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[lovelyhan]

enemies to lovers prompt #10 "I'm not driving home with you..." with mingyu, thx <3

— vices & virtues ⟢

being from one of the most opulent families in the city, you're used to getting everything you want. but when you realize that your hot bodyguard is strictly off-limits, you treat him like anything else you can't have: with unbridled hostility.

★ FEATURING; bodyguard!mingyu x reader

★ WORD COUNT; 5.4k words

★ TAGS; enemies to lovers, unresolved sexual tension, smut

★ WARNINGS; alcohol consumption, cigarettes, implied/referenced drug use, self-destructive behavior in general, (probably inaccurate) discussions about drug poisoning, graphic sexual content (MINORS DNI)

★ NOTES; when i tell you i speedwrote this just in time for mingyu day,,, eugh i love you so much gyugyu and thank you to the anon who sent this in a while back!! this prompt was so tasty to work with!

★ SMUT TAGS; unprotected sex, couch sex, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, dacryphilia, size kink, mating press, overstimulation, creampie

★ SVT TAGLIST; @wonderfulshinee - @misssugarlips - @yourfavoritefreakyhan - @jeanjacketjesus - @just-here-to-read-01 - @hanihans - @venusrae - @taestrwbrry - @minnie-mouser22 - @dreamhannies - @thvhannie - @kkooongie - @gae-uls - @lenireads - @gaebestie - @ryusha-rose - @enhacolor - @ilyvern - @woo8hao - @spk93 - @tommolex - @stariightjoyy - @asjkdk - @horny4hoshi

★ MINGYU TAGLIST; @ @renjunphile - @acgyu - @potatofrieswithketchup - @pluviophile-xxx - @pretty-trustme - @zeenanigans - @noveniadelia

When the tiniest sliver of consciousness slips into your inebriated brain, you feel the cold tile of the bathroom floor being pried off your face. Well, more like you're being gently lifted off it, and into the arms of someone warm.

You nearly lean into their embrace until you catch a whiff of that familiar, musky cologne with hint of something like pine. It takes you some effort to keep yourself from bolting out of his grasp and retching your guts out in the toilet again.

You deign to squint your eyes despite the harsh fluorescent light razing your vision. Looking down on you is none other than Kim Mingyu, gaze as indifferent as ever. Unfortunately, you're too drunk or high to figure out how he even found you here, but you know there's no weaseling your way out when your father's little lapdog has tracked you down.

"What're you doing here?" you still ask even if you knew the answer.

It's my job to take care of you.

"It's my job to take care of you," he says the words in the same way you imagined him to—apathetic. Indecipherable.

"Fuck you. I don't need you to take care of me," you scoff. "My friends'll drop me off at my apartment like they always do."

Mingyu rolls his eyes. "You mean the same friends who called me because they're tired of having to clean up after your shit? I don't want to be here either, princess, but I'm actually getting paid to keep you in line, if you hadn't known that yet."

There's something so unfairly attractive in the snark in his tone, and you fucking hate him for it. Mostly, you hate yourself for even thinking that anything about Mingyu is remotely alluring.

In the end, you just tell yourself that you're an objective person. You have eyes, and it won't cost anything to admit that Mingyu is conventionally attractive. Even if you did hate his guts.

Not that he'll ever hear you admit that aloud, though.

You're vaguely aware of how the hem of your too-short dress rides up your thighs as Mingyu rises back to his full height—having no problems carrying you out of the bathroom bridal-style.

Under normal circumstances, you would've struggled. Proved that you could very much handle yourself despite being obviously hammered. But your head is spinning, and your limbs feel like they'll disintegrate any second.

Eyes closed, you press your face into the fine fabric of Mingyu's suit—breathing in the same scent that repulsed you not five minutes earlier in an attempt at anchoring your consciousness.

As Mingyu maneuvers you out of the bathroom, the loud bass blaring from the speakers at the frat party you've decided to attend last minute rings in your eardrums. You don't have to see your surroundings to know you've got onlookers. Those unsubtle comments are clue enough to know you're being watched.

Who is that? Her boyfriend?

No, idiot, that's probably her bodyguard or some shit. Her family's loaded as fuck.

So lucky. If I had a bodyguard like that, I'd totally let him smash.

The real question is: would he let you smash?

Fuck you.

You want to flash them the most disgusted look you could muster. As if you'd stoop low enough to fuck Mingyu, of all people. Don't they know who you are? You could easily let any man or woman you wanted on their knees for you.

You were supposed to stick to your regular routine of getting railed into the next day after a few drinks and sticks, but you obviously got a little too excited about the new strains your friends snuck into the party. Now you're being princess carried by a man you absolutely despise, too shit-faced to even be remotely desired by anyone else at the moment.

Still, never in a million years would you consider having this guy as a bodyguard lucky.

You can tell you're outside when the music starts to fade in the distance and the cold starts to prickle your legs and arms. A somewhat coherent part of you recalls leaving your designer jacket in the coatrack of the frat house, and if you weren't so fucking shit-faced, you would've yelled at Mingyu to go back and get it.

But just before you can consider asking him somewhat nicely, you hear him unlock a car that definitely doesn't sound like yours—making your ears perk up, and your consciousness flood back in much faster.

"What are you—?"

You thrash in Mingyu's arms until he lets you down on the ground—throwing him a stone-cold glare right after. The fact that your pedicured feet are in direct contact with the asphalt makes your rage spike further. How dare this asshole leave your Valentinos behind? He might as well have just left you at the party altogether!

"I'm not driving home with you," you growl.

Mingyu's expression doesn't even budge. "You're not driving. I am."

"Don't try to be fucking smart with me. I'm high, not stupid."

Folding your arms across your chest, you try to pretend that you're not in the middle of the street, arguing with Mingyu as your blood pressure rises to unimaginable heights.

Unfortunately for you, this isn't the first time your friends have left you in the quote-unquote capable hands of your bodyguard. But every time he did, he would always drive whatever car you chose to bring for the occasion and drop you off at your place.

When he brings a car of his own, however...

"You're bringing me straight to the old man," you grumble. "You think he'll appreciate seeing his daughter all wasted at three in the morning? You think he'll be happy with you when he finds out you let me sneak out like this? Are you stupid or do you actually want to get fired?"

"And who told you I was going to bring you to him?" Mingyu shakes his head, letting out a long-winded sigh. "Like I said, I don't want to be here either. The last thing I need is even more overtime after your father sets you straight."

That makes you pause, eyes widening with a hint of mistrust. Mingyu listens to every word his employer says. He's the perfect little lapdog. So perfect that sneaking out for these nightly escapades of yours have grown increasingly difficult with how good he is at finding you and bringing you home.

So hearing him practically say that he won't tattle on you...

"How can I be sure you're not fucking with me? That if I fall asleep in the car, I won't wake up in the courtyard of the old man's stupid mansion?"

"Do I look like I have the energy to deal with both of you at the same time?" he replies sharply, opening the door to the passenger seat with a hint of finality in his actions. "Just get in the fucking car so we can all head to bed before sunrise."

The sound of the house party still in full swing echoes in your ears from the distance. Your skin tingles a little beneath the heat of Mingyu's mildly pissed off gaze, and you let out a shuddering breath to keep yourself from giving the feeling a name.

"Fine."

...

Good news: you made it safely back to your apartment without anyone alerting your father about your true whereabouts.

Bad news: Mingyu just won't fucking leave.

He insisted that you get yourself refreshed with a shower first before he talks to you in the living room. The same guy that right-out said that you should hop in the passenger seat of his car so you'd both be asleep before the sun rises. The clock is already pushing past four in the morning, and Mingyu still insists on lecturing you before he leaves?

You of all people know how obstinate he can be. He's even more stubborn than you are, if you're being completely honest. So even if it wounds your pride to play along with what he has planned, you head back to your living room right after slipping on your usual nightgown—flashing Mingyu a look to remind him you're not at all pleased with whatever bullshit he wants to talk about.

However, your irritation ebbs a little when you see a plate of your favorite cookies sitting on the coffee table, along with a glass of water and a sheet of Advil.

Your gaze drifts from the snacks to your bodyguard, who looks more dressed down than usual. His coat is folded neatly, hanging off one side of your couch, and the first three buttons of his dress shirt are undone.

You gulp, prying your eyes off the sliver of chest he's willingly exposed before seating a respectable distance away.

"What did you want to talk about?" You try to sound casual as you leaned forward, reaching for a cookie and the glass of water without as much initiating eye contact.

"You smoked a few joints at the party, didn't you?"

You take a bite, washing it down with your drink before replying with, "So what if I did? A little kush isn't going to kill anybody, Mingyu."

"We both know 'a little' doesn't exist in your vocabulary, princess," he points out, crossing his arms with an unimpressed look. "Anyway, I'm not your father, so I typically don't care about what drugs you're taste testing every night—"

"Are you implying that you suddenly care now?"

"With a new poisonous marijuana strain circulating in the underground market? Of course I do."

You do a double take on that, staring at him hard as you begrudgingly swallow your cookie, "What? Underground market? And what do you mean poisonous?"

Mingyu lets out another sigh when he leans forward to reach for the box of cigarettes and a lighter you left strewn across your coffee table. You're even more surprised to see him lighting himself a stick and taking a drag than you were when he prepared some snacks and water for you.

"Some Columbian drug cartels thought it would be funny to infiltrate surface-level drug transactions. Long story short, they invented some fucked up strain laced with belladonna and smuggled it into the market under the impression that it's a new sativa strain."

You absolutely have no idea how Mingyu even got ahold of this information, but realizing the implication of his words has your stomach sinking with dread. If what he's saying is true, it's no wonder you were out so fucking quick tonight.

"I'm not gonna die within twenty four hours, right?" you half-joke because, Jesus, you're adventurous with your drugs, but you wouldn't willingly take something that can actually kill you.

To your relief, Mingyu shakes his head. "I don't know the science behind it either, but I was told sativa tones down the poisonous effect of belladonna by a huge margin. The worst you'll experience is a fever and a nasty cough if you don't do anything about it."

"Gee, way to be reassuring."

Mingyu scoffs before taking another drag of his cigarette. Your gaze is riveted on the cut of his jaw as he inhales the smoke with eyes closed. It's only when he flicks the ashes in a small ashtray you left by the small table beside the couch that you realize he's pushed the sleeves of his dress shirt to his elbows—exposing a good deal of his toned arms.

You immediately take a huge gulp of water, not wanting such unsavory thoughts about an unsavory person to surface now, of all times.

You might be more refreshed after your shower, but if you're starting to ogle Kim Mingyu, the strange joints you've been hitting all night might've messed with your head more than you thought.

"That's why we're going to the doctor tomorrow—"

You scowl. "Like hell I'm going to pay Doctor Yoon a visit. That guy's the biggest tattletale in the world. He'll definitely tell the old man. Oh, and I actually have classes tomorrow if you're forgetting, Mingyu."

"You're pretending to attend those now that it's convenient for you?" He smirks as he breathes out another puff of smoke. "Nice try, princess. But don't worry your pretty little head about it. I'll take you to another doctor I know—someone who won't get us both in trouble by telling your father that you've been smoking bad weed."

"Again, way to be fucking reassuring."

The silence finally settles as you nibble contemplatively on the snacks he brought for you. You're can say for sure that you're most certainly sober now, so Mingyu's words have got you thinking.

But it's a little difficult to think about the state of your health when you've got a sort-of uninvited guest manspreading right next to you on the couch.

"Aren't you going to leave?" you ask. "Just text me what time we're going to visit that doctor friend of yours."

"How would you feel if you got told to scram while you're in the middle of a smoke?" Mingyu flashes you an annoyed look. "For the third time, I don't even want to be here, princess. At least let me have this as compensation for saving your sorry ass."

He's so fucking infuriating.

The rough undercurrent in his voice. The perpetual upward curve of his lips as if he always has the upper hand. His beefy arms. His built chest.

...Not to mention his unexpected thoughtfulness when he decided to stick around and inform you about what you might've gotten yourself into instead of leaving you to fend for yourself. He even brought out your favorite cookies for good measure.

You never really know what to do with Kim fucking Mingyu. He stirs up all sorts of confusing feelings inside your chest at any given time, and frankly, you've had enough of it.

You allow yourself to relish in the pride that swells in your chest when he nearly drops his half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray the moment you crawl on top of his lap.

Mingyu's mouth quivers with some sensible words his job description probably requires him to say, but you rob him of his ability to speak when you steal the cancer stick from his fingers. In one long breath, you smoke the cigarette down to the filter—killing it on your ashtray before leaning down to press your lips to his.

With how stunned he is, it doesn't take a lot of effort to pry Mingyu's mouth open, breathing the smoke into his mouth. Once you're satisfied, you pull away with a triumphant smirk.

"Now you're done," you say, making the motions to get off his lap. "I'm heading to bed. Don't wake me up before noon for that doctor's appointment or else I'm going to slash your ti—"

You don't even get to finish that sentence. Mingyu suddenly flips you over so that your back is pressed against the couch and he's lying on top of you—both knees planted on either side of your hips as he gazes at you with an ireful glare.

"W-What are you doing?" you whisper, but in spite of the protesting nature of your words, you can't help but feel a pang of white hot desire shoot straight through you when you feel just how big he is now that his body is pressed against yours.

"Teaching a bad girl a lesson," he whispers, grabbing your face roughly. "You can't just pull off shit like that and expect to walk away from it unscathed, princess."

Fuck. That nickname he always uses never fails to get on your nerves on any other day. But when he sounds like that and has you under him like this...

"What are you gonna do about it then?" you ask.

Mingyu chuckles darkly, as he squishes your face with his big, long fingers. You nearly shudder at the thought of what those digits could do to you if you just pushed the right buttons.

"You'll just have to fuck around and find out."

When the pressure of his strong grip leaves your cheeks, confusion paints your features. Mingyu's weight eases off your pliant body almost immediately as well, leaving you to scowl at him incredulously. He doesn't even look at you as he collects his coat from where it hangs off your couch.

But before he can even think about putting it back on, something not so different from a growl resonates deep in your chest as you sit back up—tugging on the collar of his shirt to smash your lips together.

Mingyu all but groans into the kiss, but you're not sure if you can even call it that. There's nothing but hunger fueling the both of you as your tongue slides alongside his, mapping out each other's mouths like your lives depended on it.

You vaguely hear his coat fall to the floor as Mingyu goes back to crowding you against the couch—one of his strong arms circling your waist as he grinds his hips against your middle. It's nearly embarrassing how willing you are to receive his advances.

You, the same person who told your bodyguard you refused to drive home with him, are now making out with said bodyguard at four in the morning.

But then again, who fucking cares?

"You have no idea," he whispers hoarsely against your lips and you let out a stifled moan when you feel the outline of his erection rut against your clothed pussy, "how much you drive me insane. You're such a fucking handful, you know that?"

"I'm glad to know I make your life miserable," you bite back despite the fact that, when Mingyu brings down the straps of your nightgown to expose your breasts to the cool air, you do nothing about it.

Mingyu lets out a harsh laugh. "You're probably into this, aren't you, princess? You like riling me up so much so that I'd snap and teach you a lesson?"

You want to tell him that he's being fucking full of himself if he thinks you've planned this that far back. But with how massive he feels through his trousers alone, you can't say that you don't want him inside you right this second.

It doesn't help that he's giving your chest a generous amount of attention—suckling at your nipples in a way that has you twitching beneath him with sensitivity.

"So what if I am?" you say, testing the limits of what he'll let you get away with. "You talk big about teaching me a lesson but you're being awfully careful with me. Aren't you going to shove your cock down my throat to get me to shut up?"

Mingyu chuckles with a quick shake of his head, like he isn't even taking your words seriously. You let out a sharp yelp when he bites down on one of your breasts—leaving a distinct imprint of his canines on your skin before staring into your eyes.

"I can choke you with my cock next time, princess. For now, I just want to make you come until you're crying for me."

Fuck.

Mingyu wastes no time. He immediately sinks to his knees on the floor, hauling your hips closer to the edge of the couch so that he can hook your thighs over his shoulders. When he realizes that you're not wearing any underwear underneath your flimsy satin nightgown, you swear the noise he makes is near animalistic.

"Don't get f-fucking cocky," you stammer, nerves alight everywhere his lips graze your inner thighs. "I don't usually wear underwear before going to sleep! This wasn't for you."

"It is now," Mingyu says before licking a long stripe from your leaking hole to your aching clit. He holds your thighs far apart as his lips latch onto that little bundle of nerves, alternating with delicious licks at your sensitive folds.

He practically smothers his face into your cunt as he continues his relentless assault on your clit. By the time Mingyu starts to tease his tongue along your entrance, your fingers have found their way into his unruly hair—moans falling from your lips with little concern about appearances.

Mingyu pulls away for a moment, and you nearly snap at him from that alone until he eases one of those thick fingers into your wet channel—dark eyes trained on you as he stretches you out with a hungry gaze.

You don't even feel any semblance of shame when you start to ride that single digit, wanting to feel him go deeper and spread you wider. Fortunately, your bodyguard is more attentive than you think, and it doesn't take long for him to ease another finger into your needy pussy, curling them just so once he's sure he's found that spot that'll render you an incoherent mess.

The sound he rips out of you is unholy and Mingyu growls again before his mouth finds its way back onto your cunt—getting lost in the taste of you on his tongue.

"Where's the fight you've been putting up against me all this time, princess?" he taunts just before those stupidly thick fingers graze that sensitive patch of flesh inside you again. "Are you that desperate? You've fucked yourself up so much tonight that you couldn't bring anyone back home. Your bodyguard's gonna have to do, huh?"

You know you should be affronted by how offensive his words are. Mingyu might be an expert at getting on your nerves, but with how good his fucking mouth feels as he laves at your cunt like a man starved, you can't even let yourself feel any modicum of annoyance.

"M-Mingyu," you gasp as he suckles on your clit again—steadily building your orgasm from the ground-up. "I'm gonna come, f-fuck!"

Three. Mingyu slides in three fingers at your admission, and you nearly cry with how wide he's stretching you out. This time, he switches from sucking at your clit to rapidly flicking his tongue against the sensitive pearl.

Your toes curl with oversensitivity, thighs nearly crushing his head as you frame the syllables of his name in another wanton moan. When Mingyu curls his fingers inside you one more time, the tension that's been building in your stomach snaps like a rubber band.

Once you teeter off the precarious edge of release, you feel a gush of slick surge out of your cunt and into his awaiting mouth. Mingyu laps it all up—his sinful tongue catching every drop of your tangy essence. If you didn't know better, you would think he's desperate for you as much as you are for him.

It takes a while for your mind to fully come back online after that first orgasm, chest heaving almost painfully with how Mingyu took your breath away with oral alone. When you finally have your wits about you, your bodyguard surges forward so that your faces are levelled, and you nearly groan when you see the way his mouth and chin glisten with your juices.

"So fucking delicious for me," he rasps. "Gonna let me have a taste of this pussy every time now, princess? Want my mouth on you before you sleep?

"Do whatever you want, Gyu," you mewl, tugging him closer as you position yourself horizontally on the couch. "N-Need you so bad."

He sighs, unbuttoning the rest of his dress shirt as he drinks in the sight of you all fucked out and compliant because of his mouth and fingers alone. Your lips are parted, eyes glistening with tears or desire—Mingyu can't say for sure just yet.

But if he can get you this wrecked from oral, he can't fucking wait to see what you'll look like after he gets you to cream on his cock.

His shirt falls to the floor and you can't contained the awed gasp that leaves you at the sight of him. He's built like a fucking sculpture—all lean muscle and hard toned abs. It would make sense for Mingyu to be this well-built, being your bodyguard and all, but the thought of having his body pressed against yours as he fucks you into the couch is sending your mind into overdrive.

"You're so adorable," he chuckles, but you know the words are anything but a compliment. "A moment ago you were challenging everything I said and did. Now you're suddenly an agreeable little thing. Are you that cock-hungry, princess? Want something to fill that pretty pussy?"

"Yes." You don't even hesitate. "Yes, yes, yes. Want your cock in me. Want you to fill me up, Gyu. Please..."

Fortunately for you, Mingyu isn't one to tease. The moment you've given him the green light to rearrange your insides, he steps out of his tight trousers and boxers at the same time, pumping his thick cock in one hand as he nudges your thighs apart once again.

You practically salivate at the thought that you're about to take all those delicious inches inside you. Mingyu doesn't miss the starry look on your face, but doesn't take the time to gloat about it. Instead, he leans all the way forward so that your thighs are squished against your chest—easing your legs across his shoulders in a position that's not so different from when he ate you out earlier.

"Gonna fuck the attitude out of you, princess," he promises before pressing a kiss on the corner of your mouth. "You ready for me?"

You nod a little too eagerly, forcing his face into the crook of your neck as you wrap your arms around his head. "Gyu, please..."

"Alright. Since you asked so nicely."

He doesn't even give any forewarning when he bottoms out inside you in one languid stroke. A choked up noise gets caught in your chest with how sudden he was, how full you feel in such a short amount of time, but Mingyu doesn't give you any time to think, or even to breathe.

Before you can even get a single word out, he's pulling his hips back—making you feel every inch of his thick cock before slamming his hips forward with a powerful thrust that drives you further into the sofa. You let out a long-winded moan, unable to do anything about it as he pounds into you with the vigor of someone who's been putting up with your shit for a better part of the year.

"Pussy's so fucking tight for me," he growls. "You're squeezing my cock so good, princess. Is this all I had to do so you'd stop driving me crazy? Eat you out a little and dick you down 'til you forget your name?"

You can't even process what he's saying right now—too lost in the sensation of his cockhead grazing your cervix with each forward stroke. He's reaching into you so deep that you might really just forget everything but the letters of Mingyu's name by the time he's done with you.

"M-Mingyu," you drawl dumbly as he peppers your neck with bites and bruises—unrelenting with his deep strokes as your cunt flutters around his length. "Fuck. L-Love your cock so much—oh!"

You let out a gasp that Mingyu quickly muffles with his own mouth as he adjusts your positions on the sofa—easing your legs off of his shoulders in exchange for spreading them wider on the cushions. How he manages to do that without his cock slipping out of you is a testament to your flexibility, and he's already cooking up what he'll do about that information for next time.

Mingyu continues kissing you all while he plants one foot on the couch and the other on the floor. When he tugs your hips even closer it's only then that you realize that the lunatic has you in a mating press.

"How long have you been thinking about me fucking you like this?" he whispers, deciding to drag it out with slow, deep thrusts that only serve to frustrate you. "You wouldn't have let me go this far if you hadn't thought about it at least once, princess."

I've wanted to fuck you since the old man introduced us, is the correct answer but you've still got some shred of dignity. If Mingyu wants the truth, he's going to have to work for it.

"Fuck me again after this, and I might give you an answer," you rasp, meeting his lazy thrusts with some of your own to get the point that you want him to ram into you across.

"There she is," Mingyu laughs. "My nasty, sharp-tongued princess. Thought I lost you for a sec."

"You will if you don't fuck me until I black out."

"Oh? All you had to do was ask, you know."

Then and there, Mingyu makes good of that interesting position he'd unknowingly lured you into—plunging that fat cock even deeper into your pussy if that's even possible. It felt heavenly, taking all of him while your legs dangled off his shoulders, but there's just something about having your legs spread impossibly wide as he drills into you with the full intention of making you come until you're crying that does it for you.

As each second passes, Mingyu's thrusts become more erratic—hips snapping with hard, calculated strokes so fucking good that tears are starting to glisten along the lines of your lashes like he promised.

You mewl his name like a string of prayers as the sound of your cunt squelching with every thrust rings in your ears. It's insane how close he's driven you to the edge in the span of thirty minutes, and you're starting to grow fearful of how addicting it feels to have him inside you like this.

At this point, you'd rather get off on Mingyu's cock than get high from some shady sativa joint. Something tells you he'd rather have that, too.

"Where do you want me, princess?" he whispers into your ear, reaching between your legs to give you just the right pressure you've been missing on your clit. You have to bite back a sob when he presses his thumb against it.

"Inside," you whimper as he continues plunging his engorged length into you. "Fill me with your cum, please, Gyu. I want it—want it so bad."

Mingyu hisses when you clench around his cock, large hands undoubtedly about to leave bruises on your thighs come morning. When you hear that deep, sexy laugh in your ear, you know it's all over for you.

"Come on my cock first, princess. Then I'll give you what you want."

He punctuates the words by drawing quick, tight circles on your clit all while keeping up the cadence of his thrusts. With the steady stream of stimulation he's so willing to give, it's a no-brainer for another orgasm to blindside you yet again.

You cry out with bliss as you screw your eyes shut—tears running down your cheeks in cascades as you fall apart on Mingyu's cock. He fucks into you despite the overstimulation, his own high not far behind because of the expression you're showing him.

"That's it," he rasps, leaning down to kiss the tears away. "Fucking cry for me, princess."

You're not sure if you're just too blissed out to comprehend it properly, but you're pretty sure that Mingyu just triggered another orgasm from you when you feel him twitch inside—your tight channel being covered in his white hot emission.

It doesn't help that your insatiable lover continues to fuck his cum deeper into your abused cunt, taking full advantage of this position while he can.

"M-Mingyu," you beg, fingers raking across his back as he punches the breath out of your lungs. "Too much. T-Too much."

