#tisbe don’t look | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

deady-nightshade · 3 years ago

Text

Cinderella AU (Jesse Cromeans x F!Reader)💀

Description: It had been a few years since Queen Cromeans’ suicide, and the kingdom is yearning for a new queen. King Cromeans, the mysterious masked man on the throne is determined to remain unwed, but while moving through the shadows of the market place, a peasant woman bumps into him — you. The curiosity of a madman is sparked and plots are intricately constructed, bringing you closer to the bloodthirsty king who wears a chrome skull mask.

Disclaimer/Warnings: NSFW, virgin reader, mentions of suicide, loss of child/wife, affairs, prostitutes, murder, stalking, revenge/vengeance, morally grey reader (not a Mary Sue by any means), mentions of young childhood love, abusive family (emotional, physical and verbal), scars, twisted fairytale, age-gap, mute Jesse (sign language in Italics), fairies and magic.

Word Count: 9.6K

**Reader is named Cinderella in this story, and you will have slightly long hair. Other than that, the looks will not be specified**

**The name of the wicked stepmother is named Rodmilla. The eldest ugly stepsister is named Clorinda. The youngest ugly stepsister is named Tisbe. I picked these names from the different tellings of Cinderella**

**Lightly proofread** **Comments are appreciated** 😊

Once upon a time, in a far away kingdom, there was a young, orphan boy. He had never known his family and grew up on the streets, doing whatever he needed to get by to survive. One night, when he was ten, there was a storm, one that caused the trees surrounding the kingdom to become uprooted and crops to be devastated. Your father had taken shelter at a farm, but he was caught by the farmer, a large, burly man who had issues controlling his liquor and a wicked temper. Little did your father know, a young girl, two years younger than him, with a generous heart had taken pity on him. She was the farmer’s only child, therefore his most prized possession.

When the farmer left, leaving your father with a bruised eye and bloody nose, the young girl escaped from the house and came to his aid. That night, while the storm blew through the kingdom, the girl dragged him into the barn and took care of him. She then gave him some food and a blanket before making her way back into the house. That was the night your father fell in love.

Years passed, but your father never forgot your mother’s kindness and budding beauty. The world became crueler and your father was forced to make difficult choices. One of those choices ended up costing a man his life, but instead of being imprisoned, he was revered as a local hero. One that was rewarded generously and went on to make a name for himself. Within five years, the destitute man had built himself an empire that he carved from diamond and rubies.

When he was twenty, he returned to the farm and proposed to your mother. The rest was history. Their marriage was founded on love, and a year later, you had been born. More years had passed, and when their daughter turned five, tragedy struck. Her mother had grown sick and within the span of a week, she had died, leaving behind a mourning husband and daughter.

Your father, knowing that you needed a mother, began to search throughout the kingdom. He had been met with various prospects, but none of them were right; they were young and immature, they were not mother material. When things appeared dim, a young girl ran out from the streets, almost getting run over by the horse that your father rode upon. It was that fateful incident that led to your father’s remarriage.

Your newest sisters were mean; constantly pulling on your hair, grabbing and twisting your arms, and they would hide your dolls. Your stepmother, Rodmilla was stern with you, but lenient with her own children, causing a rift between the four of you. When your father was present, the cruel natures of stepmother and stepsisters became dormant, and you would beg your father not to leave.

‘Please don’t leave Papa,’ you cried, grabbing a hold of his hand.

‘I must, my child. There are issues at the mine that I must address.’ He had replied. He ruffled your hair and caressed your cheek. ‘I will be back before you know it.’

He kissed his wife, then kissed Clorinda’s and Tisbe’s cheeks, before turning to you. His lips were soft against your forehead and he rubbed the tip of his nose against yours. ‘Take care of them when I am gone, petal. And don’t worry, I will be back soon.’

A few days later, there was a knock upon the door and you had been ordered to answer it. Standing in front of you had been a constable and a few miners. Your father had indeed returned, but he had returned in a casket.

The marketplace was packed and the voices of every vendor began to bleed together. Rodmilla walked in front of you with Clorinda and Tisbe eagerly trotting behind her. Your hands were filled with an array of bags, all of them containing expensive shoes, dresses and imported perfumes.

The women in front of you came to a sudden halt and you nearly stepped on them. Tisbe, the youngest daughter of Rodmilla, turned around and sneered. “Watch where you’re going, Cinderella!”

Her icy blue eyes were hard, like the ice that formed over the pond in winter, and you wanted nothing more than to pluck the eyes out and make her eat them. You gave her a sickeningly sweet smile. “So sorry.”

You weren’t sorry, and they all knew that, but they couldn’t do anything to you out in public, lest they tarnish their sparking reputation. Clorinda peered over her silk fan and rolled her eyes. They were a few shades darker than her sister’s.

“Enough chatter, girls.” Rodmilla said, hitting her diamond encrusted cane down. “We still have stores to visit.” She pointed her hazel eyes at you and tilted her chin upwards. “Drop the bags off at the carriage and go to the baker; pick up some bread and make sure to buy the cakes that my darlings like. If any of those cakes are missing, you will not have supper for the next three days.”

Your stepmother and sisters left you, and you watched as their obnoxious figures disappeared within the swell of the crowd. Finally, you were free (so to speak). Your wooden clogs tapped against the cobblestone sidewalk and you hummed to yourself a tune that had once been a lullaby that your mother sang to you. The lyrics had been long forgotten, but the melody itself remained.

The carriage quickly came into sight and the driver, a short, rather plump man, named Gregory, opened the silver glided door. “Do you know how much longer they will be, miss?” he signed.

You carefully sat the packages and parasols down. You spun back around and shook your head. “Afraid not, Gregory.”

The driver rubbed his greying beard, then took a drag from his pipe. Your stomach growled and you subconsciously placed your hand on your abdomen. The older man noticed your sullen look and he began rummaging through his pockets. He removed a golden coin and held it out to you.

“I can't take this.” You said, moving your fingers quickly.

Gregory blew out the smoke and bit down his pipe. “If you don’t take it and get yourself you want, then I’ll buy you stewed spinach and pickled eggs.”

He knew how you detested stewed spinach and pickled eggs, and you knew that he hobble down the street and purchase it for you. With a small smile, you took the coin.

“Thank you, Gregory.”

The elder man merely grumbled and he shooed you away. But before you left, you snatched the wooden basket from the carriage and pressed a kiss on the man’s leathery cheek.

The walk to the bakery was short, and when you entered the shop, the scent of freshly baked bread greeted you. The baker greeted you and while he fetched the items that you needed, you decided to wander the shop. Little cakes were on display and one in particular caught your attention. It was round in appearance and relatively plain compared to the others, but it had the sweetest smell: honey and almond.

You could vaguely remember you and your mother sharing this cake on a warm summer day, and before you knew it, you had picked up the cake and made your way to the counter.

The baker handed you back the basket and raised a brow when he saw the single cake in your hand. “Would you like me to add that to your tab?”

“No, I will pay for it.” You handed him the coin and the baker pocketed it.

“Allow me to wrap that for you, miss.”

With basket in hand, and cake tucked safely in your apron pocket, you made your way out of the shop. A few children ran past you and watched fondnly as they played with one another. They were completely unaware of the cruelties that the world offered, you hoped that they would remain that way: innocent and jovial.

