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from-the-clouds · 4 years ago

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Kiss Me More (Part IIII) - Zemo/Reader

Masterlist | Part One | Part Two | Part Three |

Summary: Reader ponders the decision they made after meeting Zemo in Riga. Series now complete!

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: Kissing, marijuana & alcohol abuse, heavy angst & depression, small reference to suicide, implied casual sex, yearning

A/N (also check out A/N at end when finished reading): This is it, everyone! I was going to end this completely differently originally, but after some thinking -- and some light peer pressure from ya’ll, I did something a little different. I did fight with this part the most out of all of them, so I hope it’s still good. Please enjoy. And thank you for all the love on this series, it’s been so fun to write! Also I was listening to this song while writing this.

---

The incessant buzz of her alarm clock jolted her out of her dreamless sleep. Fumbling in the dark, she slapped the top of it, hitting the snooze button and looking at the interface with bleary eyes.

4:00 A.M. It stared, indifferent, back at her tired face.

She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut and lamenting, bargaining, half expecting the clock to turn back time when she opened her eyes again. Unfortunately, it did not. With a huff, she threw back the covers and stretched, disturbing the orange cat that slept in the empty spot next to her where her husband used to lay.

Snorting, the cat lifted its head to look at her as she climbed out of bed before curling back up in a ball where her feet had been.

“Don’t mind me, just getting ready for work so I can feed us,” she said, grumpily, then in a moment of repentance, affectionately scratching her behind the ears.

She had always been a night owl, so she didn’t think it would be possible to ever get used to waking this early. No human was meant to function at this time. It was the one part of the job she hated most. The rest of it was manageable, though it was still work.

Setting about her morning routine, she showered, made coffee, and donned her uniform. Eating a day-old bagel and nursing her coffee on her tiny balcony, she looked out over the darkened horizon. It was far too early to even enjoy a sunrise.

There was a saying, time heals all wounds. After her husband died, she’d heard it a lot. It was a saying she had come to find true. But it’d been well over a year since she’d left Helmut, alone in that swanky hotel room, and it still hurt like it was yesterday.

“I understand,” he’d murmured, and she felt the ghost of his kiss on her forehead, arms around her waist, even now. She shivered, not from the chill of the morning air.

She’d left her old life behind, all of it. Sam and Bucky, too, about a month after their time in Riga. She couldn’t look them in the eyes after what she’d done.

But, she was proud of what they’d accomplished. They’d defeated the Flag Smashers. Bucky seemed happier, more at peace. Sam had accepted his role as the new Captain America. John Walker seemed to have faded into irrelevancy. All the loose ends had been tied up in a pretty little bow.

Except for hers.

Which is why she moved, sold all the stuff in her tiny NYC apartment, and packed her car full with what she couldn’t bear to part with, some photos and momentos from a different lifetime. Her car didn’t stop until she hit the Atlantic Ocean, on an island just south of Charleston. All but undiscovered by tourists, the residents in the sleepy beach town kept to themselves, and she could go about her life in peace, undisturbed.

She couldn’t just run away from her problems, that was why she’d left Zemo. It seemed counterintuitive, but in her mind, it made sense. The problems would catch up to her, like they always had. The dissatisfaction she had with her life, with herself, was always going to return. And she knew she had to be alone to deal to face it head on. Like a wounded animal, crawling into the woods, there were only two ways things could end here; either she’d heal and come out stronger, or eventually she’d die. And so far, the healing part wasn’t going great.

Each day was a matter of convincing herself that she’d made the right choice. Especially now, as her eyes burned, fighting to stay open against the inviting embrace of sleep.

Despite it being dark outside, the bakery was bustling already when she walked in the service entrance. It smelled amazing, as always. Sweet and warm, a cacophony of aromas, baking bread, fresh coffee, sugar.

She set about the usual preparations to open up, packaging orders for the regulars, sweeping the floor, wiping down countertops. Once the place was open, she didn’t have to work the register, as she prepared batches of dough in the back for proofing, to be baked the next day.

