A slightly more organized page for my fics! Most of my stuff is PG13, but I do occasionally post 18+, so if you're underage, please get out. I'm not responsible if you don't heed my warning. You'll find mostly Marvel (Steve/Bucky) stuff here, but I do tend to write on other fandoms too! Hopefully you're following my main page here. If not, then please do :) My Masterlist
Summary: Bucky Barnes and Agent 24 are captured on what should have been a routine op. Instead, they find themselves at the hands of General Domashyov, a HYDRA-wanna-be with a collection of Chiutari weapons. With 24 locked in an anti-mutant collar and Bucky's Vibranium arm shackled with a super-soldier-proof cuff, can they escape?
Warnings: brief mentions of torture (not graphic), cursing, some violence, angst
Collette clutched the basket close to her chest as she hurried down the street. The fresh scent of bread wafted from the woven carrier setting her stomach off in a low grumble. She hadn’t had time to break her fast that morning and she wondered if Mr. Rye would let her swipe something for herself when she returned. Delivering the bread to the elderly was an easy trip, one she once enjoyed until the three strangers had appeared in the village. Now, everyone was on edge when they emerged from their homes. When the final loaf was delivered, she hurried back to the bakery but froze when she spotted one of the strangers outside the door.
Dark hair tied at the base of his neck, the stranger glanced up between the strands of hair that had escaped the bun. She felt his cold, steely gaze follow her as she passed, scurrying into the bakery and into the back. She found Mr. Rye kneading dough, humming to himself as he worked. “You’re back early.”
She motioned toward a roll and he nodded. “One of the strangers was outside. Why are they here?”
“Wish I knew.” He shook his head. “You be careful going out.”
“You walk me home in the evenings,” Collette replied, “I’m okay in the morning.”
“How’s your brother?” She only shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Mother says not to call the mage. That these strangers are looking for him and it’s too dangerous.” Thoughtfully, she chewed the fresh roll. “I’ll carry him to the tower myself if he could just help! Mr. Rye, I can’t lose him too.”
He moved to speak, but the quiet jingle of the bell over the door signaled a customer and she placed her roll down before grabbing her apron. As she tied the fabric across her dress, she called out: “What can I –“ It was the stranger, the White Wolf. She knew he’d been seen in different shops, but it was his lackeys that gathered most of whatever food or supplies they needed. The cloak was gone as was his armor; the only evidence of his violent nature was the sword still strapped to his waist. The cold that shot through her veins at his glance froze her in place and she swallowed hard as he twirled a dagger between his fingers. The movement seemed as natural as breathing and hypnotized her for a moment, the smooth twirl of the blade a beautiful and dangerous dance. He grinned, watching intently as her throat shifted, her chest raised as her breathing quickened.
He knew the moment she saw it, her eyes focusing on the bright silver that was his arm. Although his tunic was long-sleeved, it wasn’t easy to hide and he truly didn’t care much who saw it. “I’d like three loaves.” With a quick movement, the dagger was sheathed at his hip and he placed a few coins on the counter. She nodded mutely and gathered the requested bread, and wrapped it quickly in paper. It was placed on the counter before him, her hands fisting her apron as he winked and disappeared out into the street.
“Collette?” Mr. Rye called from the back, pulling her from her stupor. “Who was there?”
***
“A silver arm?” Jaskier asked and the woman nodded. “Geralt?”
The witcher hummed to himself before standing. “Jaskier, make sure she gets back to town safely.”
“You won’t help us?”
“I need to go to the next town,” Geralt replied. “Here, take this to your brother. It’ll break his fever.” He tossed a small bottle at her, nodding when she caught it.
“Thank you!”
He hummed. “Do not mention us, me especially. You made it back safe, you weren’t chased by a lycanthrope. Can you do that?”
“Of course,” she nodded vehemently. She handed the skin of water back to the bard who placed it back into Roach’s saddlebag. There was a hushed few words shared between the companions as Geralt mounted the horse and took off into the woods. Together, Collette and Jaskier smothered the fire, ensuring no embers were left before making their way back to the village. Thankfully, they were nearby the river so she knew almost exactly where she was.
The night was still dark when they arrived at her home, Jaskier electing to remain outside, hidden behind the small garden in the back of the house. Her mother was asleep by her brother’s bedside, and she carefully uncorked the potion and poured it into his mouth, offering a prayer to whatever deity would listen that he’d make it through the night. Now empty, she stuffed the vial into an old chest in her room. Her brother would break the fever himself, at least that’s what her mother would say. And that’s precisely happened when morning came. A tumble down the hill explained the scratches on her face and arms as well as her missing cloak and lantern. And though she desperately wanted to stay with her family, she knew that she needed to make her way to Mr. Rye’s for her daily work.
Her mind was back in the woods wondering where Jaskier was and what Geralt was doing. Did he really go to another town for supplies? Or did Jaskier deliver her back home only for them to continue on their journey? The kind yet dramatic bard helped to calm her, but the golden gaze of the witcher, the sword beside him, put her truly at ease. With her brother healed, she focused on the strangers. Collette handed another customer their bread when suddenly she remembered: the lycanthrope – he was one of the strangers. Surely they’d notice his absence by now! A cold sweat broke out across her neck and she swayed on her feet for a moment. Would they know she had something to do with it? How could they? The questions and doubts warred in her mind. No, there was no way they could know about her.
Right?
“Miss?” A voice pulled her from her stupor and she smiled, offering an apology as she continued with her work. She’d keep her head down, work, and head home. That’s all she needed to focus on. The witcher would be back. He had to.
**
The White Wolf reclined on the old chair, his boots raised on the table before him. Talia had come down from her room late, her night occupied by a young couple whose families forbade their marriage. As the couple descended the stairs, blinking back the hazy memories of the night, Talia chuckled. But Rogers hadn’t come down yet. The Wolf’s favorite blade twirled in his grip, the steady movement calming as he pondered. Rogers had slept late before, but something felt off. He’d seen him stumbling “drunk” throughout the village before he went to sleep, chuckling at his friend’s stupid pranks. He’d always enjoyed combat and what better way to draw out the guards than by acting the fool?
“What troubles you?” The Wolf stilled, the daggers sliding smoothly into its sheath.
“Have you seen Rogers?” She shook her head and he hummed.
“He likes to sleep in,” Talia replied. “I heard he had a late night.”
Neither the Wolf nor Talia seemed convinced. She rose and ascended the stairs in search of their companion. But when she came running down moments later, the Wolf knew his instincts had been right. Rogers was gone. It was late enough in the day for him to have staggered back if he’d spent the night elsewhere, so either the guards had – unlikely – subdued him, or someone had succeeded in hurting him. Talia was quick to check with the guards who, she reported, were injured but without their companion. The Wolf smelled trouble, and he didn’t like it. Schooling his features, he rose, attached his sword to his belt, and went for a walk through the village.
Something was off, he could smell it in the air, but what was it? The answer was just out of his reach, the memories too far away to remember, but he’d smelled the scent before. He didn’t like it then and certainly didn’t now. The shops were clear of the scent, and there was still no sign of Rogers. But as he passed the same woman from the bakery, his hair stood on end. It was her. She was the source of the smell. He watched her, took in the unsettling scent as she scurried away from him. She knew something.
Damn, Collette thought, that stranger, the Wolf, was outside the bakery again! It wasn’t bad enough that she had to run away from his friend, but the way he looked at her was different than the appraising glare she’d received the other day. No, this was hunger. This was suspicion. But how could he know? Just as before, she scurried away and finished her work. Mr. Rye was kind enough to take the Wolf’s order and later walk her home, even popping his head inside to give her mother and brother his best wishes on his recovery. The fever had broken and while he was still weak, there was hope. She wouldn’t lose him, not yet! They pulled their chairs beside the bed and shared a dinner of warm stew and fresh bread. It felt as if ages had passed since they could enjoy dinner together. She managed to sneak Jaskier a bowl as well, though he reclined against a tree with his own food he’d purchased earlier.
“Don’t be sorry,” he waved off her apology. “I’m waiting for Geralt and I need to work on a new song anyway. This village is quaint and I’m enjoying the quiet time while it lasts.”
But there was a pounding on her door, and she bid her mother stay with her brother as she answered. And thank the gods she did. Standing at the door was the Wolf, and she quickly pushed it shut only to be shoved back, the door bouncing against the wall. He took up nearly the whole doorway, casting his long shadow across the floor as he took in the small home. A voice like gravel, angry and wild growled: “Where is he?”
“What?” Collette stumbled to her feet, trying to block his way further into the home, but he easily pushed her away and made his own inspection. Talia appeared behind him, holding Collette in place as he tore open the doorway into the bedroom, drawing screams of surprise from her family. Rogers’ absence in the home angered him; he could smell him on the girl along with something else. This had to be the mage’s doing. Only that wretched man could manipulate someone so weak from his tower. Talia held the woman as the Wolf approached, bearing over her.
“My companion, the other man who was with me. Where. Is. He?” He’d moved too close, their noses nearly touching, but she only shook her head.
“I don’t know!” Tears welled in her eyes as she shook, but his gaze bore into her and there was fear, but not all of it was for her or her family’s lives. No, there was something else there. One large hand wrapped around the back of her neck, pulling her out of the home and onto the street, roughly dragging her toward the center of town.
She stumbled to her knees before the mage’s tower as the wolf shouted: “Mage! You think yourself so clever! What have you done with him?” Between her cries and the Wolf’s shouts, the villagers were drawn outside, children pushed back into hiding by their parents. “Come on, you coward!” He pulled her up by her arm and drew the dagger, letting the tip just barely touch against her throat. But before he could continue, a breeze caught the scent and he pushed his nose into the crook of her neck, growling when he finally recognized it.
Witcher.
“Did you call one?” The Wolf shouted, “Did you call a witcher to do your dirty work?” There was no answer yet again, so he turned to the girl, his warm breath puffing across her ear. “Hm? Did you call a witcher? Did you find one to save you?” She shook her head, crying out a no, but he only growled. “I can smell it on you. I can smell Rogers and I can smell that mutant on you. What did you do to him?” She was shaking now, her hands grasping at his arm, too terrified to speak. He sheathed his dagger and pulled her away, returning to the inn where he shoved her to the floor. Talia followed shortly after, nodding as he commanded: “Bind her.” She tried to run, but the woman had her wrists tied before she could move. The villagers shouted in protest but received no response as she was dragged back to the inn. Collette surveyed the room, her eyes meeting those of the innkeeper who could only express his sadness silently. They had cleared the room, moving the tables and chairs to create a pseudo-throne room for the Wolf who reclined as he watched the girl. She stood on shaking legs as she cried: “Please, I don’t know anything!”
With a tug, he pulled her closer and grasped her wrists until they were face to face. “I can smell him on you. A witcher. And Rogers. What. Happened. To. Him?” She choked on a sob, tears soaking her face as she shook her head. She couldn’t say, not unless she wanted to die! Still unsatisfied he released her, nodding for her to sit on the stool he used for his feet. He knew she was lying, there was no other explanation for the scents. But if she didn’t want to confess, he’d gladly wait for the mutant to find him.
She was gone in the morning, and the man stumbled out of the tavern, rubbing his forehead as what must have been a hangover pounded in his brain.
The Wolf looked on, pleased.
By the end of the week, half a dozen villagers, both men and women, filled the tavern. Talia reclined on her chair, feet propped on the back of one man who knelt on the hard, wooden floor. A woman held a goblet of wine, another beside her holding a full pitcher. They followed one evening, as she approached the tower, standing at the base, arms folded across her chest. A shadow crossed the highest window, lingering for a moment before disappearing. She raised an eyebrow in silent challenge and turned, sauntering away, leaving the group behind her. They seemed confused at first, but something changed, and they slowly turned to each other in understanding. Eyes clouded, they descended on one another, hands roaming and clothes tearing until they were naked, writhing against each other. Talia watched from down the street as she leaned against a nearby building, arms folded across her chest. It didn’t take long for the other villagers to realize what was happening, and she chuckled to herself as they continued to mindlessly writhe in pleasure despite the shouts and pulls of their loved ones.
She didn’t need to turn to know who approached from behind; his amusement fell from him in waves, satisfaction warming across her skin. “Rogers.”
“Enjoying yourself?”
A low chuckle sent goosebumps across her neck. “He’ll be happy.”
“Only if the coward shows himself.” She shrugged, feigning modesty, but she couldn’t help but be proud of the chaos she sewed. There was more crying, more shouting, and still the moans and heavy breathing continued.