You were so lost in thought that you were ignorant to the black figure emerging from the shadowed alleyway. You only noticed them when you rudely walked into them. Your balance was thrown off and you began to sway. Something warm and hard wrapped around your waist, effectively steadying you, and the baked goods within your basket became jostled.

Your face was centimeters away from a broad chest that was decorated in rich, black fabric. Something dark, almost musky tickled your nose; it was a strong scent, but it was pleasant.

“Pardon me,” you said, stepping back, your eyes trailing up the man’s impressive height. “I wasn’t paying —” the words died on the tip of your tongue and your eyes widened when you saw the man’s face.

The entire right side was covered in thick, puckered scars that reminded you of the twisted nature of bark on tree. In place of his nose were two, dark holes and his lips looked like they had been ripped off. The flesh of his right lip looked to have fused prematurely with that of his right cheek, giving him what looked like a permeant snarl. There was no hair on his head and his face lacked eyebrows. There were also a few scars on the left side of his face, but they seemed more shallow compared to the ones on the right side. And a black eyepatch hid his right eye and his left eye, which was a dark, earthy brown, was locked on your face.

Even though this man’s face was scarred and rather skeletal like in appearance, you weren’t afraid of him. Instead, you were concerned for him. What had caused his face to become like this? You had heard of people being cursed by evil fairies and scorned witched, and you couldn’t help but wonder if this man had been unfortunate enough to have been affected by such cruel magic. Of course, not everything bad that happened to people was the result of magic, it could have been something natural, like, fire perhaps.

You weren’t sure what possessed you to do it, but your right hand rose through the air and your palm gently rested on the man’s left cheek. The tips of your fingers lightly touched the raised scars. The skin that was not scarred was smooth, and although the scars looked bad, they felt surprisingly soft. He must have taken great care of them.

The grip the man had on your waist tightened and you gulped when his left hand wrapped around your wrist. He removed your hand from your face and he narrowed his eye as if to frown.

“Who —”

“Cinderella!”

You immediately straightened up and furrowed your brow. With ease, you slipped your wrist from his semi-hard grasp and you stepped away from him once more, causing the hand around your waist to fall.

“Cinderella!” your stepmother screamed again, this time louder, something you didn't think was possible.

Without another word, you ran from the scarred man and disappeared within the crowd.

That night, Jesse laid in bed, replaying the events of the marketplace, over and over. He couldn’t get your face out of his head, no matter how hard he tried, and he could still feel the phantom touch of your hand stroking his scars. Cooled blood clung to his pale skin and the king slowly climbed out the bed, not caring of the mess he had made.

He paid no attention to the corpse that laid in his bed, still annoyed that the harlot had screamed upon unmasking him. She was supposed to have pleasured him, and in a way she did, especially with the way her screams turned to gurgles upon slitting her throat, but he had wanted to receive pleasure by fucking her into the bed. Oh, well, it was too late now.

The king wrapped a bloodied sheet around his waist and pulled on the rope that hung from the ceiling. Within seconds, Spann and Preston had entered his chambers. Spann eyed the body in the bed and smirked to herself, whereas Preston looked unimpressed.

‘Clean this up and draw me a bath.’ He ordered.

They nodded and the king followed the late queen’s lady in waiting into the bathroom. The bathtub was carved into the floor and more maids entered the room. They went about their job, warming the water in the tub and pouring oils into it.

Spann handed Jesse a lit cigar and the king took a drag. He walked over to window and looked out at the sleeping kingdom. He couldn’t help but wonder where that woman lived, where Cinderella lived, and he bit down on the filter in frustration.

The soft clamoring of the maids faded and the blanket around his waist was removed, leaving him naked. Spann placed kisses along his muscled back and the king slowly turned around. The eager woman was already on her knees, staring up at him in adoration.

“Allow me to please you, My King.”

She leaned forward, mouth open, but before she could take his cock in her mouth, the king stopped her. Had it have been a different night, he would have taken her up on her offer, but his mind was caught in an endless loop between Cinderella’s kindness in the marketplace, and the stark contrast of fear that the prostitute had shown him not even an hour ago. The only reason Spann liked him was because he was king.

‘I want you and Preston to prepare for a ball.’ The king signed, ignoring the curious face on the woman’s face.

“Whatever for, My King?”

‘The kingdom needs a new Queen, and I believe it is time to start looking.’

Spann’s face soured and she slowly stood up. She knew better than to argue, but the king could tell she disapproved on the sudden decision. Jesse stepped forward and roughly grabbed her face.

‘If you interfere with my plans, I will not hesitate to kill you.’ He warned.

The ex-lady in waiting nodded and turned around. “Preston and I will get started on it right away.”

The following morning, hundreds of guards were sent throughout the city, with satchels of invitations. They had been given clear instructions; give them to every young and eligible maiden that they see, regardless of their social class, and they knew better than to disobey the king’s orders.

Rain pattered against the windows and Tisbe’s fingers clicked and clacked against the polished keys of the piano. You winced when she played the wrong note and Rodmilla slammed her tea cup down.

“Haven’t you been practicing?” she yelled.

The frustrated blonde looked up from the piano and pounded down on the keys. “It’s not my fault this piano is out of tune! Perhaps if Cinderella did her job, then my playing would put a nightingale to shame.”

Despite the numerous pins your mouth, you huffed. It wasn't your fault that Tisbe didn’t have a musical bone in her body. You blame poor breeding for her lack skills.

Clorinda snorted and pointed the fat end of the mirror at her younger sister. “Maybe it’s time to give up on Tisbe and turn all your attention to me, Mother?” Her painted lips pulled back into a sneer and she glanced back into the mirror. “After all, I was the one gifted with beauty, not her.”

Before Rodmilla could say anything, Tisbe leapt from the piano bench and lunged at Clorinda. You, having sensed what was going to happen, avoided the tackle and quickly stood up. Fabric flew through the air and Rodmilla broke up the fight by hitting her daughters on head with her cane.

“Stop this incessant squabbling at once!” she cried, tossing Clorinda to one side of the room and Tisbe to the other.

While your stepmother berated your stepsisters, you removed the pins from your mouth and collected your sewing supplies. A knock sounded at the door and everyone grew quiet.

“See who’s at the door, Cinderella.” Your stepmother ordered.

You ignored her at first, but then she struck you in the back with her cane. The wind was knocked out of your lungs and tears stung your eyes. Your back was covered in scars from the multiple lashings that she and her daughters had given you throughout the years. She knew that your back was sensitive and she loved to cause you more pain.

“Don’t make me repeat myself!” Rodmilla yelled, causing your stepsisters to laugh.

You were unable to speak, so you merely nodded your head. Your bare feet tapped against the floor as you ran to the door, and you quickly wiped your tears away. Taking a deep breath, you opened the door.

Standing before you was a young royal guard whose babyface was sprinkled with rainwater. A single horse grazed on the grass of the front lawn, indifferent to Mother Nature’s shower.

“Is the Lady of the house present?” he asked.

“She is.” You replied. “Why don’t you come on in?”

The guard gave you a kind smile and he followed you into the house. Tisbe had gone back to playing the piano and you subtly glanced at the palace guard. He was not a fan of her playing.

As soon as you walked into the parlor, Tisbe stopped playing and your stepmother put on her mask. “Oh, my, what is a guard of the palace during at our house?” she asked.

The guard bowed to your stepmother and removed his rain soaked hat. “I have come to invite you to a Royal Ball.”

