to ignore it, pretend that everything is fine in Jericho, believe that the police had everything under control.

But when another person is killed, it’s hard to ignore the danger that surrounds the town.

“Everything okay?” A deep voice takes you out of your thoughts. “You’re letting your coffee get cold.” You look down at your untouched drink.

“Just thinking.” You don’t hide the uncertainty in your voice.

Tyler doesn’t hesitate to sit down across from you, his elbows resting on the table.

“About?” He asks.

You shift, trying to figure out how you’re going to articulate your thoughts to him.

“It’s sad.” You look up, meeting his eyes. “The people dying,” you explain.

He waits for you to continue.

“I guess I’m just scared. I haven’t really wanted to think about it… but now I am.”

He considers your words, sympathy written on his face.

“It is… scary.” He pauses. “But it is only happening in the woods. Since it’s a bear-.”

“Some people are saying it’s a monster or something,” you interrupt him.

“Do you believe that?”

“I don’t know. That’s just what people are saying,” you say defensively. “I mean you should know.”

His eyes narrow, confusion on his face, and before he can say anything, you clarify.

“Your dad. Hasn’t he told you anything?”

“I told you. My dad tells me nothing.”

You lean back in the booth, sighing.

“I don’t like being in the dark either, but you’ll be okay.” You feel his thumb rub circles on the back of your hand. “Just stay away from the woods.”

Tyler’s warning echoes in your head as you drive down the empty road. Tall trees surround you, the headlights on your car illuminating the darkness in front of you.

You silently curse at your mom for making you go to the next town over, just because the store in Jericho was out of something she so desperately needed.

It was daytime when you left, hoping you’d be back before it got dark. But dread filled you as you watched the sun sink past the horizon.

What’s worse, is your car had trouble starting before you began your drive home. The grinding noise making you cringe. It finally worked and now all you can do is clutch your steering wheel and hope for the best.

You’ll be home soon, the outskirts of town starting to look familiar to you.

But is familiarity comforting in this case, or the opposite?

You keep your eyes on the road, but your brows furrow when your music turns off. Your headlights next. Finally, your car stopping in the middle of the road.

You step on the gas, nothing happening. You try turning your car on again. Still nothing.

“Shit,” you mutter.

Your worst fear has happened. Now you can only hear the sound of your breathing as you look around in the darkness.

You turn your phone on, the screen lighting up the car. Before you can call your mom, you find the sealing of your fate in the corner of your phone screen. “No Service”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You throw your phone down onto the seat next to you, your jaw clenching.

You consider your options, either stay in your car and risk freezing to death or try to walk back to town and risk getting brutally murdered.

You know there’s something lurking in these woods but freezing to death feels more likely right now.

You make sure to grab your phone before stepping into the chilly, night air. You wrap your arms around yourself as you look around, beginning your trek to town.

You stay on the side of the road, the rustling of the trees in the wind makes you feel uneasy. You don’t see any sign of anyone or anything.

You used to not believe in scary stories. You never had a problem with any of the Outcasts you met, never thinking of them as “monsters.”

But now you’re not sure. You feel like you have to keep looking over your shoulder. Now you think any of those stories you heard as a kid could be true.

A loud scream stops you in your tracks, your blood turning to ice.

You look in the direction of where you think the scream came from, only seeing the rough outlines of the trees.

You check your phone again, grimacing at the fact you still don’t have service.

You want to run away as fast as you can, but guilt washes over you, unsure if you should leave someone to die with no one around to help.

Taking a deep breath, you step further into the trees. Out of all the dumb decisions you’ve made, this will probably be your dumbest, or your last.

But you can’t help but put yourself in that situation. You would want someone to come to your aid.

You try to keep your footsteps quiet, but they crunch down on the fallen leaves. You wince at the noise.

You try to find where the scream could have come from, but you don’t see anyone.

Until you hear something coming toward you, something loud and big. You stop and listen, eyes widening when you see the silhouette of something you could only see in your nightmares.

Before it gets too close, you hide behind the tree closest to you. You try to steady your harsh breathing, but as you hear it start to go past the other side of the tree, a loud breath escapes you.

You slam your hand against your lips, trying to quiet yourself. But it’s too late, the monster stops, almost like it’s anticipating your next mistake.

You squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for this moment to pass. Hoping that it won’t hear you and leave.

After what feels like an eternity, you hear it continue its path, away from you. When you know it’s gone, you put your hand down, almost sighing with relief. You gather yourself, processing your brush with death, and look at your surroundings.

You must’ve gotten turned around because now you can’t remember which way goes back to the road. You also have no idea where that scream came from. But after what you just saw, you can only think the worst.

You pick a path that you think will take you closer to Jericho and is away from the monster. You’re on high alert, eyes moving all around you. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to sleep again.

You slow down when you see a figure ahead of you. It’s a person, which automatically makes you feel better.

As you get closer, you make out the familiar face.

“Tyler?”

Your eyes rake over him, taking in the fact he’s only wearing a tattered T-shirt and pants that are unbuttoned, hanging low on his hips.

The blood is what makes your jaw drop. It’s all over him, like he got into a fight, or… was attacked.

You don’t hesitate to step up to him, taking a closer look.

“Tyler, are you okay? Did the monster-.”

You stop yourself, your arms falling to your sides. You instinctively step back, realizing he has no wounds for the blood to be coming from.

You finally look into his eyes, and you feel like you’re looking at a stranger. He doesn’t look at you with the affection he usually has, that gentle emotion, like you’re something that could slip away from him so easily.

Now all you see is darkness and hunger, like he could devour you. Instead of keeping his distance so he won’t lose you, he’ll take you anyway, holding you tight so you have no choice but to stay.

You swallow, your throat starting to feel tight, your eyes getting glassy.

You don’t understand exactly what’s going on, if he’s the monster or not. All you know is he’s scaring you and you need to get away from him.

He calls out your name just as you turn around, running away.

The adrenaline pumping through your veins forces you to move faster. You can hear his footsteps behind you.

But your adrenaline only takes you so far. You don’t realize how close he is to you when you slow down a bit.

All of a sudden, you feel your arm being tugged back. He uses the leverage to wrap his arms around you, his body pressed against yours.

You try to struggle out of his hold, but his arms are strong. He presses his lips to your ear, his breathing unsteady.

“Caught you,” he rasps.

That’s enough for a sob to erupt from you, pleading with him. “Let me go, Tyler.”

You think he listens to you, loosening his arms. But his hand goes to your waist instead, turning you around to face him.

He keeps his hand on you, his grip firm enough to remind you that it’s there but not tight enough to hurt.

You look up at him, the moonlight shining through the trees casts shadows on to his face, making him look sinister. You can’t see all of him, even if you tried, part of his face always in the dark.

You try to blink away the tears, but they run down your face. You’re nervous to say anything to him, but you’re scared. You want to know what he’s going to do to you.

“Are you going to hurt me?” Your voice cracks around the question, almost regretting the words once they’re out of your mouth.

He doesn’t react the way you feared he would.

Instead, he just furrows his brow and brings his finger to your cheek. You flinch a little at the sudden touch. But as he delicately wipes your tear away, you end up leaning into his caress.

He reaches down to your other cheek, his lips meeting your skin instead. A ragged sigh leaves your lips as he tastes your tears. Licking away your fear, despair, and heartbreak all at once.

He moves his lips to yours, the kiss almost painful. But you don’t stop him, letting him take the breath right out of you.

He pulls away, warm breath fanning over you as he whispers, “Only if you want me to.”

His lips are on you again, and he pushes you until your back hits one of the trees.

You’re sure your mind isn’t in the right place because somehow your fear has turned into desire. Or maybe the fear hasn’t left, instead fueling this fire in the pit of your stomach.

His teeth nip at the sensitive skin of your neck, and you can’t stop the whimpers that come from your throat. He soothes the stinging with his tongue while he peels back the layers of your clothes.

Goosebumps prick at your skin, but the freezing air doesn’t bother you, feeling so warm from everything he’s doing to you.

He keeps his rough hands on you, grabbing at your bare skin. He acts like a man starved, and you never thought Tyler had this side to him. But it’s obvious you knew way less about him than you thought.

You stand completely naked in front of him, and you don’t miss the way he drags his eyes over your body.

He moves his hand lower, fingers slipping inside of you. He rubs your bundle of nerves with his thumb, pushing his fingers deeper as your arousal coats your inner thighs. He could come right then and there from the sweet moans you’re making.

He doesn’t want to tell you how all he could think about was you, after a kill. He wished he could call you in the middle of the night or sneak in through your bedroom window. All he wanted was to bend you over and fuck you until your throat hurt from screaming his name.

But now he doesn’t have to chase you anymore, he’s finally caught you.

He takes his hand away from you, taking off his shirt, revealing his toned chest. You watch him, drinking in every detail of him.

He steps closer to you, pinning you against the tree. The cold touch of his hand on your waist makes your lips part as he turns you around.

You hear him pull down his pants and a shiver runs through you, waiting for him to finally be inside you, the ache in you getting worse.

The palm of your hand uses the tree for support as his large hands grab your hips. The tip of his cock pokes at you before he slowly thrusts inside you.

You gasp at the feeling, your walls stretching around him. His lips graze your ear, and you can hear the groans that fall from him as he starts to set a pace.

“Tyler,” you whine out.

One of his hands moves to your breast, cupping it, fingers playing with your already hardened nipple. The hand that stays on your hip, grips it harshly, and you know you’ll have finger shaped bruises in the morning.

“You feel so good.” His voice is low in your ear. He continues to rut into you, focusing on how tight and wet you are around him.

This is way better than stroking himself to the thought of you.

More moans leave you as your fingers claw the bark of the tree. You don’t think you’ve ever felt this good in your life.

His thrusts have become brutal and merciless, and all you can think about is the feeling of him inside you, how full you feel, and how he continues to hit a spot that has you seeing stars.

You feel him cover your hand with his, fingers intertwining. His breath is hot as his lips are on yours again, your head turning to meet his. The kiss is sloppy, but he swallows each and every one of your moans.

Your eyelids flutter at the way he pounds into you, and he moves his lips away from you.

You can feel yourself getting closer to your release.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

His breathing is shallow, and his pace is getting sloppier.

When you don’t answer right away, his fingers move to your throat, not squeezing but the hold rough enough to make your breathing ragged.

He repeats himself, this time, with a little more aggression.

“I’m yours. I’m yours,” you say over and over again, feeling the waves of pleasure wash over you, clenching around his cock.

He comes at the same time you do, his mouth on your shoulder, teeth sinking in. But you don’t pay any mind to the pain, just feeling pleasure.

When he’s done fucking you through your releases, he pulls out, his cum spilling out of you.

You take a moment to gather yourself, before turning around to face him. Both of you coming down from your highs.

“I knew it was you who was hiding behind that tree.” His voice startles you. “I can smell people’s fear.”

Your jaw goes slack as you take in what he’s saying.

“I can taste it.” He brings his fingers to your inner thigh.

“I’ve tasted yours…” He begins to push the stickiness on your thighs back inside you.

“…and yours was the most delicious of them all.”

#tyler galpin #tyler galpin x reader #wednesday #tyler galpin x you #tyler galpin fanfic

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neonghostlights · 1 year

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A/N: Change of plans. This chapter was supposed to be SUPER long with a lot of drama towards the end. I decided that the first half and second half didn't flow together so I cut it in half. You get this half today and the next part is already written and will be posted Wednesday instead.

Warnings: Reader's overbearing mom, cussing, arguing, Reader is briefly mentioned to have hair, 18 + Only, Minors DNI.

Summary: You haven’t been the same since you woke up in the hospital with memory loss after the earthquake hit Hawkins. When strange things start happening and you feel like you’ve started losing your mind, a group of strangers offer to help. Even though you’ve never met them before, they seem to know you better than you think.

Word Count: 3.1k

Series Masterlist

Part Nine

Monday, October 13th, 1986

The hard grated metal of the bench dug into your skin through the denim of your jeans. You were sure that if you stripped off your pants and looked, there would be deep indentation marks left as proof. You shifted your weight, left to right, hoping to fight off some of the tingling numbness spreading across your butt and thighs.

You weren’t supposed to be sitting here this long. Your mom had dropped you off at the supermarket a few hours ago, promising that she would be back “soon” to pick you up and take you back home whenever you were done shopping. You should have reminded her before she left that you didn’t need to get many groceries, and that you did not spend half a day at the store like she would tend to do.

She said she needed to run some errands before her business trip. You didn’t take into account that your mother was a talker, and when she ran into someone she knew she would hold them hostage with her gossip.

A gust of wind had you sticking your fingers into the holes on the side of the shopping cart parked beside you. It would be your typical luck for the cart to roll across the parking lot and into an unsuspecting car.

The gray pillowy shapes of rain clouds were closing in. Fall had officially come to Hawkins, proof of which not only in the weather but the goosebumps erupting on your skin. You shivered, rubbing your hands up and down your arms for a spark of warmth.

You had been meaning to get your sweaters and jackets that you had left at your moms house.

People were staring at you as they entered and left the store, most likely concocting tales in their heads about why you were out there for so long. You only felt it, of course, not daring to make eye contact to confirm. Eye contact would be seen as an invitation for conversation in this town.

Another whip of the wind had a hair sticking to your mouth that embarrassingly took you three tries to wipe away.

The wind, this time, not only brought the chill but also the smell of cigarette smoke that had you scrunching your nose. Not because it was unpleasant-no it was familiar actually, but mostly because it was unexpected.

Another scent of the cigarette came but this time without the wind. The billowing wispy white smoke at the corner of your eye had you turning your head to face a man who sat on the opposite side of the bench from you. He had no groceries with him except for a lone gallon of milk sat between his work boot covered feet on the ground.

The man wore a flannel shirt with faded blue jeans. His hair was gray and balding on top. He was looking at you, not in a scrutinizing or creepy way, but more concerned. His eyes crinkled, making the wrinkles around them more pronounced.

If anyone else sat at the end of the bench you would probably get up and move, but for some reason this man didn’t scare you. The ambiance surrounding him was comforting in a paternal way, not a stranger danger way.

He waved the half smoked cigarette at you as a greeting.

“Looks like it’s about to rain,” he said in an accent that probably wasn’t from around here. More of a southern drawl than you typically heard around these parts.

You looked up at the sky, the rain clouds now closer than they were before.

“Looks like it,” you replied, not wanting to be rude to the man by ignoring him.

He made a noise of agreement as he took another puff of the cigarette and tapping the end against the side of the bench.

“You waiting on a ride or something?” He asked in a gruff voice.

You hummed in agreement with a nod. “Just waiting on my mom. She should be here any minute.”

He gave you a look and glanced down at the watch on his wrist like he didn’t believe you. You wondered how long you had actually been sitting on the bench. You eyed the tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream in the cart warily, it was for sure melted by now.

The man stomped out his finished cigarette beside you and reached into the front pocket on the chest of his flannel to grab his pack. He popped the lid open to immediately grab a new one.

You raised your eyebrows at him in question.

“Smokin’s a bad habit. Don’t ever start it or it’ll kill you,” he said as he lit it and took a deep inhale of the toxins.

“You should listen to your own advice,” you commented. You quickly regretted it, not sure if he would take insult.

He looked surprised at first and then a playful glint lit up in his blue eyes. “You’re right,” he said as he looked down at the offending cigarette, “I’ll quit after this pack. Don’t want to waste money or that’ll probably kill me instead.”

You found yourself smiling back at him. There was something so familiar about him but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

“Didn’t bring a jacket with you? It’s gettin’ cold out now. You’ll get sick,” he commented between puffs. He avoided eye contact as he said it, like showing his concern for you was something to shy away from.

For some reason, this made you laugh. He gave you a curious look as you shook your head and the laughter died.

“Have we met before?” You questioned.

The man’s smile dropped for a second.

“Sorry, you just seem so familiar,” you explained quickly.

His smile was back, not quite reaching his eyes this time. “It’s a small town,” he answered with a shrug.

A drop of rain hit you in the forehead, causing you to look up at the completely gray sky. The rain clouds finally closed in on you.

The man glanced down at his watch again and then at the goosebumps on your bare arms. “Here, how about I let you wear this jacket while you’re waiting,” he said as he put the cigarette out and went to take it off.

You opened your mouth to decline and ask him if he was waiting for a ride too when the squealing of brakes interrupted you.

Your mother had her window rolled down so her angry face was on display for everyone.

“Get in the car. Now,” she gritted out through clenched teeth. Her eyes were raging and focused, not on you, but on the stranger you had been talking to.

You got up promptly, hands blindly grasping the cart and pushing it to the back of your mothers car to load the groceries in the trunk.

You threw them in quickly, watching the bags land on top of each other with a thud. Once you closed the trunk, you could see your mother in the stranger in some kind of tense staring contest standoff.

You walked the cart a few feet to where it belonged and then speed walked to the passenger side of the car.

“This is all bullshit and you know it.” You heard the man say to your mother.

Your mother rolled up the window, not bothering to give the man a response with you now in the car, and quickly pulled off as soon as you shut the door behind you.

You watched through the mirrors as the man snatched up the gallon of milk he had left on the ground in front of the bench before climbing into a truck that was parked in the front of the parking lot.

You could see your mom was fuming by the way her hands shook and held tightly to the steering wheel. Her red painted lips in a tight line.

“Listen to me very carefully. I do not want to see you talking to that man ever again,” she gritted out, her eyes still stuck on the road before her.

“Why?” You made the mistake of asking.

“Why?!” She sputtered out like she couldn’t believe you asked. “He is no good trailer trash and dabbles in god knows what. You shouldn’t be talking to strangers anyways.”

Your mothers words made you angry like never before.

“Do you hear yourself? We were just having small talk while I was waiting for you. I am a grown woman and you treat me like a child! Maybe I wouldn’t talk to strangers if you hadn’t forgotten me at the store for hours!”

It felt good to get this angry and to let out your feelings to her.

She looked at you in shock. “Why are you acting this way?! What did he tell you?!” She yelled so loudly and so viciously.

“What are you talking about?! We were just talking about the weather, Mom!” You yelled back.

Your mom stared blankly at the road for a few minutes. You watched as she blinked rapidly, some tears starting to streak her face with mascara. Her breathing came out faster as she tried to calm herself down. She pissed you off but you hated to see when she had moments like this. Unfortunately, since your dad died they have been more frequent.

“Come on, Mom. Please don’t cry,” you said gently, trying to ease some of the tension in the car.

She pulled into your driveway and put the car into park. Neither of you made any move to get out or even unbuckle your seatbelts.

“I’m sorry,” she said so quietly that you weren’t sure you had heard her correctly at first. “I am just so scared of losing you. Ever since we lost your dad-,” she paused for a second to collect herself when her voice broke. “and your grandmother. I have been terrified of losing you too. Especially after what happened in the spring…not knowing what was going on with you. So I am sorry for being your mother and loving you and just wanting you to be safe.”

You leaned your head back on the headrest and stared up at the gray upholstered ceiling of the car. “Okay,” you breathed out. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’ll be more careful next time.”

“When I get back from my trip then we can talk some more. We can hang out like we used to. How does that sound?” She asked, voice hopeful.

“That sounds nice,” you said with some excitement as you climbed out of the car to get your groceries out of the trunk.

The prospect of some normalcy was like a shining light on the horizon, promising you that everything would eventually be okay.

Tuesday, October 14th, 1986

Your mom left you her car while she was on her trip so you could get back and forth from work.

Which meant you would have about a week of freedom.

You had given up on the idea of fixing your car. Instead, you were standing at the counter of Family Video, flipping through the classified section of the newspaper, circling a few promising options that would get you from point A to point B without having to rely on anyone else.