“How long will you let this go on?”
She glanced back at the blonde who tilted his head as he watched the crowd only to chuckle at her shrug. “I want to see how long it will take for him to do something.”
“He’s grown softer. Innkeeper told me he heals the villagers when they’re sick.” He scoffed. “Apparently there was a bad drought a few years ago. He managed to save almost all the crops.”
“How generous of him,” Talia replied dryly. Rogers only hummed in agreement. They waited, watching in amusement as the villagers continued their pointless fight against waking those she’d charmed so thoroughly. It took nearly an hour until she noticed something move across a high window in the tower, nudging Rogers to catch his attention. The faintest shadow passed and something dropped from the window releasing a puff of blue mist as it fell. One by one, the mist covered them, slowly releasing them from their charm and the moans and sighs turning into fearful cries.
They weren’t surprised, and neither was The Wolf when they returned to the inn, reporting the mage’s reaction. He only sipped his ale, humming faintly in recognition. The mage had stopped Talia’s charm, but he knew there was more to come. Besides, The Wolf thought, he was enjoying the village thus far and wouldn’t mind spending more time there. He slowly dragged his gaze to the innkeeper who quickly ushered his daughter into the kitchen, narrowing his eyes at the intrusive stare. The Wolf only grinned. He was hungry.
The door burst open and Collette jumped up from where she knelt behind the counter in search of a dropped coin. The look on her mother’s face told her all she needed to know, and when Mr. Rye came around the corner, he nodded wordlessly for her to go. “What’s happened?”
“His fever’s returned,” her mother said, taking her hand as they rushed through the village. “He’s calling out for your father.”
“But-“
“The fever is making him delirious!” Collette reached for the door, but her mother stopped her, laying a hand on her daughter’s.
Her heart stopped. “No.”
“I’m sorry.” Collette shook her head, but her mother only pulled her closer.
“There has to be a way to save him!”
She looked up at her mother, tears filling both of their eyes. “Collette, there is nothing else we can do.”
“The mage-“
“Is preoccupied with those… people.” Mother replied. “It’s not safe!”
“The herbs then? Do you have any left?” When her mother shook her head, Collette stepped back, leaning against the door frame. “I’ll get them.”
“It’s nearly nightfall!”
“I’ll take the lantern!” She was shaking, and though she hated the hurt look her mother gave her, she pushed away her fear. “I can’t lose him too!”
**
“Come on!” Rogers shouted, his sword in one hand, a tankard of ale in the other. “Is that all you’ve got?” His armor had long before been shed at the inn and he staggered across the dirt road, calling out insults as the village guard followed him.
“Please, sir,” one called, “please, go back to your room!”
Rogers pointed his sword at the boy, barely sixteen, as he chugged the last of the ale and tossed the tankard at him. His grip was loose, his legs wobbly, but the striking blue of his eyes were clear, taking in every detail of the guard. Two young men, barely twenty, and two older men, fifty at the youngest, flanked him on either side. He’d allowed them to think they had the upper hand, especially after his performance at the inn. He’d nearly drank an entire cask on his own, though it barely had any effect on him these days. But the village guard didn’t need to know that.
Their ignorance made it all the more fun.
“Please go back to your room!” Rogers taunted, his voice a shrill falsetto. “I’ll go where I damn well please!”
The guard flinched back at his retort, their swords raised, ready to defend. It was admirable, Rogers thought, but they’d never stand a chance. The rustle of chains caught his attention, and he wondered which of the men behind him held the irons that they’d try – and fail – to lock him in. It didn’t matter, he’d escape regardless.
But first, more fun.
He swung his sword at nothing in particular, releasing a loud growl before staggering down the street, grinning to himself as the guards ushered the late-night wanderers back into their homes. He planned on wandering about the village to see just how far the guards would go to restrain him, but an unfamiliar scent caught his attention as he turned down another street.
Fear.
Though it wasn’t fear of him. A lantern glowed lowly as a villager stepped outside, their cloak pulled up over their head. Neither the guards nor the villager noticed each other at first, but Rogers enjoyed their ignorance and stumbled closer, curious about the foolishly brave person who came out so late. The younger guard, one closest to the villager, rushed over, his hands grasping their shoulders.
“Miss Collette, please,” he said, pulling her back toward her home. “Please, you must go back inside. It’s not safe.”
The woman, whose face he could now clearly see, only shook her head. “I cannot. The fever is getting worse!”
“Please-“
Rogers let out a long whistle, twirling his sword as he made his way closer, but the guard approached, blocking his path to the woman who took off behind the house and into the woods. Collette could feel his stare bore through her, but she refused to look back; she hoped the guards could subdue the drunk man soon. Rogers grinned, the sharp glint of his fangs illuminated in the dim torch light. Oh, her fear smelled so sweet. Perhaps, he thought, he would go for a hunt tonight.
“Sir, please return to the inn!” One of the older guards called, and Rogers turned quicker than they’d anticipated, freezing the in their steps.
“No, I don’t think I will.”
Collette shuddered at the feel of his gaze; she didn’t need to turn back to know he was watching her. Who were these people? And why did they harass their village? It didn’t matter, not at that moment. No, she needed the herbs. Her mother had used the last of them shortly after she returned home from the bakery, allowing her to speak to her brother for a short while. The herbs gave him a chance to break the fever, and though it was a small chance, she had to take it. She could not bear to lose another to the same fever.
The forest, of course, was dark though slits of moonlight pierced through the treetops. The herbs grew an hour’s trek from her home and though she knew the way, she held tightly to her lantern. The forest was dangerous at night, and the stranger’s stare still caused her unease. Nevertheless, she continued on. So deep in thought, she didn’t notice how silent the forest had grown, the crickets and owls ceasing their calls until all she could hear was her own heartbeat.
A low growl caught her attention and she turned, coming face to face with the drunk man from the village. “Lost, little one?” She staggered back, stunned. How did he find her? How did she not hear him coming? “The woods are dangerous at night.” His lips pulled back in a sharp grin, elongated canines sending a shock of fear down her spine.
“Go- go away!” She shouted, her voice breaking, but he only laughed.
One huge hand grasped the collar of her cloak and pulled her close, the lantern falling from her grasp. “Are you afraid, little one?”
“I – I…”
“I want you to do something for me. Do you think you can?” He asked, prompting her to nod. “Good girl. I want you to run.”
He released her and she stumbled back. “What?”
His grin grew impossibly wider as he leaned in, his hot breath tickling her ear. “Run.”
No sooner had he said the word, she was running down the familiar path, her now torn cloak falling to the ground behind her. She knew the way to the herbs, but there was no telling if she’d make it there, let alone back home.
She had to try.
The forest was silent save for the pounding of her feet on the hard earth, breaking the fallen twigs along the well-worn path. Would he follow it? Would she even be able to make her way silently through the forest if she abandoned the familiar way? Somewhere behind her, somewhere too close, a branch snapped. Could she hide? Collette veered off the path and into the trees, flinching as an errant branch caught her cheek, another her arm. She could hear the river now, and knew she was close to the herbs. If she could get across the river, perhaps she could hide in the forest there; it was more rocky and filled with better hiding spots she knew from her childhood games.
The burning in her lungs forced her to stop, leaning against a large tree to catch her breath. Her heart beat in her ears and she doubled over gasping for breath. But her rest was short lived. “I know you’re here.” He called out, “I can smell your fear, little one.” A branch crunched to her left, so she turned to the right and ran straight into a solid mass. She couldn’t hold back the scream as Rogers grasped her arm, keeping her upright. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, little one.” He was all condescension and she took off in the opposite direction. Now, it didn’t matter where she ran as long as she could get away.
Behind her, a long howl echoed through the forest.
**
The swordsman sighed, pushing the hair from his face, earning an eye-roll from the young man. “Of course we’ll help you.” The young man replied, ignoring the glare from the swordsman. “I’m Jaskier. This is Geralt of Rivia, the only White Wolf.”
“Collette,” She replied. “Thank you. I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t found you.”
“We’re always glad to help a damsel in need.” Jaskier replied with a small, yet dramatic bow which Collette found foolish, though in a strangely charming way.
“These are Ly- what?” She asked and Geralt nodded.
“Lycanthropes.” He replied. “Humans who can turn into a wolf. You said they attacked the village?” Collette nodded. “Tell me what happened.”
“That man, the White Wolf, showed up with two others demanding to speak to our mage.” Collette began.
“There’s a woman and two men, though I’ve heard of another man who stays hidden.” Collette took a drink, though she didn’t return the skin. “She made people do things in the middle of the market. They’re trying to get to our mage, though I don’t know why. The other man, the one who was the lycanthrope, he was wandering the village, just taunting our guard. He followed me-“
Jaskier rubbed her back, glancing at Geralt who stared into the fire, his mind far away. “You’re safe now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
“And the other man? Who is he?”
“He calls himself The White Wolf.” Geralt scoffed and Jaskier gasped, his hand pressed over his chest in outrage.
“The White Wolf?” he asked and she nodded. “No, no, no, there is only one White Wolf and he is sitting before you!”
“Now is not the time, bard,” Geralt spat. “What does he look like?”
Silver & Steel: Summary: He calls himself the White Wolf. Three deadly strangers, have taken over the inn at a small village, demanding to see their reclusive mage. Hellbent on revenge, they use the villagers to force the mage to come out, but will he? Or will he stay in his tower and leave the villagers to the strangers? Collette finds herself running from the blonde stranger, his howls following her through the woods until she stumbles into a small camp where a white-haired witcher and his loquacious and dramatic companion rest. Will he listen to her pleas to save her village from the silver-armed invader and his companions? Or will they perish at the cost of their revenge?
Warnings: Sword fighting/combat violence, injuries, angst, swearing (come on, it's Geralt), the avengers aren't the good guys, sorry! A very brief insinuation of mind-controlled sexual contact (no descriptions), shape shifting, succubus, some badass fight scenes
Here’s hoping this masterlist is actually functional!!!
Series:
Please do not post this work on any platform without my permission or falsely post without crediting me. The only characters I own are the ones I’ve made up!
Stuck in the Middle: Sarah is a scholarship recipient working at Stark Industries. Her job? To break the super-serum! But when she falls, literally, into the arms of those super soldiers, will she lose their trust when her work is stolen?
At this point, it’s PG (some swearing), smut to follow, but mostly fluff and some angst BuckyxOFCxSteve, BuckyxSteve, OFC, OFC!scientist, poly relationship
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Fangs and Roses: People are going missing in a small town off exit 17. The Winchester brothers catch wind of these disappearances and find themselves neck-deep in a blood-sucking situation they’ve never encountered before. And when Rose, the owner of a roadside bar Dean took a liking to, gets involved, they find an extra pair of hands can be helpful.
This fic is rated PG13 for the majority of the series. Any additional ratings will be listed at the beginning of each chapter. Same for content warnings!
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L'Incendie de Mon Coeur (Fire of my Heart): After the Opera Populaire’s fire, only ruins remain. Madeleine is one of the surviving ballerinas. When she is thrown into the operahouse with her life at stake, she meets the infamous, Monsieur le Phantom, the unexpected hero.
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Silver & Steel: Summary: He calls himself the White Wolf. Three deadly strangers, have taken over the inn at a small village, demanding to see their reclusive mage. Hellbent on revenge, they use the villagers to force the mage to come out, but will he? Or will he stay in his tower and leave the villagers to the strangers? Collette finds herself running from the blonde stranger, his howls following her through the woods until she stumbles into a small camp where a white-haired witcher and his loquacious and dramatic companion rest. Will he listen to her pleas to save her village from the silver-armed invader and his companions? Or will they perish at the cost of their revenge?
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Oneshots:
Thicker Bikes: After helping her out with a nasty ex, Bucky invites Cara to join his crew, and later Loki for a very interesting night. 18+ This is pure smut, Biker!Bucky, Biker!Loki, MFM (AO3 link here)
The Music Box:A family heirloom, an old music box, opens the door to a life from long ago. PG, no warnings (AO3 link here)
Leather and Sunsets: I hadn’t been to a bar in a while, at least not voluntarily. Besides, I’d never had much luck finding someone there. That is- until I lock eyes with the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen. 18+, smut, Biker!OC, OFC (AO3 link here)
Good For You: Chris and Seb come home from filming and are looking forward to playing with their favorite girl. 18+, contains adult themes/smut (AO3 link here!)