Tisbe clapped her hands and Clorinda rushed towards the young man. “Whenis the ball?” she demanded.

“Oh, Mother,” Tisbe sighed, “whatever shall we wear?”

Rodmilla banged her cane onto the floor, silencing her daughters, and she slowly rose from her seat. “Would you like a cup of tea, sir? We wouldn’t want you to return to the palace sick now, would we?”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Cinderella,” Rodmilla turned her eyes to you, “get our guest a cup of tea.”

“Of course.”

You made your way into the kitchen and started the fire. While the flame sputtered to life, you grabbed the kettle and began pumping the water. After a minuet, the water finally came from the well and flowed freely. While the kettle filled, you grabbed some sugar and milk, placing it on a serving tray.

A soft chime caught your attention and you stopped what you were doing. There were no bells in the kitchen, nor were there any hanging from the windowsill. Not thinking much of it, you pumped the spout once more, then. you removed the kettle and placed it on the hook directly above the flame.

While you waited for the water to boil, you walked towards the window and glanced outside. The clouds were grey but you could see a swell of white clouds and blue skies on the horizon.

Suddenly, you heard another chime, but this time it sounded closer. The flowers in the window box moved and you gasped when you saw a fairy taking shelter from the rain.

“Oh, you poor thing.”

You undid the latch and pushed the window open. The fairy's head shot up and it began talking to you. It sounded like bells swaying in the summer breeze. Of course, you couldn’t understand her, but you had a feeling she was telling you to back off, seeing how fairies didn't like humans.

“It’s all right, I won’t hurt you.”

Your words didn’t soothe the fairy and it bared its sharp teeth at you. “Now stop that or I won’t help you,” you threatened.

Before the fairy could argue more, you carefully scooped her up and brought her inside. She began biting your hand, piercing the thick skin, and you sighed. Why couldn’t things be easy for you just once in your life?

You sat the fairy down on the table and began drying her delicate wings with your handkerchief, mindful not to accidentally tear them. It was common knowledge that fairies couldn’t fly with wet wings, making them especially vulnerable when it rained.

You finished in no time and removed a sugar cube form the saucer. “Here, it isn’t much, but it should give you some energy.”

The fairy looked at you dubiously, then plucked the sugar cube from your hands. She angrily chomped down on it and you chuckled at her distrusting nature.

The kettle whistled, starting both you and the fairy. You removed it from the hook and went back to work. A few minuets later, you removed the tea leaves from the cup and grabbed the tray, balancing it on your forearm. You made it half way to the door when you stopped.

“Little fairy,” you said, catching your kitchen guest’s attention. “The rain should be stopping soon, and when it does, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave; my stepfamily doesn’t like fairies and if they were to see you, they’ll try to hurt you.”

The fairy responded with a single chime and you smiled to yourself. If only you could grow a pair of wings and fly away.

After serving the guard his tea, you sat down on the window seat and began rummaging through the book. You tried to ignore the conversation regarding the ball, seeing how you wouldn’t be attention. No sooner had you flipped a page did your attention become piqued.

“The king is looking for a new queen.” The guard said.

You lowered the book and pushed the hair from your face. It had been a few years since the late queen had taken her life, leaving her throne empty along with the royal nursery. News of her suicide left the kingdom shaken, and you expected good handful to have even mourned her. But seeing how the royal family was so private, the queen’s death didn’t really upset you. What did upset you though was the fact that the king’s child was cruelly taken from him, and by his queen no less.

Clorinda’s eyes lit up and glee and you were tempted to throw your book at her inflated head. The only she was happy because she wanted the crown. She could care less about running a kingdom, all she wanted was the riches that came with sitting atop the throne.

Her sudden interest disgusted you; within the confines of your house, you knew that she was disgusted, and slightly terrified of the king. There were many rumors surrounding the king, most of them being rather grim, and you knew for a fact that she believed in all of them, much like Tisbe and Rodmilla; they believed that king was responsible for the mysterious disappearances of the kingdom’s prostitutes, and maybe he was, but who were you to judge?

While your hands were clean of blood, you had often thought about killing your stepmother and stepsisters in their sleep. But seeing how you wouldn’t get away with you, those thoughts became nothing more than sweet daydreams.

There were other rumors, of course, and the one that made you laugh the hardest was the one pertaining to what the king did with the bodies of the prostitutes (if he did indeed kill them). Word of mouth was that kept the bodies and decorated the inside of his palace with them. Now that made you laugh for two reasons; one, dead things rot, and you couldn’t picture the king basking in that stench, and secondly, why would he decorate his palace with bodies when there much better options out there? Especially when price wasn’t an issue.

Now, your favorite rumor pertaining the king had to pertain to the reason why he wore the infamous chrome skull mask. Many people believed he was cursed, and you found some backing behind that rumor seeing how no one has ever seen his face. And seeing how you were slightly sadistic, you loved to scare your stepsisters; you told them that the reason he wears his mask is because underneath it, he's a rotting corpse, and that he collected the dead bodies of the prostitutes to create his own dead harem. That joke of yours ended up costing you ten lashings whip.

You were pulled by your thoughts when the palace guard gently tapped you on the shoulder. “Are you married, miss?” he asked you.

His question caught you off guard and you shook your head. “No, I’m single.”

The guard smiled and reached into his jacket. He removed a white envelope and held it out to you. You took it and flipped it over. A red thing of wax was keeping it sealed and in the center of the red was a chrome painted skull.

The guard then turned on his heel and spoke to Rodmilla. “I shall inform the organizers that the four of you will be in attendance. Until then.”

Two weeks later, and the ball was quickly approaching. Ever since getting the invitations, your family had been working you to the bone; you had cleaned every inch of the house twice, rebuilt the chicken coop, earning a few bruises in the process, fixed the hundreds of dresses that they had miraculously ruined, and you even dusted the chandelier.

While Clorinda and Tisbe received new dresses, you were given nothing. Not that it surprised you, so you decided to go into the attic while they went shoe shopping. You searched through your mother’s old things and found a few dresses that time had not been kind to. After studying them, you had come to the conclusion that you wouldn't have the time to fix them. You were about to cut your losses when something white caught your eye: it was a dress. You carefully took it in your hands and held it up. The dress was made of chiffon and it was simple design, but you could fix that.

While your family slept, you sat beside the fire and fixed the ballgown to the best of your abilities. You salvaged the golden lace from one of your mother’s tattered dress, and you took the pearls off another.

The night of the ball finally approached and after helping Tisbe and Clorinda get ready, they sent you away so that they could show their mother their final look. While they did that, you hurried to the attic and got dressed. The dress was heavy and it took you longer than you would have liked to admit to tie the corset yourself, but you had somehow managed.

You spun around in delight but paused when you saw the scars that the back of the dress was unable to hide. An idea came to mind and with newfound joy, you continued to get ready. After spraying some perfume, you were ready,

Your heels clicked against the stairs and you could hear your families conversation come to a halt when they saw you. Usually you weren’t one to boast, but you had worked tirelessly on your dress and you were genuinely proud of what you had been able to create in such a short amount of time.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” you beamed, stopping in front of them only to give them a small twirl.

The white of the dress was the perfect shade; it complimented your complexion beautifully, and expensive pearls decorated the neckline, only to delicately hand around your shoulders. The lace added a nice touch and it pulled everything together. Your makeup was delicate, highlighting your features and your smile was the largest it had been since your father had passed away.