Before, she’d been a terrible cook, but she’d grown comfortable in the kitchen after learning to bake. There was something satisfying about working with her hands, at this point she’d memorized all the recipes and the work became second nature to her. Now, she always had fresh bread and pastries in her kitchen, although they were the slightly disformed, ones the shop owners deemed too ugly for the glass display cases. Daylight was cherished, even if she barely saw it inside the shop. Because while she was awake, busy with work, her thoughts remained pleasant.

At night it was the hardest. Things got quiet, lonely. When she got home, she poured herself a drink. Cheap whiskey, the kind that came in a plastic bottle and burned on it’s way down. She had never been much of a drinker before, she was now. Her thoughts were more manageable after a drink. Especially because she was usually thinking of Helmut.

It was often that she wondered what he may be doing, and those thoughts usually ended with the image of him lying in the sun, poolside, on some island in the Pacific Ocean, drinking expensive champagne with a supermodel. It wasn’t a particularly comforting thought to her, and yet she was plagued by some variation of it every night.

Sometimes, she’d humor herself, and imagine what they might be doing had she decided to stay with him. Unfortunately, thinking of that was more upsetting. She wanted it, selfishly, though she wasn’t willing to admit it.

When she was younger, it had been so easy to block out the pain, to just press forward, no matter what. Much to her dismay, it didn’t get easier as she got older. Years of watching those she loved in pain, years of being in pain had taken a toll on her resilience. She wasn’t the strong woman she once was, she was weak.

That night, one drink had turned into two, into three. Wallowing in her own self-pity had become second-nature, she felt like Hamlet, lamenting her circumstances, a constant turmoil monologuing in her brain. But this night felt particularly worse, for some reason.

For the record, she had been doing better. But she was all-too-familiar with how grief worked, pulling her back down the dark side of the mountain, where she was forced to fight her demons over and over again. At some point, they were going to win.

It was a funny thing. Despite the loss of her husband, who she had loved dearly, his death had been easier to accept. Final. She couldn’t bring him back. Helmut on the other hand, was still out there, an open wound that could never fully heal.

Before she knew it, she was four drinks in, at her bedside table, fumbling through the bottom drawer, until she found what she was looking for.

Back on her couch, she stared at the card in her hand, the hastily written phone number on it, an international line. Helmut had given it to her, the day she left, stuck it in her purse while she wasn’t looking. She didn’t discover it until she had returned home.

It had been months since she last did this, pulled the card out of its hidden place in her drawer, placed it on the coffee table in front of her next to her phone, and considered dialing it. It had been a frequent occurrence when she first moved here, when she couldn’t find a job and spent most of her mornings either hungover, or stumbling home from rendezvous with men whose names she wouldn’t remember, and she wouldn’t care to, because there was only one man she really wanted. She could only hope he’d be as close as one call away. But she never called.

I mean really, he’d probably moved on by this point. If she was going to call, she should have done it months ago, when there was more of a chance that he’d give a fuck.

She considered this a setback. But she’d made her way halfway through the cheap bottle of whiskey, it was the drunkest she’d been in ages and she was curious. She didn’t know whose number it was, who’d be on the other end of the line, and never knew why Helmut would want her to have it to begin with.

At this point, she wasn’t capable of good decision making. In general, it hadn’t always been her strong suit. So why did doing the right thing matter now? It didn’t, she decided.

Taking a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle, she ensured she wouldn’t remember what happened next, at least not clearly.

The phone rang twice before someone picked up. “Hello?” she didn’t recognize the sound of the man on the other end of the line immediately, so she didn’t answer. All she had wanted to do was maybe hear Helmut’s voice, he didn’t even need to know it was her that was calling.

“Hello?” the man repeated, and she realized it wasn’t completely unfamiliar. The grandfatherly, comforting tone wasn’t her former lover, but someone close to him. And she supposed that wasn’t terrible.

“Is this Oeznik?” she asked.

“It is,” he said after some hesitation. “May I ask who’s speaking?”

Truthfully, she was shocked she’d allowed herself to go this far. This was a bad idea. If she stopped now she could get off without doing any real damage. But just as she was about to hang up, she heard her name, muffled, on the other end of the line.

“H-How do you know it’s me?” She raised the phone back to her ear.

“I thought you sounded familiar,” Oeznik chuckled, low and soft. “Helmut told me you might call.”