You thought he wouldn't heed your words, but surprisingly, Mingyu halts every movement to gaze at you with a hint of concern lining his gaze. Wordlessly, he eases himself out of your sore cunt, wiping the tears off your eyes before pressing a kiss on your lips.

"Sorry," he murmurs before gently fixing the straps of your nightgown. He even tugs the hem down despite the fact that his cum is currently leaking out of you. "You want me to tuck you in?"

You nod, lacing your fingers around his neck, the overstimulated mess you are. Mingyu breathes out a quiet laugh before carrying you into his arms again.

"Alright, princess. Let's get you to bed."

You don't have the heart nor the energy to protest. Besides, it's his job to take care of you, after all.

⟢ end notes: reminder to not take any of the medical indications abt drugs that i included in this fic seriously. i made all of those up. oh and this should go w/o saying but don't fuck anyone while under the influence of anything AT ALL !!!

that aside, happy birthday to everyone's favorite puppy boy mingyu! i ended up loving him a lot more as i stanned svt, and i hope everyone else gives him the same love as well! god knows he has lots to give to both his members and his fans ueueue

++ if you spotted a few errors here and there, please don't tell me or i'll die of embarrassment ^_^ this wasn't proofread bcs i wanted to drop this exactly on his bday (i am 1 hour and 34 mins late!) HEHEHE i was sposed to write an ending scene in the morning where gyu wakes up and sees her wearing his shirt while making breakfast but that'll make this too long :| i'll just leave that to ur imagination!

[ddarker-dreams]

Smoking Gun.

Yan Johan x Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, Johan being just unpleasant to be around as always. Word count: 2.1k.

When you walk into your apartment, a premonition hangs over your head like a low storm cloud.

Nothing is amiss at first glance. Every detail is just how you left it, from the pans you used to make this morning’s breakfast soaking in the sink to the blanket you forgot to fold strewn over the couch. There are no flickering lights or low groans of a floorboard in another room meant to warn you of impending danger. You only have your raw, human instincts — unrefined as they may be — to work with. You close the door noiselessly behind you, leaving it open just a sliver in case you need to bolt.

Water droplets drip down from your closed umbrella and onto the wooden floor. For once, you’re uncaring of the mess that and the mud on your boots are undoubtedly leaving behind, your focus honing in elsewhere. You take slow, cautious steps into your living space, eyes crawling over every visible inch for signs of disruption. Finding nothing, you inspect the bathroom next. It’s in a similarly insignificant state.

That leaves your bedroom down the hall.

Your breathing is growing more labored with each bit of the gap you close between you and your final destination. Light from the setting sun streams in from the eerily silent room, causing you to wrack your brain over if you did or didn’t close the blinds this morning. You can’t remember for the life of you. One second you think you may have, the next, you’re convinced the opposite is true.

You wince when the floor creaks beneath your feet, right before the bedroom’s door frame. This panel’s belligerence had slipped your mind. Had there been anyone there, especially the person you think might be present, they would’ve heard that. Adrenaline courses through you when you decide to rush in, your makeshift weapon at the ready.

“Welcome back.”

That voice — whoever would’ve thought the devil spoke without malice?

Johan’s face is kind, his smile kinder, so soft that you have to squint to make out the upturn of his lips. You maintain the rigid position of your umbrella, uncertain if it’s meant to be a sword or a shield. The cracked door you left for a swift escape resurfaces in your mind. You could make it — should make it — but you don’t even lift your feet from the ground. How can you, when you catch what he’s holding in his hands, the revelation filling you with red-hot rage.

There are a million things you could ask him, or shout at him, but you eventually settle on:

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” he responds, deceit nonexistent, for he knows there’s nothing worse than the truth. “You’re home late today.”

You part your lips, only to close them, aghast by how your instinct was to explain yourself to him. Tell him that you got carried away watching a street performance and missed your regular bus. He carries himself in such a normal, organic fashion, that you can’t help but settle into any rhythm he establishes. You shake your head, hoping the action is the key to breaking whatever spell he has over you by simply existing in the same room.

Without trying to conceal it, you size him up. You note the lack of mud on the floor, despite the fact he’s still wearing his shoes, and deduce he really has been waiting here for hours. It started pouring around your lunch break and only let up recently. The knowledge he’s been here, invading your personal space while you were none the wiser, fills you with dread.

“... I’m really not in the mood to deal with this,” you lower your umbrella. You get the feeling he isn’t intimidated by it and cast it aside. Exhaustion weighs over you like an anchor pressed to your chest. The burning fury from before is more of a flickering ember, hot to the touch yet nowhere near as all-consuming.

“I remember you felt different when we last spoke.”

He’s still holding it. Your hands ball up into fists by your side. “Is that what this is about? You’re here to rub what I’ve said before in my face?”

“No. You don’t need me to bring up your words to be bothered by them,” Johan finally puts the item down, back onto your nightstand, where it once belonged. These days, you’re not so certain. He fixes it into place so that if you hadn’t found him, you never would’ve realized it was tampered with.

This rendition of the photograph is in color, as opposed to the black and white shown on the front pages of newspapers for months. You have seen this photo outside the confines of your apartment many times. Too often, perhaps. It haunted you more dutifully than any specter. When walking by vendors on the streets, or sitting across from a businessman on the bus reading his morning paper with a cup of coffee. Your waking nightmare had become just another thing for the general populace to consume alongside the daily crossword puzzles and advice columns.

The headlines flicker through your mind like reels of film.

College Student Missing from Munich. Search for Missing College Student Entering Second Month. Then finally, Elias Friedrich Found Dead at 23.

The mirth in Elias’ eyes when that photo was taken taunts you, wriggling beneath your skin like the maggots they found on his body. You had been happy then yourself, an emotion long forgotten. Suddenly, you wish Johan had turned it to face the wall, so you wouldn’t have to see what will never be again.

“You’ve been applying for visas in other countries,” he points out. You frown — you had been so careful — but you guess that doesn’t matter when Johan is involved. “You must intend to leave the promise you made to me unfulfilled.”

What he speaks of wasn’t so much a promise as it was a curse. Whether it be a curse on you, or him, you couldn’t say for certain.

“I’m assuming that since you know about the visas, I shouldn’t be expecting an acceptance letter anytime soon? You’ve got people at the embassy under your thrall too?”

The enigmatic smile he gives churns your stomach. He must assume there’s no point in telling you what you already know. Loathe as you are to admit it, you understand why, and that knowledge chills you to the bone. Johan is no longer a complete mystery to you. It was simpler when he was; you could paint him as this unpredictable bogeyman in your mind. You don’t want to be familiar with him, a realization that would’ve done you better earlier. By the time you learn how deep the water is by diving in, it’s too late to resurface without drowning.

You know why he’s here. It isn’t to kill or even threaten you — it’s to remind you. That you don’t get to go anywhere simply because he sees value in having you around. This seemingly minute fact is enough to thrust your life in permanent limbo.

“Whatever, I get it,” you mumble, walking over to your bed and sitting on the edge of it. “You made your point. I don’t even know why I bothered trying.”

It was nice, having those few weeks where you successfully deluded yourself. That’s all it ever was, a fleeting delusion, as tangible as a mirage in the desert. It’d been so long since you saw him last. You figured he had to have bigger ambitions that would push you from the forefront of his mind. Clinging to this notion was what kept you sane. Without it, you don’t know what you are.

Johan considers you for a long moment. “Would you like to know why I didn’t kill you that night?”

All it takes is the smooth utterance of that night for your senses to be transported back in a whirlwind. The cool, winter air biting your cheeks, the musky scent left behind by rain, the screams for help that roped you into a world you could never leave. Your body goes stiff as a corpse when he sits beside you on the bed you used to share with another. The very person Johan took from you, what marked the beginning of the end.

“I wanted you to see the same darkness I’ve been familiar with,” there’s something different about his tone, though you can’t put your finger on it. Honesty? Vulnerability? Is he even capable of either? “I always intended on it. Your being there wasn’t mere happenstance. It was deliberate.”

You can’t begin to imagine the expression etched onto your countenance.

“I told you that ultimately, whether you chose to do anything about Elias’ death or not, it wouldn’t matter. You promised to prove me wrong. I never said I’d mind if you did.”

There are inches between you and him, but it isn’t enough. It wouldn’t matter if he was halfway across the continent or the world itself — it still wouldn’t be enough space. He’d never fail to find a way to suffocate you in the way only he can.

“Do you…” you swallow thickly, finding your mouth terribly dry, “Do you want to be proven wrong?”

For the first time you can recall, it’s Johan who breaks eye contact instead of you. He leans back on his palms, his attention drifting to the ceiling before his blonde eyelashes flutter shut. The time that passes can’t be significant, no more than a few seconds, you wager; but it stretches on further than the horizon. You don’t breathe, don’t blink, don’t think. You just stare. Wholly absorbed, wholly fascinated.

“What do you think?”

You respond faster than thoughts can form in your head. “You don’t know.”

Blue eyes regard you with muted curiosity.

“That’s right. You don’t know what you want, or you would’ve gotten it by now,” you reaffirm. You’re seeing him as much as he’s always seen you. “You said you want to be the last one standing in the world, but a day will come when you’ll even lose interest in that. Then you’ll move onto the next thing… and then the next… wading endlessly in a search for something you’ll never find.”

If you had been debilitated by a fraction of the darkness he was familiar with in its entirety, then you get it.

Knowing what to do with yourself, how to begin rebuilding, whether or not it’s even worth the effort of trying; these sentiments are your acquaintances and his lifelong friends.

You didn’t realize you were smiling until you go to speak again. “I guess it doesn’t matter if the embassy never issues me a visa, if I can connect you to Elias’ death, or prove you wrong.”

“And why’s that?”

“I might never find closure, but neither will you.”

The sky weeps. Distant pitter-patters hit like drums against a storm pipe, outdone only by the cacophony of raindrops striking your window. The sun has hidden itself behind a layer of clouds. You’re staring at one another, breathing in each other’s air. You don’t know what’s going on in his mind, and for once, your intuition whispers he doesn’t know what’s happening in yours.

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, handling you delicately, like you’re a flower. His touch lingers long enough that you don’t think you could forget it if you tried. The emotions dancing in his eyes are indecipherable. When he retracts his hand, his fingers brush against your jawline, leaving goosebumps in his wake. You know you should recoil from the unwanted touch, yet you’re hypnotized into staying still.

When Johan blinks, the unknown glaze over his eyes is gone.

Then he’s standing, turning his back to you, and walking toward the doorway you brazenly ran through what feels like ages ago.

“I’m glad I came to visit,” he looks at you from over his shoulder. “You always make it worth my time.”

You hug your legs to your chest. “Can’t say the feeling’s mutual.”

The insult is like water off a duck’s back, he doesn’t bother acknowledging it.

“The next time I visit, I won’t be leaving without you.”

You wish you could say you were surprised, but you felt this revelation breathing down your neck. He was your personal harbinger of misfortune. You weren’t foolish enough to think he was done with you, not after falling for that temptation once. Whatever comes next will be a secret you won’t be able to pry from his lips. It could be in an hour, perhaps tomorrow, or months down the line; you won’t know until he wants you to.

Something tells you the darkness he showed you that night will pale in comparison to what lies ahead.

“And if I don’t want to go?”

Johan stops, his shoulders shaking in what you assume to be a quiet chuckle.

“I’ll stop at nothing to encourage you, in any way I can.”

[madelynraemunson]

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series)

strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!reader

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ MDNI

Chapter 016: 86 It, Baby

When they find out about you and Eddie, his cult following of jealous dancers team up to make your life a living hell. How much of it will you be able to tolerate? And how much of it will Eddie actually allow?

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014** , 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020*

* = somewhat smutty chapters ** = smut chapters

word count: 8.1k words

disclaimers — fluff, smut, angst, oral (fem-receiving), pussy worship, office roleplay, fingering, boyfriend!eddie 😍 • bullying, body dysmorphia, body shaming, humiliation, sabotage, profanities, spreading rumors, billy being a narcissistic fuck again

(x)

Chapter 015 recap

"You sure you want to sign up for all of this?"

• • •

From here on out, it's going to be Shy Girl and Eddie... and nothing... NOTHING will ever change your mind or get in the way of that.

“Sugarcoated lies unfolded…”

Chapter 016

♡

“OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY!” Dustin shrieks.

“CORNER!” Mike hollers. “Hot plates coming through!”

“Shit shit shit shit!” This is the third order Lucas has messed up. “Argyle’s gonna kill me. Where the fuck is Eddie?!”

It’s Hellfire’s busiest Tuesday and the owner is nowhere in sight. And neither are you — Hellfire’s number one dancer.

Surely that has to be a coincidence. Because the last thing on your mind while everyone is going crazy looking for Eddie is going crazy in his office, your legs spread out on his desk while riding his tongue, his mouth and fingers penetrating your sensitive clit with calculated strokes and thirst-quenched laps, Eddie’s eyes rolling to the back of his head as he prowls for your release, the remnants of it trickling down the wooden table and soaking all of his nearby paperwork.

…Right?

“Have you seen Eddie?” Nancy demands as she waves her dead curling iron in the air.

“No!”

“Will…have you seen Eddie?” Jonathan asks.

“No!”

Argyle isn’t having any better of a day.

“Ayo, who THE FUCK keeps ringing in the Eddie Special?! We 86’d it an hour ago cuz we’re out of thousand island!”

The frazzled cook shifts his focus back to the grill, wiping sweat away from his forehead in exhaustion. He then bolts to the fryer, ignoring the mountain of tickets piling up on the line.

A few muffled curse words escape his mouth. Goddammit Eddie. Where is that fucker?!

“Eddie?!” Dustin calls out as he’s directed to voicemail.

“Eddie!” Chrissy attempts.

“Eddie?!”

“Eddie!”

“EDDIE!” you moan. “Oh, fuck. Eddie…”

“Thought I told you to call me sir.”

Eddie’s lips hum against the ones between your legs as he devours you, tip of his tongue flicking across your folds before circling inwards, licking…sucking…moaning and spitting as he reels you in for a delicious rotation of all possible combinations.

“My sweet, sweet secretary,” Eddie playfully swoons. “They’re gonna have to wait baby, you taste so good.”

It should come as no surprise that a Dungeon Master like Eddie is obsessed with role-play. Yet it stuns you like it’s the first time, watching him devour you like a starved man in the wild, the heels of his palms anchoring you to his desk by how they hook your thighs in place.

“Love the skirt you wore just for me,” Eddie blubbers. The easy access just does something to him. And the way it hugs your body... Eddie is practically scraping his knees on the floor trying to make you feel good. “Love your sweet pussy. Love everything about you…”

“Ohhh…fuck…” you mewl as the echos of your wet cunt filter the air around you. “Yes, Eddie…”

“You my naughty little secretary?”

“Yes, sir…”

Eddie hums again while you toss your head back, bliss-filled and fucked out, squirming underneath him as your ankles dangle limply at his shoulders. Your pornographic moans that bleed into desperate squeals cause Eddie to subconsciously buck his hips and thrust, eagerly sinking his mouth further into you as he sucks harder on your clit. And just before he can pull down his pants to pound you senseless around his office, another type of pounding awaits for you two at the door.

“EDDIE OPEN THE FUCK UP!” Henderson screeches as he knocks. “Our ass is grass out there, what are you doing?!”

Eddie sighs in anguish, irritibably looking over at the ruckus waiting for him on the other side of that door. "I'll be right back, babe.”

You use this time away from Eddie to gather yourself and your belongings. Since you had been folded up for a while, your legs wobble like jelly when they meet the floor.

You’re a little bummed that you two didn’t meet your goal of Orgasm #5 of the day, but you’re content in knowing that there is always an opportunity to later in the night.

The door swings open abruptly causing you to jolt. Eddie’s back.

“Shy Girl,” he huffs.

“Eds,” you respond.

“I never thought these words would ever come out of my mouth,” Eddie warns you. “But please put your clothes on.”

“Huh?!”

Eddie fills you in on the shitshow that is taking place outside. Hellfire is in desperate need of an extra server, and you are the only one with qualifications that can do it. But as much as you want to help, you are reluctant. It is a huge pay cut on your end if you took that deal.

“I make way more stripping than serving, Eddie,” you frown. “I need to pay the bills.”

“I can give you a cash advance,” Eddie bargains. “A-and even all my tips from the tip-out tonight. We just really need someone, baby. Just this one time, please. Only for today.”

Your man starts towards you with a flirtatious demeanor now, swooping in to grab your hips that he adores oh so much. You bite your lips, trying your best not to cave.

“And…” he lowers his voice huskily. “I’ll be sure to have another kind of tip waiting for you at home…”

You giggle into his chest, laughing at the clever pun that he had up his sleeve. And because he’s so charismatic and convincing, you take him up on the offer.

“Okay, fine,” you agree. “Just this one day.”

When you’re fully clothed again, Eddie hands you a Hellfire baseball tee and apron for you to wear as you switch from dancer to waitress. And after one final look at yourself, you reach to turn the knob of Eddie’s office door to go outside. Someone is already waiting by the foot of it when you pull it open.

Henderson.

Confused, Dustin looks at you. You look at Dustin. Dustin’s eyes wander over to Eddie whose got the most devious smirk on his face. Finally Henderson looks back over at you and sighs, issuing you a “do I even want to know?” type stare.

You clear your throat, attempting to brush off the awkwardness that just took over.

“Well…we going out there or not?”

“Hey. Look over there.”

Your ability to take up space in more forms than one inevitably catches the attention of the other dancers. Justice and Emmy in particular. The two watch as you strut around Hellfire with the club t-shirt on instead of the Nothing that they’re used to, ordering the younger gentlemen of Hellfire around like you were the shift lead.

“Lucas stay back here and help Argyle cook the food,” you instruct. “I will run it out. Mike, you start bussing and sweeping so the area looks nice. Dustin, I need you to make set-ups. Will, I need you up front as host and cashier. Someone needs to be at the front at all times. When everything is less crazy, we can all assume our usual positions. Right now it’s just DAMAGE CONTROL.”

Hellfire is not like a standard sit-down restaurant... for obvious reasons. However, the foundation remains the same. Everyone has a lane. They need to stay in it.

The boys are more than receptive to your instructions and follow through almost immediately. Eddie observes as it all goes down. He beams at you in awe, fantasizing about the situation because it's all his mind knows when it comes down to you.

“It’s like she’s leading them into battle…" he sighs breathlessly. "She’s so hot.”

“HOT!” Argyle screams as he dishes an appetizer onto the line. “Someone throw some chives on there for me, yeah?”

Just when you're about to crash, Steve and Max make their way inside the club, clearly worn out from their shift at Newby's, and stunned by the turnout for Hellfire at the beginning of the week.

“Holy shit, why are men so horny on a Tuesday?” Max exclaims.

She hands you your coffee that she made for you herself.

“This drink’s called The Pollywog. Dark and earthy, should do the trick.”

“Coffee does for me what crack cocaine would do for others,” you remark. “Thanks sis, I owe you.”

You pan your gaze over to Steve, because you know that he and Max usually like to order food and sit around for a bit before he drives her home.

“Uh, just two waters,” Steve mutters. “Max and I will order when you guys are less slammed.”

You smile at him, resting a grateful hand atop his shoulder. “‘ppreciate it, Stevie.”

The strippers eye you. Again, intently. You’re close with his roommate too? Little do they know you were also fucking his roommate for a short period of time.

This goes deeper than any of them thought. You and Eddie must be exclusive. And to them, it seems like you’re getting special treatment, fucking your way up to the top like a certain woman once did.

“Looks like we might have another Isabelle on our hands.”

“Look at her walking around like she owns the place.”

“She thinks she can take over Hellfire because she’s fucking Eddie huh?”

“I mean why wouldn’t she? She’s also friends with Chrissy. Birds of a feather.”

𓆩♡𓆪

It feels like you’re submerged underwater judging by the increase of pressure in the room.

The dressing room is eerily quiet. Everyone is whispering instead of the usual singing and shouting. Your intuition senses that people are staring... almost in a way that makes you feel like an art display, or that you have food in your teeth. The only ones who are still acting normal are Chrissy and Nina, while the girls you usually joke around with at their respective vanities have gone radio silent.

Just then, there's a knock on the door.

“Hi my beautiful girls,” Eddie coos as he makes his way into the dressing room.

He keeps his eyes covered until everyone says it’s okay.

“Quite the lunch shift huh?”

“You have no idea, Eds,” Nina sighs. "But it sure as hell paid off."

"Yeah, Eddie," Chrissy agrees. "We all got tipped so well, your tip-out is probably astounding too!"

Speaking of which...

"Just what I came here for," Eddie points a finger gun at you before unveiling to you a huge wad of cash. “Here are my lunch tips, like I promised.” You reluctantly take it from Eddie as he ruffles your hair endearingly.

Eddie's first mistake was not only making you the center of attention, but giving his tips to you — on top of the tips you already had from serving — in front of the other girls. In a way, those were their tips. They only became his, well, yours now, because of the tip-out policy.

Now they're really annoyed. The girls who have you on their radar wait until Eddie leaves to approach you. And when they do you're almost taken aback.

“You’re starting to do a lot of the positions,” Emmy observes.

"Uh, yeah from time to time," you respond gently. "Today Eddie really needed an extra server on the floor so I jumped ship to help the boys."

“Must be a natural at taking charge.”

"Oh…I'm hardly ever a dom," you try to laugh it off. "If I am it's usually just for show. I'm more of a soft dom and sub if you ask me."

"Just for show, I see," that's all Emmy seems to get from what you said.

"I'm sorry... did I step on some toes here?" you question her. She's almost shocked at how ballsy you are. But then again, she doesn't know you. "Because you seem pretty fed up with me today, Emmy."

“We’re just really protective of our Eddie,” she replies dryly. "That's all."

“Girl, trust I don’t want any trouble,” you try to sound confident but your voice fails you. Why would you say that? You shouldn't say that, you're his girlfriend. They should be the ones treading lightly.

“Oh we would hope so too,” Emmy glares. “Cause we’re watching.”

And just like that, the girls you thought you were on good terms with strut back outside in a single file line, their icy stares fixed on you until they are out of sight.

The atmosphere feels arctic now. Eerie. Unwelcome. It's like the remnants of Isabelle Munson still linger after all.

“The hell what that all about?” Nina questions when she walks over to you.

“It’s a looong story,” you huff.

STRIKE ONE

"And then Emmy says to me, wE'rE jUsT rEaLlY pRoTeCtIvE oF eDdIe AnD wE'rE wAtChInG yOu da-da-da."

You stop your frantic pacing to plop onto Eddie's bed in exhaustion.

"Nina and I were just standing there like... the fuck?" you continue. "WHAT is this bitch's deal?"

Eddie chuckles at your recap of the events from the day before, lazily strumming along to a Metallica song he's learning on the guitar. You're displeased with your man's lack of concern for the issue at hand.

You shoot back up quickly.

"Matter of fact, what’s everyone's deal?" you demand. "They were all chill and nice to me when I started Hellfire but the SECOND they found out we're seeing each other it's like I'm their mortal enemy. And for what? It’s not like any of them stood a chance with you anyway. Thirsty ass bitches.”

"OH!" Steve hollers from the living room, causing you and Eddie to flinch. "TOUCHDOWN TAYLOR! Wooo hooo! That's what I'm talkin' bout baby."

Eddie puts his guitar down and starts towards you, realizing now how much this has taken a toll on your mental. He also closes his bedroom door all the way, allowing for privacy between you and him, and Steve with his precious Colts game.

"I'm really sorry the girls made you feel that way," he sighs. "It's just been a while since I have been exclusive with somebody. They know how badly Isabelle broke my heart. And well, ruined my life.”

You scoff, looking away. Eddie is there to ground you once more, placing his index and middle finger on your chin, using them to redirect you back to his reassuring gaze.

“They're just looking out for me,” he assures you. “Promise."

"They thought I was gonna be another Isabelle," you pout. "That's really offensive, you know."

"They said that with Chrissy too when she was new," Eddie recalls. "I mean…You should've SEEN the amount of drama that unfolded whenever she and I would even breathe the same air. You would've thought at one point, they were gonna chop her head off and parade it on a wooden stake like in Lord of the Flies."

You fold your arms irritably.

"This isn't Lord of the Flies, Eddie. This is real life."

"Lord of the Flies is also real life. In a way."

“Not sure which side of the battle you're on here, babe.”

Eddie then goes onto explain that Chrissy also faced the wrath of Eddie's OG dancers. But after the Hellfire Girls realized that Chrissy was not going to be a threat, they backed down.

Every explanation earns him an eye roll. Eddie needs to realize that being seen as a threat should never be an excuse to be mean to someone. Especially since those girls have been buddy-buddy with you before.

"Strip clubs can be... very catty," Eddie concludes. "The longer you work in the industry the more you'll realize. Take it with a grain of salt, okay baby? All that matters is us."

You don't budge. A part of you still feels discredited, despite kind of seeing where Eddie is coming from. Unless this worsens, he can’t 100% take your side. Eddie needs to be mediator for now.

He scratches his head.