Your sisters exchanged a scheming look and they ran up to you. Their hands tore through your dress, ripping and tearing the material.

“How hideous!” Tisbe screamed, pulling the pearls from your shoulders.

“You ugly cockroach!” Clorinda added, tearing the golden lace.

“Stop it!” you yelled trying to push them away.

They didn't stop until you were dressed in nothing but rags. Pearls were strewn across the floor, fragments of lace barely clung to your dress anymore, and the makeup that you worked so hard on had been ruined by your tears.

The door suddenly opened and Gregory popped his head in. His brown eyes widened when he saw the state you were in and he glared at your stepmother. Not wanting him to get in trouble, you walked over and shook your head. He gave you pleading look and in turn you gave him a ghost of a smile.

“Tell Gregory that his to drop us off at the palace and that he will wait for us there.” Rodmilla instructed.

You translated for the carriage driver and added that you were okay. He knew you weren’t, but there wasn’t anything the two of you could do, and you both knew it. Gregory shook his head and left the house, not even bothering to hold the door for your step family. They grabbed a hold of their dresses and marched outside.

As soon as the door closed behind them, you ran into the garden crying. Just once, you wanted to go out and enjoy yourself. You wanted one night were you could be someone you weren’t. You wanted one night of freedom before being forced to live in the hell that had become your life.

You were angry, you were hurt, and you decided then and there that you were going to kill them. Your feet carried you to the surrounding forests and with the aid of the moon, you began searching for deadly nightshade. All you needed to do was makes a tea with its black berries, and death would come from them. It was simple and clean. You would not have to scrub blood from your clothes, nor would you have to clean your hands.

A familiar bell-like chime caught your ear and you stopped gathering the poisonous berries. It sounded like fairies. Deciding you had gathered enough berries for three grown adults, you began making your way back, only yo stop when a familiar fairy to greet you with a chime. It was the same fairy that you had helped when she had been caught in the rain.

To your surprise, more fairies came out of hiding you the berries that you had collected fell from your cupped hands. You had never seen this many fairies before.

“Give the human some space.” An unfamiliar voice said. It was light, airy even, and it was both famine and masculine.

The fairies settled on the flowers that were gathered around you, and when you turned back around, you were surprised to find someone, or rather something standing there. It was a fairy, that much was certain, but it looked rather human, aside from its pale green skin, pointed ears and topaz colored eyes. Instead of wearing petals like most fairies wore, this one wore a short skirt made of leaves. Their arms were bare and their chest was covered by a loose vest. You could see its large, iridescent wings drag on the forest floor behind them, and there was a part of you that wanted to touch them.

“My daughter told me that you helped her.” They said, taking a step closer to you.

“It was raining.” You replied.

The fairy chucked. “So it was. Now tell me, dear, what are you doing out here at this time of night, wearing...” the fairy grabbed a piece of lace and frowned, “What are you wearing?”

“A dress,” you whispered.

“It’s a terrible looking dress,” they said.

The fairies around you laughed, causing you to cry once more. Upon seeing your tears they stopped and told them what your family had done to you. When you finished, the fairy that you helped fly to their parent and whispered into their.

“Is that what you want, Blossom?” the parent asked. The little fairy chimed. “Very well.”

The tall fairy glanced at you and smiled, revealing their pointed teeth. “Let us begin.”

The carriage came to a stop and you nervously glanced up at the castle. It was tall and imposing, causing a shiver to run down your spine. The door flew open and your driver, an unfortunate toad that had been enchanted into a man, stared expectantly at you. His skin was pale, almost grey in color, and thick warts covered his chin and cheeks.

You gathered the skirt of your dress and carefully climbed out. Your heels, which were made of red glass, clicked against the marble stone that composed of the walkway. You let go of the red fabric, which happened to have been made from spider silk (and it was surprisingly comfortable), pooled around you.

A palace guard walked over to you and you noticed the simple black mask he wore. He held out his arm and you nervously looped your gloved one around it. He walked you up the steps and you caught sight of your reflection in the black, polished marble.

The dress hugged your figure to perfection, and the red silk glittered beautifully against the enchanted candles. It looked like the silk had been dipped in a pool of crushed garnets and rubies. The neckline was cut deep, ending past your navel. Long sleeves covered your arms and you back, hiding the scars that you hated so, and delicate chains of gold were layered on your neck. And finally, a black mask hid the upper portion of your face. Red and gold paint decorated it, giving it a beautiful look. Your makeup was simple, yet highlighted your beautiful features, and your lips were painted red like the color of blood.

With every step you took, the music grew louder and before you knew it, you were had been led to the ballroom. The guard kissed the back of your gloved hand and stared out at the party beneath you. You spotted your sisters in the crowd concentrated near the throne, and you gulped when you spotted King Cromeans sitting on his throne. He was dressed in black and was resting his hidden face on his curled hand.

The music reached its crescendo and you decided that it was time to join the party, seeing how you only had a few hours before the fairies’ magic wore off, and you were determined to get the most out of it.

After taking a deep breath, you began descending the steps, mindful not to trip. The conservations of the partygoers became nothing more than faint whispers, and when you glanced down you had discovered that all eyes were upon you. You were never one for attention and the sudden interest being shown to you made your stomach flip.

As soon as you reached the floor, men flocked to you, asking you to dance, but you dismissed them by saying later, when in reality you were already going to be gone. You slipped through the crowd and found a waiter. Instead of wearing black, they wore all white, including a white face mask. The anxiety you felt about wearing a mask to the ball lessened. You took a flute of champagne and began taking small sips, enjoying the way the bubbles tickled your throat.

You moved through the shadows, trying your best to avoid your step family and King Cromeans’ eyes. The orchestra began playing another song and you disappeared onto the balcony. No one was there and you released a sigh.

With no one there, you closed your eyes and swayed to the music. The evening air felt nice against your skin and you decided to dance. The glass slippers you wore were weightless and they easily carried your feet to beat. You spun and you spun, with no care in the world and when the music stopped, so did you. Your eyes cracked open and you laughed at yourself.

Clap! Clap!

You jumped in fright and spun back around. In the shadows of the balcony stood a dark figure, and placed a hand over your racing heart. The figure stepped out of the darkness and your breath caught when you found yourself staring up at an impossibly tall man. His outfit was black, aside from the red and white accents, and he wore a full face mask. It was white in color, but it wasn't a pristine shade, more of an ashen one, and the mask was decorated to look like a skull whose bone had been shattered in a certain places.

As the man stepped closer, you couldn’t help but marvel at his height. For some strange reason, the man from the marketplace came to mind. You weren’t given a chance to dwell on it too long, seeing how the masked man gently grabbed a hold of your hand, pulling you towards the center of the balcony.

“What are you--”

He placed a gloved hand on your lips, silencing you, then he moved that hand down until it rested comfortably around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His left hand met your right one and he began leading you in a simple waltz.

Your eyes widened and you tried to pull away from him. “I haven’t danced in years. I won’t be any good at it.”

The masked man came to a stop, and he looked at you through the black lenses of his mask.There was a pregnant pause, then he began leading you in the dance again, this time a tad bit slower.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” You mumbled, missing the shake of his shoulders as the man silently chuckled.

The dance was awaked at first, seeing how you accidentally stepped on his foot not once, but twice. Each time, he just shrugged his shoulders and kept leading you in the dance, as if nothing happened. Halfway through the song you began to relax and you leaned forward, resting your head against the man’s broad chest. He hummed and wrapped his arms around you, and you melted in his touch.