And not have to deal with the reminder of Eddie Munson that currently sat in your driveway.

You should have forgotten about him by now, just a small inconvenience in your life; a reminder that people didn’t always have the best intentions. He had lied to you multiple times, after all.

But you couldn’t stop. Sometimes over the past week, even after the phone call with the mechanic that confirmed your fears, you would hear loud music coming from a car radio passing by the road near your house and automatically think it was him or think you hear footsteps on your front porch just to run to the window and see nothing but squirrels.

Part of you wished he would show back up and apologize or tell you it was all a mistake. Another part of you though, you couldn’t tell how big or small this part was, wanted him to stay far away from you.

The store was empty today, allowing your thoughts to be loud and upfront. Since you had come in at ten that morning there had only been two customers, and now it was after one.

You tapped the pen on the counter as you flipped the page to another, wanting to push the thought of Eddie out of your mind. You circled another okay looking car when you felt the presence of someone standing over your shoulder.

The pen dragged across the paper, making a long red line cross over some of the ads.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Steve said from behind you as he placed a poster on the counter that he was about to hang up.

It was only you and Steve in the store today. Lately he had just been avoiding you by always staying in the back when you were there. Sometimes though, he would come out to joke around with Robin. You would pretend that it didn’t hurt your feelings to see two people have a friendship that you wanted to have.

It’s funny how you don’t realize how lonely you are until you’re forced to look at it.

“It’s okay. I wasn’t interested in those anyways,” you replied, looking down at the now crossed out cars.

He looked over your shoulder to see what you were talking about. “You’re getting a new car?”

“Yep,” you said, not sure how to continue this conversation.

“My dad owns the dealership in town. Why don’t you just go there instead of getting junk? I can put in a good word for you and our moms know each other so that would help,” he offered.

You looked up at him in surprise at his offer but found yourself quickly shaking your head. “No thank you,” you said.

You definitely did not want to take any discounts or deals, especially if they had anything to do with Steve Harrington or your mom. You wanted to do this on your own, even if it was going to just be junk.

“Okay,” Steve said, nonchalantly acknowledging your adamant refusal before going back to fiddling with the poster.

You focused on the newspaper again, making note that you could start calling about some of the cars tomorrow when you were off work.

It was Steve who broke the silence again.

“Are you okay?”

You looked over at him, his hand propped up on his hip as he gave you a look. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he looked at you like he was worried. His eyebrows crinkled to give off the edge of slight concern.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” You questioned defensively.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. You just seem sadder than usual the past couple of weeks.”

You wondered if he had heard about what happened with Eddie or Will and El. Even the thought of Will and El had a shiver of discomfort travel up and down your spine. Something about that situation just seemed so wrong.

It was obvious they were all friends or knew each other in some capacity. Robin hadn’t mentioned anything about it but maybe she was just really good at keeping things to herself. Or maybe she had heard and was beginning to think you were crazy too.

You didn’t like that.

“I’m fine,” you snapped, harsher than you meant to be. Lately, it seemed like you were always harsher than you meant to be. Just one wrong move and it set you off.

“Okay, fine,” he conceded, holding his hands up in surrender.

He tapped his foot for a second like he was pondering something and proceeded to walk around the counter, disappearing into a row of movies. You stood on your tiptoes, trying to see what he was doing and why he walked away so quickly. You could hear some shuffling and mumbling coming from the aisle he was in.

Suddenly, he reappeared with two movies in his hands.

He stopped in front of you and held them up.

“Fantasy or horror?” He asked.

You looked at him, blank faced and confused until he raised his eyebrows and gave you a look saying to go ahead and pick before he changed his mind.

“Uh, fantasy.”

Your life was already too much of a horror movie already.

Steve nodded in agreement before grabbing a bag of candy and sliding the VHS into the small TV that was kept on the counter for rewinds. He ripped open the bag and held it out for you to take.

“What are you doing?” You questioned cautiously as you took the bag of sour candy out of his hand.

“We’re testing the merchandise,” he said as he fiddled with the volume on the TV. “I’ll pay for the candy later.”

Almost two hours later, you and Steve had finished one bag of candy, one bag of popcorn, and two sodas.

You had to pause the movie a couple of times for a few stray customers wandering in but other than that, both of your attentions were focused on the movie.

After it was over, Steve packed the movie up and had you ring him up for the snacks.

“That was weird. We’ve only had like four customers all day,” Steve commented while wiping down the counter from the evidence of the snacks you had.

“Yeah, it’s usually been pretty busy with people getting horror movies for Halloween,” you replied.

Just then, the bell above the door dinged and a lone patron walked in and looked around confused.

“Hey, can I help you with something?” Steve called out.

“Yeah, just making sure you guys were open. The sign on the door says you’re closed.” The guy said before turning down an aisle to browse.

You looked at Steve, realizing that neither of you had flipped the sign to say you were open for the day.

You tensed, preparing yourself to be berated for the mistake.

But instead, the sides of his mouth curled up and he let out a laugh. You were concerned for a second, thinking that maybe his laugh was out of anger instead of humor but no. He thought this was funny.

For some reason, his laugh made you laugh and before you knew it you were both leaning on the counter with tears coming out of your eyes from laughing so hard.

Steve paused for a moment to look over at you for a second before he just shrugged and let out a quiet, “Oops.”

#eddie munson au #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson series #eddie munson imagine #eddie stranger things #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem reader

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severeaesthetic · 1 year

Text

Riddle Rosehearts falls under a sleeping curse

Reader is the prefect

Ace Trappola has been nothing but a pain in your side since you wound up in Twisted Wonderland. From having to chase him when you first met and all the times he tormented your poor, little, tuna deprived cat. So when he showed up to Ramshackle at midnight with a nervous Deuce you knew something was going to go horribly wrong.

“Sup prefect” Ace said walking into the ramshackle lounge “Me and Juice here have a brilliant plan to spice up the unbirthday tomorrow.”

“You mean today?” You sigh walking over to the old, dusty couch. “Because it is currently 3:25 in the morning.”

“Whatever, look at what I found in Sam’s shop” he pulls a pink, round bottle from his jacket pocket. “We sneak in and pour a little into the tart that Trey is baking and boom! Riddle turns into a hedgehog for the afternoon.” He had a smug smirk on his face as he looked between you and Deuce.

“I’m gonna stop you right there. First of all, I’m not Rook so I don’t speak French. So who is this we you’re talking about? Second of all I’m not getting involved in any pranks involving Riddle and the unbirthdays” the tone in your voice should have been enough for him to get the hint. Ace is not the sharpest tool in the shed.

“Yeah I wouldn’t want my crush to be a hedgehog either. Even if it’s just for a day” Deuce said absentmindedly and the whole room went quiet. Even the ghosts were speechless. A tapping noise was heard followed by the stairs creaking.

“Henchman! Did I hear Deuce right?!” Grim screeched out hopping up on your lap staring at you.

“You like Riddle?!” Ace screamed almost dropping the potion bottle.

“I’m sorry” Deuce leans over and whispering in your ear as Ace and Grim start throwing a fit.

“I’m not dealing with this right now” yawning, you stand up from the couch and walk to the stairs. “If any of you say a word to Riddle, I will make sure to serve a punishment far worse than the collars.”

Grim forgets about his little hissy fit with Ace and ushers Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb out of the door while chanting about bed time.

The morning came all too quickly, and the dread that Ace snitched to Riddle weighed heavily on your shoulders. Fortunately or unfortunately for you, Crowley had booked your Saturday with errands that a student should not have to deal with, so attending the unbirthday was not going to happen. It normally wouldn’t be a big deal, but Riddle had sent you a letter personally inviting you. The look on his face broke your heart, a mix of disappointment and irritation aimed towards the sad little bird man was evident. Crowley better count his days was the only thought on your mind the entire day while completing each task he gave to you.

Time really flies when you’re cleaning windows in the headmage’s office. The ringtone Cater set for himself made you jump and almost spill the cleaning supplies. Seeing as Cater hardly ever calls anyone, the phone didn’t ring for very long before you heard a panicked Cater jumbling his words with the loud chaos of the other Heartslabyul students. Either Ace went through with his prank or the animals escaped. Whatever it was, it needed fixing immediately. Bolting out of Crowley’s office, you made your way as fast as possible to the mirror room.

When you finally reach Heartslabyul, all the chaos has disbanded. It’s eerily quiet when you make it to the rose garden because nobody is there. Taking a quick look around you see all the animals are put up on their cages. Ace went through with it. Dreading the scene that has taken place you begrudgingly make your way inside to the lounge, only for your arm to practically be yanked out of it’s socket by a very jittery Deuce who could not get out a single sentence as he pulled you to Riddle’s bedroom.

“Prefect! Thank the seven you’re here! One minute we are enjoying the unbirthday and then the next minute Riddle is passed out in the garden!” Cater quickly runs over and grabs your shoulders shaking you as he talks.

Trey, being the calm, older brother figure he is, walks over and pries Cater’s hands away before explaining what he thought caused it. “I must have added an extra ingredient in there because Riddle took one bite and passed out” He said setting Cater down at Riddle’s desk. The whole time though, a certain red headed card soldier was just standing quietly minding his own business.

“Ace, give me the bottle” your voice caused him to flinch slightly.

“What bottle are they talking about Ace?” Trey walk over and stands in front of him.

“Ace put a potion in the tart when you weren’t looking hoping to turn Riddle into a hedgehog for a day!” Deuce confessed rather loudly.

Letting out a sigh, Trey pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, Deuce, Ace, and Cater are with me while we try to find a cure. You are in charge of making sure nothing else goes wrong” Trey points to you before grabbing Ace by the collar and walking out followed by Deuce and Cater. Cater pops his head back in the door.

“Hey prefect, now would be a good time to give the house warden a big ol kiss” Cater winks before running off to catch up with the others.

Being alone with Riddle is nerve wracking, regardless of the state he’s in. Walking over you sit on the edge of his bed and look at him resting peacefully. He looks relaxed for a change, not worrying about rules or his duties as a dorm leader. As calm as he is, he needs to be woken up. You gently run your hand across his forehead moving his hair from his face then begin to trace his other features. “It’s a shame I can’t be close to you like this when you’re awake. You just make me so nervous. I like you a lot. It’s so obvious even Deuce noticed. Cater found out some how, and he probably told Trey, I think he’s pretending not to know for my sake” a small chuckle falls from your mouth.

“I won’t be able to do this when you’re awake, so you’ll have to forgive me” you mumble before leaning down and placing a kiss on his forehead. For a few seconds nothing happens, then you turn your attention to your phone reading a text from Cater saying they are on the way back when a hand places itself on your phone and takes it from your grasp.

“It’s quite rude to be on your phone when in the company of others” Riddle says sitting up in his bed leaning against the headboard. Your gaze remains frozen on your lap for too long apparently, because his hand finds it’s way under your chin pulling your attention to him. “It’s also not appropriate to kiss someone who doesn’t agree to it” a slight smirk is plastered on his face.

A deep blush spreads across your cheeks as you try to stammer out a response. “M’sorry” comes out meekly and Riddle barely even registers it.

“Prefect, do you know what you did?” He asks. A shake of your head has him scooting closer to you. “There was a story I was told when I was younger about a princess being put under a sleeping curse, and true love’s kiss being the only way to break the spell. Do you get it now?” Another shake of your head and he sees the glazed over, love stricken look in your eye he just sighs softly smiling fondly at how beautiful you look. “I don’t think I’ll be able to keep being this calm around you so why don’t I just show you” he whispers before connecting your lips in a sweet, innocent kiss.

After pulling away for air you both lean away from each other blushing like crazy. Riddle’s face is as red as his hair. “I get it now” you say smiling like an idiot.

“It’s about time” Trey says leaning on the door frame smirking at the both of you. While Cater is taking pictures, Deuce is stopping Ace from fake gagging and being obnoxious.

“Time to go collect my money!” Grim pops up on to Deuce’s shoulder out of nowhere.

Needless to say, your ship name was trending on magicam thanks to Cater’s post gushing about how happy he was for his dorm leader.

#riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts x mc #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #disney twst #twst x reader #twst riddle #fluff #x reader #x male reader #x gn reader #x female reader #twst cater #twst trey #twst ace #twst grim #twst deuce

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bladiebabie · 1 year

Text

𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐀𝐤𝐢

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨: Aki Hayakawa

𝙁𝙡𝙪𝙛𝙛

𝘼/𝙉: Chainsaw Man and Blue Lock has revived me from the dead. Anyways, here’s some personal secretary aki headcanons. Please request more because the brainrot runs deep :’)

– 𝙎𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙮 𝘼𝙠𝙞 who’s tall and intimidating but, at the same time, very handsome. He has all the girls and guys in the office swooning and pining for just one second of his attention. The moment he steps into the company, taking long strides to your office, all anyone can hear is a chorus of “Hello, Secretary Hayakawa~.” Aki is also diligent in how he works and dresses; there is never a day when his shirt is wrinkled or documents are misplaced. That’s just one of the reasons why you chose him to be your assistant.

– You’re CEO of a multimillion-dollar company at just 25. You were cold and calculated but fair and kind. After all, you didn’t get to where you were by playing nice and keeping your mouth shut. All noises would cease once your heels clicked throughout the office. You were just as intimidating to the public eye as the secretary you hired. That’s just one of the reasons why Aki chose to work with you in the first place.

– However, as similar as you and Aki were, you guys butted heads ALL. THE. TIME. It was to the point where it drove some of the other employees crazy with how much the two of you would argue over such trivial matters. Of course, it didn’t help that none of you were willing to ever lose an argument because of your stubbornness.

– Whatever idea you had, Aki seemed to have the opposite, and whatever opinion he had, you disagreed. So there would just be constant bickering from your private office because not a day goes by that you weren’t at each other’s throats. There were moments when the fights would get so bad that none of you would talk to each other for days, only passive-aggressively passing notes when you needed something.

– When asked why Aki still worked for you even though all you guys seemingly do is argue, he’d nonchalantly shrug and reply, “It pays well enough, I guess.” And when someone would ask why you still haven’t fired him, you’d sigh and say, “He gets the job done.”

– The employees at your company shipped you guys together despite the yelling and words thrown around the office because they saw how you guys would make it up to each other in the days that followed.

– Aki would go out of his way to buy your favorite coffee and pastry first thing in the morning, having it ready and piping hot on your desk when you came in because he knew that you had stayed up the previous night to finish a business deal. He’d replace the withering flowers in your office with your favorite ones that you’d always buy in the floral shop around the corner. Aki would wordlessly place a homemade lunch on your desk when the afternoon came because he knew that you wouldn’t have time to eat today. He’d wait for you when everyone else had gone home because Aki didn’t want you riding the train when it was so late. These were only a few ways he’d apologize to you.

– You would buy Aki’s coffee mid-day because you knew the fatigue of running errands weighed down on him, and he needed a quick energizer. Then, at lunchtime, when he’s out with Denji and Himeno, you’d stop by the dry cleaners with his suit jacket in hand that was left on his chair, wanting the clothing to be crisp when he returned. Finally, once Aki has dropped you off at your apartment late in the night, you’d reach over to where his hand rests on the gear shift, offering a slight squeeze and a soft smile; you told him to drive safe and text you when he gets home. These were only a few ways you’d apologize to him.

– However, there were days when the two of you would bring each other coffee simultaneously. You’d both stare at the piping hot cup in the other’s hand before reaching out and wordlessly exchanging it. The tip of your fingers would brush together, sending an electrifying tingle down your spine that made you quickly turn away to hide the heat rising in your cheeks. You appreciated how calloused and rough Aki’s hands felt, hardened by years of hard work to get to where he is now. Aki gently smiled because an indescribable feeling bloomed inside his chest when you brushed his hands. He didn’t know what it was; he just knew he liked it. Aki appreciated how soft and supple your hands felt, despite the blood, sweat, and tears you had put into building this company.

– As you and Aki made your way to your respective desks, you couldn’t help but push this feeling into the back of your mind because it was supposed to be nothing… right?

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messycunt · 2 years

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The Morning After: Leona

I wanted to write Leona purring into this so bad but my logical mind wouldn’t let me since lions can’t purr but now I think abt it do kemonomimi boys really need to follow the rules of real world animal anatomy???

cw: fem!reader, no use of Y/N or gendered pronouns, readers birth assigned gender isn’t specified, nothing explicit but implied/referenced nsfw, fluffy wuffy gwumpy Leona, hinted Ruggie x Leona x reader but it’s ignorable methinks, ear scratches and soft kisses, not proof-read

Leona always looked so peaceful when he was asleep, features relaxed instead of taunt in a scowl or pulled into a smug smirk like usual.

You sat at the edge of his bed, eyes fixated on the pile on the floor where he had thrown your clothes after tearing them off the night before yet not moving to pick them up. Your mind was elsewhere, thinking of how you would explain your being in savanaclaw first thing in the morning if anyone was to find you while making your way back to ramshackle. You brought your knee up to your chest humming thoughtfully.

Bumping into Jack was a possibility to consider, he was most likely getting ready for his morning jog now if he hadn’t already started. Lying to him about what you were there for would not be an option, even not being a beastman yourself you knew that he would be able to smell Leona all over you from a mile away. It was best to mentally prepare yourself should that encounter be made.

Ruggie already knew about what you and Leona had going on and you knew about what he and Leona had going on so you didn’t need to worry about judgment from him. Your spur of the moment “nap times” and midnight visits occasionally involved him too when he wasn’t busy working at the lounge after class or running errands for Leona that you had safely assumed he gave him just to have you to himself for a while.Though you usually arrived and left the same night so bumping into the hyena with mussed hair and a slight but noticeable limp would definitely earn a lighthearted giggle and teasing nudge from him.

“What’re you thinking so hard about” his words came out as an annoyed huff. You turned to look at him, his arm was lazily thrown over his face. “Getting back home in time to get ready for class, why?” His ears twitched at that “ oh? “Home” really? I'm sure the one other member of that raggedy dorm’ll be fine without you for one day” He didn’t answer your question. “You know how he gets. If I’m not there when he gets up he’s gonna be suspicious and he’s more irritating than usually when suspicious.” you didn’t mind Grim all that much, but maybe that reasoning would be sound enough to convince Leona to go back to sleep without you. He just grumbled in response.

You sighed and hopped off the bed to get to picking up your clothes. Placing them on the bed you took in the state of them. Your panties and stockings were ripped beyond use and your top was missing buttons but at least your jacket and skirt were intact. Thoughtfully choosing your words you spoke up with a patronizingly thick layer of sweetness. “I’ll stop by the garden before lunch and spend time with you then ok? I don’t want you being all grumpy wumpy.”

“Just stay now. We’ll only miss the first two bells, I’ll let ya go then” he grumbled “Can’t. I have a quiz second period.” you answered quickly, back to your usual tone. “Then we’ll only miss the first bell” you rolled your eyes even though he couldn’t see “I promised Grim I would make him pancakes for breakfast today, and like I said I'm not in the mood to deal with his whining today” another grumble “who cares, the furball can just make ‘em himself now can you come back over here”

Leona moved his forearm from laying over his face to look at you. Eyes looking more disinterested than usual, he stretched with an obnoxious yawn before reaching out to pat the space on the bed in front of you. “You are so spoiled, you know that? Wanting me alllll to yourself even after last night” you teased crawling towards him only to stop just to lean over him. You leaned down to peck him on the corner of his mouth before moving to give him an ever lighter kiss on the lips. He didn’t react in any noticeable way. You closed your eyes and pulled your lips into a line before giving in. “ Fine, I'll stay.” He let out a pleased hum at this and pulled his arms up to wrap around you comfortably. “Good.” he hummed, pulling you in for another kiss. You leaned into him and moved your hands up to gently scratch your nails behind his ears. Pulling away for air and rolling the soft texture of his ears between your fingers you gazed into each other's eyes for a while, content. The second you lay back against his chest ready to fall back into sleep you jump at the sound of a knock at the door

“Leona-san~ I’m off for class. I’ll bring you both back some breakfast in a sec kay?”