“He did?” she squeaked. “Yes, although it was awhile ago. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I uh….I….well….” she managed. “I guess I just….I guess I wanted to see how he was doing.” Her words flowed together like the liquor she was drinking, she knew she sounded drunk.

“Good, since we last spoke,” he said. “I don’t hear from him much these days...maybe every couple months. As you might imagine, he’s trying to keep a low profile for the time being.”

She nodded. Perhaps Zemo was as lonely as she was, hidden away in some cabin in the middle of nowhere. Though she had to imagine it looked much nicer than her current place, and maybe he had better company than a portly orange cat that begrudgingly liked him. “I understand.”

“How have you been?” he asked.

It sounded stupid, but she realized it was the first time someone had asked her that. Sincerely. Checked up on her. Even if she was the one who had dialed the number in the first place.

“I’m good,” her voice cracked. “Just keeping busy.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “Helmut always had such nice things to say about you.”

“Really?” she couldn’t stop herself.

“Of course, would you like me to let him know you called?”

“No, no...I wouldn’t want to bother him,” she choked on her words, something catching in her throat.

“Are you sure you’re alright, dear?”

“I’m okay, I just….” she felt tears prick at the back of her eyes, lowering her voice, since she didn’t think her normal register would come out as anything other than a whine. “I think I made a horrible mistake.”

“What’s the matter? What did you do?”

She shook her head, shaking the tears loose and now they were lining her lashes, threatening to spill over. However, she managed to make the next words she spoke come out clearly. “Nothing, I just...it’s really stupid, I really shouldn’t have called.”

He sighed on the other end of the line, and she felt like, despite her attempt at staying calm, he could still see that she wasn’t somehow. “It seemed Helmut was awfully sweet on you,” Oeznik’s words next came hesitantly, calculated. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but he told me if you ever called, to help you with whatever you might need, no matter the ask.”

Oh God, what had she done? A sob left her, one she couldn’t control, and she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle any more. Her tears were flowing freely now, tracking down her cheeks and along her chin. She wiped at them clumsily, clearing her throat.

“That’s very kind of him, but you can’t help me. I’m so sorry to bother you, please just forget I even called,” she forced a smile on her face so that hopefully he could hear it. “Goodbye.”

She hung up, horrified, and within seconds had deleted the call log from her phone. She’d been thoughtful enough not to memorize the number, and the lighter she used whenever she smoked sat in front of her. Without a second though, she burned the card, watching the paper blacken and disintegrate, until it was all but a pile of soot on her Wal-Mart coffee table. It was a fair punishment, and ensured she’d never get the chance to embarrass herself like that again.

And then she cried, sobbed into a pillow next to her, until her tears ran dry and she wore herself out, falling asleep on the couch alone. When she’d wake the next morning, the only evidence of her actions would be a throbbing headache and a dead phone.

She wouldn’t remember the call.

----

Life went on, as it always did. It had been about a month, and since that night she grew more indifferent, remembered how to ignore heartbreak. For now, she was stuck in her purgatory, waking up before the sun and falling asleep before it set, smoking joints, drinking cheap liquor, and going on the occasional date with people who she didn’t really like, tourists who would leave after a week and wanted temporary company.

Despite everything, she partly believed things were getting better. Maybe they weren’t, but the possibility that someday they would seemed feasible. And that was enough, for now.

On her days off, she’d walk to the beach and lay on a blanket, reading a book until the sun dipped below the horizon and lit up the sky in hues of pinks and purples. She found a record player at an antique store and began collecting vinyls, listening to obscure artists whose albums she found in the $1 bin. It wasn’t so bad. Life wasn’t so bad.

She took a shower after work. Tomorrow was her off day, and she wasn’t sure what she had planned besides maybe watching a movie and getting stoned. Maybe she’d try going to the beach. The weather was getting warmer, and she could even go swimming if the water wasn’t too cold.

Exhausted from her day of work, she laid down in her bed, still in her robe, her hair wrapped in a towel around her head. The sun was setting outside, the windchimes she’d hung outside slowly clanging together, birds singing in the warm spring air. Her cat hopped on the bed, offered an affectionate trill and curled up at her side, purring, in a rare display of affection. A cool breeze drifted through the open window. And for the first time in over a year, she felt content. Closing her eyes, she savored the moment, committed it to memory, so she could recall it the next time she was drunk-crying in front of her TV.