Summary: He calls himself the White Wolf. Three deadly strangers, have taken over the inn at a small village, demanding to see their reclusive mage. Hellbent on revenge, they use the villagers to force the mage to come out, but will he? Or will he stay in his tower and leave the villagers to the strangers? Collette finds herself running from the blonde stranger, his howls following her through the woods until she stumbles into a small camp where a white-haired witcher and his loquacious and dramatic companion rest. Will he listen to her pleas to save her village from the silver-armed invader and his companions? Or will they perish at the cost of their revenge?
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Chapter 1:
The forest was silent save for the pounding of her feet on the hard earth, breaking the fallen twigs along the well-worn path. Would he follow it? Would she even be able to make her way silently through the forest if she abandoned the familiar way? Somewhere behind her, somewhere too close, a branch snapped. Could she hide? Collette veered off the path and into the trees, flinching as an errant branch caught her cheek, another her arm. She could hear the river now, and knew she was close. If she could get across the river, perhaps she could hide in the forest there; it was more rocky and filled with better hiding spots she knew from her childhood games.
The burning in her lungs forced her to stop, leaning against a large tree to catch her breath. Her heart beat in her ears and she doubled over gasping for breath. But her rest was short lived. “I know you’re here.” He called out, “I can smell your fear, little one.” A branch crunched to her left, so she turned to the right and ran straight into a solid mass. She couldn’t hold back the scream as Rogers grasped her arm, keeping her upright. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, little one.” He was all condescension and she took off in the opposite direction. Now, it didn’t matter where she ran as long as she could get away.
Behind her, a long howl echoed through the forest.
She took off again, staggering and tripping, running blindly toward what she hoped was safety. Between the trees, the flicker of a campfire caught her attention and she turned, lungs burning as she neared it. There was another howl, this one closer, and she emerged into a small clearing before staggering to a sudden stop. The two figures who sat around the fire stood, one moving to demand an explanation when another howl sounded. He drew a sword and stepped around the fire, turning his gaze to the dark forest. The second man followed and ushered the girl away from the tree line.
The swordsman turned silently, eyes scanning the forest for any movement when he paused, his gaze narrowing just over her shoulder. There was a flash of movement and the swordsman pushed past and swung, his blade connecting with a wolf as it dove out of the darkness. It rolled to its feet and shook off the strike, though in the low light, its blood left a dark stain on its fair fur. It couldn’t be a real wolf; it stood nearly as tall as the swordsman, bright, blue eyes reflecting in the moonlight. Its growl echoed through the clearing as it watched the swordsman, baring its teeth. The swordsman tensed his hands on the hilt, the movement barely noticeable, but the wolf saw it and charged, forcing the swordsman back, but not for long as he swung, knocking the creature away.
The other man pulled her back, his arms holding her close as the swordsman battled. The swordsman struck one, two, three blows and the wolf staggered back, but before he could attack, the swordsman thrust his blade through the wolf’s throat. With a grunt, he pulled the sword back and the wolf fell before shuddering for a moment only for its huge body to shrink. There, on the ground, lay a man, naked and bloody and lifeless. “Fucking lycanthrope.” The swordsman grunted, wiping his brow as he surveyed the tree line once more. Satisfied with the silence, he turned back to the fire and turned to the woman expectantly. “Well?”
But she was frozen, staring at the corpse only feet away. The young man slowly turned her to face the swordsman, encouraging her to sit and drink from a bottle he offered. She sat, though she kept glancing back at the corpse. “Don’t worry. He’s dead.”
“What was that thing? Or should I say who?” The young man turned toward the swordsman, taking the bottle back to drink deeply.
“Lycanthrope.” The swordsman replied with a sneer. “Why was it chasing you?”
She shivered as he fixed his gaze on her; his bright golden eyes glowed in the firelight, as if gazing into her very soul. “I don’t know. He was part of a group that came into my village. He followed me into the forest. I don’t know why.”
“Why were you in the forest so late?”
“I needed herbs. My brother has a fever that won’t break and it’s our last hope.”
The young man spoke up. “There’s more than one?” She nodded.
“There were two others in his group. I don’t know if they’re all… like him, but something is off with them. They’ve taken over the inn and – and one of them is making people do strange things!” The young man offered her the bottle again and she accepted, wiping at her eyes.
“Making people do things?” The swordsman asked and she nodded. “What do they want?”
“They demanded to see our mage. They stand outside the tower and shout for him to come down, but he never does.” The swordsman hummed, staring into the fire as one hand rubbed the stubble that began to grow across his cheek. “I need to get back! I need to get those herbs!”
“Just wait one moment,” the younger man said, resting his hand on her arm. “Geralt? What is it?”
Geralt, the swordsman, shut his eyes, a quiet fuck leaving his lips before standing. “Describe them.”
“What?”
“Describe them. What do they look like?” She almost protested, her brother was ill! But the intensity of his gaze made her stop.
“Two men, one woman, though I’ve heard there’s a third man who stays hidden.” She said. “The man in charge, he’s got dark hair. They say he calls himself the White Wolf.” Geralt cursed again. “Why? You know them?”
“I know of them.”
“Geralt?” The young man asked, watching his companion stand. “Geralt are we helping her?”
“I don’t have much coin,” Collette offered, “But I have food, and a place to stay for as long as you like. We can mend your armor, feed your horse, whatever it is you need! If you can help, please!”
The swordsman sighed, pushing the hair from his face, earning an eye-roll from the young man. “Of course we’ll help you.” The young man replied, ignoring the glare from the swordsman. “I’m Jaskier. This is Geralt of Rivia, the only White Wolf.”
“Collette,” She replied. “Thank you. I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t found you.”
“We’re always glad to help a damsel in need.” Jaskier replied with a small, yet dramatic bow which Collette found foolish, though in a strangely charming way.
“These are Ly- what?” She asked and Geralt nodded.
“Lycanthropes.” He replied. “Humans who can turn into a wolf. You said they attacked the village?” Collette nodded. “Tell me what happened.”
“That man, the White Wolf, showed up with two others demanding to speak to our mage.” Collette began.
***
There was a chill in the air that morning and Collette pulled her wrap closer around her shoulders as she hurried through the village. She was late, but her brother had been sick for most of the night and she knew Mr. Rye would understand. But as she hurried into the bakery, a hush fell over the room. What normally was a bustling shop froze and Collette turned, watching as three figures appeared in the street, two men and one woman. The man in the middle seemed to be in charge, as he stood slightly ahead of the others. A sword hung at his side, the hilt peeking out from beneath a long, black cloak. Thick, leather armor covered his chest. His dark brown hair was half-tied back with a leather strap which only highlighted his high cheekbones and defined jaw. His gait alone demanded respect, if not submission. He was clearly a warrior, one men would fear to face on the battlefield.
To his right, a woman with bright, red hair braided down her back walked with her hand resting on her sword. She wore no cloak, but her thick, brown leather armor covered her torso and matching leather bracers surrounded her forearms. On her opposite hip, a smaller sheath was tucked into her belt holding a dagger. Danger seemed to emanate from every part of her; she was every bit the predator. The other man on his left also had a sword, but a shield rested on his back. With a neatly trimmed beard of dirty-blond hair, he appeared the rugged one of the trio. With sure steps, his broad shoulders showed his strength and confidence. Each observed their surroundings with frightening precision. Collette was frozen in the doorway as a pair of icy blue eyes met hers. Time seemed to pause for a moment as the leader turned, his plump lips curving into a sly grin. It was over within seconds, but the chill he’d given her lasted as she tucked into the bakery.
The other villagers who stopped by each had their own tale of the newcomers, some saying they’d been in the tavern, others that they’d been to the apothecary. But no matter who spoke, they all said the same thing: there was something about them, something just off enough to make their hair stand on end. By the time the sun was setting, Collette joined Mr. Rye as he closed for the evening and the two made their way down the main road. As always, they’d walk until the center of town and part ways, but as they approached, the sound of raised voices made them pause. Sharing a glance, they followed the noise until they reached the true center of town.
The mage’s tower was the center point for all business in the village; the stone tower rose a story above all other buildings though no door could be seen. The few windows were near the top of the tower and always shrouded in darkness. The newcomers stood before the tower, the leader glaring up at the highest window as if he was watching the mage, but the single window remained dark. The blond man argued with one of the shopkeepers, roughly shoving him back apparently unhappy with what he’d said. The dark-haired man grinned, then turned back to his companions and with a nod, they left. The villagers fell silent, watching in shock as they disappeared down the main road.
Collette hurried home.
The following day, the trio returned. They took their vigil outside of the mage’s tower once more and Collette paused as she passed. The red haired woman met her gaze, eyes analyzing her every move before turning away, finding her unimportant. But the brown-haired man remained staring up at the tower ignoring the goings on around him. The mage rarely came down from his tower, and on the rare occasion, only for emergencies. His groceries were paid for, the coins left on the small, wooden table beside the tower’s base. The grocer would leave the food in the evening, and it would be gone in the morning. The village didn’t know him too well, but when crops had failed from a strange frost he became a shadow in the night, disappearing into the fields. Although some crops had been lost, enough was salvageable to feed everyone and trade with the other villages. When an illness spread through the village one winter, he silently made his way from house to house, healing the incapacitated without a word. So they accepted his tower, and they lived in peace.
The trio returned for nearly two days after that.
There was a shout and Collette froze, watching as the blond struck the grocer, sending him to the ground. The brunet called out: “Mage! I know you’re there! I can smell you, you bastard!” But there was no response.
The red haired woman turned to the brunet. “Coward won’t even come down from his tower.” The brunet scoffed and nodded. After sharing a quiet word, they turned and disappeared down the street. The bakery was busy once more, though the gossip was more frightening than the previous days. Apparently, the trio had taken rooms at the inn. It seemed that they’d taken over entirely, the brunet making a throne of sorts in the tavern below. The innkeeper accepted their coin, but sent the female staff home as the group’s leering became worse. By the week’s end, only the innkeeper remained at his establishment.
“He calls himself The White Wolf,” the innkeeper said, stepping into the bakery one morning. “Bastard sits on his throne playing with a knife and drinking my damn ale as his cronies scare away my customers.”
The innkeeper reluctantly departed and returned to his business, fresh bread in hand. He grimaced as he entered, quickly making his way into the back with the fresh bread. The White Wolf, as he declared himself, sat in the largest chair, set back against the wall so he could watch the comings and goings. His group had changed the whole room; the tables and chairs were all rearranged as if they were holding their own court. The leader reclined on his chair while to right was the blonde, eyes surveying constantly. To his left, the woman lounged in a slightly smaller chair, her boots kicked up on the table as she cleaned her nails with a dagger. Movement on the stairs caught her attention and she shifted her bright, green gaze to the figure descending. “Hawk?”
“He’s there.” The new man said, swiping back an errant strand of sandy hair. “I saw his shadow no more than an hour ago.” The White Wolf hummed, scratching his beard.
“And he hasn’t come out?” Hawk shook his head. “The villagers left him groceries last night.”
“They disappeared shortly after they were dropped off.” The sandy-haired man crossed his arms, glancing back at the innkeeper as he returned to work behind the counter.
“He’s a damn coward.” The Wolf spat. “Talia?” The red-head twirled her dagger before sliding it back into the sheath in her boot. “Why don’t you work your… magic?” Talia grinned, her lips turning into a sharp point, and stalked out of the tavern.
She strolled down the street, her hips swaying as she took her time glancing at the villagers as they passed. They gave her a wide berth; even two men on horses moved out of the way, the animals had quickened their pace as she passed by. She was a predator, pure power. The village was small, but she walked the streets until she came across the perfect target. Leaning against the wall of the butcher’s shop, a young man dropped his head back, his eyes falling shut for a moment as he rested. Talia paused, assessing him, finding every weakness until she was satisfied. The man fell still, the prey inside of him recognizing the familiar sense of danger, and opened his eyes. It was as if she appeared before him, mirroring his posture: arms folded, hip jutting out to the side, hungry eyes sliding across every inch of him.
He followed her easily enough; she barely needed a glance to compel him much to the chagrin of the butcher. The Wolf looked pleased as she led him up into her room, shooting him a grin before disappearing, the man following dutifully behind her.
Summary: After the Opera Populaire's fire, only ruins remain. Madeleine is one of the surviving ballerinas. When she is thrown into the opera house with her life at stake, she meets the infamous, Monsieur le Phantom, the unexpected hero.
Angst, fluff, romance
CW: brief depictions of violence, discussion of past abuse (not in detail, but it’s mentioned), smut in later chapters
Summary: After the Opera Populaire's fire, only ruins remain. Madeleine is one of the surviving ballerinas. When she is thrown into the opera house with her life at stake, she meets the infamous, Monsieur le Phantom, the unexpected hero.