#leona x reader #leona x ruggie #ruggie x reader #wrk!#fluff #twst

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nwaluva-200 · 6 months

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A Love To Last - Sam Winchester

Word count: 1013

Based on the song: Sunday Kind Of Love by Etta Jones.

The sun shone through a small crack in your gauzy curtains as birds sang and chirped you awake. You groaned and rolled over in bed, moving your hand up to brush off a lock of chocolate-coloured hair from Sam’s forehead. Your favourite part of Sunday mornings was getting up early to make breakfast for your two favourite boys, Sam and Dean, before heading out with Sam to run errands together for the rest of the day, while Dean stayed behind, either hunting or spending quality time with Baby, his car. You stretched, and slowly heaved Sam’s strong arm off your waist before you slipped out of bed and chucked your favourite pink robe on, along with your fluffy slippers.

On the way to the kitchen, you unplugged your phone from your nightstand and connected it to a small speaker, and smiled, remembering how Sam had installed it in the kitchen for you when you first moved into the bunker a year back. You couldn’t believe it had already been a year since you fell for each other while Sam was on a hunt, and that so far, he’d only died once during your relationship, when he went to the cage. You pushed the soul-crushing memories of your time apart away, and pressed play on your playlist with all the perfect songs for a Sunday morning. As you mixed the pancake batter and finished cooking the bacon just the way Dean liked it, Sam surprised you, sneaking up from behind to give you a hug.

“Mornin’ y/n,” he mumbled, making you smile at how he pressed his nose into your hair to kiss behind your ear. “I’ll go wake up Dean.” You nodded and returned your attention to the pancakes, setting them on three plates, on with a large stack, whipped cream and strawberries, as well as a mini-mountain of bacon (for Dean), two pancakes with maple syrup and butter (for Sam), and one pancake covered all over with strawberries, and drowned in maple syrup (for you). As you artfully placed a perfect dollop of whipped cream onto your plate, Dean rushed in, unable to hold back his excitement for his favourite Sunday morning pancakes. He grabbed at his plate, pulled it towards him as he sat down, and didn’t waste any time waiting for the rest of us to start.

“So good..” He groaned, stuffing his face with the food, and not caring that large chunks of bacon were halfway falling out of his mouth.

“Gross, you pig” Sam nudged his brother's shoulder playfully before digging into breakfast. You sat next to Sam as he reached over to your chair and pulled it closer to him, “Thanks for breakfast, y/n,” he kissed you, accidentally smearing maple syrup on your cheek. “Whoops, sorry.” Sam licked his thumb and smirked, rubbing the sticky syrup off your face before he asked,

“So, what’s on the agenda today?”

You smiled and kissed him back before you left your seat to take the list from the fridge door where you always kept it.

“Looks like we need a beer run, normal groceries, I need more magazines, and we also need some ingredients for cake for my dad’s birthday. I can’t believe it’s already August!” I read out the list, happy that Dad has managed to live this long, even when he’s still hunting at his old age.

“Bobby’s birthday soon? What’ll we get him?” Dean pondered as he looked forlornly at his empty plate that was practically licked clean.

I shrugged, “I reckon some kind of celebration should be enough, we should invite his hunting buddies, and just throw a party or something.”

Sam and Dean agreed, so it was decided. Sam got up and cleared the dishes, Dean took off to go detail his car or find a case for the day, and I ran to Sam and my room to change. I decided on some jeans, and a paloma wool brown and orange t-shirt that Sam got me for my birthday after watching me pine for it for months on end. I chucked on a warm, white puffer jacket and my boots before tying my hair up and grabbing my purse and Sam’s favourite reusable shopping bags. Sam yelled out to Dean that we’d be out for a couple hours, but we’d be back before 3.00pm.

“Are you sure you won’t be too cold?” Sam asked, holding the door for you as you walked out.

The light pink colouring your cheeks and nose sort of gave it away, but you were sure you’d be fine once you started walking around.

“I’m fine Sam, let’s go!” You moved to hold Sam’s hand as you walked to his car, thinking about how much you cherished these little walks, and your perfect Sunday mornings.

“What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours today?” Sam looked down at you curiously with a smile.

“Just thinking about how much I love you...” You went up on your tippy toes to kiss Sam sweetly on his cold cheek as he bent down and lifted you in his strong arms.

“I love you too y/n,” he said, before you readied yourself. You knew it was time, and that you had to go. So you drove a knife deep into your stomach, while Sam suddenly turned from your perfect boyfriend, into a figment of your imagination, created by a Djinn.

“You could’ve stayed forever y/n…” he snarled as he faded away, and your entire world faded out.

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

“Y/n!! She’s back, Sam!” Dean made quick work of untying your arms from above you, and Sam supported you when you fell, weak from starvation and all the torture the Djinn had put you through. You weakly brushed a lock of hair from his forehead again, but this time, Sam flinched away from your touch, as you realised that in this world, nothing between you and Sam was romantic. Breathing became difficult as a pathetic feeling of sadness washed over you, and before your eyes rolled into the back of your head, the only thing you could whisper was his name, only now, it held a different meaning.

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lmk if you want a second or if you have requests (feel free to send them to me lol, ill do my best)

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #supernatural #jared padalecki

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edensbuttercups · 2 years

Text

Spill the beans - Bob Floyd x reader

aka: the Coffee shop AU no one asked for

A/N: This was all born from a comment shared with my best friend after mentioning that one of the baristas at my local café kinda looked like Bob and... yeah. So here is a coffee shop au, set before/in a parallel universe were Bob isn't a WSO?

As always, requests are open and comments are very much appreciated! Thank you for reading and hope you're all having a good day ♡

Words: 3k

It was a rainy day, far too rainy to do anything that wasn’t indoors, but staying home just didn’t feel right, so you slowly got ready to the sound of your current playlist playing in the background, choosing your favorite sweater, jeans and boots combo and smiling when you saw the result in the mirror, one of the best autumn outfits, cozy yet cool.

Headphones on, you closed the door behind you, feeling the chilly air nipping at your skin, not enough to justify the need of a jacket though, your sweater warming you up just enough as you made your way down the street, no clear destination in mind until you noticed the small café that had opened on Monday, small white balloons from its inauguration still tied by the door. You slowed down, peeking in at the curated decor and empty tables, glancing up to look at the white-lettered sign. Spill the beans. You chuckled at the name, shaking your head softly as you considered stepping inside for a coffee.

It was the middle of the week, and most people were probably at work or running errands, but usually at least someone was at the caffés in the area, but apparently not today. It was clearly open, judging by the retro sign hanging by the door, so you took a deep breath and walked in, feeling the cold air getting trapped behind you as the door closed, the warm air wrapping you in a sweet embrace, the scent of coffee and baked goods enveloping you. A clatter could be heard from one corner, a clatter that was immediately interrupted when the sound of the door allerted the man behind the till of your entrance, making him pop up with a surprised expression, morphing into a warm smile when he saw you. “Welcome to Spill the Beans!” He bowed his head lightly, trying his best to keep his nerves under control as he spoke, “would you like to sit or will you take your coffee on the go?” “Oh, I’ll take it here.” You nodded, glancing outside the door, the rain not relenting and only getting worse. You knew you had packed a book and a notebook, giving you something else to do while you sipped your coffee, depending on how long you decided to stay. He glanced behind you, smiling. “Yeah, not the best weather for a stroll, I guess. What shall I get you?” You moved towards him, peeking at the menu behind him. Usually, your order didn’t change much, but today, considering the new location, you decided to actually read all of the items. He waited patiently, trying to avoid looking at you too intently but unable to hide the smile that graced his features when he saw your concentration, shifting your weight from one foot to the other before making your choice, watching him as he nodded, muttering a “Coming right up!” as he turned on his heels, getting to work on your order.

He was tall, and pretty, and you hated how cheery he sounded, even when you could tell he was nervous. You assumed this was his first time working as a barista, probably only starting just before the café actually opened, his movements slightly unsure as he prepared everything, knowing where everything was but fumbling around nonetheless. “Here you go.” He said politely, setting down the drink in front of you, a foam heart decorating the top of it. “Cute.” you muttered, looking up at him to see him smiling back at you, glancing to the side to pick a cookie from the little pile that was set on the plate, placing it by your coffee. “It’s the only coffee art I’ve learned so far. But as a thank you, you get a cookie.” You laughed at that, nodding and thanking him once more, reaching for your coffee and cookie before choosing a table, not far from him in case he was up for chatting, something you truly didn’t mind, but far enough to not be overly present.

He didn’t approach you, only sending curious glances your way right until when you stood up, taking the empty coffee cup back to him with a kind smile. He didn’t want to say that he was smitten, not so soon, but honestly? Maybe he was. “Probably one of the best coffees I’ve ever had.” You said, not fully lying, but also wanting to compliment him again before leaving, knowing how stressful starting a new job could be, especially when it was in a new field. “Oh, thank you. That’s very kind of you.” He took your cup and placed it in the sink, turning back to look at you. “Well, I’ll be seeing you again…” you glanced down, not finding a name tag, but he caught on quickly. “Robert. But my friends call me Bob.” “Well, thank you…” you hesitated a second, wondering if you could call him Bob, if you could call him with the same name his friends used. “Bob?” You asked. “Bob.” He nodded, smiling softly. You chuckled lightly, nodding. “Well, have a good evening, Bob.” “You too.” He watched as you left, cursing at himself when the door closed for not asking you for your name, hoping that you’d be back.

And you did. You went by at least once a week, always enjoying the coffee, yes, but most of all his company.

He handed you your coffee, a little cookie resting on the small tray by it. The first time he did it you just assumed it was a one off, a little gift, but now he did it each time. You had asked him, once.

“I’ve been baking them. I just try simple recipes, but I thought you could try them and if they get your stamp of approval then they get added to the menu.” He said cheerfully, pointing at the glass case that held the cakes and, now that you noticed, all of the small baked goods you had told him you loved. “So I’m your little lab rat.” You joked, picking up the cookie and bringing it to your mouth, missing his head shaking, trying to assure you that wasn’t it, his words getting stuck in his throat when you hummed in delight, eyes closing at the taste. It wasn’t overly sweet, and was crunchy, soft, and chocolatey in the perfect way. It was almost scary how good he was at this. “These are delicious.” You said, holding the cookie up and pointing at him with it, “Did you taste this? It’s so good.” He nodded, blushing at your compliments. He watched as you broke the remainder of the cookie in half, handing some to him. “But it’s for you.” He argued. “No, I want to share it with you.” You said, watching his blush darken, “It’s so good.” you repeated, smiling when you both finished eating it, a comfortable silence falling over you.

It took a few times to figure out which times were the quietest, and out of those which worked best for you, and that’s how you found yourself usually sharing the café with Bob only, occasionally with one or two other people, getting most of his attention.

“I was thinking about something.” he said, setting a glass of water down for him and resting his elbows on the counter, glancing at you. “Well, let me in on it, then.” “So this place is called Spill the Beans.” He spoke matter of factly, as if you had never actually read the name of this café before now. “Yes.” “Well, what if each time you came here, you spilled the beans?” he said, air quoting the last part. “Spill the beans on what?” you took a sip of your coffee, laughing lightly at his suggestion. “Just about you. Tell me one fun fact each time you come in.” You stopped and looked up at him, his words making you blush. It was silly, a simple suggestion but oh so sweet. “You want to know about me?”

Almost every day you came here now, not always for coffee, sometimes just for a quick chat, because yes, you couldn’t lie, he was cute and you liked him. But to know that he wanted to know about you too? That made your heart beat a little faster than you would’ve liked to admit. He fumbled with his words, suddenly nervous about actually having to explain himself. “Anything. Your favorite color, season, drink? Or a memory, a joke, a poem you like?” He offered, standing a bit straighter now, looking at you expectantly.

He had been thinking about it for some time, the idea of knowing more about you always on his mind, but not knowing just how to ask you until one morning, when he read the white letters on the door, coming up with the idea. You smiled at that, thinking about it. You told him your favorite color, asking for his, conversing. It felt nice, this extra little excuse to know more about each other.

You had told him a good amount of things about you, coming up with a good few beans to spill, loving his reactions when you’d talk of a funny memory, or share a little piece of you, his comments always respectful and curious.

A few weeks went by, and you walked in, shaking your umbrella and leaving it by the door, immediately feeling at home once more in the small café, spotting Bob looking up at you from behind the counter and waving, smiling at you. He grabbed a small pastry, like he always did, this time fancier and more complex, handing that to you as you sat down in front of him, shivering slightly when a drop of rain fell from your hair down your neck, his gaze following it briefly before meeting your eyes once more. “Here you go.” he smiled, tilting his head as he awaited for you to say something. You laughed, taking a moment to think about it. There still were memories to talk about, jokes that you had noted down on a piece of paper to recite to him, wanting to hear him laugh, but today you felt a little bolder, so you settled on him, glancing at him as you saw the tight blue top that clung to his figure so well, half-hidden by the brown apron that you adored so much, jokingly telling him one day that you wanted one for Christmas, the little drawn coffee beans too adorable to let go of. “I think blue really suits you.” you finally muttered, pointing at his t-shirt, his eyes widening when your comment of the day had to do with him. “Yeah?” he asked, surprised. “Yeah. You wore a blue top last week too, I think? Really brings your eyes out.” you confirmed, taking a bite of your pastry and offering him a smile, seeing his cheeks darken as he muttered out a thank you.

He was cute, with his reactions, his confidence growing around you only to be easily taken away with a compliment. He turned, grabbing two glasses and filling them with water, placing one in front of you and holding the other one, raising it slightly. “Hydration is important.” He explained, taking a sip and trying to make his cheeks go back to normal, feeling them burn and knowing how silly he probably looked. If only he knew that’s not what you were thinking at all. “I’ve been spilling a lot of beans.” You said, breaking the silence as you looked at him turn away once more, grabbing a cup and getting to work. You learned that rainy days, especially during the week, prompted less people to take a break that required them to leave the office or their place of work, which meant that there always was a good chance, on days like these, that you’d get him on his own.

He had spilled some beans too, in normal conversation, to be fair. He’d told you that he took this job as a favor to his friend. He wasn’t supposed to stay here for too long, just helping out until needed, but he actually had started enjoying it a lot, even if he hadn’t decided how long he’d actually do this for. He told you that his original plan had to do with the Navy, although he never fully explained, getting interrupted by a customer walking in, and you never asked, giving him the chance to bring it up again himself if he chose to.

You knew he liked baking, probably that furthered into cooking but you weren’t sure, and that he loved country songs, especially the ones that reminded him of home, and that he smelled like pepper and spice and oak wood, but sometimes he smelled of vanilla, if he had spent the day in the kitchen. And you knew that he crinkled his nose when he said something and was afraid of how you’d take it, or would tap his fingers three times on the counter before turning to prepare a drink. There were a lot of little quirks you had noticed of him, his way of speech, his look. The way he dressed, that was something that you always appreciated. There was a simplicity in his elegance, the way he managed to make a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt look elegant and casual with some simple details. You always tried not to stare, both because you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, and because you didn’t want to admit that he was the reason your heart beat a little bit faster every time you walked in.

“Yeah, I guess.” He laughed, twirling around to place the coffee in front of you, the foam no longer showing a heart, but upgraded to a swan, something he had shown you so proudly when he had learned. “But I like hearing about you, so…” he trailed on, looking up with a shy smile, even if you could see just how comfortable he felt around you now. “Ah, but you see, I like hearing about you too.” The rain pattered lightly against the windows, the only other sound being the soft music, jazz covers of classics that just fit the place so well. You saw his breath hitch at your words, his smile growing again, his back straightening as if that was all enough to give him all the confidence he needed. “Yeah?” He asked. “Yeah.”“Well, I guess if I had to spill the beans…” he said, words carefully chosen to make you laugh again, those three words said so many times they had become a running joke between the two of you, “I’d say that I like you.” You stared at him for a moment, words hitting you slowly, the meaning of them sinking in after a while.

He liked you. He liked you? He liked you.

You smiled, opening your mouth to speak, the sound of the door opening interrupting you. Bob looked at you for a moment, his cheeks burning once more at the revelation, wondering if he had overstepped, if he had made a foolish choice, before moving to the side, welcoming the new customer. “Coffee. Black.” He spoke quickly, throwing his case on the chair near yours, sitting on the one directly next to it. You glanced at him, his tight black suit not helping with the general vibe of his, so you shuffled slightly, picking out a notebook from your bag to go over a to-do list, settling instead on doodling when you looked up and saw Bob, so carefully preparing the order, seeing his cheeks red and knowing what was going on in his mind. If you had been a bit quicker to speak…

You drew quickly, the sketch nothing but messy lines that showed the man in front of you, something to do to avoid participating in the silence that lingered around you. “Thanks.” The man muttered, drinking his coffee quickly, leaving the money on the counter as he left, the door soon closing behind him, leaving the two of you alone again.

Bob looked over, the little doodle still in front of you. He smiled, not commenting on it but finding it incredibly adorable, as well as humbling, that you decided to doodle him, of all people and things you could’ve chosen from. “So.” you both said at the same time, chuckling awkwardly. “You can go first.” You said, before realizing that he had already said something before, and this was probably your turn. “Actually.” You added, laughing again. You took a deep breath, looking at him. “I like you too.” “That’s a huge relief,” he joked, “I was already planning how to save myself from that one while I was making the coffee for that man.” You laughed, shaking your head, “No, no, I… I was really happy to hear it. It was just… unexpected I guess?” “How so?” He asked, truly curious. “Well, you’re… amazing.” “You are too.” He said, without hesitation. “You are. You’re amazing.” You blushed, his words so honest. “Thank you. Well, I feel the same. I really like you.” “Well, I guess then maybe… I can ask you out?” He said, hoping once again that the answer would be positive, his nose crinkling as it sometimes did. “Definitely.” “Well, then… Then would you maybe like going out with me? On a date?” He asked, nervous but smiling, the words he had longed to say for so long finally freed. “Yes. I’d love that, Robert.” you said, using his full name just for the fun of it. “Do you know any cute cafés?” You joked, seeing him open his mouth before closing it, laughing. “Maybe dinner?” He added, quietly. “Yes, lovely idea. Looking forward to it.” You longed to kiss him, but you wouldn’t, not now, so you just nodded, writing your number on the page you had doodled him on, ripping it out and handing it to him with a smile, making your way out the door content, excited and looking forward to the date, turning back to see him inside, clutching the piece of paper like it held the answers to the universe, cheeks red and smile not wavering. He was very cute, and you were so happy he had spilled the beans.

#robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd fluff #lewis pullman #tgm #tgm fanfic #lewis pullman x reader #top gun maverick #top gun

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cuddlepilefics · 1 year

Text

Out Cold

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Changbin

Caregiver: Hyunjin

Changbin and Hyunjin have to run some last errands before Christmas. Once they're out in the cold though, the older doesn't feel too great anymore...

No one’s POV.:

Finally being on a break for Christmas, Stray Kids still had all of their holiday preparations to do. They had been quite busy up until now, so they had barely had the chance to do any Christmas shopping, let alone decorate the dorms. Minho and Seungmin had agreed on doing the cooking for Christmas eve but they did not have all the necessary ingredients yet. Jisung, Felix and Jeongin were most excited to decorate the dorms, so as soon as they were off, they started gathering boxes of Christmas decorations, stored away in different closets. Chan had originally wanted to go shopping for groceries and to get the ingredients, Minho and Seungmin would need, but was called to the company at short notice. Apparently, there had been some problems with their Christmas album, which needed to be fixed quick, so it could be released as a present for Stay. That left Changbin and Hyunjin to go and do the shopping for the group.