“I also…need… my dancers,” Eddie points out. “So from a manager-slash-owner standpoint, there isn’t much I can do about Mean Girl shit other than keep it under my radar. But you’re a Hargrove, honey. You hold your ground, get your check, fight some chicks outside the club if you have to…”

You giggle at the last part. Eddie reels you in.

“…and then come home to me.”

And then he flashes you the Munson smile, that ever-so-charming million-dollar attribute that won your heart in the first place. It all causes you to blush.

"Okay," you say.

Before you two could swallow each other whole, Steve knocks on the door. Eddie pulls it open.

“I’m ordering pizza, any of you guys want some?” Steve questions. “Hope you don’t mind pineapple.”

Eddie grimaces. “You’re fucking disgusting. Make half of it a Meat Lovers and I’ll pay for it.”

“Fine,” Harrington huffs. His eyes travel over to you longingly. “Hargrove? You okay with pineapple?”

“I’m okay with whatever,” you mutter. “Anything’s better than a can of worms.”

Steve's eyes peer over at you then over at Eddie. He doesn't quite understand your analogy, but still seems supportive of you nonetheless.

“Okay…” Harrington mumbles before closing the door. “Pineapple and Meat Lovers it is.”

𓆩♡𓆪

It all makes sense why you ate most of Steve's pizza instead of him a couple days ago. You were clearly PMS-ing, and today you started your period.

At least now you know the Plan B you took was effective.

As grateful as you were, you're still having an awful time 'surfing the crimson wave'. Mood swings were also at an all-time high. Anything anyone was going to say to you was surely going to make you combust.

You're also bloated, a huge insecurity of yours because what you packed for today is rather skin tight. What typically would make you look snatched today looks relatively unflattering today. You try to give yourself grace. Body changes during a cycle is normal. It's part of being a woman.

"Shy Girl!" Eddie calls out to you from the other side of the dressing room. "You gonna be out soon, baby? Got a few regulars of yours at Vecna's Lair!"

The Hellfire Girls' ears perk up when they hear "regulars". Whatever is up their sleeves today cannot be any good.

You call back out to Eddie as you make your finishing touches. "Yes, coming!"

"I don't know," Emmy says, projecting her voice slightly louder than she usually does. You look towards her general direction as she talks. "I feel like a lot of people are uneducated about dressing for their body type. Cuz when you don't dress correctly for your body, it just makes everything look so unflattering."

You look down at your body and start to feel a little sad. Although the conversation was between Emmy and Justice, you can't help but feel attacked.

You decide to make your way over to the DJ and show him your songs for the night. Your choice for the evening is Candy by Doja Cat because its slow and sexy rhythm will allow you to move in a manner that is flexible for this particular phase of your cycle.

After thanking the DJ, you confidently strut back down from the stage, channeling your inner Marilyn Monroe walk as you continue to move around.

"Oh my god," you hear Justice say. "That's kinda really embarrassing. Can you imagine?"

Suddenly, you hear Eddie's voice trail after you. Out of all people.

"Baby!" he exclaims.

Stunned, you turn around. "Yes?"

"I uh," Eddie stammers. "Let's get you back into the locker room huh?"

You're confused. What could possibly be going on to cause such panic in Eddie's eyes? Why was he so frantic, pushing and hauling you into the dressing room — and not in a way you'd like.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Eds, slow down!" you exclaim. "What is it?"

Eddie gulps as he tries to catch his breath. You wait for him to talk, but he's too busy grabbing some spare towels and even some paper ones.

"Respectfully, Hargrove," Eddie says as he strides back over to you. "You need to change outfits or something."

Like Billy, you immediately go into defensive mode.

"OH IT LOOKS THAT BAD, HUH?” you demand. Your mini-freak out earns you some laughter from those girls, but you're too aggravated to give them your attention. “Sorry that I'm a little bloated today! Sorry that I’m a normal human being whose body is different depending on the day."

"It's not that, baby," Eddie insists. "It's just that... your bleeding? It went through."

Looking in the mirror now, you see a HUGE blot behind you. Your tampon had gotten dislodged and now there is blood all over your cute baby blue set. Heat begins to simmer at your cheeks.

Those fucking Hellfire Girls. How dare they not tell you?

When you glare back over at them, the Hellfire Girls are trying to conceal their laughter. What's even more infuriating is that Eddie doesn't seem to notice. But to be fair, he's too fixated on you to pay other women any mind. You want to pop them all, see how funny it is after.

"Seems like you're having a rough day," Eddie comments as he strokes your back.

"I am," you admit. "I tried to tough it out and come to work today, but nothing is going right." The air is quiet again when the girls see Eddie touching you lovingly.

You turn your body back towards the mirror and look at your ruined set in dismay. Eddie hates seeing you upset. Resting his gentle hands on your shoulder, he begins to barter.

"How about…” Eddie says. “You take the rest of the night off? I’ll take you home right quick. To my place.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!” your man nods, causing you blush. “Harrington and I have a shit ton of ice cream so you can help yourself. Lay in my bed, watch something on Netflix... When I'm off work and done visiting Wayne, we can cuddle, and I can give you belly rubs. Sound good?"

"Sounds like heaven, actually."

You don’t know what you’ve done to deserve him. Eddie is so tender and sweet when he lets his walls down. You’re grateful that he decided to lean into the unknown when it comes down to you. Such a good boyfriend already.

The Hellfire Girls can’t help but eavesdrop on your little exchange. Suddenly, Eddie speaks again.

“Are we okay?” Eddie questions you with his beady eyes.

“Yes,” you smile. “We’re more than okay.”

Eddie kisses your cheek. He leaves his peck there for a few seconds before letting go. "I'll come scoop you in 10 once I get everything squared away. Then it’s junk food and cuddles all night long.”

Eddie makes sure that the girls hear this entire conversation. As you start to pack your stuff, Nancy drops in with a graceful smile, spoiling you with pads, tampons, and some ibuprofen. Meanwhile, Jonathan packs you a Sprite in a to-go cup with a smiley face, and Argyle spoils you with your usual — chicken wings, flats only.

The Hellfire Girls are fuming. Their attempt to embarrass you didn't go as planned. Instead, they got a lovesick Eddie with a Shy Girl on her way to his house to drink hot tea, scarf down some junk food, and relish in a heat pack of sorts and cuddles all night. And Eddie’s friends indirectly rushing to your defense.

But this humbling experience doesn’t stop their games. No no, it only just issued them a new set of information and ammunition for more intense blows.

The torment isn’t stopping here. The girls are going try harder.

---

STRIKE TWO

It didn’t stop at the subtle jabs.

If there was an opportunity to inconvenience you, the Hellfire Girls took it. Like calling Eddie on his day off — while he’s out with you — to come scope out a problem that could’ve been fixed without him. Or stealing your song choice when they heard you talking about it with Chrissy, and how you planned on using it for your set. Or “dropping” breakable items like your nail polish on accident and blaming it on their ‘complete and utter clumsiness’. Funny, because Eddie is always talking about how poised they are and a myriad of other good things…because that’s just who your boyfriend is at his core: a lover and supporter of women. Unlike some people.

It was Dustin’s turn to grocery shop one day. And while the Eddie Special is back on the menu, it was the waffle fries’ turn to be 86’d. Mike’s girlfriend, Jane keeps eating them and Wheeler of course always forgets to take inventory.

"So what does 86 mean?"

You're eating lunch with a couple Hellfire Girls in the dressing room when service industry lingo is brought up. Everyone eyes you, from Emmy to Lady to Kassidy. Justice seems to be holding her breath.

"86?" you repeat just to make sure.

Kassidy gives you a look, almost a "duh" kind of look that makes you feel slightly stupid.

"Yeah, heard you talking about it with the kitchen staff."

"Oh," you say. "Oh well 86 means to get rid of something. Maybe because it's not available anymore, or out of stock. Not needed, even."

"I see..." Kassidy responds.

"Wish we can '86' people," Lady mutters.

The comment earns her a snicker from Kassidy and Lady. It makes you feel weird inside. They couldn't have possibly been talking about you, right?

You walk away to throw away your food, and while you’re away from them their laughs intensify. Now all they could talk about is ‘86’ and their own personal spins on it.

Oh they were most definitely talking about you.

You decide to leave the dressing room and hang out at the hookah lounge before your next set. It was clear you weren’t welcome and you weren’t about to be in the company of people who were only going to drain your energy.

The audacity of it all still leaves you appalled. Plotting behind your back is one thing, but the fact they had the guts to say it and do things in front of you now is scary.

𓆩♡𓆪

“And then they said, ‘Wish we could 86 people’,” you recall angrily. “That basically implies they want to get rid of me.”

“That sucks, sis,” Billy sighs. “Yeah, that’s exactly what it sounds like.”

You’re on the phone playing catch-up with Billy on your day off. Meanwhile, Eddie is playing a video game with his online friends, allowing you to use his room to pace around in frustration.

“And one time when I was on my period, I bled through,” you continue. “And then Eddie-”

Billy interrupts you before you could positively advertise your man. You would think your brother would want to know that his twin sister is in good hands judging by the way Eddie took care of you when you were feeling like absolute shit…how instead of forcing you to perform he sent you home early and ate junk food with you and gave you a heat pack and belly rubs to help with cramps…But no.

“I don’t wanna hear about that girl stuff,” Billy gags. “It’s fucking disgusting.”

Classic Billy.

“…okay,” you huff and digress. “But you get the picture, right? These girls have it out for me.”

“Oh for sure,” Billy agrees. “It’s one-sided beef because they’re intimidated by you. I hope they get the shit pimp-slapped out of them for being dicks to you.”

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say that…” you mumble.

“But I would,” Billy laughs pridefully.

No matter how awful the girls were being to you, you wouldn’t wish anything upon them like Billy described. They were already miserable anyways, judging by how awful they were being to you for no reason. If anything you’d wish them healing and some love because they clearly needed it.

“I wish I could go over there and give ‘em a piece of my mind,” your twin brother continues, the thought of violently attacking women quite possibly giving him a hard-on via the other line. “No one can be mean to my sister BUT ME.”

The execution of his words makes your stomach turn. Because as those words are uttered, you’re back in the San Diego rental, screaming and crying, clawing at Billy to get him off of you because apparently your change in tone towards him was enough justification for you to be accosted against the wall.

“That was really uncalled for, Billy,” you scold him. “Time and place, please.”

Suddenly, the vibe changes. You can practically feel the heat through the phone.

“What, you’ve never heard of that expression before?” Billy demands. “It was a fucking joke, don’t get so butthurt.”

“Is it really a joke?” you hiss. “Because if we revisit the timeline, you haven’t been exactly nice to me either.”

“OH MY…” Billy sighs in exasperation. “I can’t say SHIT to you without you crying about it. Maybe those bitches are onto something. Maybe YOU’RE the fucking problem.”

“How can you say that?!” you shout.

The change in your tone causes Eddie to look up from his computer. Like second nature, the tears free fall from your eyes as you scream at your brother through the phone.

“After I vent to you about EVERYTHING, Billy, really?!”

“I don’t know, maybe since so many people have a problem with you…including ME,” your brother snaps. “'Think it’s time we look at the common denominator.”

“YOU KNOW WHAT FUCK YOU! I don’t know why I tell you anything anymore!”

“YEAH WELL FUCK YOU TOO BITCH!” Billy screams back. “I’m GLAD you and that scrawny red-headed BRAT moved out. My life has NEVER BEEN THIS PEACEFUL!”

“Yeah cause you were SO unbothered you had to FLY HERE and CONFRONT ME AT MY JOB, RIGHT?”

It’s a few more nasty exchanges of words and threats before you hang up and chuck your phone at the wall. Startled, and probably reminded of his own traumas, Eddie’s first instinct is to duck. You watch as he trembles slightly, like a puppy during a thunderstorm, before removing his cupped hands away from his ears.

He then makes his way over to you, demeanor shifting from alarmed to alarmed for you.

“Hey,” Eddie whispers to you in consolation. “Hey hey hey hey. Come here. Come here.”

He rocks you in place. Immediately you collapse into Eddie’s arms. You’re absolutely tired. Tired of the Hellfire girls. Tired of putting on a happy face for your little sister 24/7. Tired of Billy. Tired of feeling like a burden.

“I fucking hate him,” you wail. “I hate him, I hate him. I hate him.”

“You don’t need him.”

“I don’t need him.”

“You don’t need him.”

“I don’t,” you tell Eddie, and yourself. “Fuck him. Fuck California. Fuck everything.”

“That’s right baby,” Eddie whispers. He plants a soft kiss onto your forehead. “You’re staying here with me.”

“With you.”

𓆩♡𓆪

Eventually you do get over it and decide that Billy and the Hellfire Girls don’t deserve any of your time and energy.

Just in time for another work shift. Today you’re doing personal lap dances at VECNA’S LAIR, but it’s not too busy so you’re essentially scanning the room in search of clients for the first hour.

Your eyes light up when you pinpoint a few regulars. You skip on over to the first one.

“Hi, Barry!” you exclaim. “How are you?”

“Oh, god! Hello Shy Girl!” Barry replies. He looks happy to see you, but oddly not particularly excited. “How…have you been?”

“I’ve been well! Long time no see!” you smile. “How are your boys?”

“They’re doing well,” your regular nods. “They’re working on their college applications right now, and the younger one has been scouted for some schools on the East Coast for football.”

“You must be so proud.”

“Very!”

It seems like Barry has cut the conversation there. Strange, because he almost always requests a dance. You decide to push for more information.

“Sooo, are you in the mood for a dance today?”

“You’re a sweetheart,” Barry blushes. “But no thank you, not today. I’m trying to save money so I’m just gonna have a drink and go.”

Now THAT’S really odd. First of all, Barry is LOADED, hence being a regular. And even if being frugal was the case, what was his ass even doing at Hellfire? You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by prying further so you just leave it at that, wishing Barry a lovely rest of his day and going about your day.

When you leave, you’re taken aback when Justice makes her way over to your client and asks him the same question.

“Hi, Barry. Would you like a dance?”

“Oh, hi! Yes, I’d love one!”

You nearly get whiplash just by how fast you crane your neck back over to them. What the actual fuck? Eyeing them curiously, you watch as Barry slips a 20 over to Justice, to which she takes from him seductively as she sinks onto his lap. Her eyes trail over to you, somewhat satisfied with herself when she sees you watching. Your blood starts to boil. She just took your regular. And in a sense, your money.

But that’s still something you don’t have time to entertain. So you strut over to your next regular, Asher.

Sweet, sweet Asher. He’s significantly younger than Barry. Finance major, freelancer, only child in his early twenties and his parents are rich. Asher has always been nice to you, and like Steve, spoils the fuck out of you when you’re his dancer.

“Hey you,” you bat your lashes at him. “Long time no see!”

“Oh my god, Shy Girl!” Asher exclaims. He doesn’t hug you like he usually does, but he’s still happy to see you. “It’s been a minute. I actually didn’t think you were coming in today.”

“I’m always on Thursdays,” you point out. “You always get a dance from me.”

“Ohhh, that’s right,” Asher recalls. “You and Eddie call today Friday Junior Junior.”

“Yeah, silly!” you giggle. “Speaking of dances, would you like one?”

Your question generates a similar reaction from Asher like Barry had given you. It was then that you knew something had to have been up. But nothing could’ve possibly prepared you for what Asher was about to say.

“Oh, no thanks!” your client gracefully declines. “I think I’ll wait until you fully recover. I hope you’re okay with that boundary of mine.”

Appalled, you try to construe what he meant by that.

“Yes, I respect your boundaries of course…” you say. “But, what do you mean by get better?”

“Aren’t you sick?” Asher questions. “And like…taking antibiotics for something serious? Cause if you are, you shouldn’t be at work.”

Asher respectfully ends your conversation right then and there. It’s like a mental door has closed on your face. Completely distraught, you walk away from your other reliable regular, just to have Lady walk up to him and be granted permission to give him a dance.

This is ridiculous. You need to get to the bottom of these rumors right away. On your way to the bar, you run into Nina. She extends her arms out to you, eyes widening as you walk towards her.

“OMG, Shy Girl!” Nina exclaims, rather panicked. “What are you doing here girl, you need to be home recovering?!”

“Recovering from what?” you snapped. “I just had TWO regulars turn me down but then say yes to dances from other dancers. Why did I have to learn through the grapevine that I’m sick?! Which I am not, by the way.”

“So… you don’t have gonorrhea?”

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head.

“WHO THE FUCK SAID I HAD GONORRHEA?!”

Nina’s face drops when she realizes. You don’t even have to pry any further now. The pained look on your friend’s face told you EXACTLY who started that rumor.

Now those girls are pushing it. Because now you’re losing out on money and clientele. Absolutely aggravated, you storm back into the dressing room to collect yourself because you’re sure as hell not going to let them see you fall apart.

When you slam the door, you allow yourself to have a good cry. Luckily, Nina and Chrissy are the only ones in there with you. The only girls you trust at this establishment besides Nancy.

You’re not sad. You’re crying because you’re angry and frustrated. Nina and Chrissy understand, swarming you with hugs and validating back pats, letting you cry until you had no tears left to do so anymore.

“Shy Girl,” Nina frowns. “I have no words.”

Your bottom lip quivers profusely as you shake your head.

“I just don’t understand,” you choke. “Why are they so horrible to me? I didn’t do anything to them.”

“I’m really sorry love,” Chrissy rubs your back as she lays her head on your shoulder. “Unfortunately, I understand that all too well. They did the same thing to me too.”

STRIKE THREE, YOU’RE OUT.

“God, you need a new car, Munson.”

You’re smoking with Eddie in his van during your ‘joint’ lunch break. It’s become a tradition now for you two to take your meals at the same time to spend time with each other because you’re both way too busy to be affectionate work.

“Babe, really?” Eddie huffs jokingly. “Put some respect on Shiela’s name. She’s been through hell and back with me.”

You giggle as you take a huge drag from your blunt, inhaling then expelling, coughing up the remainder and taking in the slight comfort of a warm chest. You pass Eddie the blunt to finish it.

“But you’re right though,” Eddie admits with a sigh. He fiddles with the blunt before putting it out on his ash tray. “The good news is I’m caught up on Wayne’s bills. Next 'big boy' purchase is a new whip.”

“That’s awesome baby,” you smile. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Or a motorcycle,” Eddie smirks. “I’d love a bike.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” he quips.

Eddie leans over the center console to kiss your temple. When you hum in pleasure, he begins trailing down your neck.

“Thought you liked bad boys.”

You and Eddie proceed to have a healthy debate. It isn’t about the bad boy aesthetic like Eddie thinks it’s about, but more so the practicality of the situation. Eddie needs something to lug groceries in when he's out running errands, and with Wayne still getting active cancer treatments, the old man needs a ride to his appointments. And that poor man has aged out of the Bad-to-the-Bone 'cyclist scene, you’re afraid.

“Speaking of practicality,” Eddie says. He nods towards your red Toyota Camry that’s parked on the opposite end of the lot. “Why’d you park there? Move your car closer so I don't have to walk you too far tonight.”

You look through the rearview mirror to locate your baby. Eddie was right. It was parked further than it usually is, and if your boyfriend isn’t the one escorting you to your car tonight it’s going to be Henry or one of the other boys who are sure to complain. By the door would be convenient for everyone.

“Okay,” you say. You kiss him. “Be right back.”

You climb out of Eddie's van and make your way over to your car. After several tries, you hit a scary realization.

Your car won’t start.

You try again. And again, and again. Still, to no avail. Eddie eventually pops his head out, wondering why the ordeal is taking you so long. You exaggerate a shrug to him so he could see your sense of panic from a distance.

"What happened?!"

"It won't start!"

“Let me at her,” Eddie replies. “I was a mechanic before I started a business…”

You and Eddie switch places and you decide to wait for him by the door. Jonathan startles you a moment later when he opens it abruptly.

“Sorry, Shy Girl. The boys need Eddie for a minute can you go grab him for me?”

“He’s taking a look at my car, it won’t start,” you explain.

Jonathan’s face drops. “Oh no, that sucks. Hope you don’t have to take it in.”

“I hope so too. Either way I’ve got a ride home. It’s just inconvenient.”

Jonathan, whose knowledgeable about cars too, starts asking you some screening questions to help identify the problem. You assure him that nothing was wrong with it throughout the week, and there surely wasn’t anything wrong with it earlier.

Soon Chrissy comes out too.

“Hey!” she chimes. “Where’s Eddie? The boys are looking for him.”

“He’s looking at my car, something’s wrong with it,” you explain again. “It was fine this morning but when I went go move it, it kinda just—”

“Found the culprit,” Eddie grunts uneasily.

Your boyfriend waves you three over and you all follow suit. There's soot and grease all over your man's hands, but that is a kink to be explored much later. For now, the astonished look on his face is one of the main things to worry about.

Eddie points to your gas tank.

“There’s a shit ton of sugar there. The fuel in that tank is practically semi-solid.”

Sugar in your gas tank. THOSE BITCHES PUT SUGAR IN YOUR GAS TANK. You and Chrissy look at each other immediately, both of your suspicions about whose responsible practically ringing true.

“I know who fucking did it,” you shake your head.

“I-” Eddie’s face drops. He is utterly disappointed in the Hellfire Girls. “I just don’t even know what to say.”

He reaches into his pocket to grab his phone. Suddenly, your phone pings. It’s a Venmo notification.

“But less saying more doing, right?” Eddie tries to chuckle optimistically. “I just sent you $2K. Wayne’s cancer is acting up again, and I have to take him to his oncologist tomorrow. You let me know if they quote you for more than that.”

“Two grand?!” you shriek. “It’s bad huh?”

“Yeah…I ain’t gonna sugarcoat it, sweetheart,” Eddie frowns. “You might need a fuel tank replacement.”

Now you and Chrissy are fuming. Nina eventually comes over to check on everyone as well and is stunned by the news she hears. She starts to angrily take off her hoops, those fucking cunts, but Jonathan stops her.

“I’ll fuck ‘em up!” Nina insists. “I’m from Nocturna, baby. We don’t mess around there.”

“My ex was from Chula, and my brother is Billy,” you tsk. “We don’t play around either.”

Eddie puts his hands on his hips. “I guess we’ll call the tow company to come take it to Dave’s. I can take you home tonight, baby. It’s no issue.”

“No!” Chrissy snaps. “Nina and I are taking her home. If there’s no issue here, fix the evident ones inside!”

“Let’s go back inside Shy Girl,” Nina grumbles. “This is ridiculous.”

Your two friends are at either sides of you, linking your arms with theirs in solidarity. Those girls inside are about to get an earful. NO ONE messes with YOU and gets away with it.

“EDDIE,” Chrissy forewarns before slamming the door. “FUCKING PUT THEM IN CHECK, OR WE WILL.”

You’re too distraught to say anything. Otherwise, you would totally be ripping some cheap extensions out out some heads right now. You can’t believe these girls would go as far as to damaging your property, all because Eddie found someone who made him happy after his shitty divorce. If you did to them what they did to you, you know they definitely wouldn’t like that.

CLOSED FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT DUE TO STAFFING ISSUES. SORRY FOR EDGING YOU :/

It was Eddie’s decision to close early because there was just so much that needed to be taken care of. But hearing Eddie scold and hold the girls accountable in his office, you know — the same office he was screwing you in — was music to your ears.

But even that state of bliss is short-lived. Because like a deadly virus, when the smear campaign doesn’t work, it mutates into a much larger issue: retaliation.

“See what happens when you snitch?” a voice demands. “Eddie loses out on business.”

You turn your head around to see Justice mad-dogging you with her arms crossed. You inflate your chest and stand up to her, showing no signs of intimidation.

“You’re fucking his shit up, just like his sorry ex wife,” she says to you.

You start to walk closer to her, to which Chrissy and Nina go after you right away.

“Woah woah woah there sister!” Chrissy stops you.

“Hey hey hey,” Nina joins in, helping her pull you away.

But Justice isn’t scared. Why should she be? She’s been here longer than you. She’s known Eddie longer than you. But she still has no business butting into Eddie’s. Especially if it fuels the fire that she and her friends desperately wanted to start.

“If I were y’all… I’d back the fuck up,” you advise her. “I don’t think you realize, but you’re fucking with a Hargrove.”

“Okay… and you’re fucking with Eddie’s Day Ones,” Lady comes to Justice’s defense, sneering at you condescendingly. “Sorry, Valley Girl, we don’t know what that means here in Hawkins.”

“Oh but you will. After damaging my rep AND property.”

“Oh was that a threat? You’re threatening us now huh?”

“Eddie’s not gonna fuck you,” Nina spits at them. “You do realize that right?”

“I mean…good,” Kassidy chuckles. “Wouldn’t wanna fuck him after Miss Gonorrhea did.”

𓆩♡𓆪

Do you accept the risk? Do you accept the risk?

All this time you thought Eddie was asking you because he knew he still had some baggage to sort through. But now you’re starting to wonder if there was a double meaning.

Eddie’s OG dancers are obviously in love with him, there’s no doubt about it. It stopped becoming a matter of “protecting Eddie” when they started sabotaging your experience at Hellfire after learning of your involvement with him. Had you been just another dancer, this would never have been the case.

Eddie tries to text you. But you don’t have the strength to reply. The next few days is spent in isolation, using this time alone to contemplate about what it is you truly want.

You came to Hawkins to escape Billy’s never-ending torment. Now that torment has seemed to take on a new form, and your inner peace is something you’re never ever going to sacrifice again.