There was something about this man that called to you, and found yourself unable to resist his sweet lull. You took in a deep breath and buzzed in delight when his warm and musky scent filled your lungs. It smelled nice, and somewhat familiar. You wracked your brain, trying to figure out if you knew this man or not, and when the song ended you had came to the conclusion that you had indeed met him.

“You're the man from the marketplace, aren’t you?” you asked, slowly reaching up for his mask.

The man nodded and you tentatively traced your fingers against the raised edges of the skull like mask. Nothing was said as you removed it and you carefully set it down on the ledge of the balcony. You observed his scarred face and with the same hand that had removed the mask, you began to lightly caress the raised skin. Your hand continued to move up and you allowed the tips of your fingers to brush against the edge of the eyepatch. It was soft and seemed to have been made of imported velvet.

You suddenly froze when the man raised his hand, and you bit down on your bottom lip when the leather of his glove touched your cheek. With a gentles that you hadn't expected the man to possess, he slipped your mask off, settling it beside his.

You weren't sure who moved first, but it didn’t really matter. But what did matter was the way his lips felt against yours. They weren’t rough, like you had initially thought, instead, they were soft and hot, almost feverishly so.

Impulsivity wasn’t something you were used to, seeing how your impulsion made it near impossible for you to control you sick and twisted sadistic side. But on your way to the ball you had come to a decision: you were going to kill your horrid stepfamily. You knew that your murderous actions were going to have consequences, and you had made peace with that; you were either going to spend the rest of your life in jail, or you were going to be executed. Either way, those two options were better than living the rest of you life with the poor excuse you called family. And quite frankly, if you were going be put to death for a triple homicide, you didn’t want to die a virgin.

You threw your arms around the man’s neck and deepened the kiss, greedily sucking on the man’s tongue, savoring his mind numbing taste. The man’s hands latched onto your body, and lust guided the two of you into a intricate dance. Your back suddenly met something hard, but before you could think too much on it, the hardness gave away to open air.

The mysterious man led you expertly through the darkness, and the music of the party began to fade until it became nothing more than a faint hum. He pulled back and you gasped when his scarred lips touched the curve of your neck. The necklaces that decorated your neck were pulled, breaking the delicate golden links, and they crumbled to the damp floor. The second your neck was free, he ran his tongue against the sensitive skin, nipping and sucking the tender flesh.

Delirious hums left your mouth and the man groaned. Your sounds of pleasure echoed all around you and you nearly fell back when the wall behind you gave way. The man steadied you and you quickly took in your new surroundings. The room was dark, primarily black in color, and there was a large, circular bed placed in the center of the room. Silver sheets decorated the bed and they glowed almost white when the moon’s light hit them. Directly behind the bed was a large window, one that spanned the entirety of the tall wall, and thick, velvet curtains of red were pulled back.

Your observations were cut short when your partner dragged you to the bed. When it was within reach, he tossed you onto it. The mattress was soft yet firm, and it contoured perfectly around your body. Without a second thought, you kicked your heels off and made yourself comfortable.

The man wasted no time in joining you, and you roughly grabbed his head, dragging him back down to you. While you kissed, his hands became knotted in your hair and roughly pulled out the comb that kept your hair up. The hair fell onto your shoulders and you could feel the soft hairs tickle your face.

When you pulled back, you collapsed onto the bed and gasped for air. Your lips were swollen and your body felt warm, much too warm for you liking, and the dress was beginning to feel too tight. The man hovering above you began looking for the laces that kept your dress up, but he was frustrated to find none. It seemed that the kind fairy had forgotten something important when they made your dress.

Growing irritated, the man removed a sharp knife from his pant’s pocket and gently placed it on your exposed cleavage. You should have been scared, seeing how you were in a darkroom with a strange man, with a knife pressed to your skin, but you weren’t. It only excited you more. There was something dark, dangerous and powerful about this man, and his entire being seemed to call out to you, even to the demoness that you tried so hard to hide.

Without any warning, the man trailed the knife down, only to slice through your dress. You shuddered when he viciously pulled the sparkling silk away from your body. Your breasts were bare and he growled when he saw the white, glistening panties that you wore. They too had been a product of the fairy’s magic.

The man removed his gloves and you gasped when his hot fingers touched your cool skin. Goosebumps followed in their wake and bucked your hips when his hand took a hold of your breast. The skin of his palm was thick, almost calloused, but they were surprisingly soft.

The heat between your legs were becoming unbearable. “Please,” you cried. “I need more.”

A wicked smirk appeared on the man’s face and you whimpered when the man climbed off the bed. You were about to protest but stopped when you saw him beginning to undress. His chest was thick with muscles and placed directly over his sternum was a tattoo; the black ink bleed softly into the surrounding tissue and your eyes followed the skull and twin knife design. You had never seen a tattoo before and wanted so badly to touch it.

The sound of fabric rustling caught your attention and you glanced down. He was slowly working his pants off and you felt the oxygen leave your lips. Sharp lines clung close to his delicious abs and they disappeared behind the fabric of his pants. You mouth fell open and you shamelessly watched as the man removed his pants and underwear in one swift motion. His cock bounced against his muscled stomach and his balls were taut. You had seen pictures of what hid beneath the pants of men in books, but never in person. The real life thing was so much better.

The man moved his hands and you followed them. “Like what you see?” he signed.

“It’s beautiful,” you replied, eyeing it hungrily.

A silent laugh left the man and you laid back on the bed. “I need you,” you whimpered, fruitlessly rubbing your thighs together.

He sauntered back towards the bed and stared down at you. You held out your arms and arched your back. “Please?” you begged once more.

The man pounced on you and his large hands easily tore through your panties. His thick fingers teased your slick folds and you gasped when he pushed a finger inside. He pumped it in and out of you a few times. The immediate discomfort you felt melted away and you moaned as an unfamiliar pleasure began to form. The man suddenly stopped his ministrations and you whimpered.

“You’re a virgin.” He signed, looking down at you with a smirk.

You nodded. The light behind his eye darkened and you were surprised when the man easily slid between your legs and removed his hand from your needy core. He rubbed the bulbous tip of his cock against your entrance and you threw your head back. Everything felt so wonderful, but you needed more.

The man grabbed a hold of your chin and forced you to look at him. “What do you want, little girl?” he asked.

“I want you inside me.” You confessed, pulling him for another kiss.

Not a second later, the man pushed into you. The pain was immediate and you screamed, but he greedily swallowed it. Your walls pulsed around him and pulled him deeper, and he lowered himself so that his weight rested on you.

You wrapped your arms around him and while you kissed, he wiped the tears from your cheeks. As soon as the pain came, it disappeared, and you carefully moved your hips in an experimenting way. The man inside you groaned and he slowly pulled out, only to slam back inside of you. Every thrust made your body shake and the mind numbing pleasure increase.

You didn’t care that you didn’t know this man’s name. You didn’t care that your actions could have consequences. Right now, you were free, and you were experiencing something that you had only read about in books. Never in your life did you think that you would experience the pleasure of connecting with someone so intimately, and you selfishly wished that you and this man could spend the rest of your lives giving yourselves to one another, but you knew that that would never happen.