They had already compiled a list of groceries over the past week, Minho adding the ingredients that still had to be picked up. Hyunjin wanted to take some pictures of the decorated buildings in town to later paint, while Changbin still had to get Christmas presents for some of his friends. The rapper mentally scolded himself for not getting them earlier or maybe ordering them online but there wasn’t much he could do about it now. It was safe to say though, that the pair would most likely be out for most of the day, which was quite convenient for Jisung, who wanted to surprise his hyungs by decorating their shared dorm. He had already planned how he wanted to decorate it and it would be really cozy afterwards. The others knew that their dorm would be decorated but the exact way it looked should still be a bit of a surprise.

Unfortunately, Changbin had woken up in no mood to go out at all. It was the first day of them being able to sleep in in a long time and he just wanted to stay in bed a little longer. His bed was so warm and comfortable, he saw no reason to leave it at all today. Sadly, Changbin also knew that the stores would get pretty crowded if they went later in the day, besides, some of the things they needed might be sold out by then. Since he didn’t even know what Christmas presents he wanted to get, he’d have to expect taking some time looking around. Groaning in frustration, the rapper pushed away his blanket and sat up. His mind was still hazy as he forced himself to go to the bathroom and wash up.

Though to Changbin it felt like he had to get up incredibly early, Chan was long gone by the time the younger had finished getting ready. Luckily, Hyunjin was similarly unwilling to part with his warm bed quite yet, so the rapper didn’t feel pressured get ready in a rush. With both of them still sleepy, the ate their breakfast in silence before going over their shopping list together to ensure everything was written down. Glancing out the window, Changbin noted that it had snowed during the night and made a point of putting on an additional layer.

Hyunjin was quick to fully wake up once they stepped out into the cold, smiling: “I really hope the snow doesn’t melt, just imagine how romantic white Christmas would be.” – “It’d be really aesthetic”, Changbin agreed, sniffling softly as the cold air made his nose run. Somehow, the extra layer he had put on did nothing to protect him from the cold and by the time they made it to the first store, he was chilled to the bone. Rubbing his palms against each other, Changbin tried to regain some feeling in his stiff fingers but they remained numb. While the older was somewhat annoyed that the store too felt so incredibly cold, Hyunjin was getting more excited. As they ventured further into the store, the dancer even unzipped his jacket, so he wouldn’t start to sweat, his hyung watching him in disbelieve.

If Changbin had thought the cold air was messing with his nose, the warm air inside the store didn’t even compare. Only a few minutes in, the rapper had to keep one hand close to his face at all times, running the cuff of his sleeve under his reddening nose as he trudged behind Hyunjin. The younger had taken out their shopping list, scanning over it to figure out which aisle to go to first. With how focused he was, the dancer completely missed how Changbin’s breath started to hitch before the older roughly nudged his nose and exhaled a shaky breath. Finally being on a break, Changbin desperately wanted to avoid drawing attention to himself in public but as his nose continued to tingle, he didn’t know how long he’d be able to keep that up.

Lucky for him, Hyunjin had taken it upon himself to collect the items noted on their shopping list, while Changbin tried to figure out where he’d get the Christmas presents he was still missing, without wasting much time looking around. He just wanted to this shopping trip to be over soon, so he could get home or at least somewhere more private to blow his nose. Holding up two boxes of Changbin didn’t even know what, Hyunjin hummed: “The one on the list is sold out, so I guess these two are the closest to what Minho-hyung wanted us to get. Which do you think we should take?” – “Wha’s the differedce?”, the older sniffled, hand hovering in front of his face. Hyunjin’s brows furrowed. He had explained that not even two minutes earlier. Had Changbin not been listening? “Let’s just take this one”, the dancer sighed, placing one of the boxes into the cart. He was too distracted by their task to pay his hyung’s inability to focus any mind.

Scrubbing at his nose, Changbin frowned. He should at least pay attention when his friend was talking to him, if the younger was already taking the responsibility for checking all the items off the list. At the same time though, the rapper’s mind only got foggier and when he tried to focus on their task or figure out what he should get for his friends, it made his head hurt. Well, he already had a present for Hyunjin, so he might as well ask the dancer for advice. “Uhm, I- I still need to get Minho-hyung, Seungmin and Jeongin something for Christmas”, Changbin stated quietly, “I dunno what though. Do you have any ideas?” Furrowing his brows, Hyunjin hummed: “For Minho-hyung, anything cat-themed should do. Seungmin, maybe a new bag for his camera. The strap of his old one is close to disintegrating. I’ll need some time to think of something for Jeonginnie though. You’re a little late, don’t you think?”

Changbin couldn’t deny that. Maybe if he chose next day delivery, he could order something online because the longer they were inside of this store, the more his nose was itching and he just wanted to go home. In no way could he imagine himself touring even more stores for the rest of the day. It didn’t take long for Changbin’s breath to start hitch again but this time, he wasn’t able to hold off the sneeze, hurriedly pinching his nose shut to stifle it. He had been so quiet that Hyunjin hadn’t even noticed it but that also meant it had brought him no relief at all, if anything, his nose was even itchier now, causing the rapper to stifle two more sneezes. By now, his eyes were watering and he couldn’t even see where he was going anymore, lightly holding onto his dongsaeng’s sleeve, so he wouldn’t get lost.

Reading over their shopping list again and again to ensure they wouldn’t forget anything, Hyunjin didn’t even glance back at the older and instead kept walking. With the Christmas music playing softly in the background, he barely heard Changbin’s sniffles at all, so he was cough by surprise when the rapper suddenly failed to stifle. As Hyunjin turned to look over his shoulder, he could feel the grip on his sleeve tighten while his hyung muffled two more rather forceful sneezes against his fist. A few people in closer proximity had turned around, which flustered Changbin. “You want me to add tissues to the list?”, the dancer teased but his playful smile soon faltered when Changbin looked up. His nose looked quite irritated and so did his eyes, itchy tears dotting his lashes. There was a faint blush on his cheeks, which might be from embarrassment after trying so hard not to draw attention, but it might as well be from the fever, which the rapper was pretty sure he was running. They had been inside the warm store for a long time already but he still felt cold and shivery and hadn’t even unzipped his coat yet.

Changbin dabbed at his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve before running it under his nose, sniffling: “Please do. I habe a feeli’g I mbight ndeed them.” – “Yeah, you do sound a bit stuffed up. Are you not feeling well?”, Hyunjin frowned, stuffing their shopping list into his pocket. The older just shrugged, giving another sniffle. “Felt a bit off this mborni’g but ndow I jus’ wadda go hombe”, Changbin admitted, scrubbing at his face as his eyes and nose itched and his head ached. Yeah, he really didn’t feel well but how did he not notice that earlier? Linking their arms, Hyunjin agreed: “We got almost everything we need. Let me just grab a few more things and we’ll be on our way.” The rapper nodded gratefully, stumbling along as his dongsaeng navigated their way through the store.

As they continued through the aisles, it became painfully obvious just how badly Hyunjin’s guidance was needed. Without it, Changbin would’ve most likely gotten lost or run into something or someone. The rapper was struggling to see clearly with his eyes watering and whenever he glanced into one of the decorative lights at the wrong angle, he risked setting his nose off again. By the time they had checked out and made it to the exit, Changbin was dragging his feet, all of his energy zapped. He shuddered when they stepped out into the cold. Hyunjin was next to him, seemingly unaffected and carrying their shopping bags. When Changbin noticed and insisted on carrying some of their things too, the dancer made sure to hand him the lighter bag. Sure, Changbin was strong but he also looked ready to topple over.

Jisung was the only one at their dorm when the two got there. The younger took the bags from them, so his friends could take off their shoes and coats. Changbin was still shivering when he shrugged off his coat and Hyunjin approached him. The dancer rested one hand on Changbin’s forehead and used the other to cup his cheek, announcing: “Like I expected, you feel pretty warm, so I think you have a fever.” – “Don’t be silly, Jinnie. Your hands are just cold. I’mb a little stuffed up a’d tired but nothing serious”, the older chuckled, rubbing his own hands to warm them up. “You’re sick, hyung?”, Jisung frowned, placing the bags on the kitchen counter. Running his hand under his nose, Changbin sighed: “Just a little cold, ndo big deal. It’s just mby ndose running a’d itching a’d I wadda sleep off the headache.” – “Yeah, that sounds good because you don’t sound good”, the younger agreed, “Maybe you wanna take a shower to warm up and lay down on the couch. I already finished decorating the living room. It’s pretty cozy if I say so myself.” Changbin and Hyunjin chuckled at that but Jisung wasn’t lying. It was really cozy.

While Hyunjin and Jisung unpacked the shopping bags, Changbin first took his temperature before stepping into the shower. To his surprise, Hyunjin hadn’t been wrong. He was indeed running a bit of a temperature but it wasn’t bad enough to pass up a hot shower. The steam made his nose run even more but he could finally let out the sneezes he had been holding back throughout their shopping trip. The running water wasn’t enough to drown out the noise though and it became quite obvious to both Hyunjin and Jisung that their hyung was downplaying the way he felt. After unpacking, Hyunjin made a large pot of warm tea, while Jisung went to make a few last adjustments to the living room, mainly adding a few more blankets to the stack on the couch. Once Changbin came out of the shower, they got him settled on the couch, bundled in blankets with a steaming cup of tea in his hands. They chatted for a bit, while he sipped his tea and when he had finished the cup, he lay down for a nap. It only took a few minutes and Changbin was out cold. He was only woken up once during the remaining afternoon, as Hyunjin hummed: “About your question earlier, I sent you a few links. If you want next day delivery, you need to order something within the next hour. That’s why I woke you. I can help you wrap them when they get here tomorrow, yeah?” – “Thagks”, the older sniffled, reaching for his phone. He quickly finished his Christmas shopping online and with nothing to worry about anymore, he was out cold once again.

#stray kids #skz #fanfiction #fanfic #sick #sickfic #snz #fluff #comfort #changjin #hyunbin

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flfverse · 1 year

Text

behind closed doors

Here, there are no heroes or villains. There are no fights, no politics, no wars. There is no Dabi, there is no Hawks.

Touya and Keigo draw the curtains and shut the world out.

this anon brought up the idea of fluffy future dabihawks, which made me want to throw out an "imagine [blank]" just as a little tease. then i couldn't think of anything. then, because i am very normal, i decided to write a oneshot about it.

~2k words of fluff, no real spoilers, some details are dubiously canon since i haven't actually written the war arc yet.

Touya edges into the apartment, softly closing the door behind him. “Pretty bird, I’m—mmph.”

Keigo steals the rest of his sentence with a kiss, pressing him up against the door. Touya allows it, tilting his head for a better angle as he cups his face. With the other hand, he strokes gently through his sub’s wings, making him shiver and slump forward.

(His sub. That thought is never going to get old.)

“Keigo,” he murmurs, pulling away just enough that the words are audible. “Dove, what’s this about?”

Keigo huffs, burrowing into his neck. “Missed you today.”

“I wasn’t gone that long.” Only a few hours. He had errands to run after he dropped Shouto at his friend’s house.

“Still. Missed you.”

Touya strokes his feathers a little more, considering. They scene almost every day, they have that luxury now, and he really wasn’t gone especially long, so there’s no real reason for Keigo to be climbing all over him before he even gets his boots off.

“Are you stressed, pretty bird? Something happen?”

“Mm. Little bit. Was watching the news. They brought up Hawks. Guess I just started thinking after that.”

Touya hugs him for a moment, breathing in, centering himself. The baby feathers of Keigo’s crest tickle his nose. He wants to cry, suddenly, ridiculously, because a few years ago Keigo would never have admitted anything was amiss, certainly not something as small as that. He would never allow himself to need anything.

“Thank you for telling me, chickpea.”

“That’s not even a bird.”

Touya flicks him. “Shut up, I’m being sweet. Can I ask what they talked about, or do you just want to forget?”

Keigo shifts his weight a little. It sways both of them, since Touya is still doing most of the work of holding them upright. “Both? They, uh. Just shit about some documentary they’re making about…y’know, everything. They still act like it was sudden, or like, bad. Us. Like you corrupted me or something.”

He laughs a little, shakes his head. “I just missed you. I didn’t want you to be out there with them. I want us here. It’s none of their business.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry people are still assholes.” Touya presses a kiss to the side of his head. “But none of them get to be here. Not even stuck in your pretty little head. So go kneel in front of the couch for me, okay?”

Keigo pulls back, biting his lip. Touya pulls it free before he accidentally cuts it with his fangs.

“Problem, Kei?”

His gaze travels up and down Touya’s body before meeting his eyes again. “Can I help you? First?”

“Of course. Go right ahead.”

Keigo slides to his knees, carefully unlacing Touya’s boots and pulling them off with a reverence usually reserved for gods. When he looks up, golden gaze shining, Touya has to bite his lip. Once the boots are off, Keigo’s hands travel up his calves and curl around the back of his thighs. His breath is warm across Touya’s groin, but that’s not what tonight is about.

“Dove,” he murmurs, “finish the job.”

Keigo nuzzles into his leg. “Just wanted to look at you, angel.”

“Mhm. You can look later. Up.” He hooks his fingers into Keigo’s collar to make his point, blue-black with fiery red stitching.

He rises gracefully to his feet, sliding his hands beneath Touya’s jacket as he goes until they settle on his shoulders. At Touya’s nod, he slides the jacket off, hanging it in its place as if it’s made of gold and not beaten, ancient leather.

Touya is about to tell him to kneel by the couch when Keigo slides his hands under his shirt. His talons scrape, but they’re too short to cut now. Out of convenience, not aesthetic.

“Please?” he asks.

“Don’t get distracted,” Touya warns.

Keigo doesn’t even reply, just takes it for the yes that it is and peels the shirt off. He takes at the same agonizingly slow pace as everything else, pausing to ensure no stray threads catch on staples. Touya folds the shirt messily and tosses it on top of his boots to collect later. Keigo’s hands, predictably, land on his chest.

“Your skin is dry,” he murmurs, pouting at it.

So, maybe Touya woke up a bit later than intended and skipped some of his morning routine. Any other day he’d say fuck his plans, taking care of his scars is important, but he had to take Shouto out. Now that Keigo points it out, he can definitely feel the effects of no lotion and minimal stretching.

“Sorry, pretty bird. You wanna help?”

“So much for no distractions.” Keigo smiles. “You know I’ll take any excuse to feel you up.”

Touya snorts. “Sure. Get the lotion, then, and your oil while we’re at it.”

Keigo scampers off to their bathroom. There’s not much to do to prepare the living room—all Touya needs to do is move two of their blankets within arm’s reach, nudge the table back so there’s room for Keigo to kneel, and set out his cushion so his knees don’t hurt. He still occasionally puts up a fuss about how it isn’t necessary, but Touya has copies of X-rays and a powerpoint presentation and he is not afraid to use them. Years of hero work and rough landings mean his legs aren’t what they should be, loathe as Keigo is to admit it.

Touya pushes the reminders of ugly past conversations out of his head and grabs water and snacks, just in case. He comes back to the living room in time to see Keigo laying out the cream, oil, and towels.

Oh, he knew he was forgetting something. It’s a little awkward to hug from behind with the wings, but he sets their snacks down and does it anyway.

“Clever bird, remembering those,” he murmurs. “Good boy.”

Keigo chirps contentedly at him before stepping away. It’s just a little thing, but subs when they’re down don’t always make connections like normal. It’s a lesson Touya has learned many times, to be specific and detailed.

Keigo sits him down sideways on the couch, settling behind him to rub lotion into his back first. This part of the routine is familiar—if they’re both awake and have time, Touya usually asks for help, even though he’s more than accustomed to caring for his scars alone. His back, as a result, has some of the worst cared-for scars, and he knows Keigo is taking extra care with them.

Or maybe he just likes touching Touya.

When he’s done, Keigo grabs one of the towels, and Touya feels a small spark of disappointment. Taking care of his entire body is a chore, one he wouldn’t demand of anyone else, but he still thought Keigo wanted to-

Gentle fingers card through his hair. It’s a little too short to do anything like tangle, but Hawks takes a moment to preen him anyway.

“I’m thinking of dying it,” Touya says. “Split, like Shouto’s? I do like the white. Haven’t decided on a color for the other side, though.”

“Not red,” Keigo says immediately, splitting the hair with his fingers like he’s envisioning it. “Purple? Something dark and edgy.”

“Don’t call me edgy.” Touya rolls his shoulders. “I like purple. You wanna help? We can do it next weekend, so it it looks awful I have a few days to figure it out.”

“It won’t look awful. It’s you.”

Keigo gives him no time to acclimate to that, shifting around in front of him and pouring lotion on his hands again. He starts with his face, unblinking golden eyes barely inches from Touya’s skin as he focuses on his task. He’s gentle under his eyes, firm along the lines of his jaw where they both know Touya can’t feel a damned thing. Keigo presses in at the hinge, near his ears, and Touya winces at the dull throb.

“Sorry, Touya,” he whispers. “Is it still bothering you?”

Fuck, of course he’d remember a one-off comment from days ago. The prosthetic hasn’t been fitting the same lately, but Touya absolutely does not want to go through the hassle of fixing it.

“Only when you poke it,” he mutters.

“Fix,” Keigo tells him, prodding it again, before moving on. He takes out Touya’s earrings—the dragons curled around his ears are years old, the studs in the shape of daggers are new—and massages lotion into his ears without clogging anything up.

Touya tilts his head back for easy access to his throat, staring at the ceiling until Keigo has finished his arms and returned to his chest. He’s really groping him more than actually helping, but Touya lets him go without comment. If he’s honest, which he tries to be these days, this is another thing he’ll probably never get tired of. The way Keigo finds him beautiful and doesn’t even try to hide it.

“I know you missed me,” he says, several minutes later, “but you can always touch later, I promise.”

Keigo glances up, a little abashed, but not guilty, not ashamed. He squeezes Touya’s chest one more time before sliding to his knees, pushing his pants up to get at the scars around his calves. Even if a rush Touya does try to take care of his legs and wrists, since they see the most movement in the day, so this part isn’t as urgently needed. Keigo still takes his time, though, meticulous and methodical, before sitting back and looking to Touya for approval.

He pets his hair obligingly, coaxing him up for a quick kiss. “Good bird. That feels so much better, thank you. You want to show me your wings now?”

Keigo hums against his mouth and drops back to his knees, twisting out of his shirt before turning and spreading his wings for Touya. It’s always a little bitter, the shock of old scars covering most of his back, but Touya has run over that guilty train of thought so many times he has it memorized, and he doesn’t follow it now.

Other than the scarring, the only permanent damage is that Keigo is supposed to have glands at the base of his wings, oil he uses for preening. The glands are still there, still a sensitive spot, but they don’t produce oil anymore. Luckily, they’ve found a brand that works about as well and even smells close to the same. Touya drizzles it across the scarred glands first before swiping it onto his fingers. Somehow it makes him feel better about the whole thing.

Keigo isn’t quite as touch-starved as he used to be, but he still goes limp when Touya starts preening his wings. This, too, is a regular occurrence, so there are hardly any feathers that are broken or out of place. The preening is about more than pretty wings, though, and they both know that.

There’s no need to talk. Touya throws in the occasional bit of praise or a direction to adjust one of the wings—the things are massive when they’re not being constantly worn down—but otherwise lets Keigo float in the feeling.