Your first Monday back, you make your way over to Eddie’s office. And it’s almost like Eddie knows. As much as you know how deep that abandonment wound sits in Eddie’s soul, you knew you still had to put yourself first.

“Hi, Eds.”

“Baby…” Eddie pleads at a whisper. “Don’t do this. I can already see it in your eyes.”

You weren’t leaving him. You want to be with him more than anything. But this extension of him? You can love it to bits but still not want anything to do with it. Especially if the environment is unbearably toxic.

“I just think…our relationship is bleeding into work,” you swallow hard. “And I probably need to go somewhere else if we want this to last.”

“Please don’t word the first part like that…”

Eddie doesn’t tell you because he knows it’s not your intention, but it starts giving him war-like flashbacks to when his marriage with Isabelle started bleeding into work. The abandonment wound with her — and everyone in his life except Wayne — cuts so deep. He NEEDS that bandaid. But for your well-being, you needed to rip it off.

“It’s what we get for shitting where we eat, I guess,” you sniff, trying to laugh the burden of it all away.

“I warned you,” Eddie chokes. “Didn’t I?”

“I know,” you sigh. “But I just couldn’t help how I feel about you.”

“Then stay!” he begs. “The good outweighs the bad, sweetheart. Our friends love you so much.”

“I love them too, but if I’m gonna get verbally accosted, harassed, laughed at, and have sugar put in my gas tank then what’s the point?”

The tears leave Eddie’s eyes easily, and he doesn’t stop them from doing so. If only the Hellfire girls saw the pain they have caused you AND this man — the man they swore up and down that they were ‘protecting’.

“It’s either that or you fire 60 percent of your dancers and I WON’T let you do that,” you gulp. “It’s best to get rid of just one.”

“Just please, let’s talk it through.”

But there’s nothing left to talk about. No Eddie, you shake your head. What’s done is done, and what needs to be said has already been communicated. And as Eddie hangs his head in shame, you tug at the drawstrings of your cloak, fold it up neatly, and set it down on his desk.

“I’m quitting Hellfire.”

🏷️ tag list: @chrrymunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @hideoutside , @motherfckerr , @jxpsi , @lindseyj23, @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @justinelittlewoodsworld , @ahoyyharrington , @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse @kellyxo1 @emsgoodthinkin @winchester-angel @chloe-6123 , @redbarn1995 @angietherose @kiyastrf94 , @purplewitchcauldron @kellsck @joyfulfxckery @munsons-mayhem28 @dragonfire @emma77645 @drivelikenina @livosssblog @thinkingth0ts @hugdealer @ellielunamckay

[avocado-writing]

Sensors

rated: E, MINORS DNI

1.8k words

Human!Reader/Ramattra

He remembers you from the monastery all those years ago. You weren’t there with him, obviously; you were in charge of a little mechanic’s shop in the nearest town. He didn’t have reason to visit you often but when he did he found you… enchanting. Enchanting in a way an omnic should not feel about a human. You were always ready with a genuine smile whenever he appeared on your doorstep, a kind word and an open ear for his troubles. 

You were a friend. 

There was one bitterly cold winter where the weather was so harsh it had seized up the joints in one of his arms and stopped it working entirely. This was before he knew much about his own mechanics, and none of his brothers could identify the problem. So he took the trek down to you and sought your help. 

You never asked for payment from the monks. You knew that wouldn’t be right. You were… kind like that. So you sat him on a stool in your workshop and experimented with his screws and bolts until he was working again, sincere in your admiration of his robotics, in your admiration of him. He was glad he was an omnic. If he were human, he would have been blushing. 

He grew to hate humanity, of course. But he could never quite find it in himself to hate you. You were always that one tiny thread keeping him anchored. He tried to put you out of his mind and focus on his task. His people. 

And yet… and yet.

It is night when he comes to you. He has not seen you for… years now, probably. He has lost track of time. Yet he still remembers the way into your workshop, the door that never quite locks properly. He ducks through your doorway and finds you hard at work, pink tongue sticking out from the corner of your mouth as you concentrate.

He says your name, as gently as his omnic voice allows. You jump and drop the spanner you’re holding. It clatters cacophonously to the ground. 

“Ramattra,” you whisper, amazed, and for a moment he thinks that perhaps this has all been a mistake, that he never should have come here -

And then you’re crossing the shop floor, and you’ve thrown your arms around him. He did not expect this. Humans are so frustrating to understand sometimes… but then he finds himself returning your embrace.

“You… why are you here?” you ask, when you eventually pull away from him. Your hands linger on his waist, his on your shoulders. He wishes he had an answer. He wishes he has something logical to tell you in response. But he has nothing to give.

“I figured you would hate me. That’s what is… sensible.”

It is not self-pitying, nor is it quite angry. Just a statement. There is no way you do not know what he has been doing these past years. His face, Null Sector, it’s been all over the news. Globally. 

And yet you still came to hold him.

“Oh, Ramattra…” you mutter, taking one of his cold metal hands in your own, “how could I ever hate you?”

There it is. The way you speak, so plainly and honestly, that makes something inside of him feel like it’s going to combust. In a good way. Humans are tricky, devious; but not you. Never you. 

His hand leaves yours in order to cup your face. You suck in a breath, shocked for a second by the cold - but then you nuzzle into it, lips pressing against the plain of his palm.

“I missed you,” you confess. 

“And I you.”

There is an energy thrumming through the workshop now. He’s never felt anything like it before. For once, he is on the back foot.

He is lucky you are bold enough to take the first step, then.

“Can I kiss you?”

If he had eyebrows, he’d raise them.

“You are a foolish human,” he says, but he doesn’t really mean it as an insult, “you’re well aware I don’t have lips.”

You pout in a way he finds endearing.

“Don’t call me foolish,” you sniff, and then, “...and I know. But I’d still like to try.”

He cannot deny you that. So he leans down, and you cup his face in your warm human hands, and you press your mouth to where his would be. He sees the way you close your eyes and melt into him. His hands lower down to hold your hips, tug you a little closer against him. Omnics are not really designed to feel… but they are also not designed to have an extra pair of arms hulking from their back, and he managed that. Perhaps he did an extra little upgrade of his own internals. He turns the sensors on in his body and is shocked as it processes the warmth of you. 

You are lovely. Truly lovely.

He takes a step forward and you take one back, and you keep going until he has you pinned against the worktable. You rest your forehead against his and explore him with gentle and curious touches, listening to the low sound of his voice to see what makes him react with the most pleasure.

“Where should I touch you? Where feels the best?” you ask, voice husky and low. 

“You should - ahh!” - your fingers have skimmed the ridge between his pectoral plates and oh is it intoxicating - “You should know, hm? You spent enough time fixing omics. You must be intimately familiar with our builds.”

You roll your eyes at him, but it is good-naturedly and without malice.

“I want you to tell me, Ramattra.”

He takes the hand on his chest and moves it lower, across the metal of his abdomen, the smooth plate of his groin. He groans when he feels the heat of you touch there. The sensors in his lower body are going haywire. A sort of pleasure he’s never felt before manifests itself at the apex of his legs, and he finds himself rutting into you. You giggle and it’s the most perfect sound he’s ever heard.

“There,” he confirms, and you rub a bit harder, using your free hand to reach up and card through the wires of his hair. It snags a little and pulls and he moans. He didn’t even realise you could reach up there, but he realises he’s bent his massive form over you, caging you in against himself; offering every part of his body up to touch.

And oh, how you touch.

“Where… I want to…” he manages, thumbs rubbing tender circles along your hips. He knows human anatomy enough to be able to take a kill shot from hundreds of feet away, but has no idea how to give it gratification. You’re reluctant to stop caressing him, even for a second, so in reply you just thrust your hips forward.

“B…between my legs,” you mutter, eyes wide and soft, “and… maybe my face, too? My mouth…”

He does not need to be prompted again. Ramattra presses one of his hands at the place where your thighs meet. The sound you make lets him know he’s done something correctly. You mewl and push further into his palm.

“Yes, Ramattra, yes…”

He’s never heard his name said that way before, but now it’s fallen from your lips he wants to hear it over and over. He thinks he’d do just about anything for you to moan it again. Part of him feels pitiful, disgusted at himself - he’s been reduced to this pathetic, pining thing at the hands of a human. The very thing he’s meant to hate.

Ah, but not any human though. You. The only one he could ever care for.

He remembers your other gentle plea, so the hand which isn’t rubbing against your clothed cunt cups your cheek. Your tongue leaves your parted lips again and brushes against the pad of his thumb. Taking his cue, he presses the digit into your mouth. Your eyes roll back and you begin to explore it, sucking it gently, fellating it - and it almost fries every sensor he has in his hands. It's so good. He wonders why he hasn’t done this before, found a needy little human to fuck.

Because they wouldn't be you. 

You untangle your hand from his hair for just a moment in order to move his own under your trousers, beneath your underwear. He can feel that you’re wet down there, so he spends a moment coating his fingers with you before withdrawing them to inspect. They glisten in the low light of the workshop.

“Fascinating,” he mutters, returning his hand to where it was before you can chide him for the seemingly out-of-the-moment comment. He finds where you open, and presses against it curiously.

“Yes, inside,” you encourage, speaking around his thumb. His fingers slip into your cunt and he is engulfed by your soft, wet heat. You groan and throw your head back, thrusting forward into his touch as you do - but you are not distracted for long, doubling your own efforts on him. The hand at his pubic plate explores further back a little, and when you brush the wires in his undercarriage he makes a noise of shock so loudly that you laugh again, surprised.

“There, hmm?” you practically purr, pressing your forehead against his. If he could breathe, you’d be sharing the air between you. You stroke the wiring, the circuitry, and he begins to fuck you with his fingers. Mirroring the way you touch him. He delights in the feeling of your wetness, the way your eyes screw up in pleasure, the hitch of your chest as you get closer to the edge…

… and then you come with a bitten-off moan, fucking hard into his metal hand. As you do your fingers slip against some inner processor he didn’t have any idea was even there - 

He is blinded with release. His body is on fire with the red-hot explosion of ecstasy, making every sensor feel like it is being lifted up past the heavens itself –

For a second, he goes offline.

He comes back what must be a handful of seconds later to the sound of you fearfully shouting his name, desperately trying to rouse him. 

“Apologies,” he says, checking everything has returned to function properly, “I… finished.”

You take a moment to digest what he’s said, then laugh. That beautiful sound, once again.

“You came so hard you rebooted? Wow. I must be good.”

You say it cheekily, not sincere. But he still pulls you into his arms anyway. You snuggle into his breastplate, humming at the warmth he’s now churning out. This. This is what afterglow must be.

“Will you stay?” you ask, quietly, as if afraid breaking the silence will also shatter the momentary peace you’ve found together, “For a while, will you stay?”

You both know this cannot be permanent. But you are soft. And after everything, Ramattra believes he deserves a little softness in his life.

“Yes. I will stay.”

[tourettesdog]

Okay

Based on the prompts "Lancer is a good teacher and cares" and "Well, shit. He can't change back!"

For @majorastudios and @lexosaurus Word count: 9,563 Warnings: panic attacks, child neglect (more implied) AO3 Link ~

Danny would be the first to admit that he had a knack for finding himself in stupid situations. 

Or, at least, they had a knack for finding him.

This was all to say that the last place Danny expected to find himself on a bright and sunny July afternoon was trapped in an elevator with Mr. Lancer, of all people.

Now, the situation could have been worse— and it was. For all the shitty luck that Danny possessed in the universe, it seemed that there was always another giant middle finger waiting around the next corner. 

Danny hadn’t thought much when he heard the grinding sound of the parking deck’s elevator as one of the mechanisms securing the cable snapped. He’d been out flying when it happened and simply bolted towards the sound, determined to phase whoever was inside to safety. It had come as a shock, finding the elevator occupied by someone he knew. What came as more of a surprise, however, was the sickly glow of a ghost shield snapping into place before Danny could follow through with that plan.

It had been a close thing, putting on the brakes before he collided, Lancer in tow, with the glowing wall of the elevator.

Unfortunately, the doors had long-since shut and he couldn’t touch the crooked metal without meeting the painful shock of the shield.

Just being inside of it had Danny feeling woozy.

All he could do was stand awkwardly on the elevator floor, his stance a bit crooked as the elevator had sagged into a tilt, off-balance as it was in the shaft.

It was at least preferable to the thing crashing down to the ground floor.

Lancer, for what it was worth, was managing better than most would given the circumstances. At least, he had stopped screaming about a minute ago. 

If there was one positive thing Danny could gleen from the experience, it would have to be hearing his teacher utter a hearty  ‘fuck’  rather than the usual literary substitute. 

Not that he had much time to enjoy it at present.

Lancer’s chest heaved and his knees shook. He leaned against the side of the elevator with his arms splayed out across the metal hand railing on that side, his eyes flickering all around the small cabin. Danny knew that ghost shields never felt pleasant even to humans, but in his distress Mr. Lancer seemed to favor leaning into the buzz of the ectoplasmic energy over standing. Granted, given the shakiness of his legs, they might not hold him much anyway.

The metal of the elevator groaned, dust cascading from the paneled roof as it slid a couple inches down the shaft, eliciting a startled yelp from Lancer as he grabbed the railing with white knuckles.

Danny supposed there was more than one reason he should stay anchored to that railing.

“H–hey,” Danny said, trying to get his teacher’s attention. He wasn’t exactly sure what to say, but he didn’t think that awkwardly standing there, staring the man down, was conducive to settling his nerves.

Mr. Lancer’s gaze snapped up to meet his own. His eyes stretched wide, as if he hadn’t noticed Phantom’s presence until that moment, even though the ghost boy had just scooped him up before unceremoniously dropping him back down when the shield burst to life.

“Ph-Phantom?” he quavered.

“Yeah, um, who else?” Danny said, the words leaving his lips before he could think better of it. He cringed as soon as they did, chastising himself. It probably wasn’t a good time to make sarcastic jibes.

If Mr. Lancer noticed the snark, however, he didn’t comment on it. The toes of his shoes dug into the dirty linoleum on the elevator floor and he licked his lips nervously, eyes still darting around the cabin as though an exit might materialize from the ectoshield.

When he didn’t say anything, Danny felt like he needed to fill the silence. Anything to drown out the low hum of the ectoshield and the rapid hammer of Mr. Lancer’s frightened heartbeat.

“So, I know this looks bad but everything is going to be okay,” Danny said. His voice echoed in the small space, the tinny sound amplified by the metal around him.

Lancer just blinked, his pale green eyes, so much duller than Phantom’s own, stretched as wide as saucers.

“H–how can you be sure?” he said.

Danny’s eyes trailed around the elevator, ghosting over the green glare of the ectoshield. It completely covered the elevator box, though the floor of the shield had been thankfully recessed beneath the linoleum. 

Danny could still feel the hum it gave off through his boots.

“I’ll think of something,” he said, more to himself.

Mr. Lancer blanched, his face practically as pale as Danny’s hair. “Can’t you just—” the words died on his tongue as he glanced at the green shield once more, shivering slightly. 

“Yeah, the shield kind of complicates things,” Danny said with a sigh. “Not their best design choice.”

He didn’t have to elaborate on  whose design choice had crafted this coffin disguised as a convenient mode of transportation. 

Lancer let out a shaky breath. “It probably seemed more practical in theory,” he said, each word as shaky as his legs.

Danny nodded, crossing his arms. “Like, I can see what they were going for, but you’d think after over a year of help from a ghost they’d consider maybe— just  maybe  — that trapping people in a small ghost shield suspended three stories up  might not be a great idea.”

“Oh,  Watership Down,” Lancer said faintly, sliding slightly down the wall, leaning more heavily against the railing. Danny hadn’t realized just how much he was rambling, or how faint Lancer was looking in the wake of his ill-timed tirade.

“Sorry,” Danny said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Probably not the best time for that.”  

Lancer nodded, his eyes wide and staring at the floor. “Yes, I don’t think it is,” he said.

Danny let out a long, drawn out sigh. He ran a hand through his mop of white hair, trying and failing to focus his thoughts on anything constructive. He was uncomfortably aware of the small, tight space. Nothing quite as claustrophobic as the thermos, but without any sure way to escape it had Danny’s core thrumming uncomfortably. 

Lancer just stared at him. Danny couldn’t fault the man. For all that Mr. Lancer had seen of Phantom— considering the many times he had rocketed through his classroom wall— Danny supposed that this was probably his first time seeing Phantom up close. Danny could see his own glow reflected in his teacher’s eyes— or perhaps it was mostly the light that the ghost shield emitted.

“I don’t suppose you have a phone on you?” Danny asked him.

Considering Mr. Lancer hadn’t reached to grab one, he thought he already knew the answer…

Sure enough, Lancer replied with a hollow, “Left it in the car.”

Danny tried to strain his ears for any outside sounds, desperate to drag his focus off of the small confines of the elevator. He could hear the rumble of traffic, but not much else besides that. The concrete walls of the parking garage were too dense, and the buzz of the ghost shield too distracting.

“Looks like we might have to wait for someone then,”Danny said nervously, his eyes trailing to the buttons on the elevator. 

Moving slowly, careful not to startle Mr. Lancer, Danny crossed the short distance to those buttons. He was closer than Lancer was and his footsteps much lighter. The man tensed slightly as Danny moved, but didn’t say anything. 

A layer of the ghost shield danced over the buttons, a rippling wall of green that sparked with electricity. It had to be one of his parents’ newer shields, judging by the bright color and the intensity of the static it gave off. Just being near the thing had his own ectoplasm buzzing uncomfortably.

Danny glanced back at Lancer, finding his teacher’s eyes trained on him. There was fear there, though also a quiet curiosity. It reminded Danny that he hadn’t seen Mr. Lancer at his parents' last few ghost seminars. That, for all the nervous fear mongering his teacher had given into in those first few months after the portal sparked to life, he seemed… much more reserved now. He didn’t show the same open support for Phantom that his students did, but Danny would take reserved caution over open hostility any day.

Glancing back at the elevator buttons, Danny bit his lip. He couldn’t exactly ask Lancer to press the buttons himself. Even if he carried him, there was no saying if the elevator would shift again once he placed him back down. 

Steeling his nerves, Danny held out his finger for the emergency button on the control panel.

The ghost shield rejected his ectoplasm immediately, sending a current of electricity through his body in a painful jolt. Sparks shot out where his finger met the shield, and Danny could only watch in horror as those sparks tangled with the control panel itself. He could see the current race through the metal, rippling beneath the buttons in bright cracks and pops. 

One last spark ignited at the top and, with a loud crack, the lights of the elevator shut off.

Danny stumbled backwards as it happened, hardly stopping himself from careening into the opposite wall of the shield. In the absence of the elevator’s lights, the space was bathed in a sickly wash of green. 

Lancer swore again, the sound enough to have Danny spinning around to make sure he was okay. Lancer had crouched, both hands still held firmly onto the railing as he lowered himself to the elevator floor with shaking knees. At a glance, Danny could have mistaken him for a ghost with how the light of the ectoshield painted his skin.

“Are you okay?” Danny asked, his voice sounding rather small, shaky with his building unease. 

He doubted that the elevator had put off much of a distress signal before it lit up like a Christmas tree.

Lancer just slowly shook his head, staring at something only he could see. He was practically sitting now, his hands shaking on the railing, barely able to hold on any longer. Thankfully, the elevator didn’t shift as he sank to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Danny said, glancing back at the elevator buttons. A thin line of smoke trailed from the emergency button, giving off an acrid scent that mixed with the ozone of the shield.

Lancer looked up at that, the sudden movement in his periphery causing Danny to snap his attention back to him. Danny was surprised to find his brows furrowed.

“What are you sorry for?” Lancer croaked out.

Danny blinked. He stared. He looked between the buttons and Lancer, now shaking his own head. “I… broke the buttons?” he said, confused.

Surely Lancer hadn’t missed that lightshow.

Lancer’s brows drew so close together they nearly formed one line. His frown stretched almost as far, pulling at his black facial hair.

“You just hurt yourself trying to press it,” he said slowly.

Danny nodded his head, still unsure. “Yeah… and I broke it?”

If Lancer’s hands weren’t currently clutching onto the railing for dear life, Danny had a feeling they would find their way to pinch at his tear ducts— a gesture he often adopted when faced with a frustrating situation or student. 

“You… you knew the shield would hurt you and still tried to press that button,” Lancer said, his voice now tinged with exasperation. 

Danny’s own brows drew together, frustration drawing his teeth to clench. “ And  I said I was sorry,” he challenged.

It wasn’t his fault there was a ghost shield. It wasn’t his fault it tampered with the buttons. He’d  tried , and if Lancer couldn’t accept his apology, Danny wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

It’s not like he could storm off right now. Even if he could transform back, he had no way of knowing where the elevator was within the shaft, or how easily he could escape it without unsettling the delicate balance. 

Not that he could transform. Not here, not now.

Something strange ghosted across Lancer’s face, the expression hollow and haunted, shadowed oddly by the light from the shield; it glowed so brightly off of his bald head.

“I know you didn’t mean to,” he said, his words hushed, echoing slightly in the enclosed space. “I’m not arguing with you, Phantom, I… Are you all right?”

The question came so out of left field it struck Danny dumb. He fidgeted uncomfortably, noticing for the first time that he was cradling his left hand in his right.

Glancing down, Danny saw that his glove had been singed by the contact with the ghost shield. Just like the buttons, it smoked faintly, revealing angry green flesh beneath.

He was shaking. When did he start shaking?

Clenching his hand into a fist, Danny thrust it behind his back and out of sight. “I’m fine,” he said, locking his eyes onto Lancer, as if challenging him to say otherwise.

That strange expression persisted on his teacher’s face. If Danny had to give it a name, he supposed the closest thing he could compare it to was pity. Something about that squeezed uncomfortably at his core.

Danny was used to breaking things, and he was even more used to being blamed for breaking things— whether he had a part in it or not. That button had been a lifeline, possibly the only real thing that could ensure Lancer a safe reunion with the ground…

Why wasn’t he angry?

An uncomfortable silence filled the elevator. Danny could hear a siren somewhere outside, though it sounded far too distant to be something headed their way. Danny had no way of knowing how long it would take for help to arrive, or if it even would in time.

Danny was still shaking. It had gotten worse, if anything. The glow of the ghost shield was too bright and the walls of the elevator too narrow. The tilt in the floor too drastic, the hum of the shield resonating too discordantly with his core.

Danny had crouched down too, though he couldn’t say when he sank to the floor. He hugged at his knees, suddenly very aware of the summer heat. The elevator had been stifling to begin with, devoid of fresh air and baked by the sun. The ghost shield didn’t help, putting off a crackling heat that seemed to sap the breath from his lungs. Breath he didn’t need but wanted.

When did his breathing get so heavy, anyway? “Phantom?” The voice was quiet, unsure. It sounded both miles away and entirely too close, whispering in his ear. 

Danny stared at his gloves. The shield painted them green, like fresh ectoplasm over his hands. His arm still stung from the shock— still buzzed with the latent energy it gave off.

A distant echo of something far worse that still clung to him, leaving fern-like marks that rippled up that same arm.

“Phantom?”

He was Phantom, wasn’t he? That was his name, but he didn’t feel much like anything right now. More smoke and mirror than boy or even ghost. Phantom was supposed to be a hero, not some child who sank to his knees with fear squeezing tight enough at his chest to burst.

“Phantom, are you okay?” Was he okay? What did it mean to be okay? When was the last time he really was okay?

Somewhere distant Danny knew he was spiraling. He could practically feel his own awareness slipping through his fingers, lost to that tidal wave of fear. 

“Breathe with me, okay?”

He didn’t need to breathe, but he still did— sucking down deep gulps of air, like some awful mockery of a fish gasping on the bank of a sun-baked river.

“In and out. Breathe with me, it’s okay.”

How many times had Jazz said those exact same words? They were practically ingrained in Danny’s psyche, as much a part of him as the hazmat suit had made itself, fused as it was to his ectoplasm.

“That’s it. In and out.”

When had he shut his eyes? For all the green staining his eyelids, they might as well still be open.

“You’re doing great. Just keep breathing.”

An odd thing to say to a ghost (not that Lancer knew the half of that), but not unappreciated. Air felt good, as humid and musty as it was. His core followed the pattern, practically imitating the humble tattoo of a heart.

He could hear a heartbeat too. Faster than his own, though slower and more timely than the pulse of a core. Human. Safe. 

Danny focused on the sound. It almost drowned out the hum around him. It almost was enough to lull him into a safe, comfortable rest.

Almost, but not quite. Not enough to completely dash the ever-present buzz of the shield beneath him, dragging Danny back to the coffin of an elevator and its lurid green light.

Slowly, Danny opened his eyes. The light of the shield was not particularly bright, but it still burned his retinas. The hum seemed louder now, the static of it buzzing against his skin and frayed nerves. He blinked owlishly, his eyes roving over the rippling walls of green—

They landed on the person sitting nearby.

Danny couldn’t help but flinch back, surprised by the close proximity. With how glued Lancer had been to the railing, he would not have expected the man to move, and yet…

Here he sat in the middle of the elevator in front of him. 

"Feeling better?" Lancer asked. He leaned away slightly from Danny, but did not make any retreat.