Every nerve in your body vibrated and you felt yourself drowning in the ecstasy that this man was bathing you in. You back arched and you cried as the pleasure became too much. Every muscle in your body convulsed and your vision went white. Your toes dug into the satin sheets and tears wiggled their way out of your sealed eyes.

The man continued to fuck you, only to stop after a particularly deep thrust. Something warm filled you and you sighed in contentment. When you opened your eyes, you found the man staring down at you with a mangled look of possessiveness and pride.

Something warm and heavy was wrapped around you, trapping you, and you slowly opened your eyes. The first rays of light flittered into the room, giving everything a golden glow. Your head was resting on the man’s naked chest and you could hear the faint beating of his heart. You were half tempted to fall back to sleep, but that idea went out the window when you remembered that you still had a family to murder. You could sleep after killing them.

You glanced up at the man’s slumbering face and felt your body grow warm once more. The two of you had spent the entirety of the night worshiping one another’s bodies and allowing yourselves to travel to the gates of Nirvana over and over again. Your entire body ached, but you loved it. The sun continued to rise and you carefully placed a kiss on the man’s face, mindful not to wake him.

You slowly and gingerly removed the man’s hands from your bruised body, and you slunk off the bed, hissing when your feet touched the cold ground. Your legs shook and the juncture between your legs ached. Dried blood and semen painted the insides of your thighs and you smelled of sex and sweat. You could also make out the faint notes of the man’s cologne.

You searched for the ripped dress and huffed when you couldn’t find it. You had forgotten that the fairy’s magic expired at the stroke of midnight. Unbeknownst to you, the man had woken and was watching you in amusement.

With nothing to wear, you decided to slip the man’s shirt on. The fabric was soft in your hands and as you were about to put it on when something warm touched your back, more specifically, your scars. You were about to say something when the man’s hot lips placed gently kisses on the raised skin.

The man carefully spun you around and looked at you with a burning gaze. “Where did you get those scars?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you replied, looking down.

The doors to the room were suddenly thrown open and a blanket wrapped around you. Numerous footsteps came to a halt, and a deep voice filled the room. “There you are, Your Majesty.”

‘Your Majesty’? Your head snapped up and you stared at the man.

He wore a large smile and you felt the blood drain from your face. The man took another step towards you and he wrapped his arms around your blanket clad figure, pulling you into his chest. Realization dawned upon you and you burrowed your face into his chest. You had spent the night with the king, and the king had taken your virginity. Not only that, but you had pushed him onto the bed, only to bounce up and down his cock like your life depended on it.

Oh, God, could this get any worse?

You could feel King Cromeans move his hand and you figured that he was signing to the people who had rudely barged into the room. A few minutes later, you could hear the people leave and as soon as the door closed, the king sat back down on the bed, leaving you standing. Without a second thought, you fell to your knees and looked down.

“Please forgive me for my ignorance, My King. Had I had known that it was you, I wouldn’t have—”

King Cromeans gently grabbed a hold of your face and forced you to look up. He wore an amused smile. “—ridden my cock like some sex starved whore?” he teased.

Shame washed over you and you nodded. The king silently laughed and gently pushed the hair out of your face. “Now, little girl, I want you to tell me where you got those scars and where you were trying to sneak off to this morning.”

Soft music filled the tea room and you ran your finger along the brim of your teacup. The crown atop your head felt heavy and you carefully removed it. The metal was silver in color and the large diamonds that lined it had been expertly carved into skulls. When you had woken in the morning, you were simply Cinderella, but after telling the king your story, and telling him of the plan to kill your family, you had been proposed to. And within two hours, you had been married. You were now Queen Cinderella Cromeans, prized jewel of King Jesse Cromeans. It was now noon, so you had been married for roughly two hours, and the reality of your new life had yet to set in.

A knock sounded at the door and the harpist stopped playing. You quickly put the crown back on and smoothed your hair down. A few seconds later, the door opened and your lady in waiting, Spann, entered the room with your stepfamily in tow. Their eyes widened when they saw you sitting at the table, crown atop your head and black dress hugging your figure.

Spann curtsied before you and watched as your stepmother and stepsisters followed her lead. No one aside from the people within the castle knew of the king’s hurried wedding, so it didn’t come as a surprise that your family looked surprised. Of course, the surprise was even greater for them, for their detested Cinderella was now the queen of the great kingdom.

You smiled sweetly at your family and motioned for them to stand up. “Please join me for tea. There are a few things I would like to discuss with you.”

Tisbe was the first to sit and Clorinda was the second. Rodmilla stared down at you in defiance and you lifted your teacup. “Sit down, stepmother.” You ordered, voice dripping with authority.

You watched as she took her seat and you held out cup, signaling the waiters to approach. They filled the table with an assortment of treats and they filled your cups; you cup consisted of rose and blackberry tea, whereas the tea your stepfamily had been served was something of your own creation: deadly nightshade berries and crushed leaves, with a dash of lemon peel for taste.

Spann turned to leave the room and you called out to her. “Please join us, Spann.”

Her dark eyes widened and she simply nodded her head. Another chair was prepared for her and she too was given a cup filled with deadly nightshade.

You raised your teacup and smiled. “Cheers to new beginnings.”

Your family and Spann raised their glasses and you watched as they began to drink their tea. You hid your smile with your fan and motioned for the servers to refill their cups. It was only a matter of time before death would claim them and you wanted to have some wicked fun with them before they succumbed to the poison.

“My husband is rather upset with you.” You said, breaking the silence.

Everyone stilled and Rodmilla lowered her teacup. You were half tempted to order her to drink, but she was already on her third cup and her skin had paled considerably since she had arrived at the palace.

“Why would the king be upset?” she asked.

You stirred a spoonful of honey into your tea and hummed. “Because you and your daughters left scars on the Queen.”

Clorinda choked on her tea and she wiped her mouth with the corner of her napkin. Rodmilla merely shrugged her shoulder and wiped the sweat from her brow. “Your behavior and attitude needed correcting.”

You laughed at her response and snapped the fan shut. “My husband seems to have no problem with it. In fact, he’s rather encouraging.”

Your stepmother was about to respond when Tisbe began shouting. “Get away!” She abruptly stood up but fell to her knees. It seemed the poison was taking effect. Clorinda slumped forward and her face cracked the teacup, spilling the toxic tea everywhere. Rodmilla began to shake and her lips began to turn a dazzling shade of blue.

You then turned your burning gaze to your husband’s previous mistress, and you smiled. Like your stepmother, her skin was turning blue and she was starting to fall unconscious. You hadn’t been surprised when Preston told you of the relationship that Spann had previously shared with your husband. All it took was one look at the dark eyed woman to know that she still lusted for your husband. In a way, she reminded you of you, seeing how she too was attracted to power and all things dark, but there was one major difference between you two: you were willing to kill, whereas she wasn’t.

You waited patiently and a little after an hour had passed, Rodmilla finally died, joining her precious daughters and your husband’s ex-mistress. You slowly stood up from the table and ringed the bell. Immediately, servants entered the room and they began cleaning the mess. While they did that, King Cromeans stalked into the room and inspected the work you had done. His eye landed on Spann’s body and you walked up to him, placing one hand on his cheek and the other on his chest.

“I don’t share, My King.”

Jesse looked down at you smiled. You were perfect; beautiful, kind, a succubus in the bed, and surprisingly sadistic. You were his equal in every way, right down the blood thirsty monster inside.

“Neither do I, My Queen.” He signed, bending down and claiming your lips in a searing kiss. And thus you lived happily ever after.