It feels like no time at all before he’s done, but the ache in his lower back promises that it’s been at least an hour or two. Touya ignores that, wiping oil off his hands and Keigo’s back before coaxing him to his feet.

“I was going to cook tonight,” he murmurs, hooking his arms around Keigo’s neck, “but I think we should order in. Take a nap. Yeah?”

Keigo hums, leaning into his arm. That’s as much of an answer as Touya expects and needs. He tucks his fingers into the ring of Keigo’s collar, leading him gently back to their spare bedroom.

This is Keigo’s space more than anything. Instead of a standard mattress, there’s a circular one that dips slightly in the middle to create a lip around the edge. It’s currently piled with blankets, pillows, clothes, and any odds and ends that might have captured Keigo’s bird instincts. After the preening, and with spring about to start, Touya guesses the nest is a better nap option right now.

It seems he guessed right, since it’s all he can do to call in to one of their favorite restaurants before he’s being pulled into the nest. Keigo almost immediately wraps around him, craving warmth. He runs cold to Touya, so the position works just fine for both of them.

The doorbell jolts both of them from a light doze half an hour later. Keigo makes a sound in the back of his throat and lifts himself over Touya, mantling his wings and hardening them like swords.

“Easy, pretty bird, it’s just the food. You gotta let me up to go get it, okay?”

Keigo huffs, collapsing on top of him. “No.”

“I’m hungry, Kei. And I wanna feed you.”

Keigo makes another displeased noise, and three feathers shoot out of the room, returning a moment later with the takeout bags.

“I admit I forget you can do that sometimes,” Touya says. “Message received. No leaving.”

Keigo chirrups, worming happily closer to him. “Stay.”

“Always, Keigo.” Touya kisses the top of his head. “Always.”

#free falling #flfverse #takami keigo #todoroki touya #snippets #i'll probably toss this up on ao3 eventually #once i edit it a bit and all that #for now tho just tumblr #d/s au #you CAN ask me about stuff in this fic! i'm not tagging it with spoilers bc there are only really a few things implied #if i do talk about actual spoilers i'll tag them and hide them behind a readmore #anyone anon wherever you are i hope this makes you happy lol

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sapphirefox1510 · 1 year

Text

I titled this chapter "A Wizard and their Glowing Plants" and it just brings me some joy. I also figured out the next few parts of this story and it's not how I initially thought it would go, but it works, so I'm happy.

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

Ok, yes, it was probably wrong of me to use Osirus as an excuse to take a break from work to hang out with my friend. In my defense, I was ahead on my work, and proofreading is boring so. I lead him to Inanna’s tent, where she spends entirely too much time taking care of her cotton plants and experimenting on them.

“Hiiiii,” I say, entering the tent.

“Hildey! Come here, come here.” Inanna waves me over to a corner of the tent where she’s kneeling by one of the many cotton plants cluttering the room.

“What did you alter this time, ya nerd?” she sticks her tongue out at me.

“I’ve been testing what colors I can make the cotton grow in so we can skip some of the dying processes that dim the color. It didn’t come out as dark as I hoped, but look at this pink.”

“That is a pretty shade; maybe it can be used for decoration rather than symbols.”

“That’s a good idea.” She hops up to scribble that down in one of the notebooks scattered on the table in the middle of the room. “Who are you?”

Whoops forgot he was here. “Inanna, this is Osirus. I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on him for a few hours. Osirus Inanna”

“Hi,” Osirus very dully greets.

“Nice to meet you. You’re not wearing any identifiers. You must be from above ground,” Inanna analyzes him.

“Yeah. You guys are really into those symbols, aren’t you?”

“It’s an easy way to keep track of people; it works much better than what you guys have up there.” She finally gets around to scribbling down the note she wanted to.

“We don’t have anything designed to designate what job people have or who they’re related to.”

“Exactly.”

Osirus turns to me, “Is everyone down here rude?”

“no, you’ve just only managed to run into the snarky people. Which is kind of your fault for following me down here,” I answer with a smug look. He gives me an unamused look at that.

I feel something tug on my leg and look down to see the little dragon I brought to Ossian. He sinks his claws into my pants and climbs up me again, returning to his place under my collar. “oh, the little menace is back.”

“is that a small dragon?” Inanna asks.

“yeah, they ran to me after seeing Osirus and hid under my jacket collar. I took them to Ozzy, but it looks like they ran away to find me for some reason.”

“Maybe they’ve bonded with you,” Osirus suggests.

“Dragons don’t just bond with people, and the last time I saw this one, they wouldn’t even let me touch them; they just hissed at me.” I wave off his statement.

“It’s possible they think you’re the only safe place here,” Inanna says. “Small dragons always seem to be looking for the safest hiding places.”

“maybe.”

I see the tent flap get pushed aside as another person enters the tent looking down at a piece of cloth. “hey Inanna, I-” he looks up. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t expect there to be other people here.”

“It’s fine, Zeki,” I say.

“do you need something,” Inanna asks.

“I tore my shirt on my run today. I went to get it mended, but they didn’t have the right thread, so they sent me here to get it,” Zeki answers.

“what color?”

“just plain white.”

Inanna nods and pulls a chest out from under the table we’re standing around. “it’s gonna take a little while. You can wait here or come back later.” She pulls out a fluffy bundle of white cotton and a spool. As she heads over to the spindle to get it all set up, Zeki goes to sit on a blanket piled with pillows nestled in the corner of the room. It’s there for when Inanna’s been working too long and needs a nap or for people who want to hang around and chat or help card the cotton.

“Have you spoken to the record keepers yet,” I ask?

“no, not ye.t I wanted to drop off my shirt first. I didn’t expect to be sent on errands.” Zeki says while settling down.

“I’ll grab some paper and a pen.” I leave the tent to grab the necessary materials.

When I return, Osirus is sitting with Zeki, “making friends?”

“I’m just asking some questions,” Osirus replies.

“don’t go stealing my job.” I sit down with the duo.

“what even is your job?”

“record keeper. I write down stories and events so we have an accurate history of everything that happens here.”

“sounds boring”

I shrug “doesn’t matter how you feel, now let me work,” I turn to Zeki, “Tell me what happened up there.”

Zeki tells the story of everything that happened from when he left camp to when he got back, including a list of all the goods they collected. As we’re talking, the little dragon migrates to my lap, and Osirus reaches out to let them sniff his hand. The little creature surprisingly lets him pet them.

“so you just go above ground to collect goods you can’t make down here,” Osirus asks.

“and to collect the local news once every week, although it might happen more or less around holidays,” Zeki answers.

“hey, Zeki, catch,” Inanna tosses a spool of freshly made white thread to him, which startles the dragon into skittering to Osirus.

“Thanks,” Zeki smiles at Inanna. “See you around,” Inanna waves as he leaves the tent.

I turn to Osirus. “We should leave Inanna to her work and see how Chieftess Aurelia is doing.”

Osirus nods. “Right, let’s go,” He carefully picks up the dragon.

#writeblr #my writing #ocs #dragons #first draft #third chapter #writing #I still don't know how to tag but we're rolling with it

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asukamood · 2 years

Text

I had this thing waiting in my Docs for so long but forgot to publish it here oops-

Anyways, behold, Nightmare’s yandere arc

Dreamswap still belongs to Kai

Warnings: Blood, violence, non consensual use of drugs.

Part 1 — Part 2 — Bonus — Part 4

***

A few months have passed since Nightmare found himself in the past. Everything was the same as how he remembered it, the only thing that changed was his behavior, which he altered to minimize the chance of The Apple Incident taking place again.

Today, was the day said event was supposed to happen. But even with all the precautions Nightmare took to make sure things wouldn’t go like they did last time, there was still one big problem.

The Villagers.

Apparently, even when Nightmare wasn’t doing much to annoy them, they still felt the need to disturb Dream about whatever pathetic thing was happening in their life. Knowing how much Dream hates social interactions, it was bound to anger him at one moment and he would eventually bite into the apples once again.

Exactly how things were currently going.

When Dream went out this morning, Nightmare decided to follow him as well to make sure he wouldn’t head to the Tree of Emotions. To his relief, he headed to the village with a bag, probably to go run some errands for the three of them, and then that’s when almost everyone dragged Dream by the wrist to complain about something he didn’t have anything to do with, like water supply problem.

Like seriously, what did he have to do with that?

Nightmare discreetly stepped into the conversation to avoid making Dream talk more than what was necessary but in the end, people started to get even angrier and Dream stormed off, with the same look in his eyes he had in the former Apple Incident.

The guardian of negativity sent daggers into the villagers, eyes flashing with fury. He was very tempted to slit their throats open and spill blood but right now, he had more important things to take care of.

He hurried after Dream, who had already arrived at the tree and was in the process of taking a golden apple down. Unlike last time, the black apples haven't turned into golden ones yet. Nightmare would have arched an eyebrow at that but that would have to wait.

After all, the apple in Dream’s hand was approaching dangerously close to his open mouth. Nightmare was pretty sure that in his 124 years of existence, he had never run as fast as he did now. A few seconds later, he was already behind him.

If he knocked the apple out of Dream’s hand and just dragged him back home right now, there was a high chance Dream would try that again behind Nightmare’s back which was not what he wanted.

Thankfully for him, he had a plan B in case his initial plan failed. A week inside that timeline, Nightmare discovered that while he hadn’t eaten any apple yet, he was still able to use his powers like before. Which encompassed summoning his staff whenever he wanted, making a portal, or even taking something he wanted from an existing place.

He really didn’t want to do this to Dream but seems like it was his only option now.

From behind him, Nightmare wrapped a hand in front of Dream’s mouth and yanked him backward. The guardian of positivity let out a muffled startled noise, instinctively grabbing the other’s hand to pull it away from him.

Of course, that whole action was meant as a distraction for Nightmare who, with his free hand, took out a needle hidden inside of his jacket before pressing it on Dream’s neck. The latter’s breath hitched, eyes widening in realization at what was happening.

He detached one of his hands from Nightmare’s and tried reaching behind him to grab the needle while thrashing around restlessly to give his negative counterpart as much trouble as he possibly could. At that, Nightmare grunted and shifted his position so he could wrap an ankle around Dream’s own to limit his movement.

As for Dream’s hand well, there were a few close calls but the drug was starting to kick in so its actions were very sloppy and slow, it wasn’t that hard to dodge his attempts. At one moment, Dream’s eyes closed momentarily, body finally giving in to the drug.

He fell backward, back hitting Nightmare’s chest as his head slouched to the side. The guardian of negativity sighed, pulling the needle away from Dream’s neck and wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him from falling.

The semi-sleeping man blinked once or twice very slowly, the sight in front of him getting blurry.

Then, the darkness finally caught up to him and his mind wandered into the depths of unconsciousness, eyes closing for good.

***

After a few minutes of struggling to open the front door, Nightmare finally managed to swing it open without making too much noise. Despite that, he knew one of the villagers had seen him carrying a suspiciously asleep Dream in his arms but that was a problem for later, he was planning on dealing with them right after he was done putting Dream to bed anyways.

He walked around the house, the wood cracking underneath him after being stepped on. If Dream were to wake up right now, he might have smacked him on the nape and scolded him on how dirty his shoes were after walking outside but since he was drugged and unconscious, there was a low chance that was gonna happen now.

Instead of picking a fight with the door as he did with the front one, Nightmare decided to just kick it open. At the moment, Dream could probably sleep while a thunderstorm mixed with a tornado raged on so Nightmare was pretty confident it wasn’t going to suddenly wake him up.

Besides, if he read the effects of the drugs well, it also caused a little amnesia episode so even if he did wake up, it wouldn’t be that much of a problem anyways.

With the unmoving man in his arms, Nightmare stepped inside the room and flipped the lights on. He walked towards Dream’s bed and gently put him on it, covering him with the blankets once he did. A sleepy mumble followed that action, with Dream tucking the blanket under his arms.

The man with the crescent moon circlet frowned and put the blanket back to its original position, to which Dream responded by tucking it under his arms again, this time with a disapproving pout.

Nightmare rolled his eyes in amusement, brushing Dream’s cheek with his fingertips. “Stubborn as ever, even when under the effects of a drug…” The latter made a soft noise and turned in the finger’s direction.

As much as messing with him until he woke up sounded good, he still had to take care of some very annoying problems first. He turned the lights off again and took the front door again.

***

“If you tell anything about this to Dream…” Nightmare sneered, the point of his scythe pressed against one of their necks. It left a slight cut, allowing a steady flow of blood to ooze out of the wound under the man’s terrified gaze. “I won’t hesitate to finish what I’ve started today. Got that in your thick little heads?”

He then turned his gaze away from the person, choosing to glare down at all the others waiting behind him, shocked at so much violence. While Nightmare did pick a lot of fights with various people, never did he use a blade against any of them and made such a mess in the village.

There was blood covering the ground like snowflakes, flakes that splattered on his shirt. It was hardly visible because of the dark-themed color of the clothing but there was one spot near his waistband that was glowing a bright red in the sunlight.

“I want this place clean by the time I come back and if Dream ever has to complain to me about you all again, well,” He gestured to the pool of blood nearby where a severely injured woman lay down, pained whimpers the only things coming out of her mouth. “I think you know what will happen.”

“This is your first and last warning.” He spat out, already thinking of all the creative ways he could get rid of them without raising suspicion on Dream’s end. “Use it wisely.“

On these words, he dissipated his scythe in a twist of his hand and purple sparkles before turning on his heels and walking back to his and Dream’s house slowly.

***

When Dream opened his eyes again, he felt as if the sunlight was sending daggers straight into his eyes, the brightness making his headache even worse. He squeezed his eyes shut with a groan, turning around so his face was buried into the pillow.

“Well well, is Sleeping Beauty finally awake?” A very familiar voice spoke up behind him, soft footsteps getting nearer and nearer until they stopped on Dream’s left side. Goodness, Dream felt like his head had been slammed against a table multiple times and his body felt so heavy, that even the slightest movement tired him out.

“So I was… sleeping?” He muttered, not talking to Nightmare himself.

“Well duh.” He rolled his eyes with a grin, bouncing on his sentence anyways. “Why? Did you dream of something strange?”

“Yeah, we had that big argument with the villagers so I got mad, ran to the tree, and held a golden apple. I was gonna bite it but I woke up before that, why would I even eat the apples? That’s stupid…” He muttered, voice getting more wobbly the more he continued. He was probably still tired, if the fact keeping his eyes open was hard was any indication of that.

Nightmare laughed, sounding a bit odd, but Dream was way too tired to care at the moment. “Definitely weird but— Oh? Are you still sleepy? Well, that’s fine, just make sure to wake up for lunch though.” Dream nodded dumbly as his eyes fluttered shut, his friend’s voice getting echoey and distant. He slowly drifted into the darkness, noticing in his haze a little red spot on Nightmare’s outfit.

Must be his imagination.

Nightmare watched his eyes flutter shut, a delighted smile on his face. Finally, nothing could get in his way of staying with Dream, preferably forever.

He was very tempted to just pull Dream into a hug and play with his hair until he would wake up again but his clothes were partially stained with the filthy blood of the villagers and he wouldn’t dream of dirtying his best friend like that. So what he did instead of launching himself at Dream like a starving beast, he decided to take a shower and do what he planned to do after that.

***

When Nightmare came out of the bathroom, Dream still hadn’t moved an inch from his position and was seemingly still sound asleep. His lips twitched upward in a grin as he climbed on the bed and pulled Dream into his arms, self-proclaiming being better than his pillow.

The latter let out a breathy sigh and leaned closer, head pressed onto his neck to Nightmare’s joy. He rubbed little circles on his back as his free hand ran through his hair, messing it up ruthlessly.

“Nothing is going to take you away from me now…” He whispered, shifting them in a more comfortable position. A hand flew up to rub Dream’s cheek. “It’s the perfect ending for us, wouldn’t you agree?”

Of course, he wasn’t expecting a reply as he was talking to a sleeping man but it still felt pretty relieving to let the sentence out.

He was going insane, wasn't he?

Well, he didn’t care anymore, as long as Dream didn’t leave, there was no reason to complain.

#dreamswap #angst?#ds dream #dream #ship #nightmare #tw violence #tw blood #sweammare #ds nightmare #ds dream x ds nightmare #ds dreammare #just ds noot being gay and having trauma #yandere #yandere arc #dreammare

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tothelasthoursofmylife · 9 months

Text

“Who wouldn’t be confused?”

London, England, United Kingdom – February 1846

Even casting up her eyes hurt.

Cloudia had arrived at the Morrow townhouse in the dead of night and immediately fallen asleep. It had been a long drive, and Cloudia wished she had simply checked into an inn for the night, even if it had meant potentially exposing her disguise (neither her aunt Felicity’s carriage driver nor Keegan’s butler had known). At least, then the drive – part of which had been rough because of the bumpy road – would not have worsened her state, and Cloudia might not have felt as sore as she did now. Alas, she was an idiot. With a hearty groan, she rolled to her side and closed her eyes again.

She could simply stay in bed and sleep all day to recuperate.

If she had not promised Kamden to visit today.

With another, louder groan, Cloudia sat up in her bed and rubbed her eyes. Of course, she could send Kamden a note to let him know that she could not come to the bookstore today, but he was an endless worrywart and would immediately think she was seriously wounded, not just sore with a few scratches. Her scratches had been treated back at Beaumont Manor on Cadell’s insistence though, and after a bath, she would look nearly as good as new – even if she certainly did not feel like it.

I didn’t feel like I had been inside a carriage but that one had repeatedly driven over me.

And if I didn’t go to Kamden today, everyone here would fuss over me. I would rather have one person bothering me instead of an entire household.

Just when Cloudia had managed to sit on the edge of her bed, the door was flung open, and Lisa entered, carrying a tray with tea. “Miss Countess is finally awake, I see,” she said with a grin on her face. “It’s past twelve o’clock; did you amuse yourself so much with the disguise I helped with? I suppose this means it went well and nobody found out you’re a fraud?”

Nobody except Milton ran through Cloudia’s mind, and a weird tingle went through her when she thought of him.

I wondered if Milton had returned home fine. Was he as sore as I was? I hoped he was not doing worse than me. We had been treated separately, and I didn’t know the full extent of his injuries. He had seemed fine, had been adamant to the Disaster Trio that he was perfectly well, though he could be downplaying his state. Milton seemed hellbent on not wanting anyone to worry about him, after all.

And even if he was not physically wounded, the incident had definitely taken a toll on his nerves.

I could feel his arms around me when I recalled the memory, the almost mechanical grip with which he had held me, his warm body against mine, the tears raining upon my jacket. Oddly enough, my heart did a flip and ached when I thought of that.

“Thank you, Miss Greene, but I don’t want tea right now. I just want a bath,” said Cloudia and stood. She clenched her teeth when her feet touched the ground. It was as if someone had rammed a hundred pin needles into her flesh, and Cloudia wondered if that was how the mermaid from Andersen’s fairy tale had felt when she gained her legs and feet.

Lisa rolled her eyes and put the tray on a commode. “As you wish, Mylady. It sure took you long to answer though. Were you thinking of someone?” She grinned, and when Cloudia only blinked at her, wordlessly, Lisa sighed and vanished into the adjourning bathroom. A few moments later, Cloudia heard water rushing. By the time, Cloudia had slowly walked to her wardrobe and selected a simple day dress, the bath was prepared.

“That’s rather plain,” commented Lisa, raising an eyebrow at the dress. “Another disguise?”

“Yes,” Cloudia replied. “I need to be inconspicuous for the errand I have to run today.”

“Do you want me to accompany you?”

“No, I will be perfectly fine on my own,” said Cloudia. “You can go now, Miss Greene. I will call if I need your help getting dressed.”