She fell asleep slowly, so slowly that when she woke, startled by something in her kitchen clattering to the floor, it felt like she hadn’t even been sleeping at all. The clock next to her red 11:31 p.m. and it was pitch dark outside, the cool breeze from before had grown stronger and her bedroom curtains were billowing, wind whistling loudly through the apartment. Her cat had left her side, and she frowned, shivering in the sudden cold.

Pulling the towel off her head, she made her way over to the window with the intention to close it, sleepily, lazily, until she heard something else. A creak in the floorboard. A heavy footstep in her kitchen. That wasn’t just her cat.

Some kind of muscle memory was ignited then, an ancient instinct that called to her from a different lifetime. Darting across the room, the gun she kept was in her hand, stealthily pulled from its hiding spot beneath her mattress. Truth be told, she never thought she would’ve needed it. Anyone looking for her would be smart enough to kill her in her sleep, not be so foolish as to wake her first with their heavy footsteps.

A dark silhouette stalked through her kitchen, moving slowly. It was a man, she assumed, based on his broader figure, and lack of coordination. In her experience, women were often stealthier without trying. He took another step, the floor creaking below him, shuffling on bargain linoleum.

Staying low, she crept forward, ducking stealthily behind furniture, avoiding the spots on the floor she knew made noise. It didn’t appear the intruder had a weapon, in fact, it seemed he was bumbling about, searching for something. A burglar, and a bad one at that. An island full of vacation homes owned by rich doctors and they thought they’d find valuables in her shitty apartment?

It wasn’t until she was standing directly behind him, gun aimed at his head, that she finally spoke up.

“I believe you’ve come to the wrong place,” she said flatly. “Whatever you’re looking for, it’d be in your best interest to leave empty-handed.”

Her eyes were still adjusting to the dark, but the intruder froze, arms slowly raising in defeat, empty-handed, as he turned around to face her. In the dingy room, she couldn’t make out any of his features, could only see that he was clad in all black.

“Unfortunately, liebling, that wasn’t my intention.”

She would’ve recognized that voice anywhere, though the endearment he’d used was enough to clue her in. Hitting the lightswitch with her free hand, she was face to face with the man she’d spent the past year trying to purge from her memory, Helmut Zemo.

Her gut twisted, her mind raced, but the only thing currently bubbling up, over the surface of every other emotion was the pure, seething rage left behind in the wake of fearing for her life.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she stepped towards him, gun still raised, fuming.

“Hey, hey!” he staggered backwards, hands raised, eyes averted.

“I thought you were a fucking robber!” she hissed. “I thought you were here to kill me!”

“Lower your voice,” he scolded. “You’re going to wake your neighbors.”

Taking a deep breath, she realized she still had her gun trained on him and she lowered it, clicking the safety and discarding the weapon on the countertop. “What the fuck?” she asked. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I didn’t know you had such a mouth on you,” he smirked, but she wasn’t finished, and she glowered at him.

“You broke into my apartment!” she growled.

“I had to be sure I was in the right place.”

“Yeah? You couldn’t have knocked first?”

He nodded, eyes trailing down to her hands, which were trembling, she hadn’t even realized. He seemed to understand what he’d done then, and she flexed her fingers, eyes locking with his. “I suppose...you may be right,” he said, surrendering.

She felt the rage subsiding as she took in his appearance. He looked not so different from the last time she’d seen him, except a fair amount of stubble covered his jawline in a short beard. He was still devastatingly handsome. Zemo’s dark eyes, filled with longing, drank her in, tilting his head as his gaze shifted to her lips. It was like she could read his mind, she knew what he wanted, what he was thinking. And her body was going to betray her if he kept it up.

Despite everything, she was still upset. Upset and embarrassed, as the light was doing an unflattering expose of her tiny, cluttered apartment, full of mismatched furniture and water-damaged wallpaper that her landlord refused to replace. It probably gave the prison cells that Helmut had spent years in a run for their money, and was in stark contrast to every other aspect of his life.

“What’s this?” he asked, gesturing to the empty liquor bottles on her countertop, stowed in her trash can. “Have you been drinking?”