Series masterslist Main Masterlist
Chapter 13:
Her answer was a slight grin.
"You disapprove then?" The Phantom's grin faded as he examined her closely. His eyes were slightly glossed, but still competent; he did not seem to have drank very much.
"I'm shocked," Madeleine laughed, putting her hand to her heart. "Joseph Buquet, I would expect, but you, Monsieur?"
"I've barely had a sip, Mademoiselle," He smiled. "No need to be worried; I can still maneuver my labyrinth. Your faithful Ghost will remain unharmed." The Phantom bowed, extending his hand with a grin. Madeleine took his hand and curtsied with a quiet giggle. As she rose, the Opera House shook as a boom of thunder shook its walls. The cool scent of rain began to seep through the thin wood, filling the theatre with its dampness.
"Oh my," Madeleine said, looking up at the ceiling instinctively.
"Are you to be staying then?" The Monsieur asked, keeping hold of her hand.
"I don't wish to intrude, Monsieur," she replied, pulling her hand away, but he kept it, placing his other hand over hers. The leather was cool on her skin.
"Your company, Madeleine, is never intrusive." Madeleine looked up at him, his eyes gazing into hers.
"I'm sure I can find some room in the dormitories," she replied, watching curiously as his lips gently turned to a frown.
"If a drafty, rusty room is what you desire, then be my guest, but I've a fire going downstairs if you desire a warm night." The Phantom's lips turned into a grin, his eyes flickering with mystery.
"Monsieur," Madeleine sighed, "are you sure?" He nodded in reply with a smile. "What are you hiding?" She asked with a smile.
"This rum has me feeling a bit...playful... actually." Erik smiled.
"I'm not going to end up in your noose, I hope," Madeleine asked curiously.
"You have my word, no harm will come to you," Erik bowed again, returning upright with a smile.
"What is it I must do, then?"
"Follow me," Erik grinned, dropping one of his hands as he lead her across the stage and toward the wall covered by the wing curtains. "Do you remember the night we performed Faust and Carlotta chided one of the ballerinas because they bumped into one another?"
"Vividly," she replied as they approached the curtains, "that ballerina bumped into her on purpose."
"What a kind young lady," Erik smiled.
"Thank you," Madeleine smiled in return. "It was quite fun I must admit."
"I enjoyed it, personally," Erik smiled. "That night, I detonated the trap door without having to approach the pit. This is how I shall lead you to my humble lair." He lifted the wing curtain and pulled her through the dark until they found the small opening in the wall. "You should crouch down a bit, watch your head."
Madeleine followed him through the pitch darkness of the small hallway until he pulled her upright. They walked in silence, descending a small set of stairs and emerged into the large stairwell, dimly lit by a distant lamp. Erik glanced back at her and grinned. As they moved down the stairs, Erik dropped her hand and disappeared behind the wall into the darkness.
"This seems all too familiar," Madeleine laughed, stepping toward the darkness. "I remember that fall I took not too long ago, Monsieur."
"Madeleine," his voice emerged from the darkness. "That trap," he said as a loud click echoed around them, "is disabled." She could hear the smile in his voice. Madeleine hesitated for a moment until his gloved hand emerged from the darkness. "I can lead you back up to the dormitories if you so desire..." Madeleine took a breath and grasped his hand, stepping into the darkness. His steps were silent as if he were truly a ghost.
"Are you still here, Monsieur?" Madeleine asked, grasping his hand with both of hers.
"You have my hand, do you not?" He replied, his voice echoing all around her.
"I hear my steps, but yours are absent." Erik laughed in reply, enveloping her in sound.
"This, cher, is why I am the Opera Ghost." His hand grasped hers tightly for a moment, assuring her of his presence. She laughed nervously in reply, holding his hand tightly. "You find no comfort in darkness, Madeleine?"
"Not very much, no," she replied. "I prefer a bit of light to help me see."
"I promised no harm would come to you, did I not?" he asked, leading her further into the darkness.
"Yes," she smiled to herself. Suddenly, he pulled her down a corridor to the left which seemed to tilt downward. They were descending quickly as their speed increased, moving rapidly down stairs and turning sharply down new corridors. Finally, they emerged into a small stairway that was dimly lit by a hidden lantern. Madeleine sighed in relief, reaching up to rub her slowly adjusting eyes. A moment later, she opened her eyes again and looked around at the empty corridor. "Monsieur?" she called, knowing he was waiting to trick her.
"Yes?" Madeleine looked around, but his voice gave no hint of where he was hiding. She laughed, placing her hands on her hips. "Do you enjoy confusing me?" She asked playfully; it seemed to be contagious tonight.
"Very much," he replied, his warm breath grazing the back of her neck. Quickly she turned, but he was gone.
"Monsieur," she replied, her heart beating loudly in her chest.
"Yes?" his silky voice replied as his glove gently brushed her hand. Madeleine had no answer except a smile. Truthfully, she enjoyed his taunting and the gentle touches he teased her with. He always made the adrenaline in her body rush.
"I can smell the fire you're burning," she replied, "are we getting close?"
"We are," he replied, his voice now echoing from behind her. She turned quickly and was faced with another dim corridor. "Follow me." Madeleine smiled, enjoying his game of chase and made her way down the corridor, speeding up as the smell of the burning wood grew stronger. "You're enjoying yourself, I hope?" His voice came from her right side, directly in her ear.
"Ah!" she gasped, jumping back against the opposite wall. "Yes," she replied with a laugh as she rested her head back against the wall, catching her breath. "Yes, I am."
"Good." The voice now came from behind her, making her jump back into the center of the corridor. Madeleine laughed as she continued her way toward the burning wood. After a few minutes of silence, she emerged into a familiar stairway.
"I do hope the boat is there," Madeleine said, approaching the small dock. There, waiting patiently for her, was the Phantom, standing elegantly in the small gondolier, holding it in place with the long staff.
"It's here," he smiled, holding out his hand for her. She smiled, a blush coming to her cheeks as she took his hand and sat down onto the red velvet fabric and pillows. Behind her, the Phantom pushed the boat from the dock and began their sail toward his lair. The boat ride was silent as he pushed them down a thinner part of the river, closed in on both sides by two stone walls. Stairs emerged from the water in various places, leading off to mysterious places shaded by darkness.
"I hope you've enjoyed my game," The Phantom began, looking down at her. Madeleine turned, sitting back against the opposite side of the boat to face him.
"I have," Madeleine smiled. "You?"
"Very much," he replied, looking back out toward their destination.
"Will you ever tell me how you manage to move so silently through these corridors?" Madeleine asked, leaning back on the red pillows. The unmasked side of his lips grinned as he laughed, echoing his voice through the numerous halls.
"I don't think so," he replied, "not unless there is to be another Phantom in my midst." She smiled, laying back in the comfortable pillows. Her eyes shut as the gentle rocking of the boat calmed her heart and brought her breath back to a slower rhythm. The Phantom began quietly humming a slow tune that seemed to hypnotize her.
His cool leather glove carefully touched her cheek, gently rousing her. Madeleine opened her eyes and smiled at the cool, blue eyes that faced her. Erik smiled in return, leaving his open hand on her cheek for an extra moment. Slowly he held out his hand, which she took, and they stood, stepping off the boat and onto the stone floor.
The fragrant smell of the wood filled his lair, bringing warmth to every inch of her body. She stepped further into his home, approaching the massive organ surrounded by rows of candelabras. The scent of wood grew stronger as she made her way through the maze of candles and toward the concealed bed.
"Your home never ceases to amaze me," Madeleine smiled, gazing at the tapestries surrounding her.
"I've never thought of this as a home before," Erik replied, placing his hand on her back. "Shall we retreat to the fire?"
"I was hoping to do so," she replied, "but I can't seem to find it. It seems I've a lot to learn about your secret rooms."
"It seems so," he smiled, lifting the tapestry beside the bed to reveal a medium sized fireplace and a large bed seated before the fire.
"I thought you slept there," she said, pointing toward the swan bed.
"Only during the warm months," he replied. "I construct this so I can sleep in the warmth." Madeleline nodded in understanding as she moved toward the fire. Gently she removed her coat, placing it on the floor in front of the fire and sat down, hovering her hands toward the warmth. Quietly, they removed their shoes and placed them by the fire.
"If there is any good in winter," Madeleine began as the Phantom sat beside her, "it is the warmth of burning wood." Erik nodded in agreement, sitting slightly behind her. Gently, he untied his cape and draped it over both of their shoulders. Madeleine looked over at him, taken by surprise at his gesture.
"Is everything alright?" he asked, his right arm leaning placed behind her.
"Monsieur, I don't expect you to make any special accommodations for me." Madeleine began, but he reached out to take her hand.
"Madeleine," he began, looking down into her eyes, "This Opera House is your home now, as is my lair." They both smiled at his word choice.
"Monsieur-"
"Erik."
Madeleine paused. He had been using her name, and speaking it comfortably, for some time now. Why hadn't she?
"Erik." Madeleine said, smiling as his name passed her lips. Not many had the privilege of knowing his true name, the name of the man behind the mask. "Erik... I don't want you to give up your lodgings for me. I can manage and make do with what I have." He didn't respond, and she accepted the silence.
Enveloped in his cape, she could feel the warmth radiating from his body that was barely inches away. Slowly, he brought his left hand up to her cheek, cupping her face gently as he leaned in toward her lips. Their eyes shut as their lips made contact, sending waves of heat through their bodies. Madeleine reached her hand up to touch his face, gently finding his cool, unmasked skin beneath her fingers. As her fingers touched his skin, he pulled back for a moment, his eyes opening at the unexpected touch.
"I'm...I am so sorry," The Phantom said, unwillingly pulling his hand from her cheek, but Madeleine stopped him, bringing his hand into hers. Slowly she pulled off his glove, being sure to pull each finger so the glove would slide off smoothly. His hand exposed, Madeleine placed the glove beside her and brought his hand back to her cheek. The touch of his warm skin against her cool cheek sent a shiver through her skin.
"Do not be sorry," she replied, bringing her hand back up to his face. With her other hand, she reached up to his mask, slowly letting her fingers make contact with its cool surface. He turned his head, making her hand move away from his mask, but she turned him back. "I won't remove it unless you want me to." She began. "I just want to touch it." Both of her hands now explored the two sides of his face; one hand tracing this cheekbones, the creases beneath his eyes, and his lips, while the other traced the symmetrical features of the cool mask. As she did this, he quickly removed his other glove and seized her in his hands, his fingers intertwining in her hair.
He pulled her in, thrusting his lips against hers as she held tightly to his face, moving her hands quickly to his neck and back, feeling every inch of skin she could. Never before had she felt his ungloved hand. She allowed him to lower her down; Madeleine had done this many times before with her husband, but it had never been so passionate or warm. His gentle movements guided her head to lay comfortably on her coat as his cloak remained draped around them.
Erik paused for a moment, looking down into her eyes as he allowed his hand to gently feel the now flushed skin of her face and move down to her neck. As his hand trailed down her neck, her hands moved to his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath his vest. She reached up, pulling him down to her, demanding more contact, more of his wonderful heat.
Their lips collided again, pushing a bolt of electricity through her body. Gently, she began to slowly unbutton his vest, opening it to a now loose hanging poet's shirt. Erik let his hands move from her neck to her chest which beat heavily from her racing heart. A shock moved through her breasts as he moved his hands over her clothed chest, demanding more contact, less boundaries. It was as if the thought was contagious; Erik moved down from her lips, kissing every inch of her skin until he reached the edge of fabric concealing her body.
"The buttons," Madeleine breathed, "they're in the back." Erik pulled back for a moment, looking down into her eyes.
"Are you sure?" he asked and Madeleine smiled, giving him his answer. He took her hand and they stood, their bodies refusing to part. Madeleine reached up, untying his cloak and pushed it off his shoulders to the floor. She did the same for his vest which left his white shirt loose against his skin. Slowly, he turned her, carefully opening each button starting at the top of her dress. The distance between them, however, was too much, and he moved quickly against her, leaving kisses on her neck, moving down to her shoulders, and back as he opened the dress and slid it off of her arms. She shivered as his warm touch reached her bare arms; she was left with her petticoats.
Quickly, he reached down, picking her up and placed her gently on the bed, moving himself on top of her and pulled his cloak over them. He knelt, one leg on each side of her right leg and leaned down to kiss her again, this time allowing his body to lean against hers. Madeleine shifted her hips, and brought him between her legs, allowing one of hers to run against his.