“If you say so,” said Lisa and left the room. When Cloudia heard the click of the closing bedroom door, she exhaled, took off her robe, and stepped into the warm bathwater; its scent was almost unbearably sweet. It had been a year since she employed Lisa, but Cloudia simply did not feel comfortable undressing in front of anyone, even if it was another girl her age.

Cloudia took a deep breath and then sank underwater.

***

The warmth of the bath and whatever Lisa had put into it had helped, but every movement still hurt. Cloudia and Kamden had not arranged a specific time for their meet-up today, and she had decided to leave now; after all, the sooner she went to Kamden, the sooner she could return to the townhouse and her bed.

This state was truly dreadful. I would only wish it on my enemies. Hopefully, Milton fared much better than I did.

Cloudia touched the walls as she walked through the corridor; an unforgivable crime in any of her aunts’ houses, but nobody was around to see and scold her, thankfully. Just as she reached the staircase, she heard voices drifting out of Ceara’s room. Keegan must be with her, trying to entertain his sister while she fought off the rest of her sickness. And although this was a common event – Keegan had done so ever since Ceara had become sick; in the beginning, he had carefully stood in the doorsill – the sound of Ceara’s voice made Cloudia stop. Only yesterday, she had sounded stuffy and coughed terribly; now, her voice sounded clear, and Cloudia even heard her laugh, free of rattling and phlegm.

Collecting all her strength, Cloudia walked over to Ceara’s room and peeked inside. The room was decorated in a rather simple manner: flowery red wallpaper, a large, heavy bed of dark wood and a wardrobe, desk, and vanity of the same material. A few books were stacked on the desk, and a single painting hung on the wall right above it: It showed a ship caught in a storm. It was void of knickknacks or a hint of any hobbies; this was not only because Ceara liked her room clean and free of clutter but also because the Morrows spent little time in their London townhouse. Cloudia wondered how Ceara’s – or Keegan’s or her aunt and uncle’s – room looked like, her true room in Ireland; she had never been able to visit them there.

Keegan was leaning against the desk, his arms akimbo, and Ceara was sitting up in her bed, surrounded by a ring of pillows which was definitely Keegan’s work. Cloudia’s eyes widened when she spotted her. Only yesterday, she had been pale, and her hair mussed; now, her cheeks were rosy again, and her hair was shiny albeit messy. There was not even a hint of sickness hanging in the air anymore.

“Ceara,” said Cloudia, and she was sure she must be looking like a fish. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling fine, and, Cloudia, stop standing in the doorsill and come in,” Ceara said and rolled her eyes. “And what on earth are you wearing?”

The ensemble I had chosen was plain – a grey blouse and a long dark skirt – and while it might be too simple for a noblewoman’s day dress, it was not rags sewn together! I had no idea why everyone found fault with it. My body might be stiff and sore, but my mind was still clear; I didn’t choose blindly. I also couldn’t have put on my clothes the wrong way because Miss Greene had helped me.

“I’m off to yet another undercover mission soon,” said Cloudia, stepping into the room. Every step hurt and she wished she could have remained by the doorframe; instead, she forced herself to walk to the vanity and sit down on its chair. “I’m afraid I cannot tell you more about it.”

“That’s fine,” Keegan said. “How was spending a day with the Disaster Trio?” He grimaced as he asked the question.

“They were exhausting, but not as much as I had feared,” Cloudia replied. “They mostly ignored me, thankfully.”

“But did you win the hunt, Cloudia?” Ceara wanted to know, now even a glint sparked in her eyes when it had been such a strain only yesterday.

“Nobody won the hunt. There was some chaos, and it was eventually decided that no winner would be chosen,” Cloudia told her. Nothing she had said was a lie, but she was already preparing one in case her cousins asked what exactly this “chaos” had been; after all, Cloudia could hardly tell them about Domino throwing her off and the bandits. Instead of enquiring further, Keegan and Ceara only nodded.

“Of course, a hunt with the Disaster Trio wouldn’t go smoothly,” said Ceara.

“I knew going on a hunt with those people would be a waste of time and nerves,” remarked Keegan and scowled. “I am sorry, Cloudia.”

Geoffrey, Cadell, and Falk’s reputation was useful for something after all.

“It’s all right,” Cloudia waved away. “I’ve experienced worse. Let’s hope they don’t invite you to a redo hunt then, Keegan. This time I will not go for you.”

Keegan looked as if he had swallowed an entire bag of lemon drops. “I will refuse the invitation.”

“And what if Bentley accosts Uncle Aiden anew, and he agrees again?”

“Make an excuse, say that I am sick or busy.”

“Or leave England and never come back,” Ceara proposed, and Keegan nodded. “Or that. It is very practical that we primarily live in Ireland.”

Her cousins kept talking about other possible excuses, one more outrageously silly than the other, while Cloudia let her gaze wander through the room in boredom. She frowned when she spotted a familiar-looking box on Ceara’s bedside cabinet. “Ceara?” she asked, and Keegan and Ceara interrupted their conversation and turned their attention back to her. “Did you eat my cake?”

Ceara’s eyes widened. “That was your cake?” She scowled at her brother. “You said I could eat it!”

“I didn’t know! Mother said she got you a cake, and I thought this one was yours,” said Keegan, holding his hands up. “I’m sorry, Cloudia.”

“It’s all right,” Cloudia said and suddenly realised that she felt sad at the prospect of never even having had the chance to taste one of those orange muffins. Partially because she would have loved to find out what was so special about them – and maybe try to recreate this specialness – but also because this particular muffin had been a parting gift, and Milton had looked like it had been rather difficult to make her this present, even.

It had been such an odd scene yesterday. Milton had looked so nervous; what could be so reprehensible at giving such a banal gift? Someone had been even watching us, unless my tired brain had conjured a person in the shadows that had not been there at all which I very much doubted.

But who had observed us? Wentworth had been my first choice, but why would Milton be distressed by his butler’s presence? Anyone from the Disaster Trio could be excluded for the same reason. Maybe, Milton hadn’t wanted anyone to see us together, only for some servant to spot us, nevertheless. This didn’t ring true to me, though Milton might simply have still been jumpy from our encounter with the bandits.

“I hope you liked that muffin, Ceara,” Cloudia continued. “Flanagan and Bentley were on the verge of murdering each other because of them yesterday.”

“It was very tasty,” said Ceara, uncharacteristically sheepishly; it must gnaw on her that she had unwittingly eaten Cloudia’s cake even if it was such an inconsequential matter. “You can have the cake Mother bought me in exchange.”

“It’s fine, Ceara. I’m not in the mood for sweets anyway,” Cloudia replied. She could see that her cousin was about to retort something – likely something along the lines of “I insist” or “I will repay you at another time then” – when a footman carefully rapped against the doorframe and drew everyone’s attention to him. “Lady Phantomhive?” he said with a bow. “You have a guest; she is waiting for you in the drawing room.”

“Who would…” began Cloudia before it dawned upon her. There was only one “she” who would visit her at her family’s townhouse and only request her. “Please tell the Marchioness I will see her immediately.”

With a nod and another bow, the footman vanished.

“Which Marchioness?” asked Keegan and frowned.

Ceara sighed. “Her chaperone, of course, Kee. Marchioness Cecelia Williams.”

“Right. I always forget that Cloudia has a chaperone even if it is normal to have one; after all, Cloudia often walks around on her own.”

“My chaperone does not like to walk around at all,” said Cloudia and added mumbling, “but annoying people she sure loves.”

***

Only Cecelia and Barrington would ever seek her out at one of her relatives’ houses and ask solely for her. That they did, however, was rather unusual. Not only was it an unspoken rule for her Watchdog associates, her Aristocrats of Evil, to stay away from Cloudia’s relatives as she wanted to keep her family as distant as possible from her Watchdog work (Barrington might be a longtime family friend and Cecelia her chaperone but both were currently Aristocrats of Evil first and foremost) but also because neither Cecelia nor Barrington wanted to engage with her family unless they absolutely had to. Barrington did not seem to enjoy her aunts’ company and often appeared outright uncomfortable in their vicinity, and Cecelia simply did not care for them and rarely left her house anyway.

Oscar was, of course, an exception to this “rule”: After all, he was a legally dead man, a legally dead serial murderer even. If he ever showed up at one of my aunts’ doorsteps, the situation must be seriously dire. If this horrible case ever came up, I could only hope that none of my relatives had ever heard a description of the Yard Ripper. Or had met Oscar when he was still working with my father.

That Cecelia had personally come to the Morrow townhouse must mean that she either had something very important to tell Cloudia – or that she was very, very mad at her.

I wanted the former to be the case. But what could be so important for Cecelia to seek me out at my Aunt Felicity’s? We were not investigating a Watchdog case; and if we were, I would be the first to know about it. Cecelia would never classify a complaining session about yet another unfortunate run-in with Adrianne Royceston as a matter of high importance, even if Cecelia did love those sessions. The only thing she would categorise so highly was her husband’s murder case.

Michael Williams’ murder five years ago, one day before his wife’s twenty-fourth birthday, was the reason Cecelia had employed herself as an Evil Noblewoman after all. Still, the only hint Cecelia had managed to uncover was a kind of code: FT43. She had not figured it out yet, and neither had I or anyone else we had carefully consulted.

But maybe Cecelia had finally figured it out – or found out something more about it, at least. Perhaps we had been missing another letter or number all along? Yes, another clue for this mystery would certainly make Cecelia come to my aunt and uncle’s house.

Content with her hypothesis, Cloudia slowly descended the stairs. Surely, by the time the little mermaid had to climb stairs with her new, aching body for the first time, she must have regretted that contract.

After what felt like an eternity, Cloudia finally arrived at the parlour. And right after she stepped inside it, she ripped her hypothesis into pieces and set fire to it: Unlike Ceara’s room with its strong colours, the drawing room of the Morrow townhouse looked almost drained. The seating was pearl-coloured, the furniture made of light wood, and any accent of colour was pale; even the light from the chandelier was duller than the light from the lamps in the corridor. The other rooms had been remodelled over the years, but the parlour had always retained its colour scheme. Cloudia always felt a bit cold when she entered the Pale Drawing Room; today, the coldness that washed over her did not only come from the icy feel of the room but also from Cecelia’s smile.

A servant closed the door behind Cloudia, and the sound of wood hitting wood echoed through the parlour for a bit too long.

“Dearest Cloudia,” said Cecelia, her voice sugary sweet. She looked painfully out of place in this near-colourless room with her black mourning dress, though her attire still felt fitting for the occasion. “Please sit down.”

Cloudia sat down on the sofa opposite Cecelia. The table between them bore not only a bottle of wine but also a tea set and a plethora of sandwiches and cakes. Cloudia itched to tell Cecelia that it was too early for teatime, but said instead with a sigh, “You know this is my uncle and aunt’s house and not yours, do you?”

“The Viscount and Viscountess of Morrow are currently at a luncheon at the Kents’,” said Cecelia. “I am your chaperone; in the absence of an elder relative of yours, I am essentially in charge of you.”

“Only ‘essentially,’” Cloudia retorted. “And this certainly does not extend to my cousins, let alone to you coming here uninvited.”

“It does now.” Cecelia poured wine into her glass and energetically set down the bottle; Cloudia was astonished it didn’t break. “Cloudia, dear, do you want to continue this irrelevant thread of conversation, or do you want to tell me what you were doing at Beaumont Manor yesterday?” She glared at her, her blue eyes glacial. “No, you do not have to tell me anything, my dear. I already know what you did. Isn’t it lovely that the wanted criminals that had been hiding in those woods were caught the day you were at Beaumont Manor? Right after I told you there were any bandits in the woods at all?”

“I don’t know why you care so much,” said Cloudia and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “The bandits are caught and imprisoned now; nobody was hurt, and the world is a little safer.”

“I care,” Cecelia replied, her expression darkening even further, “because I gave you all that information and you promised you would not do anything with it.”

“I promised that I would stay away from Scotland Yard – and I upheld that promise. I haven’t been there since, and Beaumont Manor is not in London and, thus, not under the jurisdiction of the Metropolitan Police. I haven’t even crossed paths with any local police officer yesterday.”

“No, Cloudia, you promised to stay away from Scotland Yard and take a break. Going out and catching a group of thieves is not a break!” exclaimed Cecelia with such intensity that the wine in her glass vibrated. Cloudia was sure the furniture had shaken too.

Cecelia downed her drink and then leaned back and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I have never been so glad that I never had any children myself.” She let her hand sink and fixed her eyes on Cloudia.

“I didn’t go to Beaumont Manor specifically to search for the bandits,” Cloudia replied. “My cousin Keegan was invited by Geoffrey Bentley to join him and his friends at that manor for a hunt. He didn’t want to go, and I offered to in his stead.”

“You went on a hunt,” said Cecelia hollowly. “And Geoffrey Bentley and his friends were fine with you substituting for your cousin?”

“Not quite. They didn’t know it was me because I joined the hunt disguised as Keegan.”

“How lovely. What will you tell me next? That the Disaster Trio gallantly helped you defeat some criminals while you were meant to be on a hunt?”

“No,” Cloudia said. “They didn’t help me. They know nothing about the bandits.”

Cecelia raised an eyebrow. “Cloudia, dear, I know you’ve been training since you were a child and that the former head of the British knights and the infamous Scotland Yard Ripper are schooling you, but I doubt even you could fend off a dozen bandits on your own. Unless my source was not only inexact but blatantly exaggerating.” She leaned a little forward, the look in her blue eyes intense.

“Who helped you?” Cecelia asked, and Cloudia pressed her lips thinly together. “I doubt it was your burly butler. After all, you went to the hunt as your cousin; it would have been odd to bring your own servant under this circumstance. If you had asked Barrington for help, he would have done anything to stop you and confronted me for telling you about the theft and murder. The Bookstore Boy can also be ruled out; you are too protective of him, and I don’t think he would be of any use in such a situation – unless he was pelting the bandits with books and apprehending them with binding glue. There are not many other people you could have asked for assistance.” Cecelia tilted her head. “And, despite your absurd actions, I doubt you would have been idiotic enough to involve Oscar. Unless you wanted civilians to accidentally stumble over a notorious murderer who officially died three years ago.”

“I went to the hunt only with Keegan’s butler,” Cloudia told her. Her arms were still crossed, and she dug her fingers into her arms; hopefully, Cecelia would not notice this. “No one besides Keegan, Ceara, and my servants even knew I would be there.”

Cecelia clapped her hands together and her eyes sparkled in delight. “Another guest! Who else was at that hunt, Cloudia?”

“Why are you so insistent to know?”

“Because I am me, and for that reason, I think I will search for the answer myself and then,” Cecelia grimaced, “ask Oscar for a favour. After all, whoever helped you saw you fighting off a group of bandits – and no wig would stay on in such a skirmish. And considering that you are not still wearing one, I suppose you did not consult the Bookstore Boy and his binding glue after all.”

Cloudia felt a few degrees colder. “Cecelia–”

“Your helper, thus, knows that not Keegan Morrow was at the hunt yesterday,” Cecelia continued, ignoring Cloudia, “but Cloudia Phantomhive. There are many, many rumours regarding the mysterious Queen’s Watchdog – and some of those rumours even connect that figure to the Phantomhive family. If it gets out that a certain Lady Cloudia from exactly that suspected family disguises herself and hunts criminals, what do you think will happen, my dear?” Cecelia stood, and Cloudia’s body temperature dropped even more. “I abhor Oscar, but he is frighteningly protective of you to a degree, and he would certainly agree that it is better to find your helper and have him be killed before…”

“Don’t even think about it!” exclaimed Cloudia. She might have even jumped out of her seat if her body had allowed her. “Under no circumstance, I will allow you to ask Oscar to go after Milton…” Cloudia immediately clamped her mouth closed but the damage was already done.

While she cursed herself eternally, an impish grin appeared on Cecelia’s face. “Haven’t slept well, have you, dear? After all, the local police arrived to arrest the thieves rather late in the evening, and Beaumont Manor isn’t very close to here.”

Cloudia rubbed her face and groaned.

Dumb, dumb, dumb. How could I fall for this idiotic trick?

“I really should have stayed at an inn. Then, you wouldn’t have followed me there,” said Cloudia.

“Under these circumstances, even I would chase you to the end of the world,” Cecelia replied sweetly and sat back down. “I would rather that you stayed closer by because travelling is a nuisance, but I will travel if I must. Now, to this mysterious ‘Milton.’” She tipped a finger against her chin. “It can be both a first and a last name, but let me guess, it’s a first name in this case, isn’t it?”

Despite her best effort, something on Cloudia’s face must have given it away because Cecelia’s smile broadened. “Oh, you scandalous girl! Calling a man by his given name! There aren’t many nobles with the first name ‘Milton’ that are around the age of the Disaster Trio…” Cecelia’s eyes suddenly widened. “Milton Salisbury?”

Cloudia groaned again. “How on earth did you figure that out?”

“I remembered something,” she replied quickly before she poured herself another glass of wine. “Milton Salisbury,” Cecelia repeated as if the name had bespelled her. “I didn’t know he could fight.”

“He can’t,” Cloudia said automatically, and she was surprised by the quick lie. Milton didn’t want anyone to know what they had done yesterday; and while Cecelia had found out on her own, there was no reason for Cloudia to feed her any details that might give away any of Milton’s secrets. After all, he, hopefully, kept hers too; it only seemed fair and right not to expose him. “Milton just helped a little. And although he does not look or seem intimidating at all, his sheer presence helped.”

“That’s interesting. But do you know what interests me even more?” There was a glint in Cecelia’s eyes that sent chills down Cloudia’s spine. “It was an amateurish attempt, but it is still fascinating that you would shield anyone as you did, Cloudia. That’s so very unlike you after all.” She raised her glass to her lips and her eyes sparkled even more when she mustered Cloudia. “Cloudia, dear, could you have fallen in love?”

Cloudia stared at Cecelia in bewilderment. She had never been fond of alcohol, but Cloudia felt herself itching for a glass of wine too – if only to cover one bad taste with another. “No, of course, not,” retorted Cloudia. “We had two conversations, Cecelia.”

“Sometimes, it only requires one look, my dear. And two conversations?”

Now I wished I had fallen badly from Domino. Kamden had told me about the dangers of a comatose state; however, I couldn’t imagine it being significantly worse than conversing with Cecelia when she was particularly insufferable.

Cloudia clenched her teeth and got to her feet. A prickle ran through her body, but she ignored it. “I need to leave now. Goodbye, Cecelia.”

Cecelia propped a cheek on her hand. “Oh, don’t be like that, Cloudia! I’m simply intrigued by your two little meetups with Milton Salisbury, though I have to say that it is peculiar that you managed to meet him at all. Leland only died in December; Milton should still be in mourning, even if mourning rules are laxer for men than for women.”

“He was…” began Cloudia and then stopped herself. She and her damned, tired brain. “I’ve been wondering about that too but…” She halted again, her stupid brain catching the implication in Cecelia’s words only now. “Did you know his father?”

Cecelia swirled her glass. “Yes, I did, my curious girl. I’ll tell you all I know about Milton Salisbury and his family if you sit down again.” She presented Cloudia with her impish smile yet again, and after weighing it out, the curious part of her won, and Cloudia sat back down.

Cecelia, an amused expression on her face, took a sip of wine before she started: “I first met Leland Salisbury in the Season of 1836. Michael and I had got engaged only recently, and I had moved to London.

“Leland was a thoroughly pleasant man, endlessly polite and charming. He lived far away from London and even during the Season, he only visited the city for a week before he would leave again. I – and the rest of London Society – thought it a little odd because who would snub the Season? Still, nobody thought much of it, and everyone was very surprised when Leland moved back to London not alone but with a wife and child. No one had known he was married and had a family before that.”