For a moment Danny wondered if he'd transformed. Why else would Lancer have risked shifting the elevator just to, what, comfort him?

Danny held up his hands, half-expecting to find human skin.

His eyes met the same pair of green-stained white gloves.

"That was quite the panic attack," Lancer said when Danny didn't answer. 

Panic attack… that was definitely the phrase for it. Danny could recognize the lingering fatigue and oversensitive nerves that followed one.

That spiraling sense of losing himself still lingered too, along with tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Sorry," was all Danny could think to say, wiping at his face.

"Why are you apologizing?"

It seemed like a genuine enough question, not that Danny felt he could give a genuine enough answer.

"Dunno," he said, hugging his knees more tightly, rubbing his good hand over the other. "Just seems like a pretty inconvenient time and place for a panic attack."

Of all the places he’d had a panic attack, this one maybe ranked a four out of ten. If he was being generous.

Lancer sighed. He settled down a bit beside him, though did not at all relax. Danny could see how his fingertips dug into the linoleum like cat claws desperately trying to find purchase on a branch.

“I don’t know that there’s ever a convenient time or place for them,” he mused.

Danny rolled his eyes. “I shouldn’t be having one in the first place,” he muttered darkly.

Lancer’s brow quirked at that. “What makes you say that?” he asked.

Danny picked his head up off of his arms, glaring at the man. “I came here to save you, not to, what— have an impromptu therapy session? Whatever this is.” He gestured around the cabin of the elevator, as if this  whatever was some physical concept he could point to.

“Well, we’re not going anywhere anytime soon, I think,” the teacher said. He didn’t look at Danny directly, his eyes trailing over the shut doors of the elevator. “Why not humor me?”

“I don’t feel like any jokes right now,” Danny quipped, pillowing his chin back on his arms.

Lancer chuckled, the sound odd and out of place in Danny’s ears. “No, I don’t suppose you would— frankly, I don’t either, but… humor me. Why don’t you feel like you can have a panic attack?”

Danny wasn’t sure when the script had flipped on him. It hadn’t been that long ago when Lancer was clinging to the railing, shouting in fear while Danny tried to weigh his options.

Now, sat on the grimy linoleum floor of the elevator, Lancer seemed remarkably calm and Danny… he felt remarkably small.

Smaller than usual.

He stubbornly wiped at his face again, hoping that no evidence of tears remained. Lancer might not know it was him, but he still didn’t want to be seen crying in front of his teacher. 

“I’m supposed to be a hero— and a ghost. Why should I have a panic attack over something like this?” he asked petulantly, digging his nails into his knees.

Lancer did not reply right away. He was quiet, seeming to pick his words very carefully before opening his mouth once more.

“Well, what is bothering you? Was it the shock from the shield?”

Danny’s eyes roved from Lancer to the buttons almost absently. He couldn’t tell if the shock was still reverberating through his ectoplasm, or if it was the mere memory now. The phantom feeling of the tide tugging at your waist while falling asleep after a day spent in the waves.

“I don’t… I don’t think so— I don’t know,” Danny stammered, his brows bunching together with frustration as he considered it. 

The glare of the ectoshield taunted him, rippling around him like light refracting through the water of a large aquarium.

“Is it something else?” Lancer asked gently.

Danny didn’t look at him. He stared at the buttons, transfixed. If he looked at them just the right way, they sort of formed an odd face with too many eyes. It reminded Danny of a ghost he saw once while lost in the zone, drifting a little too far past the Far Frozen’s snowy mountains.

“Maybe,” he said quietly. “It’s part of it, I guess, but… I mean the shield sucks, and it’s small in here and reminds me of the thermos, and it’s too hot for my core and—”

Danny stopped abruptly, his eyes locking onto Lancer’s, finding the man watching him with wide, fascinated eyes. It had his core stuttering uncomfortably and a blush rising to his cheeks, no doubt as green as the hazy light from the shield.

Ducking his head down into his knees, Danny muttered, “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”

Another sigh from Lancer. He was doing that a lot today— he always did, really. “It sounds like you needed someone to talk to,” he mused.

Danny just shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes. His face positively burned. “I have friends,” he mumbled.

“Are they who you usually talk to about these sort of things?”

Danny clamped his eyes shut tight, trying to calm the unsteady thrum of his core. “I guess,” he said dismissively.

A pause stretched between them and Lancer shuffled uncomfortably in it. Danny tensed as he did, worried the elevator might shift again, but it seemed as though it had found a solid place to rest in the shaft.

“Do you…” Lancer trailed off, sounding very unsure of the question lying on his tongue. 

When he didn’t continue, Danny cracked open one bright green eye. “Do I what?” he challenged, tensing himself for whatever question might follow.

The look Lancer gave him would not be out of place on someone who had just watched a sad commercial with sat wet dogs. “Do you… have any adults to talk to? Any ghosts that look after you?”

Whatever question Danny had been expecting, he hadn’t expected one to strike so surely at his core. It thrummed like the strings of a violin, magnified until it reverberated through his entire being. Danny wondered if Lancer might feel it through the floor, over the hum of the shield.

“What?” was all he could say. No other words would find their way to his lips. His mind had shut down, lingering on the question with an uneasy, empty feeling that resonated from his core and hollowed out his belly.

“Is there anyone that looks after you?” Lancer asked again, his tone firm but no less gentle for it.

Danny stared straight ahead, seeing nothing as he let the question turn in his mind. His first thought was of Jazz. Ever since she found out about him, she’d stepped up in ways he could not have hoped for or imagined. She kept the first aid kit stocked. She checked him over for injuries. Jazz asked Danny how he was feeling, and wouldn’t always let him get away with a dismissive answer. 

She’d even started to cook them breakfast these last few weeks. Her first few attempts were about as disastrous as their mother’s own cooking— no doubt unaided by the tainted ingredients— but she was getting better. She had a little fridge in her room now with ingredients kept far away from the lab samples, and for the first time in a long while Danny was remembering what eggs tasted like without the acidic bite of ectoplasm.

Danny opened his mouth to give Lancer an affirmative answer, but froze when the man’s first question rang in his ears.

“Do you… have any adults to talk to?”

A stone dropped into Danny’s belly as he realized with a sick sense of dread just how much Jazz had risen to the forefront of his mind as a caretaker, completely eclipsing their parents.

Danny’s mouth was dry as he swallowed a lump in his throat. He could feel Lancer’s eyes burning into him as he took far too long to answer— his silence about as much of an answer as anything else, really.

“Y–yes,” Danny said, though his shaky words hardly convinced himself.

They certainly didn’t seem to convince Lancer, either. His brow quirked slightly before he schooled his features into a softer expression. “Do you?” he pressed.

Danny nodded, even as his mind spiraled once more, wallowing through a current of memories. He tried to think of the last time he felt comfortable talking to his parents, but only flashes of uncomfortable silences and nervous lies came to mind. He tried to think of the last time he felt safe in their care, but only the memory of dodging weapons and hiding injuries swam to the forefront of that current.

At some point Danny’s nod turned into a tilt— a shake. He was shaking his head, ever so slightly. His core squeezed and fresh tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

Lancer sighed yet again, the sound bone-weary and deep with exhaustion. “Where do you go when you’re not in Amity?” he asked. “Where do you stay?”

It was too personal of a question, one that Danny never would have thought to answer from a civilian. He’d been asked so many things by the people of Amity— shouted questions of his death and of his life before then. Each grated at his nerves and his core with an unrivaled discomfort, never something he would think to acknowledge with more than a joke, at most.

Yet… Danny didn’t resent the question coming from Lancer. It didn’t upset him, not in the way it normally did. The discomfort was there, but it had more to do with his own uncertain answer than the fact that Lancer had dared to ask the question in the first place.

It was Danny’s turn to sigh now, feeling his entire body sag into the motion as he hugged his knees still tighter, practically phasing them into his torso.

All he could do was shrug.

He knew where Danny Fenton went at night, but Phantom didn’t exactly have a place to rest his head. 

Lancer shuffled a bit closer until he was sitting directly beside Danny. He didn’t scoot away, almost welcoming his presence.

“I won’t pretend to know what it’s like being in your shoes,” Lancer began, his eyes locked onto Danny as he spoke, “but I’m here to talk if you ever need someone to be there.”

Danny blinked, staring. He hardly knew what to say— could hardly find any words in his head. After a pause, all that would come out was a hesitant, “Yeah?”

Lancer smiled, the gesture small as it tugged at his lips. “Yes. I’m a teacher and part of my job is to be there for my students.” 

Danny frowned at the word. “I’m not one of your students, though,” he said defensively, shuffling his feet. “I’m just a ghost.”

For one gut-wrenching moment Danny wondered if Lancer had figured him out. He couldn’t imagine how. His ghost form changed too much, both impacted by the ectoplasm in his system and by his own thoughts, as Frostbite once explained to him. The sharpened ears, the greenish tint of his skin— the broader shoulders and squared chin, more masculine than he dared hope for.

Even just the glow was enough to throw his features into a differing relief, but above it all there was one factor that Danny knew kept his identity safe:

The difference between flesh and ectoplasm. Life and death. Why ever assume something that breathed would also harbor something as innate to death as a core?

(Nevermind that he had been breathing this entire time, not that he needed it as he was.)

Yet if Lancer noticed the breathing or somehow made that leap of logic that saddled the line between life and death as surely as Danny did himself, he didn’t show it. He simply smiled sadly, meeting Phantom’s eyes with a kindness he rarely had shown to him in this form.

“Maybe not, but you must have been a student in this town at some point,” he said, his eyes trailing to his hands in his lap, fingers nervously rubbing his knuckles. “I might not be an expert on ghosts, but after teaching for as long as I have, I’d like to think that I know a thing or two about teenagers. You stay in this town enough that it must have been your home— that it must still be.”

He wasn’t wrong, of course. Mr. Lancer didn’t know the details, but his words rang truer than he knew. They echoed in Danny’s mind, as hollow and uncomfortable as they were right. 

Amity was Phantom’s home. It was his home.

Just hearing someone who wasn’t Sam, Tucker, or Jazz acknowledge that had the tears pricking at Danny’s eyes spilling over.

A hand tentatively patted his shoulder and Danny leaned into the touch, finding more peace in it than he thought he should.

A peace that, like many good things, did not last very long.

A familiar siren cut through the concrete, the sound grating at Danny’s frayed nerves with a fresh onslaught of fear. He couldn’t help but jolt at the sound, jumping into the air where he hovered, staring at the elevator doors.

“Phantom?” Lancer asked nervously.

The siren practically echoed in his skull, the sound far too familiar and far too disquieting. How many times had he heard it barreling towards a ghost attack, knowing that its presence would only complicate the battle? How many times had he been glad for the warning, if only so he could escape?

There was no escape right now, however. No way for him to slip out of sight, either through the walls of the elevator or into his own human skin. He couldn’t transform, not with Lancer right next to him and his secret already hanging by a gnawed thread.

Mr. Lancer must have heard the siren himself now, judging by the way his eyes moved from Phantom to the elevator doors. Danny couldn’t help but notice that his eyes brightened with relief.

“Lord of the Flies, it sounds like someone’s finally coming,” he said, that same relief carried on a much more relaxed sigh.

Danny bit his lip, unable to answer. He didn’t resent Mr. Lancer’s joy at hearing the siren, though it did come as a dark contrast to his own roiling emotions. 

“I don’t think they’re here to help,” he mumbled darkly, unable to suppress the resentment in his tone as he glared at the ectoshield warping over the elevator doors. “Not met at least.”

Danny heard Lancer suck in a sharp breath of air. He turned at the sound, finding his teacher watching him with renewed concern in his eyes. “They wouldn’t…” he said slowly, his own words trailing off as doubt crept into his tone.

Danny nodded. “They must’ve gotten some sort of alert when this thing went off,” he said, gesturing to the shield. 

“But they wouldn’t… you’re not…” Lancer tried again, his words no less convinced the second time around as he trailed off, his eyes widening when they fixed on the door.

The siren was so close now, echoing around the elevator. Each blaring note of the sound had Danny’s ears ringing and his core stuttering violently with fear. He absently drifted farther away from the elevator doors, watching them warily.

“If I could just explain to them—”

This time Lancer’s words were cut off as a loud, booming voice shouted. It came from somewhere overhead, echoing down the elevator shaft.

“Is there anyone in there!” the unmistakable voice of Jack Fenton boomed. “Our sensors detected that a ghost triggered our shield. Is the ghost subdued? Are any humans trapped?”

Danny stared, wide-eyed up at the elevator ceiling. He sank back down onto the floor, cowering as he heard what sounded like metal grinding as someone tried to force it apart.

His eyes flickered to Lancer, watching uncertainly as the man gaped at the ceiling. He had to be frighteningly aware of his precarious position in the elevator. Jack Fenton’s voice, though it sent fear rocketing through Danny’s core, must’ve sounded like freedom and safety to Lancer in that moment.

And yet… his eyes trailed back to Danny with  uncertainty. 

It was disquieting, seeing that expression on that face of a man trapped in an elevator shaft, who for all intents and purposes should have welcomed any offer of rescue with the widest embrace.

Yet Danny thought back to Lancer’s words as he calmed him down from his panic attack. He thought of his hand gently patting Danny’s shoulder, soothing him as he cried. He thought of how Lancer, once he pushed his own fear aside, had shown nothing but kindness and fear  for him, not of.

He had called Phantom his student. Had called Amity his home. 

“Is anyone down there!” Jack Fenton called again, the sound of metal shifting accompanying his voice once more. 

In that moment, Danny knew that he would have one of two options. There was no way his parents would disable the ectoshield without first making sure that no ghosts lingered invisibly within it. As Phantom, he was trapped, resigned to being seen. Cornered.

If his parents caught Phantom now in this position, Danny’s only option would be to try and explain himself and hope that they might understand. Pray that they wouldn’t assume he was overshadowed and give him a fraction of a chance.

But… Danny had another option. 

Looking at Lancer, finding him nervously staring up at the ceiling, Danny weighed that second option. 

He weighed Lancer’s words, the kind admissions of  home  and  student nestling comfortably in his core.

It was a leap of faith, and one Danny probably shouldn’t feel more secure in than his parents, and yet… When was the last time he felt safe around an adult?

Here, in an elevator, trapped with a man who had shown him more humanity in the last five minutes than an entire town had in a year.

The choice was clear to Danny.

“Mr. Lancer,” Danny began, his voice timorous and too small. His teacher’s eyes locked onto him at the sound.

“Y–yes?” he asked just as quietly, bewildered. 

Of course, he had never given Phantom his name.

Danny licked his lips. His breath caught in his throat as the metal shifted overhead again and he had to shut his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply to steady his nerves.

“I am one of your students.”

When the man didn’t reply, Danny slowly opened his eyes, finding Lancer shaking his head, his eyes never once leaving Danny.

“I… don’t follow,” he said.

More metal shifting overhead. Something heavy thumped. Danny’s core pulsed and his hands shook.

“I—I am one of your students,” he repeated, hardly more than a whisper. “Y–you taught me last year, and I wasn’t the best student but… but you helped me— then and now. And I… I’m afraid, but I want to trust you.”

The words tumbled out, a flood breaking through the dam as more tears slipped down Danny’s cheeks. He could hear talking above now, though the words were lost to the hum around him and the awful buzz still dancing through his ectoplasm.

Lancer was breathing heavily now. He looked at Phantom as though seeing him for the first time, his eyes stretching wide as saucers, capturing enough of the green light around them that they almost mimicked his own.

“D–Danny?” he said in a hushed tone.

The last bit of stone that held that flood back shattered. Tears dripped down Danny’s chin and he nodded, every inch of him shaking at that mere admittance. 

He hardly even had to reach for his core. The transformation came to him too quickly, rolling over him in a warm rush that banished the chilliest parts of his core to rest within his chest. He watched the gloves disappear, the bright green scars over his hand fading to white. The lichtenberg figures were faint, though now he could properly see their winding course over his wrist and under the hem of his red sweatshirt. White as they were, the sickly glow of the shield stained the scars just as green as his gloves had been.

“Danny…” Lancer said again, the sound choked in his throat. 

Danny hardly dared glance up, terrified of what he might find on his teacher’s face. Disgust? Disappointment? Fear?

He half expected Lancer to call a warning to his parents.

Danny looked up when the elevator groaned, startled as he felt it shift slightly and heard an alarmed sound from overhead. 

Lancer was looking at him still, but it wasn’t with any of the fear that Danny had expected. It was tired— sad. Sorrow. The man had shifted slightly where he sat, trying to reach out for him, but had frozen when the elevator shifted. Now he simply sat there, watching Danny with that somber expression.

Danny couldn’t tell if it was just the green light, but he thought he saw the pinprick of tears in his teacher’s eyes.

Dust rained down as something overhead shifted. For the first time since the buttons sparked, light that wasn’t green flooded the elevator as one of the ceiling tiles moved. 

Maddie Fenton’s red-lensed goggles swam into view. Danny hated that his first instinct at seeing them was to cower, fear coursing through him at seeing those lenses reflecting the green of the ghost shield.

But if Maddie knew something of Danny’s secret, it didn’t carry into the surprised gasp she gave as her eyes locked onto him.

“Danny! I— what are you doing here? How did—” the words caught in her throat and she gave a minute shake of her head, seeming to come back to where they were. 

“Mads?” Danny heard his father’s voice from behind her, echoing in the expanse of the elevator shaft.

Danny hardly heard them as Maddie explained the situation to her husband. He hardly noticed when more of the panels were pulled away and a rope ladder was lowered into the elevator.

When Lancer urged him to climb up it first, he had to tell Danny twice before a fraction of the words made it to his ears. He moved mechanically, his legs shaking as the elevator groaned when he tentatively stood and clutched the ropes.

He paused for a moment when he met the roof of the ectoshield. Even in their rescue, his parents hadn’t deigned to disable the device, though he was sure they could. Danny’s core buzzed uncomfortably as he passed through the wall of green, but it allowed his passage without the sparking jolt that had bit at his hand.

When Jack pulled Danny up with enough force to almost yank his arm from the socket, he allowed himself to be pulled into a tight embrace. He melted into it for a moment before his father had to shift his focus to Lancer, still trapped as he was in the elevator shaft.

Danny could only wait with bated breath as they pulled him up.

He watched as Lancer stumbled out onto the floor of the parking garage, blinking dazedly in the sunlight that filtered through the open windows. 

How strange that it was still daylight.

Danny waited, still feeling sure that he had made a mistake— that any moment now Lancer would speak up and spill the truth.

Those thoughts fled his mind when Mr. Lancer’s eyes locked onto him. There really were tears there, welling onto his lashes, brightening the green of his eyes with emotion. 

He didn’t speak, just watching quietly.

With both of them secured, Maddie pulled Danny into a hug of her own. She held him tight, asking if he was hurt and smiling proudly at him when he put on a brave face and told her he was fine. 

A fraction of that smile even felt real, basking in his mother’s warmth and concern. 

It died a little when she said, “We need to scope the area for whichever ghost triggered the shield. If a ghost is willing to tamper with these cables, there’s no telling what other sort of harm they might cause.”

She whipped around to Lancer, the man straightening as her eyes fell on him. For all her short stature, Maddie could be an intimidating, intense ball of fire.

“Did you see anything? Did you hear anything that might help us locate this ghost?” she asked him.

Mr. Lancer blanched, his mouth opening and closing— eyes skirting minutely to Danny as he failed to give her a proper answer.

After a moment, he simply shook his head. Danny felt some of the tension leaving his shoulders, though he still didn’t dare let himself fully relax.

Maddie frowned, disappointment clear in her own slackened shoulders as she sighed. She glanced between her husband and Danny, her expression softening slightly as it landed on him, before fixing her lavender eyes once more on Lancer.

“I hate to ask this of you, William, but would you be willing to take Danny home? I know that you two have been through a lot this evening, but we can’t let this go uninvestigated. If there’s a dangerous ghost lurking in the area, we need to find it before it truly hurts someone.”

Her tone was so sincere, each of her words dripping with resolve. 

Lancer just gaped at her, looking between mother and son with utter disbelief.

“I—” he paused, glancing at Danny, looking at him with the same intensity he had before calling his name in that elevator shaft. “Yes.”

Maddie positively beamed, relief and admiration evident in her tone as she said, “Thank you so much; you have no idea how much this means to us.”

Mr. Lancer just nodded stiffly, standing to the side as Maddie pulled Danny into one last hug and kissed his forehead.

His skin burned where her lips touched. His chest felt hollowed out, his core thrumming slightly.

Something colder than the core in his chest ghosted over Danny’s skin when she let him go, turning back towards the elevator shaft to join the investigation with her husband.

Danny stared after them for a long moment, watching as she fell into the task without so much as a glance backwards. 

He wiped at his forehead, still feeling the burn of her touch.

Another sigh behind him, longer and deeper than any Danny had heard that evening. He turned to find Lancer standing there awkwardly, wringing his hands with a nervous energy that he rarely saw adults let show.

“Let’s… let’s go then, shall we?” he said quietly.

Danny sighed too. He resisted the urge to glance back at the elevator shaft, already knowing that his parents were too absorbed in their work to notice. 

For all the deep fear he’d felt at their arrival, this hollow ache was deeper.

“Y–yeah,” Danny said, swallowing against the tightness of his throat. “Okay.”

Danny didn’t even know why Lancer was in the parking deck that day, and he didn’t necessarily want to ask. The thought of inconveniencing the man from an errand he needed to run would just be one too many awful weights on his shoulders today. Instead, he just followed his teacher to his beat-up silver car, quietly climbing into the passenger seat.

Lancer climbed in on the driver side just as quietly. He didn’t even buckle his seatbelt at first. Didn’t start the car. He simply stared through the windshield, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel as he sat there and breathed.

Danny picked at the hem of his sweatshirt, lost for words. He couldn’t help but notice the phone lying beside him on the console between the seats.

“Are you alright?” Mr. Lancer asked him. His voice didn’t echo in the car like it had in the elevator, but he still flinched at the sudden sound.

Slowly, nervously, Danny met his eyes again, peering at the man through his bangs. “I guess.”

Lancer’s face crumpled slightly, pinched with sadness, but he nodded. Without saying another word, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. The car roared into life a moment later, and a moment after they were off.

As they rounded the spiral of the parking garage, Danny found his eyes trailing out the window, locking onto the open doors of the elevator shaft. He could see the bright orange of his father’s hazmat suit, though couldn’t spot his mother before the car rounded the turn, leaving them behind. 

Danny’s core squeezed alongside his heart.

Lancer turned the radio up, seemingly needing something to fill the silence, but lowered it just as quickly when the broadcast that filtered through the radio mentioned ghosts within the first breath of the speaker.

They continued on in awkward silence, Danny’s eyes glued to the window but unseeing anything past it.

“They don’t know, I assume.”

Danny had hoped that Mr. Lancer might not acknowledge the ghostly elephant in the room, but he supposed, like with all things, he was never that lucky.

Danny didn't bother to look at the man, choosing instead to just stiffly nod his head.

Another sigh. One too many, enough to grate at Danny’s nerves, but not enough for him to snap at it.

His belly felt too hollowed out for that anger now.

“You… you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” Lancer then said, carefully picking around the words like someone navigating a minefield. “You don’t have to tell me anything, really.”

“I know,” Danny said, allowing some bite to enter his words. He needed some measure of control over this situation in which he had practically none to speak of.

In his periphery, Danny could see Lancer nod his own head as he said, “I meant what I said back in the elevator— to Phantom. To you.”

That was enough to make Danny turn his head. He wasn’t sure what street they were on, only that it was a long one with too many stop lights. They’d stopped at each along the way, agonizingly dragging out the drive.

“Meant what?”

As they stopped at another light, Lancer turned his head to look at Danny. His eyes still seemed bright with emotion, though what tears had gathered in his eyes had disappeared. 

“That if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here. You are my student, after all.”

Danny bit his lip. He searched Lancer’s eyes, trying to find any hint of a lie or deceit, but Mr. Lancer truly seemed as sincere now as he had been stuck in that elevator shaft.

“It… doesn’t bother you that I’m a ghost?” he asked him.

There had to be a catch— there had to be a limit to this kindness and Danny would rather find it now than later.

Mr. Lancer’s frown deepened at the word ‘ghost’, but it quirked up into a small smile just as quickly. 

“And my student,” he repeated gently. “And a kid, just like any one of my other students.”

Lancer’s smile was wry, hardly there, but it warmed him to see it at all. His voice echoed in Danny’s head as they drove on, the silence feeling much less daunting with those kind words occupying his thoughts.

Lancer seemed to hesitate for a moment before they turned onto Danny’s street. He hesitated another moment before pulling the car up alongside the sidewalk.

His knuckles were bone-white on the steering wheel, every inch of his posture as tense as Danny’s felt, like a cord ready to snap.

Danny didn’t get out of the car at first. He just sat there, staring at the red brick building of FentonWorks and the glaring neon signs over the door. His eyes skirted up to the Ops Center, the shadow looming over him a fiendish thing.

Danny was glad when Lancer did not immediately oust him from the car. He needed that moment to just sit and breathe. To have a space, however fragile, where he felt like he might have someone in his corner who was older than sixteen.