Erik moved down to her neck, kissing it softly and urgently as his hands moved down her sides; it was as if he were afraid to venture where he truly wished to be, but as she lifted her hip to collide with his, he lost control of his hands and grasped her breasts with such haste that she gasped slightly. Before he could even ask if she were alright, she untucked his shirt and allowed her hands to explore his chest and back, hot with desire. Between her legs, she could feel him growing just as she felt the heat inside of her grow.
Madeleine slid his shirt off of his chest running her hands across his revealed skin, feeling the heartbeat inside of him. Gently, she grasped the dark hair that grew there and pulled slightly to make him come nearer. At that moment, Madeleine thought she heard him growl. Quickly he moved to the hem of her petticoat and let both of his hands make their way up her legs, past her hips, and over her chest to remove the fabric. She shivered from the cool air and he replaced himself above her, letting the cloak keep them warm.
Her hips thrust against his as he grew harder and longer; the only boundary between them being the thin fabric of his pants. Erik's eyes moved up and down her body, taking in what would soon be his. The tuft of curly hair where her sex lay in wait tempted him, but this was not a time of haste; they had all the time in the world. He moved his eyes up the light skin of her stomach to her breasts. Her nipples were tight and extended, looking more and more delicious every second.
Madeleine reached up to his chest with both of her hands, pulling him down against her for more kisses. Their lips collided again, their tongues meeting, but Madeleine moved her hand down his chest to what she wanted and grasped it, stroking his length from outside of his pants. Erik's hands moved to her chest, grasping one breast as his lips seized the other, gently sucking and kissing her nipple. A quiet moan escaped her lips as he flicked his tongue back and forth against the risen skin.
"Oh God... Erik..." she breathed as he moved to her other breast, kissing and teasing her nipple as he did before. With her hand, she led his length toward her sex, letting it touch her wet lips which seemed to beg for more contact, more skin. "Please..." Her other hand ran down his back, running her nails gently across the skin, producing chills wherever they moved. Erik lifted his hips, allowing her to remove the last piece of fabric denying them contact.
When his trousers were successfully tossed aside, he leaned back down, letting his length run across the inside of her thighs. As she reached down to guide him, Erik grasped her hands, bringing them back to his chest. His playfulness had not yet finished as he allowed himself to move his hard organ across her hips, making her grasp his chest in want.
"Please..." she breathed, "Erik... I want you. I want to be yours."
"As you wish," he grinned, moving himself toward her waiting heat. He was gentle, allowing her to adjust to his length, filling her slowly, no boundaries separating them anymore. Both of them shut their eyes, their breath stolen for the moment as they reveled in the ecstasy of that first connection. With great restraint, he savored her warmth, slowing the drag of his hips and drawing a cry from her lips. The playful teasing had dissipated, the world around them disappearing.
"Madeleine," he breathed, eyes soft with affection gazed down into hers, watching in awe as the slow drag of his hips pulled a whimper from her chest.
"Oh... Eri...Erik," She gasped, feeling herself tighten around him as he hit the perfect spot deep inside of her. It was as if he could see into her very soul, and her into his; warmth and kindness, affection and…
“Cher,” His eyes drifted shut as he took her breath with a kiss, tongue prodding and claiming her soft lips as his. There was no flinch or fear when her hand rested on his cheek, caressing his jaw, the other grasping at his shoulder, only a fullness, his heart growing weightless with each moment. “Mon coeur, Madeleine.”
Her hands shifted to his shoulders, gently nudging him until he shifted onto his back. She shifted and sighed, her eyes sliding shut for a moment before she began to rock. “Erik, dieu!” Calloused hands, stained with ink caressed her hips, one cupping her breast, as she moved above him. She moved as if dancing, their hearts beating a sensual rhythm together. The molten heat began to rise within them and Erik pulled her down, his lips taking hers in a harsh kiss, only pulling apart as ecstasy overtook them.
Madeleine rested her head against his, her eyes shut as they caught their breath. Slowly, gently he cradled her in his arms and guided her to lay beside him. The fur was pulled across them and she curled up against him, resting her cheek on his arm. Madeleine reached her hand up to his mask, caressing the cool material and smiled.
"Madeleine," he smiled, placing a kiss to her palm before placing it on his heart.
"Erik," she smiled back.
Beside them, the fire burned quietly, illuminating their discarded garments and silky cloak which kept them warm and hidden from the cold.
~~
Thank you so much for reading! I’m so proud of this fic and i hope you enjoyed it!!
Please do not post this work on any platform without my permission or falsely post without crediting me. The only characters I own are the ones I’ve made up!
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At this point, it’s PG (some swearing), smut to follow, but mostly fluff and some angst BuckyxOFCxSteve, BuckyxSteve, OFC, OFC!scientist, poly relationship
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Fangs and Roses: People are going missing in a small town off exit 17. The Winchester brothers catch wind of these disappearances and find themselves neck-deep in a blood-sucking situation they’ve never encountered before. And when Rose, the owner of a roadside bar Dean took a liking to, gets involved, they find an extra pair of hands can be helpful.
This fic is rated PG13 for the majority of the series. Any additional ratings will be listed at the beginning of each chapter. Same for content warnings!
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L'Incendie de Mon Coeur (Fire of my Heart): After the Opera Populaire’s fire, only ruins remain. Madeleine is one of the surviving ballerinas. When she is thrown into the operahouse with her life at stake, she meets the infamous, Monsieur le Phantom, the unexpected hero.
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Oneshots:
Thicker Bikes: After helping her out with a nasty ex, Bucky invites Cara to join his crew, and later Loki for a very interesting night. 18+ This is pure smut, Biker!Bucky, Biker!Loki, MFM (AO3 link here)
The Music Box:A family heirloom, an old music box, opens the door to a life from long ago. PG, no warnings (AO3 link here)
Leather and Sunsets: I hadn’t been to a bar in a while, at least not voluntarily. Besides, I’d never had much luck finding someone there. That is- until I lock eyes with the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen. 18+, smut, Biker!OC, OFC (AO3 link here)
Good For You: Chris and Seb come home from filming and are looking forward to playing with their favorite girl. 18+, contains adult themes/smut (AO3 link here!)
Summary: After the Opera Populaire's fire, only ruins remain. Madeleine is one of the surviving ballerinas. When she is thrown into the opera house with her life at stake, she meets the infamous, Monsieur le Phantom, the unexpected hero.
Series masterslist Main Masterlist
Chapter 12:
"Come inside, Madeleine," Jacques called, peering out into the cold street. Madeleine nodded in agreement and covered the cart, following him inside. Slowly, she began to shed her layers of thin wool coats. When she had finally taken her coats off, she was left in a long, wool dress that covered her arms and up to her neck. It was one of Jacques' wife's old dresses she had left behind years ago when she had passed. Madeleine had expected him to be sad, but he seemed quite happy to see her wearing the dresses. They were, after all, incredibly warm.
"I think its time to turn in the cart for the season," Madeleine said, sitting by the small fireplace. "It is getting so cold outside and I fear the fruit may die."
"Hm," he nodded in agreement. Slowly he sat down beside her, slumping his shoulders and looking down at the floor. "Madeleine…"
"Yes?" she asked cautiously, looking at him in worry.
"I've been putting off telling you this," he began sadly, "we've been asked to leave…"
"Leave?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied, looking up at her. "They plan to put a factory here and want us out by the day after tomorrow. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I've been hoping to find some sort of solution."
"Jacques," Madeleine began, placing her hand on his shoulder. She wasn't sure how to respond to this; she had nowhere to go and wasn't too sure if he had anyplace as well. "Where will you go?"
"Me!" he laughed, throwing his head back. "Me? You hear this news and ask about me?"
"Yes…" she answered, looking in confusion at him. She knew she had nowhere to go, but she didn't want to think about that just yet.
"I've got a daughter a few towns south from here, Madeleine," he said reassuringly, "It's you I'm so worried for. I mean, you're more than welcome to join us, I'm sure she wouldn't mind. I've written to her and she's happy to have you!"
"Well…" she said, sitting back in her chair thoughtfully, "I…"
"I've been too forward, Madeleine," he said in apology. "If there is another place you have, please, do not feel so obligated to come."
"Jacques…" Madeleine said, taking his hand again, "I've got no…" She paused, remembering the one place she still had. But could she return? Or was her stay only temporary? Would he allow her back?
"What is it?"
"I've got one place," she replied, "but I'm not too sure of it…"
"You mean…"
"Yes," she replied.
"Alone?"
"No," she answered, "I don't think so." She rose quickly, looking out the small window. "I've got to see… There isn't much time until you go."
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"No, but there's only one way to find out." She took his hand, kneeling before him with a smile. "Thank you, Jacques. You've been so kind to me. I've no way to repay you."
"Madeleine," he sighed, "you owe me nothing. Go, find what you need to find." She rose, pulling on one of the wool coats and a scarf as she headed to the door.
"It's not a what, it's a who." She said, and flew out of the small home with a smile.
The streets were still cold as the night grew darker. Her footsteps grew faster as she grew colder, hurrying toward the large set of steps, the tall columns, and the huge doors of the empty opera house. Quietly, she pulled the door ajar and snuck through, hearing the door close behind her.
The opera house was silent.
But why wouldn't it be? He was always in his beautiful lair… Erik always called it a lair. Madeleine gazed up at the large staircases and dusty and ruined statues. The mirrors still lined the walls, but they too were covered in dust. Slowly, she made her way up the stairway and into the theatre, searching and finding a lantern that would still light. It was dim, but it illuminated the theatre enough for her to see.
She moved through the theatre, passing through the audience and finding her way to the orchestra pit. There, sat the small record player they had danced to months ago. Her hand grazed the record, drawing a small line in the dust as she remembered his gentle hands, leading her in the dance. She smiled to herself and continued to the back of the pit where a small set of escape stairs sat beneath a trap door. This was how she made her way up onto the stage.
Madeleine took in the sight of the home she had always known. In her mind, she could still see the audience, dressed in their beautiful clothes and jewels, applauding the ballets and arias. It seemed as if the small flames would illuminate the stage when she opened her eyes, but the only light she had was the small lantern in her hands.
"Erik?" she called quietly, her voice seeming to refuse to work. There was no answer. The silence engulfed her and she turned, making her way backstage and to the dormitories. She passed the small rooms and finally made it to the single room where Ms. Daae had slept. The same damp breeze blew from the gap behind the mirror and she shivered the cool air wrapped around her.
She gasped loudly as a mouse trampled over her feet and laughed at her own silliness. Come on, Madeleine, it's a mouse, she scolded.
"Monsieur?" she called again, her voice louder than before. It seemed to echo through the emptiness of the corridors and disappear to the place where echoes went. There was no answer once again. "I don't think I can make my way down those stairs again, especially by myself." With this decision, she turned toward the prop rooms, hoping for something.
As she made her way down the same stairs she had fallen down the first time she came, she smiled at the memory, making sure not to fall once again. She rummaged through the props and costumes as she did before and found another pair of pointe shoes. A smile overcame her face and she carried them with her as she made her way back to the stage.
"It seems I can't make myself part with you, can I?" she smiled to herself as she sat down, placing the lantern beside her. "He'll come up sooner or later, and I've got all day tomorrow as well." She smiled again, removing her boots and sliding the pointe shoes onto her feet.
"Oh, I've missed you," she smiled, standing up on her toes. "Uh…" she grimaced, "It seems I've been out of practice much too long." Her toes ached, but after a few moments, she was able to bear it again. Madeleine danced across the stage, smiling and laughing to herself as she spun and stepped, balancing on her toes.
"I wasn't aware we were doing a wintertime ballet," a voice echoed through the stage, making her stop mid-twirl and fall, right on her bottom. "Still graceful, I see."
"So you did hear me…" she sighed as she began to unwrap the laces of her shoes.
"So I've arrived and you're leaving already?" the Phantom's voice questioned.
"Leaving…" That's when reality struck her hard.
"Yes… you've come for more pointe shoes I assume?" he asked, still remaining in a mysterious hiding place.
"Not for pointe shoes… no." Madeleine sighed, replacing her footwear.
"So what have you come for? Perhaps another dance?" He continued to play.
"Monsieur," Madeleine chided, "It's much easier to speak to someone I can actually see."
"Then I'll no longer be Phantom, as they have so cleverly named me." he replied with a little laugh. She stood. "Better?" Madeleine jumped, turning to face the masked man who seemed to materialize behind her. "Haven't changed one bit, have you?"