Cloudia’s eyes widened. “No one had known?”

Cecelia nodded. “No one had known. They came to London because they were expecting their second child, and Milton’s mother was, apparently, a rather frail woman and they feared complications. I suppose they must have lived somewhere in the countryside?”

“You don’t know for sure?”

“Yes,” Cecelia admitted and sighed. “I considered Leland a friend, and at that time, I already collected information, though for a different purpose. I had embellished my past a bit before I arrived in London; Michael, of course, knew my true background. However, British upper-class people can sniff out social climbers and the nouveau riche as if they are the world’s finest bloodhounds. There is nothing that people who can trace their family trees to the Norman Conquest loathe more than commoners pretending to be them.” Cecelia took another sip and then placed her glass on the table. “A commoner could marry a prince and become a princess in every form but address; still, a lowly-titled lady or lord of an old noble family will ridicule you at any given opportunity.

“Thus, I collected information predominantly on the worst of bloodhounds so that I would be untouchable in case they managed to sniff me out and try to reveal my heritage to everyone. Leland was a friend though; even if he found out, I was certain he would never tell. He was great at keeping secrets and possessed strong morale,” said Cecelia. Cloudia almost smiled at her words, Milton’s words from yesterday echoing in her mind: “Another person’s secret is not mine to share.”

“You could not get anything out of the man if he did not want to,” Cecelia continued. “Leland might not even bend under torture. Therefore, I neither had the want nor the need to pry into his affairs – especially not after he had gone to such great lengths to protect and hide his family – and, thus, know only a little. But,” her eyes lit up, “I could look further into Milton Salisbury if you want, Cloudia.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Cloudia said, glaring at her. “I might have broken my promise and might not be in the position to make you promise me something, but Milton is an outsider and shouldn’t be caught in this crossfire. I don’t want his privacy breached because of me.”

Cecelia laughed. “Milton Salisbury must be as charming as his father after all for you to fall for him within two conversations. I heard he was rather awkward. I was either misinformed, or he is only charming to you, maybe, my dear?”

“I haven’t fallen for him!” bristled Cloudia. “Stop repeating that nonsense.”

“Come on, Cloudia, it is perfectly normal to have romantic feelings, to have wants – and yes, this includes the Queen’s Watchdog.” Cecelia brushed a loose strand of her honey-blonde hair from her face. “It is also perfectly normal for a girl your age to have such feelings. So far, you’ve never given any indicator that you are even interested in the opposite sex, or anyone at all. I’m ecstatic to have received this crumb.”

“This is no crumb. It’s nothing at all.” Cloudia sucked in the air. “Could you please just continue? I do actually need to be somewhere.”

Cecelia grinned. “Of course, my dear,” she said in a honeyed voice. “Sadly, despite the precautions they must have taken, Milton’s mother passed away in childbirth. To make matters worse, Milton’s sister only lived a few months. I think she might have been born frail and then died of an illness. I am not certain,” Cecelia added, gritting her teeth.

“Her hair never got to grow long enough,” Milton had said yesterday. This implied that his sister had died young, but I had thought she might have passed away when she was one or two, not when she was a few months old. Losing his mother and sister in such a short timespan… it must have been so hard for Milton – and now, his father was gone too.

“Does Milton have any living family left at all?” asked Cloudia carefully.

“Yes,” Cecelia said, and Cloudia internally sighed in relief. “His stepmother is still alive, but she hates him.”

Cloudia’s heart dropped again. “She hates him?”

“Yes. Do you have difficulties wrapping your head around this concept, Cloudia? Just because you find him endlessly charming does not mean all of us do…”

“I don’t think he’s endlessly charming,” Cloudia replied, frustrated.

“Finitely charming, then?”

“Cecelia.” Cloudia rubbed her face, wondering if she should not rather leave right now when she still had some sanity left but, alas, her curiosity would not let her. “Why would someone marry a person who outright hates your children? It sounds absurd to me. Or has his stepmother not always hated him?”

“I’m not quite sure,” said Cecelia. A shadow hushed over her face upon admitting that; she hated not knowing something. “I would say she has always hated him. Elvira Salisbury loathes her stepson to such an extent; I doubt it has ever been different. Leland loved his son which makes his marriage even more paradoxical. You would have to ask Elvira herself why Leland married her anyway, but I warn you: She’s very tight-lipped when it comes to Leland and will immediately quit the conversation if you mention Milton. I’ve never done it myself, though I’ve been there when others tried. After all, the Salisburys might not be old nobility and, thus, draw some people’s ridicule because of that, but one might not forget that they are also very wealthy, and there are various noble families with financial problems. Milton Salisbury is, despite everything, quite coveted; I would not be surprised if a fight breaks out as soon as his mourning period ends. You should secure your chances before someone wins him before you, Cloudia.”

“God,” said Cloudia, ignoring Cecelia’s last few sentences, “what could make her hate Milton like that?”

“I don’t know.” Cecelia sighed. “If you ever find out, Cloudia, please let me know. Or if you would rather that I investigate this matter further…”

“No, definitely not,” Cloudia said immediately, and Cecelia rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun, my dear.

“At any rate,” she continued, “I daresay Milton Salisbury might have made a fantastic faux Earl of Phantomhive.”

Cloudia blinked at her. “Pardon?”

“Yes, you heard me correctly, my dear. Milton Salisbury is a rather mysterious man. After all, no one even knew he existed until eight years ago. Even now, barely anyone knows him. He is a very private person from what I have heard and spent the last few years travelling. If you could adjust anyone’s history to make it fit your purpose, Cloudia, Milton would be an ideal choice. That’s part of the reason why I am so enthralled by this possible infatuation of yours. Your heart led you to the best possible match.”

“I am not infatuated with him.”

“That’s why I said ‘possible.’” Cecelia sighed. “Unfortunately for you, Milton Salisbury is the only Salisbury by blood left. The title and company were meant to pass to his cousin, but he died years ago, making Milton the heir. If this hadn’t happened, nothing would have stood between you and your very hypothetical romance. He might ‘only’ be a baron, but his company makes him too prominent a member of society.”

“Well, I could not care less for this ‘hypothetical romance’ you are hallucinating, but…” Cloudia frowned. “… you said you remembered something regarding the Disaster Trio; that’s why you figured out Milton was at the hunt too. They appear to be friends, and I wondered how they could have befriended one another. Milton seems significantly younger than them and was travelling in the past few years, as you said.”

Cecelia tilted her head. “Could it be… that you don’t even know how old he is? Or are you being hypocritical by saying that ‘three to four years’ are ‘significantly younger’ when you and Milton Salisbury are seven years apart?”

“Wait, he’s seven years older than me?” asked Cloudia, aghast, and stared at Cecelia. “He looks barely older than me! I thought he was eighteen or nineteen, maybe.”

“Milton Salisbury is rather elusive. I’ve only seen him once or twice but that was years ago. He looked younger than he was then already. His youthful appearance would help too if you had to fabricate a birth date…”

“Cecelia.” Cloudia rubbed her eyes. “Also, didn’t you just tell me I cannot marry him anyway because he’s the only blood Salisbury left? Why are you even continuing this nonsense then?”

“Because companies go bankrupt all the time,” said Cecelia with a straight face. “If that happens, he is essentially free. And the Salisbury family is not an old noble family; Milton Salisbury is only the sixth baron. Do you even know which numbered countess you are, Cloudia? No? See? The Salisburys are insignificant in the eyes of the nobility and gentry. They have been looking down on them forever; marrying you would be an enormous elevation and a great honour.”

“But didn’t you also tell me that Milton is twenty-two? Don’t you think he could be too old for me?”

“And? Your own parents were six years apart in age. There are, of course, vile, sickening people who specifically only take interest in much younger people – children, really. As long as Milton Salisbury likes you and not the fact that you are fifteen and impressionable, it should be fine. Especially considering that you will most certainly not marry anyone anytime soon, Cloudia. You don’t want that for yourself, and even if you were to get poisoned with foolish passion and attempt to marry, let’s say, within a year, Barrington, Oscar, and I would do our utmost to lock you up in a basement that is very, very far away from any altar or priest, do you understand?” Cecelia said and then shuddered. “I want to be contrary so that I’m not on their side, but I cannot be in this case. This may be the one aspect we can all agree on; I feel sick. At any rate, if you somehow still manage to marry someone before you are at least twenty, the least you will do is make Barrington cry which will be amusing. The most you can cause is the Yard Ripper taking his first victim in nine years.” She paused. “That we know of.”

“Oscar hasn’t killed anyone since his arrest,” Cloudia said.

“That we know of,” repeated Cecelia. “I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again and again until the world dries out: Blind trust does not suit someone in your position. Especially when it is blind trust for someone like Oscar Livingstone. I’m also teasing to a certain extent. After all, until you are twenty-one, you cannot marry on a whim anyway: You need your guardian’s approval, and despite her distance, I cannot imagine that your mother would agree to you entering a wedded union at your current age.

“However, if Milton Salisbury does turn out to be vile and sickening, you know how to use a knife. It’s good that you always have your father’s dagger with you; he would certainly want you and your honour to be protected.”

“Cecelia.”

“And as I often say: If a man cannot keep it in his trousers, it is nothing but kind and forthcoming to ensure that this will be a permanent state.”

“Cecelia.”

“For this case, always keep in mind that men are at a disadvantage; everything is dangling freely and vulnerably in the front. One, maybe two, good cuts and…”

“Cecelia.”

This conversation really had gone on for far too long.

Taking a deep breath, Cloudia stood. This time, it barely even hurt. “Well, I really need to head out now. Thank you for this utterly exhausting conversation; you have outdone yourself, Cecelia.”

Cecelia grinned. “You’re welcome.”

Cloudia sighed and then walked to the door. Just when she was about to turn the knob, Cecelia raised her voice again, making Cloudia whirl to her. “Cloudia,” Cecelia said, and the subtle softness mixed with her stern tone startled Cloudia. “The Watchdog operates under the monarch’s orders and investigates specialised cases regarding the underworld and the general wellbeing of the empire. They do not seek out cases themselves, let alone such ‘low’ ones like petty theft or the accidental killing of a common maid.

“I know what you are doing and why, but it has been so long, and you are not doing yourself any favours, Cloudia. I would even say that if you continue this, the consequences will be more than unpleasant. You know where you would end up.”

Without a word, Cloudia left the parlour.

***

The carriage rattled through the London streets which were bursting with activity today despite the February chill. And while even the sheer thought of having to push through the crowds in her state exhausted her, Cloudia, nevertheless, told Newman to halt three streets away from the Sainteclare Bookstore. The plainest carriage Felicity and Aiden possessed still had “rich” written all over its wood, and Cloudia did not want anyone to see her step out of it and go into Kamden’s store.

“Shall I accompany you to Mr Sainteclare’s bookstore, Lady Cloudia?” enquired Newman while Cloudia climbed out of the carriage.

“No, I will go there by myself,” she replied and adjusted her cloak and bonnet. “You can drive around the city or even return to my aunt’s townhouse. I will be at Kamden’s home for hours, and I would not want you to get bored waiting – though you are also welcome to stay here and wait if you want to; I hope you brought something to read at least.”

“I did,” Newman said, a little sheepishly. “I dared to be so free to pack some books when you informed me about your visit. I thought it might be preferable if I stayed close by, Lady Cloudia. One can never know what emergencies might arise.”

Cloudia smiled. Newman had been in her employment for two years now, and though his sight sometimes pained her, she could not imagine not having him around. “That’s very considerate of you, thank you, Newman. Please sit inside the carriage and help yourself to the blankets stored under the seats. It is horribly cold today.”

The little bell above the door jingled and signalled her freedom from the dense crowd outside as Cloudia entered the Sainteclare Bookstore. As always, the store greeted her with its warmth and the smell of new and old books and polished wood. The first time Cloudia had come here, she had been astonished by the sheer friendliness the bookstore emitted despite its rather bleak state at the time – though she had not been able to dwell on this fascination; after all, no sensation was comparable to finding your doppelganger.

Despite the many years that bridged that event to the present, Cloudia’s mind still retraced those same thoughts, still noted the same sensations, whenever she came here. Though, by now, something bittersweet had mixed itself with these sentiments of old: If things were as they had been meant to be, Cloudia might not have come here today. After all, the bookstore was rather far away from Weston College, and a meeting place closer to the school would have been a better choice.

But, alas, Kamden had dropped out of Weston after his first year.

His decision had caught Cloudia and Barrington by surprise. Kamden had wanted to attend the prestigious boarding school and had put a lot of time and great effort into preparations so that he would not seem out of place despite his commoner’s background. Barrington and Cloudia had even visited him for June 4th, and all had seemed fine then; they could not fathom what had brought about Kamden’s change of heart. Cloudia had asked him again and again, but Kamden had refused to tell and always avoided her eyes whenever she raised the question, for she could read his eyes like an open book. Kamden had only assured her that she was not the cause of his decision, and Cloudia knew that he had told the truth because he had held her gaze when he said those words.

Cloudia and Barrington had eventually stopped enquiring. If Kamden wanted to tell them, he would one day.

And if he had had a bad experience at school, I could certainly sympathise.

Cloudia spotted Kamden behind the counter. A girl with a friendly smile and freckles all over her nose was standing in front of him, and Kamden blushed while he talked to her and sorted her books and shifted through the cash register. He seemed perfectly caught in the conversation; nonetheless, as soon as Cloudia entered, his eyes wandered to her and lit up. Cloudia smiled at him and gestured that she would browse for a while. Before Kamden could say anything, she vanished between the shelves.

Although Cecelia had spoken a vast array of nonsense earlier, she had been true about one thing: Cloudia had never been interested in anyone romantically. While love had always been a popular topic amongst her cousins (except Keegan who was not involved in those conversations), the subject had exploded in frequency and evolved in the last few years. What had once been vague became concrete; fairy-tale-like fantasies made way for realistic expectations and prospects as they grew older and began to attend balls and mingle with society. Suddenly, her cousins had opinions regarding boys and men beyond simplistic notes whether they were annoying and bothersome or not. Constantia could fuss over a boy for hours, and everyone – even Clarissa who had always been more interested in horses than people – could partake in that conversation while Cloudia could only numbly nod along and try, in vain, to steer it elsewhere.

She had always had difficulties talking about “normal” subjects, but she had been schooled to be able to say something on any topic at least. However, not even the – frankly humiliating – talks Cloudia had with Cecelia about “adulthood” had helped. Not only had she spoken about matters Cloudia never encountered at gatherings, but Cecelia had also talked about them as if they were something you simply had to know inherently to a certain extent. Whatever shift her cousins (and presumably most other people) had gone through, it had completely eluded Cloudia.

Kamden, on the other hand, it had hit with full force.

Whereas Constantia’s crushes could last for months, Kamden’s were fleeting: They were frequent (it was as if he had a new infatuation every week) but always intense and all-absorbing – that he was shy by nature and his stutter returned whenever he was nervous did not help to ease his agony. And it did seem to be agony to hold all these feelings within yourself and be unable to act on them, let alone vocalise them. Last year, Kamden had had a long-lasting crush, and it had been disastrous. Calliope had, as many others before and after her, walked into the bookstore one day and right into Cloudia’s brother’s heart; unlike anyone else so far, Calliope had dwelled there.

And she had been a lovely girl – her golden hair matching her golden personality – and she had clearly been as interested in Kamden as he had been in her. Calliope would return to the bookstore nearly every day until she had become a constant in their lives. Even though Cloudia had never befriended her, after several weeks, she could not imagine Calliope not being there, mostly because Kamden and Calliope got along as if they had known each other forever from the beginning. Because of his stutter and his precarious situation after his parents’ death, Kamden had a difficult time finding friends, with Cloudia having been the sole exception for years, and it had been a delight to see Kamden interact with Calliope. They were birds of a feather, both so shy and passionate and kind, and had become a heart and soul from the moment they met.

However, in the four months (thinking back, it always seemed as if it had lasted longer) they had spent together, they had danced around the matter; neither of them ready to say out loud what they had known since the start.

And then Calliope’s father had found out about them.

Her father was a wealthy middle-class merchant and learning that his only daughter was in love with a poor, lowly bookstore owner had sent him in a rage. He had intervened immediately: He had sent Calliope away to her aunt in India and stormed into the bookstore at peak time to yell at Kamden for “manipulating his child to steal her money”; he had even damaged part of the shop. Calliope’s father should be thankful that Cloudia arrived after he had already left. She had been full of fury while she helped Kamden pick up thrown books and sweep away broken shards. Despite everything, Kamden had insisted on not doing anything, on not making the behaviour of Calliope’s father public or pressing charges. Cloudia and Barrington had reluctantly agreed.

Just like with whatever had induced Kamden to change his mind about Weston College, Kamden did not want to talk about what happened with Calliope. But, again, Cloudia had raised one final question:

“Why didn’t you tell them that you’re Barrington’s ward?” Cloudia had asked him one night. In the days after, she had moved in with Kamden, not wanting to leave him alone while he was heartbroken.

“What would it have changed?” Kamden had replied. “I am still only a shop owner.”

“Cloudie,” she heard a voice behind her, and Cloudia whirled around to face Kamden. He smiled at her, and, with the terrible memory still brushing her mind, Cloudia warmed at the sight of this simple expression. Back then, Kamden’s sadness had run so deep that Cloudia had feared it might stay. What a terrible thing love is, she had thought when Kamden had finally fallen asleep the day of the incident. To demand so much space and then leave one so empty when it’s gone.

Kamden opened his mouth to say something but then his smile vanished, and he mustered her, frowning. “Clou-Cloudie, are you all right? You look a little pale.”

“I was at a hunt yesterday,” Cloudia told him. “I’m still rather sore and battered from it; it’s nothing serious.”

“You’re ‘sore and battered’ from a hunt?” He blinked at her in confusion. “You’re usually only a bit tired afterwards. How long did it last? No, did you get hurt?” he continued, his voice full of worry and horror, and Cloudia sighed.

Kamden had become far too sharp when it came to identifying whether someone was injured. Since leaving Weston College, he had spent increasingly more time with Dr Alan. I was glad that he had found a new passion, though I had to admit that it was as handy as it was annoying.

Cloudia stepped forward and away from the shelf she had been leaning on – thankfully, her legs didn’t decide to be traitors and fold under her – and held her hands up. “The horse they gave me threw me off, but I am fine,” Cloudia said intently. Kamden didn’t have to know about the bandits, and Cloudia was suddenly glad that Domino had dismounted and given her the perfect half-truth. “I checked: Nothing is broken; nothing is sprained. I only have a few bruises and some minor cuts – which were treated already, do not worry – and I’m sore.”

“A horse threw you off?” Kamden’s eyes widened. He took her shoulders and made her look into his eyes. “Did you hit your head, Cloudie? Did you see a doctor?”

“Yes and no,” Cloudia admitted, sounding a little sheepish. “A servant treated me; it was so late, I refused to have a doctor fetched for nothing at all because, Kam, I am perfectly fine. I landed very luckily. I have no headache or am nauseous; it didn’t even hurt afterwards.”

“Still,” said Kamden and took her hand. “You weren’t properly examined. They should have sent for a physician anyway, to be sure.” He tightened his grip. “Cloudie, you should lie down. I’ll get Dr Alan.”

Cloudia sighed. “Very well,” she said, and Kamden gently pulled her after him to the staircase in the back that led to his upstairs flat, uncaring that there were still patrons in his shop. Handling her as if she was a porcelain doll (and slightly annoying her), Kamden brought Cloudia to his room. While she kicked off her shoes and took off her cloak and bonnet, he grabbed the books on his bed and placed them on an already precarious-looking tower of books in one corner of the room. She then laid down, and Kamden pulled a blanket over her. He turned to leave but ended up lingering in the doorsill, and although Cloudia reminded him that someone could be raiding the store right now as it had been left unattended, Kamden only returned downstairs with great reluctance.