“You would… you really wouldn’t tell my parents?” Danny asked, hardly daring to speak the words allowed. Terrified that he might get confirmation of his worst fears.

Lancer’s eyes widened. He slowly shook his head, mouth slightly slack-jawed.

“No,” he said a little too quickly. “No, not…” He actually did pinch his tear ducts this time, in that familiar gesture he hadn’t been able to back in the elevator. “Pride and Prejudice, Danny, I know when a student is afraid of their parents. I’ve… I’ve seen it before. Not like this, never like this, but still…”

He trailed off, looking ahead, swallowing a lump in his throat as he gathered more of his thoughts. 

“Danny…” he began again, the word quavering. “I don’t know how to help you with this. I… I just need you to promise me that you’ll do your best to be safe. That you’ll do the smart thing and ask for help when you need it. That if your parents hurt you…”

He trailed off again, shaking his head. Danny’s parents had already hurt him, they both knew this. It wasn’t an if, it was a when and an again.

“I’ll be careful,” Danny tried to reassure him. “I–I have Jazz, and Sam, and Tucker. They know. They know and they help me, and I trust them.”

He hoped that those words might quell some of Mr. Lancer’s doubts, but Danny’s core thrummed uneasily when his teacher’s eyes just widened with renewed horror.

The man slowly shook his head, a trembling hand rubbing at the bags beneath his eyes.

“You’re all just kids,” he said quietly.

It was true, technically, but Danny hadn’t felt like much of one over the last few months. He had too many responsibilities as Phantom— had seen and faced too many things.

“We can handle it,” he said, trying to reassure himself as much as Mr. Lancer.

He wasn’t sure it worked either way.

Danny glanced back to FentonWorks, his hand tracing the handle of the car door. “Um, thank you for taking me home, Mr. Lancer,” he said, his throat still tight. “And, uh, for everything else.”

Mr. Lancer just nodded. He seemed so tired, the bags beneath his eyes deeper and darker than Danny’s own. His teacher said nothing as he opened the door and climbed out, though seemed to find his voice as Danny went to shut it.

“Wait—” he said suddenly, holding out his hand. 

Reluctantly, Danny pulled the door open wider, leaning down to hear what he had to say. 

Mr. Lancer studied him for a long moment, eyes flickering over his face as though searching for a hint of Phantom’s glow in his irises. 

“My door is always open if you need someone to talk to,” he said evenly. “Whatever happens, that doesn’t change.”

Danny blinked, letting his words sink in. He could feel the sincerity in them and, after everything that had happened today, Danny felt he had very little reason to doubt his teacher.

Nodding, voice still hoarse with emotion, Danny said, “Okay.”

 ~*~

 William did not drive off right away. He allowed his car to idle as he watched Danny Fenton walk up the sidewalk and the steps to his front door. The boy knocked, waiting for a response inside. There was a long pause in which nothing seemed to happen and William was just considering rolling down the window to call out to the boy when he glanced back at him.

William’s heart leapt into his throat as Danny’s eyes met his. Even from a distance, he could see a sharp hint of green in them, the same shade he had grown accustomed to in his time trapped in that elevator. He watched with bated breath as Danny’s gaze lingered on him for a long moment before sweeping up and down the street. 

William’s hands tightened on the steering wheel when Danny turned around and stepped  through his front door as if it simply wasn’t there.

William let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, a shaky exhale that hardly did the stress of the day any justice.

With one last glance at FentonWorks, finding a simple wooden door where Danny had stood just a moment before, William drove away.

 ~*~

 William stood in the entrance to his apartment for a long moment. Just stood there, hardly acknowledging when his cat came to greet him, brushing up against his ankles with a friendly meow.

He stiffly bent to stroke a hand through his fur, the soft texture feeling stiff and coarse against his numb skin.

Moving mechanically, William shuffled through the kitchen as he set a kettle on the stove to boil. He wasn't even sure how long the kettle whistled before it was enough to shake him from the stupor of staring into open space.

Even once he had his cup of tea, Lancer couldn't stop shaking. He sank down into his favorite armchair by his favorite shelf of books, eyeing the light brown tea in his cup without drinking.

He thought of Danny all the while— of Phantom. Of how long the ghost boy has been in Amity Park and what that must mean for his student.

It had been a year ago, William recalled clearly. A year ago when all of the ghosts appeared— Phantom included.

That must have been when…

A drop fell into William's cup of tea. He watched the ripples as more tears rolled down his cheeks.

His hand shook violently, splashes of the tea spilling into his lap, and William had to set the cup down on the end table beside his chair.

A year. His student had been dead for a year and he hadn't even noticed.

His parents hadn’t, either.

William didn't even want to think what had caused it. Didn't want to imagine what horrors that boy had faced, because he could already picture, far too clearly, plenty of them.

How many times had he watched Phantom fight? 

All of the absences, all of the behavioral issues. Everything fell into place, a gruesome puzzle that William had never known needed solved.

He thought, too, of the boy's parents.

How many times had he watched the Fentons shoot at Phantom, aiming their guns without so much as a moment's hesitation?

William hardly noticed when his cat approached, giving a small meow as he butted his head into his hand and slowly picked his way into his lap. When Radio began to purr, the feeling that rumbled through his body was achingly similar to what William had felt from Phantom when he broke down.

When Danny, his student, broke down.

If Radio minded the tears splashing into his fur, he didn't care to move. He simply stuck there, rumbling away in William's lap, heedless of the emotions choking his chest.

William didn't know how long he sat there, mindlessly running his hand through Radio's ginger fur, allowing the cat’s purring to still the last few trembles in his fingers.

William didn't know what he'd do when the summer ended and he had to face that boy every day, knowing just why he raced from his classroom.

All William knew was that he'd keep his cellphone on him this time, always ready to answer just in case that boy needed his help. 

If anyone needed that kindness, it was him.

[sparrowrye]

Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A2 part 12

Synopsis: It’s been over a year since we were brought under Alastor’s watchful eye. We’ve unlocked our Demonic powers, discovered our own talents, and began building the Safe Haven with Charlie and co. Alastor seems increasingly interested in the power we hold as one and intends to use it properly.

Previous part

Part 12: creeping shadows

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

Striker grabbed Reagan by the throat and held her close to his face. I fought against the white rope trapping my limbs against my body, but it did nothing. My magic was gone from my grip and the rope kept me entirely immobile.

"You thought you could get rid of me that easily?" he taunted, eyes flickering over to me. "I'll haunt your dreams and your every waking hour. Just wait and see." He withdrew a white knife and plunged it into Reagan's heart.

I yelled and bolted upright from my bed. I fell off the side, covers trapping my legs, and tried to stand up. I choked on a sob and untangled myself. I needed to find Reagan. I needed to make sure she was okay. Who knows what magic could do, what Striker could do?

Alastor's warm presence surrounded me but he was nowhere to be physically seen. I involuntarily touched my mind with his and felt him come closer to my shields. It helped bring me back to reality.

I opened the window and slipped out in my Dragon form. I knew exactly which hut was Reagan's and hid in the shadows the full moon was creating. I reached my magic to feel her soul and found it anchored perfectly to her body. I couldn't feel any distress from her either. She was safe.

It truly had just been a nightmare.

I let out a shaky sigh and flew back to the house. I found myself unable to lie back down and paced my room instead. Alastor's presence was still there and he gently brushed against my shields. It wasn't invasive or aggressive, just there.

I forced myself to sit back down and tried to read to get my mind off Striker. I felt warmth trickle down my spine and my muscles relaxed. My heart slowed and I let out a deep sigh.

However, when I nodded off, Striker's face came back just as strongly as the first nightmare. This triggered a horrible string of events. Sleeping, no matter how light or deep, turned into a horrible nightmare. Most of it was Striker but others were random people with nasty wounds that looked like it should've killed them.

The whispering grew louder when I was awake. It was a constant noise in the background and I could never make out what they were saying. It left me horribly restless and jittery.

After the second day of no sleep, that's when it got really bad. I started to hallucinate. Striker would stand in the corner of my room and just watch me. No matter where I was in the house, he was in the corner. He was waiting to jump, waiting for me to drop my guard, waiting to snuff out my soul.

Alastor was the first to know anything was wrong. He tried to talk with me but I locked myself away in my room when the hallucinations started. When it grew dark, more random shadows started appearing in the corners and under my bed. Most of them were relatively small, children seize, and their yellow eyes glared at me.

The bathroom wasn't safe either. The bright light did nothing against the pitch black shadow figure standing in the corner. It didn't move. It didn't even have eyes. I tried hiding by the window but another figure just appeared and watched from my the other side.

I curled up on the floor in the middle of my room and covered myself with my wings. I kept up a magic shield around my mind and physical body. If I didn't see them, maybe they'd go away.

"Darling."

I lifted my head at Alastor's familiar voice. The morning sun broke through the window and the shadows moved away from the side of the room he stood in. For the first time, I felt a wave of relief at the sight of him.

He knelt down in front of my curled form. His eyes scanned my body and that was when I noticed I was shaking uncontrollably. I couldn't keep anything still, not even a finger.

"You must tell me what is happening, dear," he said.

"They're...they're everywhere."

"Who is?"

I sat up but kept my wings tight around my shoulders. I glanced at the shadows hiding under the bed and standing in the far corners of the room. I was afraid they might jump at me if I revealed them to him.

"I-I don't know," I replied. I could imagine how I looked right now. My hair was a mess, I couldn't stop shaking, my eyes were probably red and deep in my head from a lack of sleep, and I was looking at nothing. It had scared me when Husker said he couldn't see the people I could so obviously see.

"You haven't slept in days, darling. Maybe you ought to—"

"No!" I interrupted. I covered my mouth a second later at his surprise. "I-I'm-I'm sorry. I didn't...I wasn't...I can't sleep. It's worse." I covered my ears as the whispers grew louder. "I can't understand any of you!"

"Perhaps we need to pay a visit to Rosie," he offered.

"I can't...I'm not...she won't...ugh, just shut up! I don't understand!" I turned over my shoulder to look at the shadows. "Go away!"

They suddenly lunged at me with a terrifying scream. I jumped back into Alastor as they flew overhead and dissipated. The smell of cedar and sweat filled my nose and warmth spread through my body. I hadn't realized how cold I was until we touched.

"I'm sorry." I pushed off him and backed away on my knees, wrapping my wings around myself again. He straightened himself back up to a kneeling position.

"Darling." He lifted my chin so I would meet his red eyes. "Come with me." He stood up and held out his claw, patiently waiting for me to accept.

I pulled my arm from my winged blanket and let him help me to my feet. He snapped his fingers to dress me in my usual outfit and led me down the hallway. I kept my eyes on my foot claws and focused on the energy zipping through us. He kept his mind out of mine but he was still close to my shields. It was reassuring.

It felt strange to have his claw wrapped around mine. His was much larger than mine but they were practically the same color, minus his red tips. He led me to the teleportation symbol and let go of my hand to wrap around my waist. I threaded my own arm around his back and closed my eyes when we teleported.

He sat me on the stairs outside Rosie's store and told me to wait. A few minutes later, he came to find me and pulled me into the usual meeting room. Rosie didn't bother with pleasantries, instead grabbing my hand and closing her eyes.

I let her pass through my shields and went with her into my mind space. I found myself surrounded by dozens of shadow figures all yelling at me. I couldn't understand a single one, except Striker. His dark shadow stared at me from an opening of the crowd. His tail whipped around behind him as his yellow eyes glinted and narrowed.

"Let Alastor in." Rosie touched my shoulder. I let out a shaky breath and reached my magic out to him. He melted with mine like locking hands together and slipped past my shields.

"It's a trick of your mind," he said in my ear. I notice his hand had replaced Rosie's on my shoulder. We tried building another shield like I had done previously, but it did nothing.

Panic was rising in my chest and the shadows came closer. I curled in on myself and they drew further in. Alastor stepped in front of me and pulled my chin up to look at him.

"Keep your mind strong," he instructed, "They're feeding off your fear."

"What are they?" I was growing frantic.

"I'm not sure. We're trying to figure that out."

"Let's pull out. One at a time," Rosie announced. Alastor left first, then she did, and finally I followed. I blinked my eyes open to the white and pink room, instantly finding the shadows that still lingered in the corners of the room.

Alastor stood to the side closest to the windows. There were no shadows watching me from the other side. They seemed to not like him, staying far from the hideouts near where he stood.

I noticed Striker stood the furthest. But he didn't stay that way. As Rosie and Alastor spoke, he moved from corner to shadow to wall. He was trying to get closer. What could he do? Could he take my soul? Could he mess with my mind? Was this what the girl from Alastor's dream saw before her magic ate her?

That fear settled in my stomach. All the shadows moved at the same time, quickly closing the distance. I hastily grabbed Alastor's wrist and they all froze, but didn't recede. Their eyes were yellow and unblinking.

Alastor gently pulled me to my feet. He said something to Rosie and we headed for the door. I couldn't turn my back on the shadows, watching them continue to stare at me. Rosie stood in the middle and completely unbothered by the things that surrounded her.

"Where are we going?" I managed to ask. I practically glued myself to his side as the shadows manifested in different places outside. I was worried that we were headed back to the house, unable to fix whatever was wrong with me.

"We're visiting someone else." We stood over the symbol and appeared at Hell's palace a moment later. Were we visiting Lucifer?

The guards were immediately on high alert. They sent a servant to find Lucifer but we had to wait outside as they did. I couldn't stop turning my head left and right to watch my shadows. So long as I was touching Alastor they couldn't hurt me. Right?

"What in Hell do you wan..." Lucifer's demand fell off as his eyes found me. I couldn't see his expression as I kept watching the different shadows. "What's wrong?"

"We must speak privately," Alastor insisted. Lucifer nodded and showed us inside. I wasn't really paying attention to the extravagant hallways or personal decorations. Striker was following us every step of the way. His body moved slow, somehow staying in perfect time with us.

I was led into a dusty little room off the huge library. It looked like some old office that hadn't been used in centuries. A desk stood to one side and velvet leather couches on the other side. Books lined the wall behind the rich looking couches.

"What did you do?" Lucifer accused Alastor, slamming the door shut and locking it.

"Why do you assume I'm at fault?" Alastor demanded.

"Our previous conversations lead me to believe you had a hand in it. Probably meddling with her Angel power like you shouldn't have."

"I did no such thing," he lied through his yellow teeth, "but there is something happening to her mind that I don't understand."

Lucifer crossed the room to stand in front of me. He was a few inches shorter than me but his hard stare made up for it. I noticed the shadows were all standing in the corners of the room and that was it. They weren't hiding under the desk or behind the couch. He had pushed them even further away.

His eyes took in my disheveled appearance and unsteady eyes. He tried looking at where I was looking and the shadows disappeared before he could.

"Come sit down." He took my other hand and I forced myself to unwrap my sore fingers from Alastor's wrist. Lucifer lead me to the couch and sat down beside me, a hand reaching up to hover above my forehead. "Tell me what's been happening, sweetheart."

"Th-there's shadows." I muttered, my mouth suddenly going dry. "And whispers. I can't sleep."

"Okay." He pressed his palm to my forehead and I felt a trickle of sweet, smooth magic weaving through my blood. My muscles relaxed and my eyebrows stopped furrowing. I didn't think it was possible to relax so quickly like that.

Alastor explained the instance at Rosie's, making the King of Hell hum in confusion. He moved his hand from my head to the back of my neck. The same sweet magic covered my spine and I felt the strain of sleeplessness fade away. My shakiness went with it.

"Let's take a closer look, shall we?" Lucifer said. He drew his hand back and held both of them palm up to me. "Do I have your permission to go through your mind?"

I swallowed but nodded, placing my hands on top of his and allowing him to hold them tight. I wondered what his hands looked like under the black gloves.

I felt him enter my mind but this time I couldn't go with him. I felt a strange sense of no control over anything. I stared at his closed eyelids as I felt his presence weave through my mind and memories. It didn't feel invasive but it wasn't exactly pleasant. I had no idea what he was doing but the shadows in the corners of my vision disappeared one after the other.

My eyes were forcefully closed and I found myself in my mind space again. Lucifer stood in front of me still holding my hands. "We're going to build another shield. A different one this time," he explained. "First, we need to push all these souls away from you. Use your own energy."

He moved to stand behind me and lifted one of my hands. I opened my fingers and imagined pushing all these shadows away. It felt like I had a different kind of energy coursing through my body. My confidence grew as the souls tried scrambling against the force that was pushing them.

With every turn, each group of shadowy souls was pushed further and further away. Then we came to Striker. I felt the confidence slip away as easily as it had come.

"He's no different," Lucifer said from beside me.

He was harder to push away. It took several tries before he was moved just a foot away. I took a step forward, imagining my energy and muscles coming together into my single hand. He yelled something inaudible.

"Good. Now the shields." Lucifer moved his hand swiftly in front of him. A ring of gold light encircled us, effectively separating us from the shadows. He guided my outstretched hand low and slowly raised it. I felt my energy merging with his raw power as the shield grew taller and taller. It gradually turned from a bright gold to a deep purple at the top.

As soon as it closed at the top, I was pulled out of mind and returned to my physical body. I swayed to the side and both Lucifer and Alastor jumped to keep me from falling. Alastor was faster and lowered me down so I was lying on my back on the leathery couch.

"You're gonna be exhausted for awhile." Lucifer's tone was apologetic. It surprised me when it switched to anger less than a second later, geared directly at Alastor. "What is wrong with you?"

"I am not to blame for this." Alastor stepped close to the king so he could lean over him. "I do not know what triggered this."

"Exaclty. You don't know. She could've lost her mind if you hadn't come to see me."

"Tell me precisely what happened," Alastor growled. Lucifer wasn't deterred by his towering figure.

"She's a mixed breed. She has Demon and Angel power." He held both hands up, one holding a black ball and the other a white one. "I thought they couldn't be combined but obviously they can now. Which means her powers are combining too." He brought the balls together so they melded into a funny color, neither one willing to give in to the other.

"So what was happening to her?" Alastor pressed, voice lace with venom for the king.

Lucifer let out a sigh and looked over at me. I was still awake, listening to the conversation, but unable to do much else. I was shocked at how physically exhausted I was after a mind exercise.

Lucifer pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "I really don't want to tell you this information because it's you, but she deserves to know and you'll just find out one way or another."

Alastor remained silent, waiting.

"Angels have the power to move and borrow energy from souls. As a Demon, I'm guessing she can hold onto these souls for however long she wants. But I don't think she did this on purpose."

"Why do you say that?" Alastor prompted.

"Because when I looked through her memories I saw something interesting. When she kills someone, and she's done that a lot, the soul merges with her. After she killed that one Demon that she's so terrified of, it was probably too many souls for her to handle."

Alastor was quiet for a moment, registering the information. His back was to me and he was unmoving. What was he thinking? Was it bad? Manipulative? Was he coming up with ways to use this power?

"I'm a deal maker?" I rasped from the couch. That made Alastor look over his shoulder at me.

"Not quite," Lucifer answered, moving to kneel beside me. "Deal makers trap living souls. You're holding onto souls that have already passed."

"So they're not...they're in purgatory?"

His smile faded. "I suppose."

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back down. "How do I let go of them?"

"Well, that's something I'll have to figure out."

"You?" Alastor hissed.

"Yes, me." Lucifer was quick to stand and challenge the Radio Demon. "This is Angel magic, something you know nothing about. And if I leave her in your hands, who knows what'll happen to her mind?"

"You're speaking to one of the strongest, longest standing Overlords. I can handle a little Angelic magic."

"Clearly you can't!" Lucifer pointed a finger towards me. "She has no idea where to even begin to understand herself. And you know only one kind of magic. I am the closest thing to whatever she is. And if you'd like to keep your soulmate alive and sane, I will be working with her to keep her mind from breaking."

Alastor was visibly bristling. His antlers had grown and there were little X's all over his limbs. He had no response for King of Hell. So many times I had heard him hang my sanity over my head so I would let him train me. Now it was being held for his head.

Alastor brushed past him with what sounded like a mumbled "Fuck you" and came to kneel beside me. He slid his arms under my legs and behind my back, hoisting me up and facing the King of Hell.

His earthy smell instantly filled my nose now that my senses were no longer blocked by my panic. His sweet warmth ran up my spine and my head dropped on his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. I barely remember him teleporting back, or walking into the house, or putting me in my bed. The only thing I knew was that his warm presence stayed close to my shields.

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

Author's Note:

I loooooved writing this one. Let me know what you think

please

[shift-shaping]

devour

solas takes enaste to the fade. poor decisions are made.

rating: m

pairing: solavellan

previous fics | 1 2 3 4 5 6

To shape the Fade into a form Enaste would recognize was no small task, but Solas needed her to feel comfortable for her first exploration of it. Her half-bare feet crunched on the gravel road leading into Haven. She looked around her, transfixed by the sights and sounds of his recreation. The smell of fire, pine, and cold filled the air. He heard the distant shrieks of magpies, the cutting winter wind, the braying of a mule. The village of Haven breathed to life around them, unharmed and whole.The illusion was complete, and would be stable as long as she did not panic.

"I'm pleased to see you were able to rest, Inquisitor." She turned slowly, taking it all in, and her warm green-brown eyes fell on him with a foggy, dim recognition.

"I..."

He approached her slowly, and she blinked in confusion. "Take your time. Do you recall where you are?" He kept his voice low and gentle. The ringing of an anvil caught her attention, and she shook her head suddenly, as if to clear her thoughts.

"This is Haven." She looked at him again. "I remember."

"Well done." He said it without any irony: it was good that she stabilized herself without his assistance, and the praise made her relax.

"Solas." His name on her lips made his heart stir. Had it always? Or was it the amplified emotions of the Fade? She looked up towards the chantry, eyes narrowing in the bright sunlight. "Why here?"

"Haven is familiar. It will always be important to you." He gestured up the steps, through the gate, and led her up the hill.

"Did we--'' She stopped for a moment, looking behind her, then shook her head again and looked at him. "Ir abelas. I feel... off."

"In what sense?"

"I..." Tempted as he was to help her, he did not. Learning to center her mind was vital if she wanted to continue this dream, and he’d already given her the training necessary to do so. "No." He smiled slightly, and she let out a shaky breath. "I'm alright. A lot happened here."

"Indeed." He led her through the chantry doors, into the dungeon below. In a dark room, lit by sparse candlelight, they stood before a set of chains bolted to the floor.

"I remember this room..." Her voice was more confident now, more solid. "Cassandra and Leliana interrogated me here. I was so confused. I... don't recall ever being so scared before." She looked at the chains in the center of the prison. "I had no idea why they were so angry with me, but I know what the Chantry thinks of my people." She blinked slowly. Her voice was pained. "I believed I would die here, probably painfully, and my clan would never know what happened."

"Yet you survived, lethallan." He had witnessed more of her imprisonment than she had, and it was better she not know all that was said about her.

"Thanks to you, as I understand." It had nearly been the opposite. He had intended to remove the anchor by any means necessary, even if she had to be sacrificed for it. Part of him still thought it the wiser choice. The rest of him felt nauseous even considering it, knowing now what a massive waste it would have been.

"I sat beside you while you slept, studying the anchor."

"Wasn't I out for days?" She looked at him with furrowed brows. "How long can it take to look at a mark on my hand?"

To look at the mark? Minutes. To decide whether he should try to remove it, or just kill her? Days. She did not need to know that, though, and it was not a thought he should linger on. "A magical mark of unknown origin, tied to a unique breach in the Veil? Longer than you might think. I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade, yet found nothing."

"I... am glad it wasn't boring, then."

"No. Quite the opposite. Cassandra suspected duplicity, and threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn't produce results."

Enaste smirked and rolled her eyes. "Cassandra's like that with everyone."

He barked a laugh. She was getting used to being here; he could feel her presence solidly beside him, and that she felt steady enough to make jokes was reassuring. "Come, there is more to discuss." He led her back outside, into the bright sunlight, under the eye of the swirling Breach high overhead. "You were never going to wake up. How could you? A mortal sent physically through the Fade." He stopped near the path towards the apothecary, where their view of the Breach was clear. "I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted were driven away by the Breach. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra... or she in me. I was ready to flee."

"To flee?" She cocked her head with interest. "After all that?"

"Without the promise of protection? And minimal likelihood of your recovery?"

"But where would you have gone? Rifts threaten the whole world. And you would have been on Cassandra's shit list forever, regardless."

He snorted, unused to her cursing in common. "'Shit list'?"

Enaste balked defensively. "Varric says it all the time."

"Ah. Ever the master at wordplay, our dwarven friend is." She frowned at him, but he could tell she was trying not to smile. Her eyes were alight, more green now in the light of the Breach --and just as entrancing. "I would have gone somewhere far away, where I might research a way to repair the Breach before its effects reached me."

She let herself smile now, and even here, it disarmed him. "I’m glad you stayed."

He returned her smile. "I never said it was a good plan." He turned away from her, towards the Breach, and gestured towards it. "I told myself: one more attempt to seal the rifts."

"On your own?"

He nodded. "It may feel like a fool's errand now, but what other hope did we have?" She stepped closer to him, looking up at the Breach herself. "I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and then..." He turned to her, and she looked down at her left palm. He lowered his voice. "It seems you hold the key to our salvation." Their eyes met. He went on. "You had sealed it with a gesture... and right then, I felt the whole world change."