"It seems you haven't changed as well," Madeleine laughed, smoothing her dress.
"Now, will you answer my question?" he asked, the unmasked side of his face grinning curiously.
"Well…" she began, turning away from him. "I've moved with that gentleman who helped me that night…" It seemed it was harder to say this than she thought.
"Yes," the Phantom nodded, stepping back into her line of sight. "He has treated you well I hope?"
"Very well…" she replied with a nod, turning again.
"Oh you haven't fallen for an old man, have you?" he grinned.
"No! It's just…"
"Yes?" He stepped back into her line of sight and she dropped her head, feeling the anxiety she hadn't expected.
"Well… they've asked us to leave the house. A factory is to be constructed there."
"So you've come to say goodbye?" he asked quietly. This time, he didn't step back into her line of sight.
"I'm not sure." she replied. "Monsieur… I've…"
"Madeleine," he said, pushing her chin up to meet his eyes, "What is wrong?"
"He's offered me to go with him, but…"
"Yes?"
"I can't bring myself to leave Paris…" she answered. "But I've got nowhere to go and…"
"Yes?"
"Monsieur, I'd like to come live here again…" she asked timidly, hoping for a pleasant answer. He laughed at her question.
"Is that all?" he asked and she nodded. "I was afraid I would have to rescue you from another low-life chasing your beauty!"
"Erik!" she said, pushing him back with a smile.
"I was wondering what happened to the Madeleine I remember," he smiled.
"Monsieur?"
"Mademoiselle, this opera house is as much mine as it is yours." He said with an elegant bow.
"Oh merci!" she gasped, throwing her arms around him. He laughed, stumbling back from her weight. "Monsieur…" she began, noticing his unusually happy speech.
"Oui?"
"Have you been drinking spirits?" she asked, leaning into him, smelling the sharp smell of alcohol.
Summary: After the Opera Populaire's fire, only ruins remain. Madeleine is one of the surviving ballerinas. When she is thrown into the opera house with her life at stake, she meets the infamous, Monsieur le Phantom, the unexpected hero.
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Chapter 11:
The streets of Paris grew quiet as night began to fall. Shop owners turned in for the night, cleaning up their carts and stands and disappearing into their small homes. The opera house was no exception to this. It had been quiet since the sun had risen save for The Phantom's quiet movements as he gathered the unused parchment from the floor and placed it gently in the seat of his organ bench. Erik had spent the day searching the opera house for any useful paper, especially those with music staffs.
He had procured an acceptable amount of food to hold him over for the next few days as he usually did in his secret manner, but he would have to eat sparingly. This was no change for him; he always ate little and worked in great amounts.
Darkness had fallen, leaving the streets in darkness. Erik could feel night coming on; his internal clock was more attuned than many others'. He had no desire to sleep, only to work. Ever since Madeleine had returned to the outside world, the opera house was back to its original silence and emptiness.
The Phantom worked for another three hours, collecting all of the stray glass particles from the mirror he had shattered after the fire. The passage was covered by a large, red tapestry that hung from the other mirrors. His eyes traced the dim outline of the small hallway, weighing his options for the future.
There was no longer any purpose to the opera house; it was only a skeleton holding broken dreams and memories of those who preformed in it. The Opera Populair may not reside in the beautiful Paris for much longer. After all, factories were beginning to sprout in many other towns, as Erik had heard while searching for food.
It was time to turn in. His light blue eyes could no longer concentrate on the sheet music he was trying to compose, so he removed his mask, placing it on the bust, and made his way toward the swan bed. The black curtain closed, and silently, Erik began to undress, folding his white shirt beside the bed on top of his black boots. A slight shiver ran down his spine as he climbed into the velvet and silk red sheets, causing his solid chest to ripple. After a few moments, his eyes closed and he drifted off to sleep.
The sheets, though soft and comfortable, gave him no comfort. He slept restlessly, tossing and turning as the night passed. When sunrise came, he could feel it, and opened his eyes to begin another day. He yawned and rose, pulling the chord to open the black curtain and froze, covering the deformed half of his face with his right hand.
Before the bust stood Madeleine, gazing down at the pure white mask in her hands. She stroked it with her finger and looked up at him. A small, timid smile grew on her lips as they gazed at each other, the mask resting gently in her hands. She was wearing the white petticoat she had worn the day she was cornered in the opera house, her feet bare and her long, brown hair fell in messy locks down her back and shoulders.
Slowly, The Phantom stepped toward her, his hand still covering his face.
"Madeleine," he began, "you've returned?"
"Yes," she replied, "I wanted to make sure you were alright." He paused, watching curiously as she stepped toward him, removing his hand and replacing it with his mask. Her hand lingered on his mask, her eyes curiously tracing its curves and the lines of his fine skin on the other side.
"How are you feeling?" Erik asked, suddenly feeling self conscious. He had just realized that his shirt was folded beside his swan bed. Madeleine's gaze moved from his mask to his chest, and back, her eyes wider than they were before. She hadn't realized that he was so exposed.
"I'm sorry," she stuttered nervously.
"No," Erik interrupted, "I'm sorry for being so informal." Quickly he turned to retrieve his shirt, but a hand on his bare arm stopped him.
"It's alright," Madeleine said as he turned to face her again. She was much closer now; their chests were barely touching. Neither moved; they only gazed into each other's eyes nervously.
Slowly, he reached down, cupping the side of her face in his hand. His thumb caressed her cheek as they stood in silence, both frozen in place. Something took over his mind and clouded his judgment, leaving only raw emotions. Without a second thought he leaned down, allowing their lips to gently collide. Her hand moved up to his arm, holding him in their embrace. After a moment, he pulled back slowly, gazing into her eyes.
Quickly, Erik sat up in his bed and looked around.
His lair was empty as it had been when he had fallen asleep. Madeleine was in the outside world, he knew that, but for some reason he couldn't explain, he wished she would return to his solitary confinement and allow him to play the lovely lullaby he had played before.
Summary: After the Opera Populaire's fire, only ruins remain. Madeleine is one of the surviving ballerinas. When she is thrown into the opera house with her life at stake, she meets the infamous, Monsieur le Phantom, the unexpected hero.
Series masterslist Main Masterlist
Chapter 10:
The opera house was silent. Erik had escorted her as far as the dormitories and seemed to disappear into thin air from there. This silence was different than all of the others she had encountered before. The air was still and felt as though it refused to enter her lungs. Erik's watchful eyes usually followed her as she wandered the opera house, but this time she felt completely alone. He had gone, and truly left her.
She reached the main doors after a few minutes of descending the steps of the entranceway. Her hands rested on the large handles, but something willed her not to pull them open. This was her home, her shelter of the past. The Phantom did say that there was no threat for her now in the streets. She was free to go, but did she want to be free? Unconsciously, she pulled open the door and stepped outside onto the cobblestone streets.
It was early; around seven, but many shop keepers had opened their stores and carts, ready to attract the many passersby. Her pointe shoes weren't much protection against the rocky ground, but they were better than nothing. The fresh air filled her lungs as she took many deep breathes, looking curiously at the awakening of the town.
The old man, she thought, I must see if he is alright. Intent on her mission, she followed the road straight to where the old man had sold his fruit. His cart was still behind the white cloth, but he was nowhere to be seen. His door was shut and his curtains hid the interior of his home. The only sign of life was the faint glow of a candle behind the window. Quietly, she knocked on the door and waited for an answer.
"Who is it?" came an old voice from behind the wooden door.
"Monsieur, it is me, Madeleine," she replied.
"I have no relations to any Madeleine," he answered.
"Monsieur, you helped me home last night," she continued, hoping he would remember, "I came to see if you were alright." He did not respond. Madeleine waited silently until she figured that he would not answer. Slowly, she turned and stepped back into the street.
"Wait!" he called behind her, "I am so sorry, Mademoiselle."
"Monsieur," she began but he stopped her.
"Please, come inside!" he smiled, holding the door open. She smiled in return and entered.
"I didn't mean to intrude; I just wanted to make sure that you were alright." Madeleine began. "I'm so sorry you were involved."
"Mademoiselle," the old man interrupted, "please, everything is alright. I'm just grateful that you are safe. You're not hurt, are you?"
"No, Monsieur," Madeleine smiled.
"Good. That man was trouble. He's not around, is he?," he asked, peering out the small curtain.
"No, Monsieur." Madeleine replied, "He is long gone now."
"Good." He smiled. "Now, I'm not one for formalities. Please, call me Jacques."
"And you may call me Madeleine." She smiled.
"Alright, well Madeleine, I was about to have something to eat, would you like something?" He asked, leading her into a small kitchen.
"No thank you," Madeleine replied, but Jacques shook his head.
"You look like you haven't eaten in days, Madeleine, and I know that the food I gave you was not eaten." Jacques argued. "Please, at least take some fruit." Madeleine nodded.
A small table and two chairs were in the kitchen beside a little stove and an ice box. Jacques brought a small plate of fruit and some bread to the table and invited Madeleine to sit down. They ate in silence. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until the food touched her mouth. Her stomach growled profusely as she ate her piece of bread and an apple.
"Thank you, monsieur," she said with a smile. He smiled back and nodded his mouth still full of his bread.
"If I had known you were coming I would have prepared something," he apologized as he looked down at the empty plate.
"Please, monsieur, there is no reason to prepare anything special for me," Madeleine said, "I feel horrible enough intruding on you again. I just hope nothing bad comes of it this time." Jacques smiled and took her hand.
"Everything will be alright," he smiled. "You are always welcome in this house."
Summary: After the Opera Populaire's fire, only ruins remain. Madeleine is one of the surviving ballerinas. When she is thrown into the opera house with her life at stake, she meets the infamous, Monsieur le Phantom, the unexpected hero.
Series masterslist Main Masterlist
Chapter 9:
Madeleine was easy to carry; she was a thinly built ballerina, and she hadn't eaten in days. The food, The Phantom remembered; that's why she left the opera house, and he let her go alone. The Phantom shook his head, shaking the thought from his mind and concentrated on bringing her to a safer place. He weaved through the tunnels and turned a few corners to reach one of the wings of the stage. Cutting across the dusty wooden floor, he looked out at the audience for a moment.
"What have I done?" he sighed to himself again. But there was no time for his sadness now; Madeleine was in his arms, and he was the only one she had now.
He weaved his way through the backstage area and down the hallway, pausing at the dormitories. This is, after all, where she lived, he thought, but there were barely any blankets on her bed, and it seemed as if the frame were about to collapse from its own weight. Madeleine stirred in his arms, and he looked down at her bruised face. Slowly, her hand reached up to his chest, grasping his overcoat.
"It's alright, Madeleine, you're safe now," he whispered. After a moment, her hand relaxed, staying intently on his chest. He took one last look at the dormitory and turned to make his way down to his lair.
The mirror was still open slightly, and with the utmost caution, he maneuvered into the hallway, keeping Madeleine away from the wall. He made his way quickly through the corridor and down the stairs until he reached the boat. Gently, he laid her down onto the rich red pillows which hid the ugliness of the wooden boat and pushed off, guiding them slowly down the river.
She stirred once again, this time turning her head as if she was slowly waking up. Quickly, but gently, The Phantom lifted her up from the boat when they had docked and carried her up the stairs towards his swan bed, pausing when he gazed down at the red velvet sheets. This would not be the first time he had let a beautiful girl into his bed.
A familiar face flashed into his eyes and he pushed back the memory and locked it away. It was done now. The fire had ended it all.
He laid Madeleine down onto the bed, covering her in the velvet sheets. She stirred again, but still didn't wake. The Phantom stood awkwardly beside the bed, watching her calm face in unconscious sleep. Bruises had formed on her face around the cuts made from the man's knuckles and ring. His handprints were engraved in bruises around her neck from where he had tried to kill her. His heart sank.
"I can't believe I let this happen to you." He said, grasping onto the wing of the swan. A moment passed; the lair was silent, and The Phantom turned away and disappeared into another room. He returned with a cloth that was damp with a little water on one end. He sat beside her and carefully began to clean the dirt and dried blood from her face. She flinched slightly a few times, turning her head in discomfort, but still didn't wake up.
After a few moments, The Phantom's lip curved, almost like a smile. His blue eyes traced her bruised face and sighed. The guilt was outweighing every other murder he had committed in the opera house. He let her go out on her own, and when he heard her shouting from the alley and saw that man on top of her, he froze. For the first time in his life, The Phantom froze in fear. They were, after all, very similar.