Cloudia sighed again and drew the blanket to her chin, breathing in the familiar scent of sandalwood soap (every boy and man seemed to smell of sandalwood, even if the fragrance was only faintly present) and old and new books. Although Cloudia generally disliked clutter and dusty air, a wave of comfort washed over her in this room that was both endlessly cluttered and stuffy from dust.

Kamden was remodelling and -organising his office and, thus, had to temporarily move out all the books from there, storing them in every free corner of his small apartment. The last time Cloudia had visited him, she had opened a cupboard to search for biscuits and found a few old tomes stuffed next to his pottery. The office and its adjourning archive had not only hosted books and antiques Kamden had acquired for himself, but also numerous used, often rare books meant to be resold as well as decades’ worth of ledgers. And each of these hundreds – if not thousands – of books seemed to come with its own, years-old dust that was infuriatingly eager to infest the air. It made it hard to keep up with cleaning, and Cloudia’s annoyingly stubborn brother refused to get any help. This madness had been going on for a few weeks now, longer than planned because the manufacturer had accidentally mixed up the dimensions of the custom shelves and none of them had fit in the end. The correct shelves must have arrived by now though: The shaky book towers in Kamden’s room were smaller now than they had been a few days ago, and the corridor had been much more walking-friendly again.

Still, Cloudia liked Kamden’s overstuffed, dusty flat because it was his flat, and coming from the Morrow townhouse, which was almost uncomfortably sterile, this place was wonderfully warm and homely, though it made her yearn even more for the comfort of her own home. The repairs at the Phantomhive townhouse could not finish quicker.

“‘Of deep and angry crimson, where the sun and the wind together; set a brand upon the clouds for being guilty of such weather; and the widest open country is a long dull streak of black…,’” Milton had recited softly, absentmindedly yesterday. The memory popped up in her head so suddenly, it startled her. It must be the abundance of books around me, Cloudia thought and clutched the blanket tighter, and because of Cecelia, the sky had been about to turn red when she arrived at the bookstore. Books blocked her view through the window, though it would surprise her if it wasn’t dark outside already. Winter days passed so quickly after all.

Cloudia was about to douse when the sound of steps turned her wide awake again. A moment later, Kamden returned and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Dr Alan is doing a domiciliary visit across town and won’t be back for a few hours,” he said. “And I closed up the shop.”

“Isn’t it a bit early for that?” asked Cloudia. “As I said, I’m all right; you don’t have to close the store so early if you don’t want to.”

“But I do. And there weren’t many people here anyway; earlier, it was just two couples, one gentleman, and E…” Kamden cut himself off and blushed.

She grinned. “What a lovely simplistic name.”

“It’s Elise,” he mumbled.

“An even lovelier longer name,” she said. Cloudia moved a bit to the side so that her shoulder brushed the wall. A few framed daguerreotypes hung on it. Barrington had made it a habit to drag them to a studio at least twice a year, but he was barely in any of the pictures on Kamden’s wall. Kamden rotated them; currently, most of them showed only Cloudia and Kamden although Barrington was in numerous photos they had taken that day. Cloudia patted the space next to her, and Kamden mustered her, concerned. “And you do feel fine so far, Cloudie?” he asked. “No blurry vision? No dizziness? No fatigue?”

“As I said, I don’t experience any symptoms related to head injuries,” Cloudia said. “I do feel fatigued but only because I came back from the hunt late last night and had a conversation with Cecelia today.”

“What did you talk about?” Kamden wanted to know, and Cloudia hoped the warmth she felt now was not rushing to her cheeks.

“Just some Watchdog-related things,” she said and tapped the bed again. Kamden hesitated before he climbed next to her. He had had this bed for years, and when they were younger, they fit next to each other without any problems. They were growing rapidly though, and now, Kamden knocked against Cloudia and the bedframe a few times and mumbled apologies while he settled next to her, on top of the blanket. At least, so far, neither of them had grown too large to make lying side-by-side impossible. Again, Cloudia was reminded of Calliope: Last summer, they had lain like this after that horrible day; back then, they had had fewer problems fitting into the bed.

In retrospect, it felt a little silly how much I had worried about Kamden at that time. Of course, he would have healed from it; he might have lost his first actual love, but we were still young and growing and had so much life ahead of us.

“What is Elise like?” Cloudia asked, craning her head to look at her twin who immediately turned red.

“She… she…” Kamden stuttered. “E-Elise’s nice but…” He shifted to his side, his tousled hair falling into his face, and sighed. “Today, she told me that she and her family will move to Glasgow. The books she bought are for the train ride.”

“Oh, Kam.” Cloudia grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

“It’s all right. I haven’t even known her for very long,” he said softly.

“How do you even know when you like someone?” Cloudia asked absentmindedly before she froze, and Kamden jerkily sat up. He stared at her, his eyes wide and concerned. “Are you truly feeling well, Cloudie? Should I try getting Dr Alan here quicker?”

Cloudia’s face reddened, and she let go of his hand and crossed her arms. “I was just wondering about that,” she said, hating how unsteady her voice sounded.

Kamden mustered her, bewilderment now mixed in his expression. “You… wondered about that?”

“Yes,” she huffed. “Am I not allowed to?”

“Yes, of course. But… you… Cloudie, you...” He paused and then laid back down. “You have never asked before,” Kamden said softly. “I’m just surprised. I thought you simply were not interested in… uhm…”

“I am curious about everything,” Cloudia said, sparing him from finishing the sentence; she did not want to hear it anyway. “But I guess it might be awkward asking you that. I’m sorry, Kamden.”

Kamden looked at her for a moment before he said, “It is… it is all right. You can ask me.” He slowly exhaled and rolled on his back. “You know when you like someone when… when you, uhm, feel a little tug that draws you to them. Their face, their voice, their personality… You always crave… crave their company. You constantly want to be at their side and miss them even if they have, uh, only just left. You-you think of them at all times. You become more… more nervous around them and you blush uncontrollably. You feel warm in their presence and your, uhm… heart flutters when they are around and…” Kamden covered his face with his hands. “No, you’re right. This is awkward.”

“I’m sorry,” said Cloudia, pressing her face into the cushion. “But you did well, thanks.”

***

Three days later, the pipes at the Phantomhive townhouse were fixed. Although Cloudia had yearned to leave her aunt’s house and return to her own place and sleep in her own bed again, that yearning wasn’t strong enough to smother the uneasiness she felt whenever she was in the townhouse.

After all, Cloudia’s father had died here.

Ever since Cloudia had witnessed Simon’s death in the townhouse’s garden, she hadn’t been able to go out there. The garden was cared for, but even looking at it for too long made her stomach churn and her head ache. This unease extended, albeit lightly, to the rest of the townhouse; infuriatingly, her mind registered the whole building as Simon’s place of death, not just the garden. And whatever she did, this discomfort was always throbbing at the back of her mind.

Now, as Cloudia stepped over the threshold, disquiet washed over her, and she wondered if Milton had felt the same way when he had returned to his home for the first time after his father’s death.

It had been five days since the hunt, and Milton still found his way into her mind which was to be expected.

Weeks later, Cloudia still caught herself thinking of him which was unusual.

A month later the wintry cold slowly ebbed away, and she spotted the first spring flower – and her mind still dwelt on him, and she could not figure out why.

Two meetings, one proper conversation, barely a day in each other’s presence – she should have long forgotten him, ceased to care for him as soon as they had parted ways after the hunt. It was unnerving that she hadn’t. That, for some maddening reason, she couldn’t.

Cecelia’s and Kamden’s words always brushed her thoughts of him; they echoed in her mind, gnawed on her nerves but Cloudia refused to believe that she was in love. While her head might be betraying her, her heart was secure. It didn’t flutter, didn’t pump warmth through her body whenever she thought of him. Her heart was steady, even if it longed to see him again, to talk to him again.

Only she could not do that.

Milton was still in the first phase of mourning. He could neither pay nor receive any visits; the reception and the hunt must have been exceptions, though Cloudia had never learned why. Even if he was not in mourning, she would be unable to contact him. How could she as a lady write to an unrelated gentleman? Especially if she did not tell him beforehand or had a good reason.

But she had to. With every passing day, she grew more annoyed and frustrated with herself that she was powerless to expel him from her thoughts.

I could not go on like this. I would not go on like this and let this nonsense consume me. Rules were meant to be broken. My current life broke the rules – I was a broken rule personified. Simple mourning etiquette could not stop me.

“I will meet Milton Salisbury,” Cloudia said into the loneliness of her room. To herself. To challenge the world. To turn her decision into more than a silly thought.

Something was pulling me to him, but it was not love.

He was not a crush; he was a mystery to be solved.

And I would find a way to meet him.

***

London, England, United Kingdom – May 1843

Yelling woke her up.

It had been four days since her attack, and Cloudia still needed all the rest she could get. Groaning, she rolled to the side and pressed her pillow to her ear – in vain. She could still hear the shouts.

What the hell was going on so early in the morning?

Cloudia cursed under her breath as she drew back the blanket and hastily got dressed. The room tilted a little; still, she managed to be swift and not faint halfway through buttoning her dress. A maid arrived just when Cloudia strode out of her bedroom. She quickly apologised for nearly hitting her with the door before she hurried downstairs, fuming.

Her fury dissipated and was replaced by cold horror when she got closer, however, and could finally discern who was making such a ruckus. Oh no, she thought and quickened her pace, fainting risk be damned. Cloudia only came to a halt when she arrived at the final landing and everyone’s eyes turned to her.

“Dia,” sighed Barrington and lowered his sword. “You are alive after all.”

“Of course, she is. I’ve been telling you that for the last ten minutes,” Oscar said, and Barrington scowled at him. They were standing a few metres apart, Barrington with a weapon in his hand and still wearing his overcoat, and Oscar with his arms loose by his sides and looking thoroughly annoyed.

“Remind me since when you are trustworthy,” Barrington retorted, his voice full of venom.

Cloudia clasped her hands around the balustrade. She had never disillusioned herself that she could hide Oscar from everyone forever, particularly not from Barrington or Cecelia. However, she hadn’t expected Barrington to barge unannounced into the townhouse and find Oscar before she had the chance to explain herself. She took a deep breath and then said, “Where is Clifford?”

“Mr Clifford left half an hour ago. He said he had some errands to run,” Oscar told her, ignoring the daggers Barrington glared at him. “He intended to return before it was time for you to wake up.”

“I would bet money that you stuffed poor Old Ted under the floorboards,” hissed Barrington.

“Be my guest if you want to lose all you have.”

“Barrington, it’s all right,” Cloudia said, and Barrington stared at her. “It is all right? Dia, do you have any idea who this abomination of a man is?” he asked and pointed his sword at Oscar again; it left him unfazed. “I know you must have only woken up, but can’t you at least feel the evilness radiating from him? He’s a criminal, a serial murderer. A convict whose execution was in the papers only recently. He must have somehow escaped; we should call the police.”

“I know very well who that is.” Her heart beat loudly in her chest as she let go of the balustrade and walked down the stairs, her steps steady. “Barrington, I arranged for him not to be executed.”

Barrington’s eyes widened even more. “What?” it slipped out of his mouth before he glanced at Oscar. “Dia, did that man do something…”

“No, Barrington,” Cloudia cut him off. “It was my idea and mine alone. I searched for him and freed him; the execution was a lie.”

For a moment, it was dead silent in the entrance hall. Then, the sound of metal scraping leather filled the air as Barrington sheathed his sword. “Cloudia,” he said with rare finality. “We need to talk, in private.”

Cloudia was thirteen years old and a child, though she had never felt her age as strongly as she did now.

Barrington had ordered a footman to keep an eye on Oscar and then beckoned Cloudia to follow him. He had led her upstairs to her father’s office. When Cloudia had become the Watchdog, she had picked another room to work in. Not only because it felt odd to move and change anything in what she had always known as her father’s room but also because the windows opened to the garden. Despite his quiet rage, Barrington was merciful enough to draw the curtains.

After he had lit the last lamp, he sank into an armchair opposite her. He might have chosen the room, but, like Cloudia, he wanted to avoid sitting at Simon’s desk and had gestured for her to take place in the seating corner. It was a small, cramped space, and while Cloudia had never asked, she was certain that this area of the room had been a later addition, shoved into the office after everything had already been furnished.

“Dia,” said Barrington, and although he hadn’t raised his voice, had only spoken intently, Cloudia flinched. At least, he hadn’t terrifyingly called her “Cloudia” again. “How are you? I’m sorry I didn’t notice beforehand; that man is a plight. You had another attack, hadn’t you?”

“Yes,” Cloudia said and leaned back into the cushions, expecting to blow up dust even though she knew that the room was regularly cleaned. “I woke up four days ago. I’m only feeling a bit faint, still.”

Barrington sighed. “I’m glad you are all right. I only wished I had known sooner. But then…” His expression was grim. “… I haven’t been told about quite a lot of things, it seems. Dia, what were you thinking?”

“I found Father’s sketchbook,” it spilt out of Cloudia, to her own surprise. She had thought she might struggle to get the words out, but they easily flowed out of her, as if she was glad to finally let go of this secret that she had carried with her for a year. “One of them, at least; I guess he must have filled many. The one I found was full of pictures of landscapes and a village or small town. Father had only drawn one person clearly and in portrait. I had never seen him before and I wanted to know who he was. So, I conducted some research and eventually found out that he was Oscar Livingstone, the Scotland Yard Ripper. I read about his crimes, but he appeared to have been close to Father, and I couldn’t have him executed or rot away in an asylum before I had any answers. I talked to Her Majesty, and she approved his release, though it could only happen in secret due to the notoriety and severity of Oscar’s crimes. I got him out of the asylum, and Rowan ensured that his supposed execution would be in the news.”

“When you found Si’s sketchbook, why didn’t you come to me?” Barrington asked. His face was blank, his voice calm, and it unnerved Cloudia.

“Because,” she replied and could feel anger clawing its way up her throat; she swiftly pushed it down and away. No, she had to hold her ground, and she could not do this if she lost control of her emotions. Though reining them in in Barrington’s presence hadn’t been easy for years; not since Cloudia had spoken with the Queen and learned that the man who was meant to be her father’s trusty friend might be her father’s murderer as well. “Because until I found it, I didn’t even know that Father had been an artist at all. You barely talk about him, Barrington, and are reluctant to answer any questions I have. Would you have answered me if I had asked or brushed me away?”

“I would have answered you,” Barrington said with slight hesitation, “simply to prevent you from locating that man. Aside from the fact that I have always disliked Oscar Livingstone, he is a serial murderer, Dia. Your father and I have blood on our hands as well, but there’s a difference between killing because you have to and killing because you want to. I have no idea what caused Oscar to snap and murder all these people, though I was never surprised that it happened at all. Nobody knows – or did he tell you? Did you ask?”

Cloudia shook her head.

“At any rate, I don’t think it’s even of importance,” Barrington continued. “He murdered people for years while he was working as a police officer. They raided his basement, and whatever they discovered there had been so gruesome, the Met never disclosed anything and locked up or destroyed all information. Do you understand how difficult it is to ensure that nothing ever seeps through? Cecelia’s husband was murdered, and while all information on his death was buried as well, she still managed to dig out a piece. Oscar was found out and convicted over five years ago, and his case was widely covered and is discussed to this day. Still, we know absolutely nothing about what was in that basement. Oscar is not just a serial killer, Dia; he is a famous one who was and is very likely protected by Scotland Yard. His crimes did, after all, taint the police’s reputation.

“Now, do you really want to associate yourself with such a man?”

“Yes.” Again, the word broke out of Cloudia with frightening ease. “There are not many people, it seems, that knew Father well, and even fewer that are willing to talk. It’s not just you, Barrington. It’s my aunts and uncles and Clifford too. Father’s other Aristocrat of Evil, Theresa Dale, is in the States and I have no idea how to contact her. Oscar is the only other living person I know who was close to my father – and the only one who is willing to help at all. Father apparently distanced himself from Oscar a year before his death, and Oscar does not know why. What if it was part of the reason why he was murdered? And even if it wasn’t, Oscar worked with Father for years. Any bit of information I can get out of him would be helpful, and Oscar was the Met’s best man. He would be very helpful with Watchdog work too.”

Barrington mustered her for a moment in silence before he sighed and ran a hand through his brown hair. “This is my fault entirely, I admit it,” he said. “I’m sorry, Dia, that I don’t talk about your father much but…” He sighed again. “But Oscar Livingstone? I understand your reason and I hate to say this, but he could indeed be helpful with your work. That does not remove the fact that he is a murderer and a criminal. He’s not a stable person and having been locked up in asylums for years must have worsened him. What if something happens to you, Dia? He does not have to hurt you directly to harm you. What if he starts killing again? I doubt the Queen will be happy about that; I’m sure she only allowed you to free him under the condition that you keep a tight leash on him. Oscar wouldn’t even have to kill many people; what if he only kills one? I can think of someone I’m sure he would love to disembowel.”

“Whom do you mean?” asked Cloudia, perplexed.

Barrington met her eyes. “The one who discovered his basement, of course. No one knows the identity of that person. Their identity is as well-kept a secret as the contents of Oscar’s bloody chamber. I would wager, however, that Oscar knows who opened that door and ratted him out to the police. Was it a servant? A colleague? An accomplice? A thief that broke into his house? Whoever it was, I hope they have already died. They might be feeling secure in England now that Oscar’s officially dead, unknowing that he is very much alive and might be plotting revenge as we speak.”

“He’s not going to kill anyone,” Cloudia insisted, though her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears. What if? What if? What if he will? rang through her head.

“How can you be sure, Dia? Stare at him all day and night? Lock him up when you won’t need him? That might be a good idea, actually.”

“Why would he want to jeopardise his newly gained freedom?” she countered. “Getting revenge will mean his immediate execution if they find out it was him. Killing that person will promptly incriminate him; it’s too obvious a crime. And Oscar said he wanted to help me because Father was his friend.”

“Friend.” Barrington laughed dryly. “Did Oscar use this word?”

“It was ‘close acquaintance’ and ‘colleague.’”

“Still inaccurate descriptors, I would say.” He deflated against the backrest. “I… When I look into Oscar’s face, I gaze into the face of evil. Si never told me the full story of how he met Oscar; I only know he first met him while I was away on my travels. Do you know how confused I was when Si told me he knows someone at the Met who could help us get some information? I can’t even tell you what we wanted to know; the astonishment I felt back then erased everything else. Scotland Yard had only just come to be, and your father of all people already knew an officer? And not just from passing? It felt like a weird dream, a nightmare truly.” Barrington rubbed his face. “Si always had a terrible time making friends. That’s why he only ever made two: Tess and me, excluding Penny because he married her. And then he goes and makes another while I’m away and it’s the worst person on Earth. Of course, Oscar wasn’t already a murderer then, but he has always been a cold, shady-looking person. I voiced my concerns, only your father didn’t want to listen. He…”

Barrington took a deep breath. “I think that even if Si had genuinely liked Oscar – Heavens above, I cannot imagine that anyone does – he was mostly intrigued by him, weirdly drawn to him because he has always been drawn to odd things. And his curiosity might have clouded his judgement.

“What I want to say, Dia, is: Are you sure that you can trust Oscar Livingstone? Are you sure that he has not been lying and will not lie to you?”

#watchdog of the queen #main chapters #kuroshitsuji #cloudia phantomhive x undertaker #cloudia phantomhive #undertaker #an update! finally!#tumblr is being super messy right now >.<#anyway: I hope it's enjoyable ^^'

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