#jesse cromeans x reader #jesse cromeans x you #jesse cromeans #slasher x reader #slasher x y/n #slasher x fairytale au

156 notes · View notes

lilacmoon83 · 4 years ago

Text

Lightning in a Bottle

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 30: Crosswinds, Pt 2

Aurora felt the phone buzz in her sock, as she stood out on the deck outside the beach house. She looked around and then pulled it out, reading the text.

"Need to hear from you or the deal is off," she read. It was from her military contact and she looked around nervously. She didn't want to work for them...but if she didn't, then it was quite possible that she would go to jail and never see her son again. For the moment though, she ignored the text and shoved the phone back in her sock, before going back inside. More passengers had arrived by then...including David Nolan and his wife. It was curious. Margaret Nolan was the only non-passenger that seemed clued in on everything and showed up wherever David went. Aurora counted eighteen other passengers arriving, nineteen if one were to include Margaret Nolan, who wasn't on the plane. But she kept coming back to how odd that was. While it was reasonable that some other spouses might know a bit about what was going on with them, those on the plane seemed to keep their loved ones out of this or at arm's length. But David chose to bring her into everything and even hearing Margaret speak, if one didn't know, they might think she was on the plane too. She was as heavily immersed in all of it, as much as her husband and she debated on whether or not to reveal that to her blackmailer.

She knew they would find it interesting, but she liked them. They seemed so close and so in love in a way she had never seen before. She shook her head. Nothing could get in her way of getting her son back.

"Thank you all for coming…" Fiona said, greeting them.

"And why exactly are we here?" Captain Liam Jones asked.

"Yeah...and she's not a passenger, so what's she doing here?" Leroy Miner slurred.

"Are you drunk?" David asked.

"What's it to you, handsome? Why don't you answer my question," Leroy replied.

"She's here, because she's my wife and I want her here," David replied sternly.

"Yeah...so back off and I hope you didn't drive here," Emma said, giving him a warning. He glared at her, as he saw the badge on her hip.

"Relax…I took a cab here, blondie," he said, in a surly tone.

"Okay…I know tensions are high, but we brought you together today to assess our situation," Glinda said.

"Why us?" Bethany asked.

"As you know, the Nolans were integral in helping rescue these passengers from a military black site operation. They were experimented on and with the exception of a couple, most remain unresponsive," Glinda said.

"We also know that when the plane exploded, these ten passengers had the same urge to go to it that we did. They just weren't allowed to come to the hanger since they were in captivity," Regina added.

"We think it's important that we all share our experiences since we know that we are definitely their focal group," she said, as she looked at the Nolans.

"You weren't there...so why are you involved?" Liam asked suspiciously.

"It...it is a derivative of my research that they were using to experiment with the Callings. Against my knowledge," Glinda responded.

"So you say," Liam murmured to himself.

"Well...if we're talking about experiences, then let's talk about the believers. They were waiting outside the courthouse when I made bail, fawning and trying to follow me. It's creepy," Bethany complained.

"I agree...these believers are always standing around the street. Before the plane, I was an entrepreneur and then I came back to nothing. No one will take me seriously now in the business world. It seems these believers are the only ones that don't hate us," Baron Samdi said.

"Well...there's a reporter after you two. Anyone else have the press following them?" Emma asked.

"Oh no...that's just golden boy and his pretty little wifey here that wasn't even on the plane," Leroy replied.

"Excuse me? You think we like being followed around by reporters?" David asked.

"You certainly seem to be in the thick of all of this," Leroy replied.

"My husband is the reason the passengers that were held captive are alive!" Margaret exclaimed.

"She's right," Regina agreed.

"Squabbling is not going to get us anywhere. I want this house to be a sanctuary for all passengers. I have it available until spring. Hopefully, we can help the passengers that were experimented on by then, but I think it's important that we stick together, especially with all the attention on us," Glinda reasoned. Liam looked at David and gave him a head nod, motioning him outside, as they mostly dispersed. David took her hand and followed him out onto the deck.

"Captain…" David said. Liam briefly gave Margaret a look, wondering if he could really talk with her there, but then decided that her husband would tell her whatever he said anyway.

"I don't think we can trust this woman," he said. They exchanged a glance.

"I'll admit, we had our reservations at first, but she's helped us every step of the way," David replied. Margaret nodded.

"He's right...believe me, I thought the same as you at first. But she has helped. She was there with us at the rescue," she said.

"Her research is the reason those passengers are vegetables!" he pointed out.

"This whole thing could just be another extension of the experiment and we're all her lab rats," he added.

"I get your caginess, but I truly don't think she has malicious intent," David said, but Liam didn't look like he believed it.

"You don't understand...you don't have people blaming you for the flight," Liam said.

"The government is all over this and this stuff in the wrong hands…" he said, as he trailed off.

"What stuff?" David asked, but Liam sidestepped him again.

"We can't trust that woman and this whole thing was a waste of time," he hissed, as he stormed off for his car to leave. David and Margaret exchanged another glance, before turning to find Aurora Rose there.

"I...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop. But he seemed to be getting really agitated there," she mentioned. David let that slide for the moment and decided to ask her some questions.

"When you were held captive...did you ever hear them talk about someone called the Major?" he asked. She thought for a moment.

"I overheard a conversation that Jenkins was having on speakerphone with someone he called Major and he acted like he was afraid of her; like she was really powerful or something. She said that money was no object, because the Holy Grail was priceless," she said, with a shrug.

"I remember that, because it was a weird thing to say. I don't know what the Holy Grail is...but she wants it badly," she added. David's eyes widened and he looked at his wife.

"The Major is a woman...you're sure?" he asked. Aurora nodded and she was surprised when Margaret took her hands.

"Thank you so much...that's very helpful," she said.

"She's right...we really appreciate your help," David replied. Aurora smiled, a real smile, like she hadn't in a long time. She didn't remember the last time that someone had been kind to her or appreciated her. It felt nice. She watched them go and felt the phone buzz in her sock. She took it out and glared at it, before tossing it into the ocean.

~*~

Emma got to the station and dropped Paul's file onto her desk. She looked up and noticed that Killian was walking in the door, which was heralded by clapping. He looked a bit shy at the attention and she smiled, as she gave him a hug.

"Welcome back," she said.

"Thanks," he replied.

"I'm surprised to see you. You know you could have milked this for a few more sick days," she teased.

"I know...but I actually wanted to talk to you," he replied.

"Oh...we'll have to talk later. I'm trying to find a woman. She's the wife of a passenger that didn't show up at the hanger when we got back," she said.

"And before you ask...yes, the Captain signed off on the investigation," she added. He smiled.

"So fill me in," he requested. She hesitated though. She knew they needed to put some distance between them. He was married...and she couldn't have him. But...as usual when it came to him, she caved.

"Her name is Helen Santino. He was an attorney before the plane...and apparently a good one. We're talking serious money. When he disappeared, it looks like she lost everything. Last known address is some crappy apartment in Astoria," she replied.

"Social media?" he asked.

"Yeah...that's the weird part. There's nothing...she's about our age, so it's strange that she doesn't have anything," Emma replied.

"Maybe she wiped it," he suggested.

"You think?" Emma asked. He shrugged.

"If Clorinda Taylor's reaction to her sister Tisbe coming back is anything to go by...then we know some people didn't react well to the plane coming back," he replied. She nodded.