Slowly, he turned away, leaving the cloth on a small stand near the bed, and lowered the translucent curtain around the bed. She deserved some privacy, he thought, it wasn't right of him to watch her. With the curtain closed, he wandered over to his organ, his hand resting where hers had when she stood in amazement at his lair.
"I let her go out by herself," he said, scolding himself. "The streets are no longer safe, even in daylight. What a fool!"
The Phantom turned from his organ and was faced by his reflection. He stood, staring himself in the eyes. Slowly, his ungloved hand reached up, touching his mask.
"You will never be able to live like a human, will you?" he asked himself, analyzing every aspect of his reflection. Quickly he pulled the tapestry over the mirror, banishing his reflection from his sight. He sat down at his organ and placed his hands on the keys, and began to play.
The song was not a loud opera or even an aria; he played a quiet lullaby he had never known existed. There was no name or any sheet music for it; he played it from the sight of Madeleine asleep in his bed. The soft notes and chords echoed through his lair, traveling through the tunnels and up into the rest of the opera house. It floated through the black curtain and into Madeleine's dreams.
Behind him and in the privacy of the black curtain, Madeleine stirred. Her hand traveled up to her throat, and her face tensed. Slowly, she began to wake up. She had a small ache in her head, but the music emanating around her soothed the ache and her anxieties. Who was playing that, she thought, I've never heard such a song. She turned her head, loosening her tense muscles and opened her eyes.
Behind the black curtain, The Phantom's lair seemed like another world. The curtain separated her from everything; she was surrounded and felt safe. The soft cotton and velvet sheets were gently strewn across her, and even her curiosity couldn't will her to leave their warmth and comfort. The playing continued, pulling her back into a dream-like trance. Her eyes found the faint image of a figure at the organ, moving with the music. It must have been him, she thought. The last thing she remembered was her husband's angry face.
Slowly, she left the comfort of the swan bed and stood, facing the black curtain shyly. She placed her hand on the soft material and found the seam where she could walk past it and into the other world of The Phantom's lair. The small slippers on her feet were wet from the streets and she slid them off, placing them against a wall to dry. Her bare feet tingled at the cold from the stone floor, but she paid it no mind. She was much too busy with her fascination towards the man at the organ. His black cloak was strewn onto the bust which was made to hold his mask and the tapestries along the walls had moved somehow.
She stood a few feet behind him, watching as he played, moving with the crescendos of the music. Suddenly, he paused, his hands still frozen above the keys. Madeleine watched silently, folding her hands in front of her stomach.
"I'm sorry," he said, still watching the organ, "did I wake you?"
"No," she replied quietly.
They both stood in silence, waiting for the other to speak.
"Thank you," she said, breaking the silence.
"For what?" he asked. Slowly she stepped toward him, pausing a slight distance away.
"You saved me," she answered.
"I did nothing of the sort," he replied.
"You scared him away," she said, stepping towards him again, "how did you do it?"
"I didn't scare anyone away," he said, looking up at her.
"Yes you did, you scared him away, you saved me from my husband," she said, looking into his blue eyes. The Phantom paused.
"That man…he was your husband?" The Phantom asked.
"Yes," she replied, slightly ashamed. "He was the one who attacked me." The Phantom didn't answer. "I saw you there. You were in the window. You came out and pulled him away."
"I pulled him away, yes, but I didn't scare him away." Madeleine paused.
"If you didn't scare him away, what did you do?" she asked.
"You need not worry about him anymore," The Phantom replied, walking past her and towards the other rooms behind the tapestries. Madeleine turned in surprise. She understood The Phantom's reputation for a pitiless punishment, but she had never imagined that her own husband would be murdered by the man who took her in. She turned and quickly chased after him, grasping onto his shoulder. He turned to face her, allowing her hand to fall. She pulled her hand back in surprise, cupping them over her chest as she watched The Phantom's face change.
"My husband…" she began, but The Phantom interrupted her.
"Yes, Mademoiselle, I killed your husband," he spat angrily. "He is dead and gone now, and you need to accept that." Tears fell silently down her cheeks as they stared at each other in silence.
"Thank you, Monsieur," she breathed.
"You cry and yet you thank me," The Phantom said, "You thank a murderer?"
"I cry because I am no longer bound to that monster," Madeleine replied.
"You are free then," The Phantom said, "There is no danger outside of this opera house for you." He bowed his head and continued into the hidden rooms.
Summary: After the Opera Populaire's fire, only ruins remain. Madeleine is one of the surviving ballerinas. When she is thrown into the opera house with her life at stake, she meets the infamous, Monsieur le Phantom, the unexpected hero.
Series masterslist Main Masterlist
Chapter 8:
The sun had already set over the streets of Paris, and the merchants, just as Madeleine had said before, were cleaning up their wares. Slowly, she walked down the cobblestone streets, searching for a merchant who appeared harmless. It was those who offered her food. A couple holding hands passed her by, walking quickly to their destination. Their eyes never wavered from their destination. Finally, Madeleine came upon an old merchant who was sitting on the side of the street, holding an old pear in his hands. There were a few tear drops on the fruit, and the man's head was bowed.
"Monsieur…?" Madeleine asked, cautiously trying to see his eyes. "Monsieur…are you alright?"
"Oui," he answered quietly. He dropped the pear to the ground and cupped on hand over his eyes, the other he held still. A quiet sob made his pain known, and Madeleine knelt to see him. A crimson red caught her eye as she gazed at his limp hand. It had scratches and one large cut which leaked the rich crimson.
"Monsieur…your hand, you're hurt!" Madeleine said in surprise. "Let me help you!"
"Non!" he said, pulling his hand to his chest. Slowly he looked up at her, revealing his bruised face.
"You're hurt!" she gasped. "Who did this to you?" She looked around, but the streets were bare.
"I don't know!" he cried. He was an old man whose face had been hit quite a few times. "There were three people; they wanted my food and I told them that if they had no money, then they couldn't have any food. They wouldn't listen, so they beat me and took as much food as they could!"
"Let me help you, Monsieur, please," she tried, holding out her hand. "Please, Monsieur." Silently, he took her hand and stood.
"My cart, Mademoiselle," he began, "it's ruined!"
"Here," she offered, beginning to clean up the torn cloth and bruised fruit. He joined in after wrapping his hand with a spare strip of cloth which came off of his cart. Once it was cleaned up, they leaned it against the wall and covered it in a new cloth.
"Merci beaucoup, Mademoiselle," he thanked her, kissing her hand.
"It is no problem," she smiled, helping him into his house. It was empty; he lived alone.
"I have no money to pay you with," he said sadly.
"You need not pay me, Monsieur," she replied.
"At least some food then, you look starved!" he tried again. "Here, I have some chicken and some fruit in here. I'll wrap it up for you." Without another word, he disappeared into another room and appeared with a small package wrapped in paper and cloth. "Here, please," he said, handing her the food.
"It's so much, are you sure?" she asked.
"Yes," he smiled, "I have enough."
"Thank you so much!" she smiled back, retreating to the door. "I must be going…I'm sorry."
"Allow me, Mademoiselle, let me escort you home." He said, taking her hand and walking out the door. Slowly, they began walking down the road towards the opera house.
"You really don't have to do this," Madeleine said, pausing to face him. What would he say when she stopped at the opera house?
"It is late, Mademoiselle, and the streets aren't very safe this late. What were you doing out by yourself?" he asked.
"I was looking for food…" she replied.
"But so late?" he asked again.
"I've been exiled to the opera house…" she admitted. "I was a ballerina there, and my husband accused me of being part of the 'Opera Ghost scheme.'"
"Mon Dieu…" he replied. "No wonder you seem so starved."
"Please, Monsieur, if you see anyone, I was never here." Madeleine said. "I'll be dead if they see me on the streets."
"Come," the old man nodded, "I will bring you back to the opera house."
"Thank you, Monsieur," she replied, and they began down the street at a quicker pace. The streets were silent, and the sun had yet to rise, but just as they approached the stairs of the opera house, a quiet chatter caught their attention.
Three or four men walked out of a bar, followed by the bartend who shut the door and latched it shut behind them. Each man had a woman on his arm who held on tightly as if the few Francs they would earn were worth the trouble. A familiar laugh caught her attention and she froze, peering over her shoulder at the couple behind them. One man stood with a whore on his hip, kissing and touching her tauntingly.
"Monsieur," she said, turning away from the pair behind them, "we must go." He nodded quickly and continued quickly beside her. "That man was my husband." The old man took his turn to peer behind him.
"Come then, we shall hurry." The opera house wasn't very far away now; they were almost at the stairs, but their progress was stopped, by an arm snaking around her waist and a voice whispering into her ear.
"Bonjour, mon cher…" the stranger whispered into her ear.
"Excuse me, Monsieur," the old man began, "but you are interrupting our evening walk." The stranger laughed and shoved the old man out of his way.
"How sweet, you've returned to me." The man said, stepping in front of Madeleine. Her view of the opera house was blocked.
"I would never do such a thing." Madeleine replied, "I much prefer living in exile than spending any measure of time with you." At this, she began to walk around him, but he caught her arm and pulled her back. The old man pushed his arm away and separated Madeleine from her husband.
"Leave the young lady alone," the old man said in defense.
"Shut up, old man," he spat, whipping his fist across the old man's face. He fell to the ground weakly.
"How dare you!" Madeleine gasped, stepping toward the old man, but her husband stopped her, grasping her arm tightly as he pulled her toward him. The food in her arms fell to the ground, scattering about the dirty street. He pulled her up to him, his other hand latching onto the back of her hair.
"How dare I?" her husband laughed. She looked over at the old man who lay unconscious in the street. There was no one else around, and even if she cried for help, no one would answer. "I'm going to do what I should have done months ago," he grinned, pushing her toward the alleyway that separated the opera house from the building beside it. His grip loosened as he shoved her, allowing her to take a chance and run toward the doors of the opera house, but he pulled her back by the hair, throwing her down onto the ground. He continued on, pulling her deeper into the alley until there was barely any light for her to see.
"Stop it!" she shouted, trying to shove him away, but he wouldn't let go. "I didn't do anything!"
"You killed all of them!" he argued, "You and those others started that fire and killed everyone!"
"I didn't!" she argued back, struggling to push him away, but he managed to pull her so far back that there was no hope in anyone helping her. She kicked and pushed, but he was stronger than her. Beneath her, the ground was rough with stones which scraped her arms and legs as she struggled. She could already feel the bruises forming on her arms.
"Damn-it!" he growled as she pulled away from his grasp, but she was only halfway up when he caught her and threw her back to the ground, climbing on top of her with one of his hands holding both of hers above her head.
"I didn't start that fire!" she cried. "I almost died in it!"
"You killed all of them!" he growled. "You killed my brothers and the woman I loved!"
"I killed your mistress!" she argued. "I was supposed to be the woman you loved, but I guess I wasn't good enough! That whore of a mistress died in that fire and as much as I wish I did, I had nothing to do with it!"
"Shut-up!" he shouted, whipping his fist across her face.
"Ow!" she cried out in pain, "let me up!"
"You killed them!" he growled again, his eyes full of fire.
"Please!" she cried, but his fist whipped across her face again, leaving another stinging cut from his wedding band.
"You'll get what you deserve…" he began, gripping his free hand over her throat, "what I should have done months ago…"
"Stop it, please!" she cried out again, kicking her legs and squirming as much as she could, but no matter what she did, his weight overpowered her. She felt a weight lift off of her arms as more was pressed on her throat, and she pulled her arms out of his grip. His other fist whipped across her face, and she turned her head weakly, letting it rest on the cool stone beneath her. Her vision blurred, and her eyes traced the wall of the opera house, stopping at a small window behind her husband. For a moment, she thought it was because she was losing consciousness, but then she realized that the faint white she saw in the window was the mask she had yet to understand.
Her husband's voice faded back into her ears as another blow whipped across her face. He paused, his heaving breathing growing more and more full of anger. Then, something touched her throat. Before a moment could pass, Madeleine looked back up at her husband, just as his hands wrapped around her neck. She reached out her arms, but they were too small to reach anything past his elbows. Her eyes opened wide as she gasped for air, gripping onto his wrists weakly. Her eyes traced back to the window where the white mask still rested, watching helplessly. Spots began to cloud her eyes, as her grip grew weaker on his hands.
"Please…help…me…" she struggled to say, staring straight at the window. The white mask disappeared and her eyes returned to her husband who still stayed there, his arms pulsing with anger as he strangled her.