She inhaled sharply. Unlike when they had actually lived in Haven, she wore the vest and pants that Josephine arranged for her as Inquisitor, clothing that would have been unsuitable for the valley's freezing winds. They were tight-fitting, and somewhat --revealing. He kept his eyes on her face, on her full lips and soft eyes and grey-streaked black hair, and held his wrist tightly behind his back. She tilted her head, her smirk subtler now. "Felt the whole world change?"

He returned her smile, and squeezed his left wrist tighter. "A figure of speech."

"Is that really... all it is?" She was close to him now, watching him, her gaze just as intense as when she'd asked him to her quarters, or when she told him she could choose to submit. She bit her lip. There was a scar on the left side of her mouth, sharp and deep. What would it feel like to run his thumb across it, across her lips?

"You change... everything." The words came out before he could stop them, but he didn't want to stop them. He wanted them to be false, and he was tired of lying to her. There needed to be some truth he could give her, even if she deserved so much more.

Her cheeks were flushed pink, but she shouldn't feel the cold here. "You're sweet, when you want to be," she said, and her voice was so soft and low.

He needed to end the dream.

Instead he felt her hand on his cheek, turning him to look at her. Then she pressed her warm, soft lips to his. Heat pulsed through his blood, chasing out whatever was in his mind, and he tilted his head to deepen the kiss.

She pulled away, too quickly, and a single thought came roaring back: absolutely not. He grasped her by the arm and brought her lips back to his in a desperate kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, felt the slope of her back, the curve of her waist in his hands. His tongue traced her lower lip just as he'd imagined so many times before, and a sharp gasp escaped her. He tightened his hold, pulled her close to him, her chest pressed to his so that he felt the swell of her full breasts against his body. Her hands grasped at his sides, tugging on his shirt, as though she could somehow bring him even closer.

He wanted to devour her.

She opened her mouth to him and their tongues met, heat rushing in what little space could be found between their bodies. Another noise slipped from her: a quiet, breathy sound half-way between a moan and a gasp. He leaned her back and pushed his thigh between her legs, pressing into her, earning another shuddering inhale into his mouth. Again she grasped at him, fingers gripping his shirt, then opening to splay across his lower back.

He shifted, pressing his leg harder into the meet of her thighs, and a full-body shudder raced through her. He felt it, felt her, and even when he pulled back to catch his breath the only thought he had was how badly he wanted to feel her come undone. He shook his head, taking in her reddened face and the wash of color on her chest. She reached up to touch his cheek, and if he didn't return to her he suddenly felt he would melt into the floor.

He kissed her again, just as hungrily. Her hand stayed on his cheek, surprisingly gentle for how desperately she'd pulled at him before. It was almost a caress, moving from his cheek to the back of his neck again, sending shivers down his spine. Need pulsed in his core: need for her body, her touch, her. And now he knew with certainty that she needed him, too.

With a sudden and brutal clarity, his heart dropped like a stone.

He pulled back, hands raised as if to ward her away. She blinked at him, slightly dazed, hand still hovering where he was a heartbeat before. "We shouldn't," he sputtered. "It isn't right." He retreated further, putting more distance between them. "Not even here." It wasn't enough. This was a terrible mistake, and he had to end it now.

She looked around, still flushed, visibly confused. "This isn't real."

He smirked at her, appreciating the irony. "That's a matter of debate." He exhaled, determined to compose himself. "Perhaps best discussed after you wake up."

He forced her from the dream. It was all he could think to do. That meant she was awake, and would certainly come to find him in the waking world.

What was he thinking? She wasn't even supposed to exist --her world wasn't supposed to exist. It would be better to stop this now, to end it before it went too far.

Unless, of course, it had already gone too far. She trusted him, went out of her way to spend time with him, and he'd stood at her side for nearly all of her endeavors. Their relationship was already inappropriate in the eyes of some --he had overheard the rumors from their allies, and he knew she had as well.

The only ending to this was cruelty. The only difference was in degree. But the thought of what rejecting her now would do to her, of never having a meaningful conversation with her again, of ending her training just as she showed so much promise, was too much to bear. He was weak, and selfish, and one day he would beg her forgiveness. He just wanted to put that day off a little longer.

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[sephirthoughts]

Vincent's New Kid Just Dropped CH 11: Present Day With Short Deepground Flashback

NOTE: It's not a time skip in the Deepground section, it's just to frame Nero's physical trauma more. All that story is still going to be told!

Rating: Mature

WARNINGS: torture, captivity, phantom pain, PTSD

NOW WITH @siringadev's beautiful father-son art!

⚰️🕷️

father and son trying to out-edgelord each other but who is winning

it's vincent

After the Restrictor came, and they implanted those chips in everyone, they sedated Nero and carried him to a dark, cavernous place, in the lowest sub-level of Deepground. Industrial power tools whirred and shrieked. He awoke feeling the vibrations in his skull. 

Men were locking heavy shackles onto his wings, at six points. The shackles, they attached to the type of chains that are used for boat anchors; made of iron and as thick as a man’s arm. The chains were hung through huge, steel rings, bolted to a massive support pillar, and hooked up to a construction winch, on the other side. 

The Restrictor turned the winch and drew the chains tighter and tighter, laughing while the teenaged boy screamed in agony, pulling Nero’s wings higher and spreading them wider apart, till his shoulder blades felt like they were about to be dislocated, and his feet couldn’t properly rest on the ground. 

That was the position he was locked in. Splayed against the gigantic support pillar, like a butterfly pinned to a display board. Muzzled and bound in a straitjacket. Chained by his wings, to the literal foundation of Deepground. 

The only way to relieve the pain of bearing his weight on his wings, was to push himself up on tip-toe. He could only do that for so long, before his legs began to tremble with fatigue. Try as he might, his strength would eventually fail, and his legs give out. Then his wings would catch his full weight, and he would scream in agony again. 

The Restrictor often lingered nearby, watching him go through this process, drinking in the boy’s tormented groans and cries of distress, with lascivious glee. But he also observed the boy growing stronger and stronger…and more dangerous.

Nero curled up, as the lightning bolts of pain racked his body again, mouth hanging open, a clear stream drool running out onto the floor. Where was his muzzle? Where was his straitjacket? He’d had some kind of cotton jersey shirt on his top half, but he had clawed and torn it to shreds, and it now lay in a purple pile on the floor.

He heard a noise behind him, but he didn’t have time to work out what it was, before he felt the darkness react to something, like a dog jumping in excitement, when its master walks in the door. Weiss! It must be Weiss! he thought, deliriously. Tears of joy leaked from the sides of his eyes, even as they were squeezed shut against the pain. 

“W—Weiss…” he rasped, as the darkness reached out toward his beloved. His only one.

He was hauled up to a sitting position, and strong arms wrapped around him from behind, like bands of iron, compressing his crossed arms on his chest, in that familiar position. He was pressed tight against a stone-hard body and lifted to his feet, but…something was wrong. The darkness was curling happily around the person, but making no connection. Not Weiss! his mind screamed.

Enraged, Nero gave his lithe torso a sudden twist, like a snake, trying to wrench himself free, but the arms held him fast. “What the fuck!”

“Calm down,” a smooth, deep voice said, right in his ear. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Fuck you! Let me go!” he snarled, thrashing harder, still to no observable effect.

Vincent sighed. “Nero, I know you’re in pain. Let me help—”

“I don’t need your help you bastard!” he roared, kicking his legs, trying to throw this human monolith off balance. He may as well have struggled against the planet itself, for all the man moved. Panting and shaking with fatigue, from even that brief effort, he gave up and hung limply in Vincent’s arms. “I h—I hate you. Fucking die.”

“I can’t.”  

As Vincent said this, the room exploded into a whirling, crimson blur, and suddenly, they were atop the roof of the house. Nero’s bare feet stood on the sandy grit of the roof tiles, and blowing wind brought the scent of rain, from the rolling, grey storm clouds, that were obscuring the moon. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, in real bewilderment. 

“I think I can help, with your pain,” a rasping, resonant, entirely demonic voice answered. “But I can’t try it inside the house. My wings are too big.”

Chaos. The demon’s familiar aura sent shivers of elation up Nero’s spine and made him sick to his stomach, at the same time. He felt bloodthirsty, resentful, filled with rage and grief and underneath it all, a deep, hollow ache. A longing as fathomless as the abyss.

“How do you know I’m in pain?” 

“Sephiroth explained, after you went upstairs.”

“Can he ever mind his own business?” Nero grumbled, under his breath.

Acting entirely without his input, Nero’s darkness tendrils suddenly burst out of the black markings all over his body and plunged directly into Chaos, connecting them, like it was plugging him into a power source. 

Horrified, Nero tried to make them come back, but his knees buckled and his vision went blank, just then, his brain shorted out by the sudden exposure to unfiltered Chaos energy. 

When his vision returned, the demon was still holding him, the same way—Nero’s arms restrained in straitjacket position, and his bare back pressed to its midsection—steadying him on his feet, so he didn’t fall off the roof. 

He was trying work out what the hell Chaos was playing at, when he felt it. A dizzying rush of relief, pouring in through the wing brackets on his shoulder blades and coursing through his body. Lack of pain so potent, it was ten times more intoxicating than the headiest pleasure. 

Involuntarily, Nero’s head dropped back onto Chaos’ chest and he gave a shuddering moan, as he began to unfurl the demon’s huge, membranous wings, slowly and stiffly, spreading them as wide as they could go. 

Tears poured unchecked down his ashen face, weeping openly, as he stretched and folded the wings on the demon’s back, savoring every movement, feeling the contorted phantom segments straightening out, the excruciating knots loosening, the throbbing tautness unwinding. 

Nero’s body now felt relaxed and comfortable, being held tightly in Chaos’ arms. Actually, he hadn’t felt this good since…well, in a long time. Now that they believed everything was back as it was supposed to be, the formerly tormented nerves were humming with vitality. Suddenly, the urge to use the wings he’d missed so sorely, was so strong he could taste it.

Nero’s own wings had nothing to do with his ability to defy gravity, so it was something of a shock to him, when he gave Chaos’ wings an exploratory flap, and the two rocketed into the air. 

He jolted and cried out in alarm, as the ground fell away and the rooftop shrank below them at a dizzying speed. Chaos, however, appeared patently unconcerned, only taking control to give his wings a few beats (to stop them plummeting directly back out of the sky, and to gain some height for safety reasons), then returning control to Nero. 

Nero wasn’t afraid of heights in the least, but he didn’t particularly want to smack into the earth like a meteor, so he scrambled to flap the massive wings. With an effort, he got them under good enough control to keep aloft, then gingerly began to try changing direction. 

He was uncoordinated, and kept going awkwardly off kilter. They tumbled and veered multiple times, before he actually began to get the hang of it. But by the time half an hour had passed, Nero was able to fly in relatively steady circles, above the Valentine-Highwind property.  

All this time, not a single word passed between himself and the ancient demon, whose body he was essentially sharing, at the moment, but at times he could feel its wordless intent, guiding him. Spread. Glide. Tuck. Bank left. More thrust on the right. 

It occurred to him, with a series of complicated emotions, that his father was teaching him to fly. Just like a real father teaching his real son to ride a bicycle. Patiently and calmly, ready to catch him, if he fell. He felt something deep inside him, begin to crack. 

Nero, being Nero, bridled and balked. Furious with himself, for being so soft and stupid, and letting himself be taken in so easily, he sullenly withdrew his control from the wings and let them fall, till Chaos lazily caught them and swooped back upward, with effortless elegance, as if it were no more difficult than breathing. 

That drew Nero right back out of his morose ruminations. He had thought he’d been doing well, but he clearly had no idea what flying even was. Chaos used far fewer wing beats to achieve the same height and speed, and seemed to be exerting ten times less effort. What the hell? How was it that much different to what he’d been doing?

Spinning like a corkscrew, the demon rapidly ascended, higher and higher, till they emerged from the storm cover in the clear, black sky, where the air became thin and icy-cold, and the the moon shone pure and bright over the sea of clouds. 

Nero was staring in undisguised awe at the tens of thousands of glittering stars, when Chaos tucked his wings tightly against his body and dropped abruptly into a freefall. Nero’s stomach flipped and he had to choke down a cry. They fell faster and faster, the wind beating furiously at his face, making his eyes tear up, as they plunged back into the grey clouds, plummeting earthward at terminal velocity.

Just above the treeline, Chaos extended his wings partway and used the downward momentum to shoot forward like a bullet, speeding over the blurred tops of the trees. 

As if on cue, thunder rolled and lighting crackled, as the heavy clouds burst, at last. The cold water droplets lashed Nero’s face and his bare torso, as they flew at that logic-defying speed, but he was actually rather thrilled by it. He wasn’t bothered by cold, and he’d never felt rain before. 

Apparently sensing that the weather didn’t trouble his passenger, Chaos kept going, soaring nonchalantly through blinding sheets of rain, doing spectacular loops and dizzying barrel rolls, throwing off spirals of water as they went. 

Nero had to force down the swell of mirth, that bubbled up in his chest, at the idea of this apocalyptic demon playing around in the rain, to amuse itself. Chaos was having fun, and it showed. If he could have admitted it, without gagging to death, so was Nero.

More than two hours evaporated, and soon they were circling back around toward home—er…toward the Valentine-Highwind house. When they got in close, rather than landing, Chaos did that teleportation thing with the whirling crimson, and they were simply standing in Nero’s room. 

Nero hadn’t got his sea legs yet, and turned around unsteadily to blink up at Chaos, who was Vincent again, in his slashed up black jeans and crimson henley, with that stupid headband, as usual. He was also perfectly dry, as opposed to Nero, who was soaking wet, from head to toe, black hair pasted to his white forehead, and quickly creating a puddle, on the wood floor. 

Conveniently, Sephiroth (because the world had gone thoroughly insane, and the hero of Wutai was now some kind of super-housewife) had left folded bath towels on the dresser, and put the fresh linens on the bed, while they were out.

Before Nero could say anything, Vincent picked up an oversized bath towel and spread it open, holding it up between them, like a privacy screen. Not quite understanding the prudishness of the gesture, Nero peeled off his soaking wet jeans and underwear, then let Vincent wrap the plushy towel around him. 

He still had no idea how to process what happened, tonight. No idea what it meant, or how to react. So he just stood there, dazed, while his father carefully rubbed his long hair, with the other towel. 

Fatigue settled on him, with the warmth and the weight of the gentle touch. Now that the pain was alleviated, he was exhausted, down to his bones. Without realizing it, his eyes drooped shut, and his head began to tip forward, by degrees, till it was resting against Vincent’s chest. 

Darkness tendrils slithered out of the black markings, all over his naked body, and coiled themselves around Vincent’s arms and waist and neck, like affectionate boa constrictors. If they could purr, they would have, fucking embarrassing things.

“Nero.”

“Mm?”

“The next time you’re in pain, don’t wait for it to become unbearable. Come to me, and I’ll help you.”

…

“Mn.”

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY:

nero the wet cat: *HISSSS GRRR HISSSSS* cat dad vincent: *pats dry with towel* nero the dry cat: …. *purr*

LINK TO NEXT CHAPTER:

[beckbucket]

♦ just following orders ♦ (jedi! reader x wrecker)

summary: when wrecker's chip activates on bracca, he lunges for you instead of one of his brothers

warnings/tags: angst, order 66, inhibitor chip activation, choking, crying, pain all around, jedi! reader, no use of y/n, gender neutral reader

author's note: this was heavily inspired by this post by @zoeykalluss ! i haven't written in a very, very long time... but i couldn't find any satisfactory wrecker whump, so i guess i had no choice but to write it myself ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ un-beta'd, so be kind!

Ever since the painful day that your squad of troopers turned on you, you hadn’t truly felt safe. Constantly looking over your shoulder and constantly moving forward had become the routine- until you met the boys of Clone Force 99. 

You barely escaped your ship after Order 66 with your life. After a lifetime of living on Coruscant with the Jedi Order, you found yourself on shady Ord Mantell with no credits and extensive injuries. In exchange for a discreet place to sleep, you’d agreed to research missions for Cid to pursue. Your whole body constantly ached, but it was better than having to fight for scraps in the street. She never asked you to be involved in the action. That is, until Cid suggested one day that you should travel as backup with her “team”. Funnily enough, she never actually mentioned that the team was made up of clone troopers...

When you were first introduced, you nearly bolted from Cid’s bar on the spot. Somehow, the unexpectedly kind words of their largest member somehow convinced you to stay. You honestly never thought you’d ever be able to look another clone in the eyes, let alone work a mission with them. Over time, though, you came to appreciate the many quirks of the team- especially of one batcher in particular. 

Though he looked brutish, Wrecker was the most caring soul you’d ever met. He didn’t have the exceptional intellect or enhanced senses of his brothers, but Wrecker had a special gift for reading people. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that he had a midichlorian count off the charts! His joy bled over to everyone around him. After your life as a Jedi had crumbled, you finally felt hopeful. Falling in love with him followed easily. You’d agreed to join them permanently, which led to your latest mission. 

You and the other batchers tried to get some rest, while Tech piloted the Marauder down to the surface of the junk planet. You could feel Wrecker’s large form behind you in your shared bunk, strong arms curled around you. Something in the air felt off, but it wasn’t worth disturbing anyone’s sleep over. You cracked a bleary eye, and through your blurry morning vision, you could see the other batchers safely sleeping. You nuzzled back against your partner, enjoying the few quiet moments you had before the team had to move out. After all the pain that had happened in your life, Wrecker was the one person you felt truly safe with. 

Wrecker’s force signature was bright and warm, a constant anchor in the back of your mind. But since you dropped into Bracca's orbit… something felt strange in your connection. While Tech had done extensive research on the Jedi order, none of the boys really understood what it meant for you to be connected with the Force. You didn’t want to panic the team based on a hunch, so you tried to keep your feelings to yourself. Those days, with all the suffering throughout the galaxy, something always felt wrong in the Force. 

-

Hunter and Rex led your team down the dim hallways of the ship’s wreckage, Omega and Echo following close behind them. Wrecker followed up the rear of the formation due to his larger stature. Ever the gentleman, he always insisted that you stay safely in front of him. 

The sounds of your feet hitting the metal flooring was the only noise to be heard on the abandoned starcraft. Rex’s insistence that the chips needed to be removed created a tension that the group couldn’t seem to shake. The knowledge of the inhibitor chips loomed like a dark shadow over the team, just like the dark shadows obscuring the path to the ship’s medbay. 

A quiet grunt broke the silence, coming from the large man behind you. 

Every head whipped around to look at him, and Wrecker paused, rubbing the side of his head. 

“-’ts just a headache”, he awkwardly chuckled. His attempt to break the tension didn’t set anyone at ease. He’d never been much of a liar; it was clearly bothering him more than he was letting on. 

The rest of the group continued moving forward, but you paused to look back at your lover’s face. He met your eyes and tried to smile, but it was more like a grimace. Looking at his tanned face, you felt a disturbance in the Force. 

You started to speak, but the feeling was gone as quickly as it came. You wanted to wonder if it had anything to do with the inhibitor chips… but you quickly shoved that thought to the back of your mind.

"There’s no reason why the chips would suddenly engage for no reason", you thought to yourself, shaking your head. Trusting too heavily in Force visions and hunches was foolish. Wrecker’s eyebrow crooked in confusion as you hesitated, but you tried to give him a reassuring look.

Rex’s muffled voice broke your thoughts, calling you both to move forward. The rest of the team had already ventured forward to the next room. As you walked forward to cross the threshold, a cool shiver ran up your back. You tried to shake it off, and continued to rejoin the group. 

The faint red emergency lights around the floor provided just enough illumination to make out the layout of the large room. Clinical furniture and medical equipment had been toppled and cast around the room haphazardly. In the center of the room was an older med chamber, dusty but largely undisturbed. Despite the room’s eerie appearance,

Rex stopped and nodded at the group- that dusty equipment could do the job. Hunter spoke up first, his gruff voice addressing the group. 

“Which one of you wants to go first?”. A sea of awkward and anxious expressions looked around at each other. After a moment, the smallest batcher stepped forward. 

“How do we know that this surgery is safe?”, doubted Omega. 

“Just because Rex’s surgery went well doesn’t mean that you all will be okay”, she added, the worry clear in her voice. Her eyes flickered to Rex, but he didn’t provide any reassurance. 

Tech started to speak, but a low grunt interrupted him. 

All eyes were on Wrecker, who was again holding the side of his head. Unlike earlier, he remained silent, his closed eyes slightly twitching. 

You could feel the pain start to roll off him through the Force, as he held a tight grip on his head. 

“Wrecker?”, you worried, nerves creeping up into your throat. 

You took a step towards him without thinking, reaching for his face, but he didn’t move. Something was very wrong for him to be so quiet. 

You cradled the smooth curve of his jaw in your hand, running a thumb across the side of his cheek. He let out a low moan, clenching his jaw but otherwise remaining motionless. 

Suddenly, another cold chill ran up your skin. A deep sense of danger surged through the Force. It startled you into drawing your hand back, your heart jumping up into your throat. 

Louder, you tried to coax an answer out of the larger clone. 

“Wrecker…,” you ask, concern shaking your voice, “What’s wrong?”. 

Wrecker’s warm presence in the back of your mind was gone in a split second, replaced with a null, dark void. Sharp panic ran through your veins as another disturbance rippled through the Force. You stepped back, watching how Wrecker’s form became even more still. 

His vode around him tensed, watching your reactions with caution. From the corner of your eye, you could see Hunter step in front of Omega to shield her. Your clouded brain didn’t understand- what would he shield her from? 

Wrecker’s arms dropped lifelessly to his side as his eyes slid open. You could sense the other troopers starting to move, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. Those deep brown eyes that you loved had glazed over, no sign of the laughter they usually carried. 

Like a droid powering up, Wrecker straightened to his full height while looking around the room. You were reminded of just how imposing he really is, towering over you and the other clones. His gaze finally fell on you. You both stood at a standstill, a few seconds seeming like an eternity. 

Without warning, Wrecker suddenly reached for his blaster. Your breath caught in your throat, fear bubbling up in your chest. Hunter was one step ahead of him, rushing forward to pull the weapon from his hands before he could wield it against you. 

His deep voice was gruff when he grunted out against his brother, but his gaze didn’t leave you. 

“Jedi are traitors”, Wrecker growled. 

He lunged for you, but you were able to jump back just in time. Hunter called out before Wrecker could reach for you again. 

“Wrecker, stand down!”. The leader brandished his blaster, stepping forward to provide you some cover. 

“This isn’t you,” he protested. 

“That’s just the chip talking. You don’t really believe that”. The large clone hesitated at the sound of his brother’s voice. For a moment, you could feel a small flicker of Wrecker’s Force signature in the back of your mind. 

You froze, searching for any sign of the man you loved behind those dark eyes. A deep snarl cut that hope short as a warning left his mouth. 

“Good soldiers follow orders”.

--

another chapter soon to follow! please enjoy and share your thoughts :) i will finish posting this work here, then clean up the final product for ao3 :3

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

FIXDEX Concrete screws all size large quantity with best price

[natalievoncatte]

cw: violence

Lena checked her watch. She only had a few minutes to pull this off, and had to time it perfectly. Lex was across town meeting with an investment consortium from Japan.

Officially.

She knew what he was planning. She just lacked the proof she needed. Once she had it, she would go to the media through her best friend and confidant, Kara Danvers. She had eyes on Lex right now as he met, in secret, with a Kasnian agent, the same one who'd help him orchestrate the theft of a prototype Lexosuit; that had been one of the first times that Superman had shut down one of Lex's schemes, and earned his undying hatred.

Lena needed the final piece of the puzzle before she involved Kara and pulled her into the danger of her private little war with her brother. This was so far beyond anything Lex had attempted that Lena knew now was the time, she had to stop him now, today. The line had to be drawn here, and no further.

The secure lab was deep in the bowels of the Lexcorp Tower in Metropolis; Lena made the excuse of a meeting with some of the research team working on battery enhancements for the upcoming line of Lexmobiles. (Lena had spent hours genuinely trying to talk Lex out of that god-awful name, and actually call them something marketable, but his towering ego was as immovable as it was monumental)

Lena's heart was racing as she stepped out of the elevator, carrying her briefcase under one arm. She strode down the hall like she owned the place (she did, actually- or half of it, anyway) and made sure anyone watching on the security feeds would pay her no mind. She'd worked here for years; even though she'd moved to National City to lead her own division, away from Lex, Superman, and all the drama, she was not an uncommon sight in this place.

Maybe here.

Lena stopped at the door, a heavy steel slab six feet wide and eight feet tall. Breath catching, she slipped her hand in her pocket and slid her finger through the ring she carried there. When she pulled her hand out, an image inducer created a perfect replica of Lex's hand around her own, projecting the unique contours and ridges of his palm and fingertips while simulating his pulse and unique vitals.

It was either going to work or it wasn't. She pressed the false hand to the sensors and waited. It beeped twice and turned a healthy blue.

The door let out a rush of cool air as it slid silently aside, its motion mirrored by an inner door of the same dimensions sliding in the opposite direction. Lena stepped through and removed the ring; the doors slid ominously closed behind her, latching with a heavy thunk as wrist-thick steel bolts slid home, anchoring them in place.