"Everything before that suggests they were happy...so why didn't she show up at the airport?" Emma wondered.

"Maybe there is someone else," he replied, as their eyes met.

"Uh yeah...anyway, I think I'll go check out her place in Astoria," Emma said.

"I'd love to tag along," Killian replied. She was about to protest, but he was really good at this kind of stuff, so she relented and allowed him to follow her to her car.

~*~

David drove them home and out of curiosity, they started listening to Aaron Glover's 828 gate podcast on the way

During the 5 1/2 years that the plane was missing, the flight path, weather patterns, and telemetry have been exhaustively studied. The NTSB took eighteen months and it's full of holes. But I'm not giving up. I'll find the truth.

As they arrived home, David shut it off and they looked at each other.

"Well...he's definitely better than creepy Sidney Glass," Margaret mentioned.

"Yeah...but I'm still not sure we should trust him," David replied.

"There's only about a minute left in this one. Let's finish it," she suggested, as he turned it back on.

"That's about all for this episode, but don't miss next week's installment when we discuss the mysterious Major involved in all this and her quest for the Holy Grail," he said. Their eyes widened and they looked at each other in shock.

"The Holy Grail…" Margaret said.

"Just like Aurora talked about," he replied.

"I guess we need to talk to him, after all," Margaret said, as they got out and headed into the house.

"Hey Dad...can we shoot some hoops?" Henry asked. David smiled and took the ball from him. They would call Mr. Glover later. It had been a long time since Henry felt well enough to play basketball.

"Sure buddy...that sounds great," David said. Margaret watched him go and saw Olive on the couch with her math book.

"How was your day, honey?" she asked.

"Pretty boring...how about you and Dad? Did you find Johanna?" Olive asked. Margaret sighed.

"We did and she was happy to see us at first, until she realized we were there to talk about my mother's death," Margaret said.

"What happened?" Olive asked.

"She told me to leave it alone, stay away from Cora Mills, and then she practically kicked us out of her house," Margaret replied.

"Well, that's majorly weird and suspicious," Olive said.

"It was...and I didn't get a chance to ask Regina to pull my mother's medical files," Margaret replied.

"Well, until you do...we could poke around the Internet for more information," Olive suggested.

"Okay...let's see what we can find. You drive, Internet wiz," Margaret said, as she sat beside her daughter and they began looking.

~*~

A few hours later.

After helping her Mom do some research, Olive left the house with her gear and arrived at the rock climbing studio.

Lance unpacked the gear back in the box of his truck, as Olive approached and he smiled when seeing her.

"Hey Olive," he greeted.

"Hi Lance...thanks for meeting me. I know this is still kind of weird," Olive replied.

"It's not...just so long as your parents know," he reminded her. She nodded.

"They do...and they're fine with me continuing to do rock climbing," she said.

"That's great...so how are they?" he asked. He said they, but Olive knew he meant her mother. She beamed.

"They're great...I mean Mom is her old self. With Dad back, it's like the light inside her turned back on and Dad is way more patient with me than I deserve," Olive said.

"Don't say that...you're not half as bad as you make yourself out to be," he replied.

"Maybe…I think he gets that I'm not a little girl anymore, but he also still treats me like I am...but in a good way that I didn't realize that I missed," Olive confessed. Lance smiled.

"That's wonderful...and that's what a father does, no matter how old you get," he replied. She nodded, as they went inside the rock climbing place. They were unaware, however, that Sidney Glass was across the street in his car, snapping photos of them…

~*~

While shooting some hoops with Henry, David waited to hear back from the podcaster about a meeting. He hadn't agreed to anything yet, but Aaron texted back and agreed to meet for coffee. Margaret told him to go ahead and then pick up dinner on the way home, while she spent some time with Henry. He agreed and kissed her quickly, promising not to be long. He parked and arrived at the coffee shop, looking around in hopes that no one was watching him. He was a bit higher profile lately than he was comfortable with.

"Hey...thanks for meeting me," Aaron said, as he handed him a coffee.

"Thanks…" David said, as they sat at a corner table outside.

"So...you listened, I assume?" Aaron asked.

"Margaret and I listened to a few episodes," he said.

"So, you're agreeing to be interviewed?" Aaron asked.

"Not yet…" David said.

"You have to understand that the passengers...we don't know who we can trust right now. We feel like we all have a target on our backs," he added.

"I get that," Aaron replied.

"But you might be able to earn my trust," David said.

"How?" Aaron asked.

"What do you know about the Holy Grail?" he asked. Aaron looked around.

"Where did you hear that term?" he asked.

"Not important…" David evaded. Aaron sighed.

"I have a source," he said vaguely.

"Can I talk to them?" David asked. Aaron shook his head.

"I can't reveal my source or the information will dry up," Aaron refuted.

"What can you tell me then?" David asked.

"Right after 828 returned, the Senate Intelligence Committee, House Appropriations started having secret meetings in which they earmarked millions to preserve the phantom shiner. It's a fish. Hasn't been seen since the 1940s. So why earmark funds?" Aaron asked.

"To pay for a Clandestine operation," David surmised. Aaron smiled.

"Very good, Professor," he teased.

"But all my source had was a fragment of a conversation he overheard. A senator said, 'It's the Holy Grail.' We have to be the first, or 828 blows up in our face," Aaron said.

"The Holy Grail? You think that's what the Major's looking for?" David asked.

"No, not literally. This isn't Arthurian legend. But it's something big," Aaron said.

"So...you ready to go on the record?" Aaron asked.

"Not quite," David replied.

"But you told me something...so I'll tell you something I know," he added, as Aaron listened with rapt attention.

"The Major is a woman," he revealed.

"You're sure?" Aaron asked. David nodded.

"And we know that it was a military black hawk that she came to Red Hook in, but we'd need someone in intel to trace it further," Aaron said. David thought back to Agent King and though he knew that he blamed him for Vance's death...he could tell that he truly cared about Vance. If he could somehow convince him that it might have been this Major that was responsible for his death, then he might agree to help them.

"If I could talk to Agent King...I might be able to convince him to help. But I need access to him. Do you think your source could make that happen?" David asked.

"It's worth a shot," Aaron replied.

"Good...make it happen and we can see about that interview," David agreed, as they shook hands and parted ways.

~*~

Emma and Killian arrived at the apartment building, which was the last known address for Helen Santino. Emma knocked and when they found no answer, they turned the doorknob, finding it unlocked. Thinking that might mean foul play, they drew their weapons and slowly walked in. They searched, but found no one.

"Clear…" Killian called.

"Clear…" Emma echoed, as they met in the kitchen. They found a carton of milk that had an expiration date that was well past. There was also stuff scattered everywhere, like someone left unexpectedly.

"I do not want to know what's in that carton," Killian joked. She snorted.

"She definitely left in a hurry," Emma said, as they looked through her things.

"She either left in a hurry or was taken," Killian said, as Emma found some documents and photos.

"Yeah...can you continue searching? I'm going to take these to Paul and see if it jogs his memory at all," she said.

"Sure," he agreed, though he was clearly disappointed that she was ditching him. Perhaps it was for the best. They couldn't be together anyway, but that didn't stop him from watching her go with longing...

#Snowing #SnowxCharming #Charming family #Emma #Henry #Regina Mills #Mr. Gold #Manifest #with a Once twist #AU #Romance #adventure #family #drama #mystery #Lightning in a Bottle

2 notes · View notes