The white mask returned above her husband, wielding a noose which it pulled over her husband's neck, dragging him back and away from her. Her eyes shut as the Phantom threw her husband onto the ground, pulling the noose taught around his neck. One black boot landed on the man's chest, acting as leverage when he pulled the noose tighter.
His eyes were too full of terror for any last words before he stopped breathing and fell limp beneath the Phantom's foot. He moved his boot to the man's throat and twisted, sounding out an ugly crack from his neck. Now, there was no doubt that he was dead.
The Phantom dropped the noose and knelt down beside Madeleine. With his bare hand, he touched one of the cuts on her cheek, pulling back with her blood on his fingers.
"What have I done?" he asked himself. Gently, he picked her up and ventured back into the opera house.
Summary: After the Opera Populaire's fire, only ruins remain. Madeleine is one of the surviving ballerinas. When she is thrown into the opera house with her life at stake, she meets the infamous, Monsieur le Phantom, the unexpected hero.
Series masterslist Main Masterlist
Chapter 7:
The Phantom's blue eyes were curious. He had not spoken to a person, let alone a woman, for such an amount of time in years save for Madame Giry, and even she made him nervous. Should he invite her to sit? Or maybe she is hungry? She hadn't eaten in a while, she must be hungry, but he was too nervous to speak. Maybe he shouldn't have let her stay…
"Merci, Monsieur," she said, letting her hand slowly drop from his arm. He nodded, adjusting the black gloves on his hands. "Monsieur, would you know the hour?"
"You have been in my dungeon for less than an hour and already you have lost your sense of time," The Phantom replied with a smile. "It is the early evening, Mademoiselle, why?"
"No reason, I was wondering if you wanted to…well…find something to eat," she replied.
"Yes, I'm sorry…I have a small stove in the back if you'd like me to cook you something…"The Phantom offered, directing his hand towards a group of hanging tapestries.
"I can…if you want…" Madeleine offered with a smile. "Besides, you saved my life twice today, it would be the least I could do."
"What ever you wish, Mademoiselle," The Phantom replied, bowing his head.
"Please, don't call me that," she said shyly. "Come, I will make us something to eat."
Silently, The Phantom led her behind the hanging tapestries and into another candle-lit chamber. It too was made of stone, and had several candelabras about the room. A small stove sat against the wall with a few pieces of wood beside it on the floor.
"There may not be much food here…what ever is here you may have," The Phantom said, opening a small chest which sat beside the stove and gazed helplessly inside.
"There's nothing there…is there?" Madeleine asked, slowly stepping toward him. She lay a gentle hand on his back and he bowed his head in sadness.
"No…naught but a piece of bread," he said, holding it up as an offer to her.
"Then I shall do what I have done almost every night," she suggested, straightening up.
"And what might that be, hunt?" The Phantom asked jokingly.
"Not necessarily." She replied. "There are a few merchants who are cleaning up their wares at this hour. They have apples and other foods that tend to fall off their carts and do not want anymore. I take their spoils for free."
"They just give them to you…for free?" The Phantom asked in curiosity.
"Yes," she smiled. "I used to do this when I was a younger ballerina. Some of the stagehands used to touch us…we gave them our food to keep them away. One night when I was walking down the street, a vendor offered me one of the apples that fell onto the ground. He said it was bruised and that no one would buy it, and gave it to me for free." The Phantom looked up in doubt.
"Are you sure you'll be safe?" he asked, stepping towards her.
"Yes, I'll be fine," she replied.
"But those men…they'll find you," he argued. "Let me come with you."
"Monsieur, I've done this almost every night since I got here." Madeleine smiled. "I'll be alright."
"As you wish, Mademoiselle," The Phantom replied, holding out his hand in respect. "May I escort you to the door?"
"If you'd like," she replied, placing her hand onto his.
"We wouldn't want anymore mishaps, would we?" he teased, bringing her onto the small boat. "Come, I'll lead you safely."
Madeleine smiled; he seemed to be warming up to her. There was definitely something there that she had never seen in him…something in his eyes. He was kind, but very shy. His mask seemed to hide the innocence in his face.
The Phantom docked the boat and made his way up the stairs. Madeleine stood for a moment, staring back at the winding corridors of water that led back to his lair. No, she thought, lair isn't the word for that place…
"Mademoiselle, are you coming?" The Phantom asked, pulling Madeleine out of her thoughts.
"Yes," she replied, running up to meet him. He smiled, the visible half of his mouth curving into a shy smile. She smiled back, blushing slightly as he took her hand and led her quickly up the stairs until they reached the mirror where she had entered before. The Phantom paused in the center of the room as Madeleine walked out, expecting him to be silently following her. His eyes scanned the room, locking onto a wilted rose which sat on the dresser before a mirror. Slowly, he looked up at the reflection which stared at him from the faded mirror.
"You're still a ghost…" he whispered to his reflection.
"Monsieur?" Madeleine called from the stage, "Monsieur?" Quickly he appeared behind her, gently taking her hand in his. She jumped in fright, and landed straight into his chest, her eyes looking up into his. They stood, frozen in shock. They had never been so close since they had danced that one night.
"I'm…" she began nervously.
"Will you be alright from here…?" he asked suddenly, hesitant to move away.
"Yes…" she answered and slowly backed away.
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" he offered. She turned from the small set of stairs beside the stage to answer.
"I'll be alright," she smiled and disappeared into the audience.
Erik stood, center stage, watching as the door opened and shut, leaving the opera house in silence.
Summary: After the Opera Populaire's fire, only ruins remain. Madeleine is one of the surviving ballerinas. When she is thrown into the opera house with her life at stake, she meets the infamous, Monsieur le Phantom, the unexpected hero.
Series masterslist Main Masterlist
Chapter 6
She stepped off of his boat, and onto the cold stone of his lair…
The walls were covered with old tapestries, cracked and carelessly covered mirrors. Parchment, used and blank, was spread out around the organ which sat up two levels from the water. A small pathway was outlined by rows upon rows of candelabras with small, white candles whose wax was dripping steadily onto the damp stone beneath them. Statues, unfinished carvings and paintings were strewn about the rest of the lair. There was an other-worldly feeling to this mysterious place. The faint smell of sandalwood and roses floated from somewhere beyond the face of the Phantom's mysterious world.
The Phantom watched from behind as she slowly made her way through the rows of candles, her hands folded at her breast in fear that her overwhelming curiosity might break this mystical spell which surrounded her. As she climbed the small stairs up toward his organ, she paused, allowing her eyes to take in the mysterious beauty of his lair.
"What do you think?" The Phantom asked, watching her with mild amusement.
"It's amazing…" she breathed, turning to face him. "You made all of this?" He nodded silently. She wandered up the small stairs and up to his swan bed, looking with curiosity through the translucent black curtain. Her hands trailed across the curtain, and over the stone wall beside it. "It seems like something from a fairytale…"
"This certainly is not from any Cinderella story I've heard," The Phantom replied, appearing silently behind her.
"No," she smiled mischievously, turning to face him, "it's like the stories the stage hands used to tell. They were the darker fairytales. The ones where the heroes were defeated and the witches and goblins devoured small children."
"You are like no other ballerina I've come across," he smiled, watching as she wandered over to his organ, allowing her fingers to gently caress the keys. A strange feeling overwhelmed him, taking his breath away for a moment.
"This is yours?" she asked, turning in disbelief. "All of this is yours?"
"Yes," he replied, smiling to himself, "It's been mine since I arrived." Her eyes wandered across the visible areas of his lair. Across from his organ sat the bust of a desolate man. Slowly, she reached her hand out to the bust and touched the deformed half of the statue's face.
"Why do you have this?" she asked curiously, keeping her hand on the bust's cheek as she gazed curiously up to his mask.
"It holds my mask," The Phantom replied "when I do not need to wear it." She nodded silently and turned back to the bust. "Why are you so fascinated by this dungeon?"
"This is no dungeon, this is your home," Madeleine answered, "Only…this place is much more beautiful than the rest."
"The rest?" The Phantom asked, walking slowly up to where she stood.
"Yes," she replied with a smile, "The entire opera house cannot compare to this." The Phantom shook his head in disbelief. Her eyes reached his and locked, drawing from them the curiosity each held for each other.
"Come, night is falling. I will take you back to the dormitories," The Phantom began, but Madeleine's hand landed on his arm, stopping him.
"I don't want to go back up there," she said, holding onto the soft material of the Phantom's jacket. "Please, don't make me go back up there. It's so desolate…and it's so quiet."
Summary: After the Opera Populaire's fire, only ruins remain. Madeleine is one of the surviving ballerinas. When she is thrown into the opera house with her life at stake, she meets the infamous, Monsieur le Phantom, the unexpected hero.
Series masterslist Main Masterlist
Chapter 5:
Madeleine ran. She ran as fast as she could, but no matter how hard she tried, the Phantom was still far in front of her. Every so often, he would turn to peer behind him and check on his pursuer. The Monsieur grinned wickedly at the sight of Madeleine struggling to keep up. His eyes gleamed with excitement and hidden happiness. When he laughed, her jaw tensed and her eyes focused intently on her target.
"Watch your step, Mademoiselle," the Phantom warned as he turned quickly down a hidden corridor. Madeleine froze where he had vanished and stared into the darkness.
"Monsieur le Phantom, I would appreciate it if you stopped these vanishing games," Madeleine called into the shadows. His laughter echoed around her.
"I think you've ran enough for now," he replied, "Do you trust me?"
"Do I trust you?" she repeated, slightly confused. "Do I have a choice?" Silently, he reached his gloved hand out of the darkness.
"Like I said," the Phantom continued, "You can follow me, or you can return to the dormitories." Madeleine took a breath, swallowed her pride, and took his hand. His grip was gentle, yet guiding as he led her down the pitch black corridor. Her hand groped the wall as she followed him silently. A small click echoed around them and the Phantom paused.
"What was that?" she whispered, inching backwards. She lost her balance, however, as a small stone rose from the floor. Her foot slipped and she fell backwards, her hand slipping from his gloved form.
"No!" the Phantom gasped, realizing the fatality of his trap. He stepped on the button which protruded from the stone floor, causing the small bed of spikes below her to retreat back into the floor. Thankfully, she was saved, but as she fell, a sickening crack resounded around them. "Madeleine!"
"Monsieur…" she breathed in response. He knelt by her side, pressing a stone in the wall which illuminated multiple dim candles around them.
"Yes, are you alright?" he asked, helping her sit up.
"Yes," she said, laughing weakly in response.
"What?" he asked in panic, "What is so funny?"
"You've never called me by my name before…" she replied with a smile. He sighed, a slight smile appearing from behind his mask.
"Neither have you, Mademoiselle," he answered, taking her hand as she stood.
"I am perfectly aware of that, Erik…" she said. "Shall we continue on our journey?"
"Only if you are feeling well enough to do so," he answered, holding out his hand. She smiled and took his hand.
Quietly, they continued their journey down the dim corridor. The Phantom's heart was in his throat, but he refused to let his guest know. Beside him, Madeleine was trying to keep the butterflies in her stomach from bursting. Neither of them changed their calm facades.
From somewhere inside of her, Madeleine gathered the courage to break the immaculate silence.
"Monsieur," she asked quietly, "Why is it that you kept this corridor in darkness until now?"
"It was a challenge of sorts…" he replied with a bit of mystery in his voice.
"How so?" She asked, turning to look at his masked face.
"You seem to me like a very precarious young woman. The moment you entered my opera house, you were in some sort of trouble." He began. "I wanted to see exactly how brave you were. "
"And did I pass this test?" she asked challengingly.
"Yes," he replied reluctantly, "you are the first of three who have passed my test."
"Then it's an honor, Monsieur." He looked over at Madeleine's curious eyes and nodded. She smiled in return.
They continued their journey down the dim corridor in comfortable silence.
A few times, Madeleine's damp Pointe shoe slid across the wet stone, but the Phantom's faithful hand was there to catch her. He seemed to take pleasure in helping her, and reminding her quite frequently of her accident with his trapdoor.
When they arrived at the dock, The Phantom helped Madeleine into the boat, and continued their journey towards his lair. They continued in silence, but Madeleine's curiosity overtook her once more, and she gazed in awe at the sculptures and pillars which surrounded them. Slowly they came upon the shore of the Phantom's lair and Madeleine's eyes widened in amazement.
This was no lair; instead it looked like an old palace which was abandoned. An organ sat on a ledge a few feet from the shore, and various mirrors, tapestries, and fabrics covered entrances and hidden rooms. Monsieur le Phantom watched from the boat as Madeleine stepped off of the boat and onto the cold stone of his lair.