She knew that not only was the entire room lined with lead, but the lights could instantly switch to a red wavelength and the long sliding panels on the wall would open to reveal K-Radiator emitters. This room was designed to be a death trap for Kryptonians, should one be foolish enough to enter. That was why Lena had to do this alone.

Supergirl would rush in where angels feared to tread, and given the chance, she'd barge through those doors and end up helpless on the floor, at Lex's mercy to murder without witnesses. Or worse.

The lab was smaller than she expected, and Spartan. Despite her brother's notorious, arrogant grandiosity, he could be relentlessly practical when needed, and at heart was utterly ruthless. Lab benches lined the walls, and the computer was no different, visually, from any other workstation, though it was connected to a vast private database and would have very difficult encryption and security protocols that no one in the world could crack.

No one but her.

The far end of the room was dominated by a peculiar machine, resembling an incubation chamber of some kind, roughly human-sized and surrounded by thick steel cables and tubes, with several dozen monitors rigged up all around it, displaying all sorts of information.

Including biorhythmic data and vital signs.

Lena ran a hand over the steel of the external pod. It was warm.

Her throat tightened. This might be worse than she thought.

Turning to the terminal, Lena sat down on the stool and took from her bag a small portable drive and connection cable, setting them on the desktop in front of her. Lex had one of those drinking birds dunking placidly away at a glass of water on the desk, another bit of his peculiar humor. She'd once loved that about him, before his joking took on a mirthless, cruel streak.

Letting out a slow breath, Lena wiggled the mouse and woke the computer. It demanded a password, pass phrase, and passkey. The two she had, the latter was what the drive was for.

She typed BUCEPHALUS in the password field, then THY FEARFUL SYMMETRY in the pass phrase field, then clicked the cursor into the last box and plugged in the drive, and waited.

The program loaded automatically. If she made an attempt to brute-force the passcode, it would set off the alarms and possibly even trigger a deadly trap in this room. Lena had to crack it without cracking it; it took her months to create this algorithm, with the secret and begrudging help of Querl Dox at the DEO. He'd been concerned about it falling into the wrong hands; he was right to fear that, as it could crack virtually any system in seconds.

It did exactly that, filling in the require passcode. Lena clicked the LOGON button and let out a soft cry of relief as the screen lit up with Lex's desktop.

He had a series of folders waiting, just sitting there ready to be opened. The folders had names like LEXOSUIT, PARTICLE EMITTER, BINARY FUSION GENERATOR, SPATIAL DISTORTION CANNON, POINT-TO-POINT TRANSMATTER... and PROJECT GALATEA.

Lena opened that folder, and found a series of video files. She opened the first one, dated over a year ago.

Lex' face appeared, the man himself seated in this very lab.

"Mother stole Supergirl's DNA and used it to breach the Fortress of Solitude. She walked those hallowed halls, and didn't invite me! Not only that, she took only one device, when Superman's precious armory was right there for the taking! Is everyone a fool? Am I doomed to be surrounded by incompetents?"

He took a deep breath.

"It doesn't matter. There's enough of what she took left to comprise a viable sample... all I need is time, and I had that in abundance now that I've taken care of that nosy Gotham prosecutor that was working with Superman. He's too busy robbing banks to bother with me, and with the Metropolis police and GCPD in my pocket, Superman and that flying rat of his have nowhere to turn."

Flying rat? What the hell was he talking about?

Lena skipped a few files ahead.

"We'll call her Project Galatea. My initial plan -to create a limited-use drug that would produce Kryptonian superpowers- has been a failure. Nor was I able to successfully create a viable clone."

Lena's stomach sank. Clone? Clone? Had Lex tried to clone Supergirl? Was that was this equipment was for?

"Then it hit me- I could complete the project another way, by filling in the gaps in her DNA, but that still didn't solve all the problems. There was a missing component- I still don't know how Kryptonians actually absorb and process sunlight, for one. Still, that seems to be solving itself. Galatea's cells are absorbing the artificial solar energy that I'm pumping into her maturation chamber at a geometric rate. She might be even more powerful than her mother by the time she matures."

Lena jerked to her feet, a chill running through her body. Mother? Wait, did he mean-

Oh. Oh God.

Lena let the video drone on in the background as she moved back to the chamber. It was encased in steel plating, but it was designed to open. Lena found a pair of goggles on a work table near the control panel and put them on before flipping a switch.

The panels rotated, exposing a human form lying at an angle at rest on a padded platform. A respirator, like a flight mask, was strapped to her face, and she was submerged in thick, bubbling liquid. The chamber would have been too brilliant to look at, if Lena hadn't put on the goggles. It was flooded with brilliant solar radiation.

She'd put the inhabitant between ten and twelve years old, with golden skin and dark hair. Lena blinked a few times; it was like looking at an old picture of herself, actually.

For a brief moment, she just stared.

Then it hit her, and she almost vomited as she shoved the switch and closed the doors over the maturation chamber, stumbling back as she retched.

What did he do?

What did he do?

"I see you've met your niece."

Lena whirled, and found Lex staring her down, standing in front of the lab doors with his hands clasped behind his back, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"How... what... what the fuck did you do, Lex?"

"I think you've already pieced it together."

"Why?"

"Why?" said Lex. "I'll tell you why. Security. The security of a free state, sister. I did it because it had to done."

"This is... this is obscene," said Lena. "This is a violation, Lex. I'm not going to let you get away with it."

He laughed. "Get away with it? What do you mean, get away with it? What are you going to do, sue me for custody?"

"You... this is monstrous, Lex."

"We live in a world of monsters, dear sister," said Lex, stepping closer. "Gods and monsters, and who are we? Men, just men. There's whole universe out there, a multiverse, full of these creatures, and the human race is defenseless against them, and worse, they're being welcomed. They're eating of those Kryptonians' palms, you included, and now there are more of them. The green freak claiming to be a Martian. The so-called Amazon. There's seven or eight of them running around. Eventually it'll be twenty, then thirty, then more. They'll run roughshod over our institutions."

"You're out of your mind," said Lena.

"Am I?" said Lex. "Superman and Supergirl claim they fight for truth, justice, and the American way, right? What if their definition of justice doesn't match ours? What if they decide the American way isn't good enough? What if they decide they need to do more than pull kittens out of trees? Then what? Tell me, Lena, what happens if Superman decides to fly down tomorrow and tear the roof off the White House?"

"He wouldn't do that," said Lena. "I've met him, and I know Supergirl. She's saved my life a dozen times, and I suspect you know exactly what I'm talking about."

Lex shook his head. "Mother's extremism has always been a burden. I've done my best to protect you from her, Lena, and I've been honest about it. That's more than you can say for Supergirl."

"You kept this from me," said Lena.

"Until I was ready. I had to be sure that she was viable before I bring her out of the chamber and introduce you. She's going to be part of the family. Our long lost cousin, who we'll raise as a daughter, knowing that the Earth is truly safe now. That we'll have one of them on our side."

"This... this is Supergirl's child."

"That won't be a problem," said Lex. "It's time for you to grow up and let go of these fantasies, Lena. Supergirl doesn't have any interest in you. You're nothing to her, at best a beloved pet."

"I believe in her. We've worked together."

"I said the same thing about Superman. You know how close we were."

"It's not like that."

Lex's smirk turned cruel. "Isn't it? You've always had a type."

'Fuck you," Lena spat.

He chuckled softly and shook his head. "You're not listening. I guess I have to prove it to you. Computer! Show her."

The droning video log of Lex discussing the problems of merging Kryptonian and human DNA stopped, and another one popped up, taking the entire screen. Lena almost didn't look, but her head turned inexorably and she watched.

"Kara?"

Lena watched Kara Danvers walking down a corridor. She stumbled, as something hit her back, twice. Whatever it was tore holes in her cardigan, and she turned around, standing tall. Taller than usual. She didn't move this time; it was as if little puffs of wind were blowing holes in her clothes.

Except they weren't puffs of wind. They were bullets; Lena could see the muzzle flashes, off camera.

"What... how..."

Kara yanked her glasses off and shook her hair free, ripping the cardigan open, popping the buttons, baring the sweeping crest on the chest of her her blue uniform.

"No," Lena whispered.

"I sent the men who shot her in this recording," said Lex. "Don't worry, I already knew; Mother told me. The alien confessed it to her, before begging her not to tell you. I wonder why."

The video ended.

"This is a trick. She wouldn't... she isn't... she's my best friend."

"No, she's your master and you're an obedient dog, heeling where she tells you, and if you aren't... do you know what happened to the assassins I sent to kill Kara Danvers?"

Lena swallowed. "Shut up, Lex. Stop talking."

He smiled, teeth bared in a wolfish grin. "The martian mind-wiped them. He uses his psychic powers to erase the memories of anyone who compromises her identity."

"Stop," said Lena.

"Ever have any... episodes?" said Lex. "Any of those days, where you were so busy your memory gets a little foggy? Ever find yourself back in your apartment without quite knowing how you got there? Are you sure your own memories haven't been tampered with, Lena?"

"Shut up!" she screamed.

"You've been manipulated, tricked, deceived. She doesn't love you, she never will, and you have nowhere to turn. Help me, Lena. Join me, and we can be a proper family again. We can put things right, and lead a free world to-"

Lena reached into her pocket and pulled out a nickel plated Smith and Wesson Ladysmith revolver with faux-ivory grips bearing Lena's initials. Lex gave it to her on her twenty-first birthday, and went with her to the range the next week to teach her to use it.

"Oh," said Lex.

Lena shot him. The blast was ear-splitting in the confined space, leaving a painful ringing in its wake. Lex crumpled, toppling onto his side as if his strings had been cut. Rolling onto his back, he stemmed the gushing of his lifeblood from the wound just below his ribs and looked at her.

"Didn't think you had it in you," he rasped. "Should have known you'd be the one. You can only count on blood."

Tears stung her eyes, blurred her vision. Lena held out the weapon, her grip trembling as she aimed at his head.

"You'll never stop," she choked out. "You'll kill her. She'll never be safe as long as you're alive."

Lex grinned, the corners of his mouth wet with blood. "Do it."

Lena's finger flexed, but the trigger felt frozen in place. As it shifted slightly, a flood of memories slammed through her- shooting lessons and chess games, strange idle fancies and muted conversations, long rides in the back of sedans. Lena's graduation, Lionel's funeral, Lillian's abuses, Lex standing between their father and Lena with a bruise on his jaw, warning the old man not to lay another hand on her.

A sob tore from her throat. She couldn't do it. She couldn't.

Lex laughed flecks of blood onto the floor.

"Go on, then. I don't need you. I have my own Kryptonian, and she's going to be daddy's little girl."

It was as if the rain suddenly stopped, the sun cracking open the clouds. The gun was terribly loud again, and Lena turned away before she saw the shot connect, looking away from the blood fanning out across the floor as Lex went silent and still.

Shoving the still-hot gun back into her pocket, Lena ran.

Thought I'd share a little bit more from the in-progress Curse of Strahd AU/Crossover!

[tedwardremus]

Without A Trace

@jilymicrofics prompt: Trace // Word count: 390

“JAMES!”

His name, a desperate scream, reverberated from the floor above, piercing his heart like a shard of glass. Just moments ago, he was playfully coaxing the cat with a piece of turkey from its hiding spot. But the instant Lily's scream, a guttural, primal sound, tore through the air, he bolted up the stairs, leaping over two to three steps at a time. His heart continued to pound against his chest, threatening to break through his ribs, as his wife shouted his name once more.

James ran through the open door of the nursery, his wand held tightly in his hand. He took in the sight before him, his heart still pounding in his chest as if it were keeping track of the seconds that were passing by.

The pale blue curtain blew in the wind from the open window. The cot in the center of the room was gut-wrenchingly empty. He turned to face Lily, who covered her mouth with visibility shaking hands as a tear fell from her large green eyes.

“Lil, wha-?”

“He’s gone! Harry isn’t here.”

“What do you mean? He can’t have gone far. He can barely crawl.” James spun around the room, looking for anything out of place. A baby doesn’t just disappear without a trace. A wave of heat washed over his entire body as he continued to scan the room. A bit of sickness traveled up his throat, and he pushed back down.

Lily’s trembling hand found his own, and he brought his wife close to his side, her physical presence steadying him like an anchor to the bedroom floor. His vision blurred as his glasses fogged up with moisture. He closed his eyes and rested his chin on her soft red hair.

“I need to think. We need to get a patronus to Sirius. To Dumbledore.” He whispered into her hair. James tried to concentrate on Lily’s scent, clinging to a happy moment to conjure his patronus, but the devastating fear of his missing son was hard to push aside. He had failed in the one thing he swore he’d do - keep his family safe in this terrible war. 

“James -”

“Shh, Lily, I need to focus.”

“No, James, look!”

James’ eyes snapped open to witness a shimmery white patronus glide into the room through the open nursery window.

[a-french-coconut]

Travis Stoll (Part 1)

He's walking on campus, like every other day.

He's whistling a tune Will taught him a long time ago, at the beginning of their friendship.

He chuckles at the memory of their first real interaction.

Will punched him in the nose for putting a snake in his bed.

He still thinks that a rubber snake wasn't worth such a commotion. It's not like he put a real one !

He has always been softer than his brother.

When they prank their dear campmates, he usually have less injuries prone ideas.

Except when those campers landed a particular mean hit on his brother during training. Or said something about Luke that made him clench his jaw.

At Camp, Hermes is the god of liars, thieves and cheerful trickster.

In the myths, Hermes kills without remorse a turtle and beheaded a giant.

He understands Camp needs a comedic relief, someone to make them laugh during hard times. He happily took on that responsibility, making it his mission to make sure that laughter would echo in Camp Half-Blood at least three times a day.

If they just happen to forget that it's not more difficult to put bear traps instead of balloons on the floor, well it's on them.

His father killed Argos because he felt like it. As his son, he has no qualms in hearing the pained screams of the Ares campers when their legs get caught in the traps.

Especially if Connor's face lights up when he sees them limping during dinner.

His smile is worth every second of concentration in training, dodging with extra speed Clarisse's furious attacks .

Maybe he isn't softer than his brother.

Maybe he's just better at hiding it.

It's never been hard to put up a facade, his godly heritage making it terribly easy to mask his real emotions.

Two persons can see through him like an open book, no matter how hard he tries.

He could never look into Connor's eyes and even think about uttering a lie, betray his brother's trust. Connor is his anchor, the reason he has not drowned when their mother hurled empty bottles at them, when Luke left them in charge of the biggest cabin or when he had to smile through the back-handed remarks and distrustful glares.

As for the other, it's not that he doesn't want to lie, but that he can't. Son of the god of Truth, his best friend can see right through his lies. Will Solace has been a true thorn in his side since he discovered that power, always harassing him until he discovers what Travis is up to.

The only way Travis has found to counter that power is to run as fast as he can every time he sees Will approaching him with a too cheerful face to be natural. So far, so good !

It's been an awful long time since he saw them for the last time. He had been a mess when he bolted through the borders, searching frantically for Connor. For some reasons, which has been explained to him later, communications were down during a long time and Travis couldn't talk to his brother.

It nearly drove him crazy.

Hearing that Camp had been attacked during his absence, that he left Connor alone to defend their half-siblings made him sick.

Travis's life resolve around one simple task : protect Connor at all costs.

It's been its reason to call social services on his mom, when she passed out on the couch one too many times.

It's been its reason to face every monsters who chased them on their way to Camp. It doesn't matter how much it hurts, how much he bleeds if it means hearing his brother's laugh once he has healed.

It's the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.

A pure, unrestrained laugh so full of joy.

The last time he heard it was just before Luke left. Since them, each of their friends' death tarnished it a little. Now Connor merely smiles and when he laughs, it's a pale replica of what it has once been.

But now the wars are over !

No more prophecies dooming them all !

He can come back from time to time, bringing joy and mischief with him !

He can't wait to introduce paintball to Cabin 5 and see the splotches of colors in every corner of Camp.

It's decided, he'll go this week-end !

Travis smiles fondly, imagining his brother's reaction when he sees him.

part 2 posted !

[yourmomsawh0r3]

ghost

frankie morales x female wife reader

tw: ghost, murder

Frankie Morales had been married to Y/N for two years, and in those two years, Y/N had become convinced that their charming, old house was haunted. Frankie loved the house’s character, its creaky floors, and vintage charm, but Y/N was less thrilled about the eerie noises and flickering lights that seemed to come out of nowhere.

Frankie was away on a mission, leaving Y/N home alone. She hated these nights the most, her imagination running wild in the quiet, empty house. Tonight was no different. She settled in to watch a movie in the living room, trying to distract herself, but her nerves were on edge.

Around midnight, Y/N heard a noise coming from the kitchen. Her heart raced as she muted the TV and listened intently. There it was again a soft, shuffling sound. Y/N’s mind immediately jumped to the worst conclusions.

“Oh, fuck no,” she muttered under her breath, bolting from the living room and running straight to the bedroom. She shut the door behind her and took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart.

To unwind, she decided to take a bath. The warm water and lavender-scented bubbles did little to soothe her nerves, but at least she felt a little safer behind the locked bathroom door. After her bath, she climbed into bed with her phone, scrolling through TikTok to distract herself.

Just as she was beginning to relax, she heard rapid knocking on the bedroom door. Y/N's heart leaped into her throat, and she jumped out of bed, her hands shaking as she grabbed her phone.

She called Frankie, her voice trembling with panic when he answered. “Frankie, someone’s knocking on the bedroom door! I’m freaking out!”

“Calm down, baby,” Frankie said, his voice steady and soothing despite the worry she could hear in it. “I’m checking the Ring doorbell alert now. Hold on.”

Y/N could hear Frankie typing on his laptop as he accessed the camera feed. “Okay, I see the alert. But… there’s nothing there.”

“What do you mean, nothing there?” Y/N asked, her voice rising in pitch. “I can hear the knocking, Frankie!”

“Just stay on the line with me, okay? I’m here with you,” Frankie reassured her. “Let me listen.”

Y/N held her breath, straining to hear any other noises. The knocking had stopped, but the silence was almost worse. She glanced at the bedroom door, half-expecting it to burst open at any moment.

“Are you safe?” Frankie asked, his voice a comforting anchor in the chaos of her fear.

“I think so,” Y/N whispered. “I’m just really scared.”

“I know, baby. I wish I was there with you,” Frankie said, his voice softening. “Just stay on the line with me. Let’s see if we can figure this out together.”

Minutes passed with no more strange noises. Y/N slowly began to relax, her grip on the phone loosening. Frankie kept talking to her, his voice a constant reassurance that she wasn’t alone.

“Maybe it’s just the house settling,” Frankie suggested after a while. “It is pretty old, after all.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Y/N said, though she wasn’t entirely convinced. “But it felt so real, Frankie. The knocking was so loud.”

“I know it did, sweetheart,” Frankie said. “But I promise, there’s nothing there. You’re safe. I’ll be home soon, and we’ll look into it together, okay?”

“Okay,” Y/N agreed, her heart rate finally beginning to slow. “Thanks for being there for me, even when you’re not here.”

“Always,” Frankie said. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Y/N replied, a small smile forming on her lips despite her lingering fear.

After hanging up, Y/N took a deep breath and settled back into bed, phone still in hand. She turned on a calming video and let herself get lost in it, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that something was still amiss.

The rest of the night passed without incident, and by the time Frankie returned home, Y/N was feeling much calmer. He wrapped her in a tight hug as soon as he walked through the door, kissing the top of her head.

“You okay?” he asked, looking down at her with concern.

“Better now that you’re here,” Y/N said, snuggling into his embrace. “But I swear, Frankie, this house is haunted.”

Frankie chuckled, but his eyes were serious. “We’ll figure it out, babe. Whether it’s ghosts or just creaky floors, we’ll handle it together.”

Y/N smiled, feeling a rush of love and gratitude for her husband. With Frankie by her side, she felt like she could face anything even a haunted house.

A few weeks after the late-night knocking incident, Frankie and Y/N were finally beginning to feel a bit more at ease in their home. Frankie had done his best to reassure Y/N, and for a while, things had been quiet. But one night, that all changed.

It was around 2 a.m. when the house alarm suddenly blared, jolting both Frankie and Y/N out of their sleep. Frankie sprang out of bed, instinctively grabbing the bat he kept by his side, and Y/N followed closely behind him, heart pounding in her chest.

As they rushed to the front door, they found it wide open, the cool night air flooding into the house. Frankie cautiously stepped outside, scanning the area for any signs of an intruder, but saw nothing. The street was eerily quiet, no one in sight.

“Frankie, what’s going on?” Y/N whispered, clutching his arm.

“I don’t know,” Frankie replied, his voice tense. He quickly shut the door and locked it, his mind racing with possibilities.

Suddenly, there was a loud banging on the back door, the sound echoing through the house. Y/N let out a startled cry, and Frankie’s protective instincts kicked into high gear. Without a second thought, he picked Y/N up and threw her over his shoulder.

“Hang on, babe,” he said, rushing back to their bedroom. “We’re getting out of here.”

He carried her upstairs and into their room, slamming the door shut behind them and locking it. Frankie set Y/N down and immediately grabbed his phone, dialing 911 as his eyes darted around the room, looking for any other potential threats.

“Frankie, do you think it’s a ghost?” Y/N asked, her voice trembling as she clutched his arm.

Frankie hesitated, his rational mind warring with the inexplicable events of the night. He had always been skeptical about the supernatural, but the banging, the open door, the alarms all of it was starting to seem like more than just coincidences.

“Maybe,” he finally said, his voice low. “Maybe you were right all along, Y/N. Maybe this house is haunted.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise, but she felt a strange sense of relief. For so long, she had felt like she was losing her mind, but now Frankie believed her. They were in this together.

The police arrived shortly after, thoroughly checking the house and the surrounding area. They found no signs of forced entry, no footprints, nothing to explain what had happened. Frankie and Y/N were left with more questions than answers, but one thing was clear they weren’t imagining things.

In the days that followed, Frankie took Y/N’s concerns even more seriously. "In their quest to uncover the truth about their house, Frankie and Y/N dove into its history, hoping to find some explanation for the strange events. They spent hours at the local library, poring over old newspapers and records. One rainy afternoon, they finally found what they were looking for.

An old article from decades ago revealed that the house had once belonged to the Martinez family. The tragic story detailed how the family parents and two young children had been murdered in their home under mysterious circumstances. The case had never been solved, and the house had changed hands several times since then, with each owner experiencing strange phenomena.

Reading the article, Y/N felt a chill run down her spine. “This is it. This is our house," Y/N said, pointing to the grainy black-and-white photo in the article. "The Martinez family lived here."

Frankie’s brow furrowed as he read through the article, his heart heavy with the sorrow of the family's story. "So, the strange things we've been experiencing… maybe it's them. The spirits of the Martinez family."

Y/N nodded, her mind racing. "But why would they try to scare us? They don't seem like they'd be malevolent."

Frankie thought for a moment, piecing together the puzzle. "Maybe it's the kids. They might not know how to communicate properly, and they're just trying to get our attention."

Determined to understand more, they contacted a local historian who specialized in paranormal activity. The historian, an elderly woman named Mrs. Johnson, was intrigued by their story and agreed to visit their home.

When Mrs. Johnson arrived, she conducted a thorough investigation, using various tools to detect paranormal activity. After a few hours, she sat down with Frankie and Y/N, her expression thoughtful.

"I believe you were right," Mrs. Johnson said. "The spirits here are indeed the Martinez family. They aren't trying to harm you; they're trying to communicate. The children, in particular, seem to be the most active."

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears as she thought of the young lives lost so tragically. "What can we do to help them?"

Mrs. Johnson smiled kindly. "Spirits often linger because they have unfinished business or because they need to be acknowledged. The children might just be looking for someone to recognize them, to know their story."

Over the next few weeks, Frankie and Y/N made an effort to honor the Martinez family. They set up a small memorial in the house with photos and flowers, paying their respects to the family that once lived there. They spoke to the spirits, offering them peace and acknowledging their presence.

One night, as they were preparing for bed, Y/N heard soft giggling coming from the hallway. Instead of feeling fear, she felt a warm sense of comfort. She and Frankie exchanged a glance, and he nodded, understanding what she was feeling.

"It's the kids," Y/N whispered, smiling softly. "They're just playing."

Frankie wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "I think they know we're not here to hurt them. Maybe they're starting to feel at peace."

From that night on, the disturbances in the house became less frequent and more playful in nature. The lights would flicker gently, as if in a game, and the sounds of soft footsteps and laughter became a familiar background to their lives.

One evening, as they sat in the living room, Y/N felt a gentle tug on her sleeve. She looked down, her heart swelling with emotion, though she saw nothing. "Hi there," she whispered, smiling. "We're here, and we care about you."

Frankie watched, his eyes softening. "They just needed a family to acknowledge them, to give them the love they didn't get to fully experience."

As time went on, the haunting became a comforting presence rather than a source of fear. Frankie and Y/N found solace in knowing they were not alone, sharing their home with the spirits of a family who had once lived and loved there.

Their house, once a source of fear and anxiety, had become a place of warmth and connection. Frankie and Y/N felt a deeper bond with each other and with the unseen inhabitants of their home, knowing that they were all part of a unique, intertwined family.

And in that haunted house, love and peace finally prevailed.