“Not tonight,” she quipped, on guard. Had to be. As much as some old instinct told her to throw herself into his arms, press her lips to the underside of his jaw, and let him envelope her in the comfort of his embrace, she knew she couldn’t.

“Hmm,” he brushed past her, frowning, looking disappointed, as he made his way to her living room.

“How did you find me?” she asked, eyeing him wearily.

“I’m a wanted man, I trace every call that comes into my estate,” he said over his shoulder.

Helmut was taking inventory of the cramped space, staring at the photos she’d hung in a collage on the wall behind her couch, with a few watercolors painted by her late husband. One in particular, that he was focused on now, was from her wedding. Of all the memories she chose to hang, this one was her fondest, her former partner was all dark curly hair falling into deep blue eyes, and she was the portrait of a blushing bride, wearing a dopey love-drunk smile, gazing at him, ignoring the camera.

“You looked so beautiful on your wedding day,” he said, turning over his shoulder to look at her. He was so out of place here, standing in her living room, for a moment she thought he might be a hallucination, some physical manifestation of the heartbreak she’d experienced. “Although that doesn’t surprise me.”

She flushed, suddenly self-conscious in her thin black robe and still-damp hair. It occurred to her that she wasn’t looking her best, which made this whole situation that much more disconcerting. However, the compliment disarmed her slightly, and the anger she felt began to dissipate, slowly. She was going to offer him something to drink until her cat, who had been absent through the chaos, suddenly jumped up on the back of the couch and promptly hissed at him in an attempt to defend her territory.

“Pumpkin, be nice,” she said, although it was mostly to placate Helmut. Pumpkin never listened to her.

Helmut let her sniff his hand, and she was stunned when the cat rubbed her face against it. Of course, Pumpkin would like him of all people. That made sense. Then again, she supposed it made them not so different. He turned away to look at the rest of the room. “I see you haven’t kicked that bad habit you told me about,” he gestured at the ashtray full of roaches on the coffee table.

“Did you just come to my place to insult me?” she asked, putting her hands on her lips and feigning confidence. She could’ve rolled over and cried and told him how much she missed him, how many nights she’d spent crying over him, and while all of it was true, she felt indignation was the better option for her self-preservation.

“That’s a good question,” Helmut turned to face her now, hands in the pockets of the leather jacket he was wearing. Completely inappropriate for the weather here, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. “Why do you think I’m here?” he asked.

She shrugged, feigning indifference. “I don’t know, but you shouldn’t be.”

He snorted, his frustration evident, and she saw a glimpse of the man that so many feared, the side that had earned him his dangerous reputation, that had him locked away in a high-security prison for nearly a decade. “I didn’t come all this way for nothing, draga, we’re going to have it out.”

“Fine,” she said, lacing as much venom as she could into her words to prepare herself. “Then get on with it.”

He stared her down, and the expression her wore startled her, something sparkled in his eyes, mischief, relief maybe? It was insulting. Like he didn’t take her seriously. But there was something else there, too, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but it was wiped from his visage before it registered.

The tension in the room dissipated slightly when Zemo sat on the arm of the worn couch she’d bought from a yard sale, and she winced. “I spoke to Oeznik the other day,” he said flatly, snorting, eyes focused on a stain on one of the rugs she owned. “He told me he had the pleasure of speaking to a friend of mine about a month ago.”

Frowning, she tilted her head, her eyes meeting Helmut’s. Something in her brain sparked a memory she’d once dismissed as a dream after a particularly bad night of drinking.

“He was concerned, you see, because this friend didn’t seem to be in the best state of mind,” Helmut rose from the arm of the couch, stalking forward slowly, and she couldn’t move backwards, not even if she wanted to, as he could pin her easily against the front door. His voice grew louder, faster as he went on. “He said she was crying, slurring her words, he told me he thought maybe she might be-” Helmut cut himself off abruptly and closed his eyes, clenching one of his fists, a look of distress on his face as he took in a terse breath. “I won’t finish that thought, but you’re a smart girl, you can imagine what I’m getting at.”

Swallowing hard, the phone call came back to her in pieces, the tears, sobbing on the phone to a man she hardly knew. It was the night she finally admitted to herself she’d made a mistake, even though she’d already known it, deep down when she left him in the hotel room.

“Please forgive me for breaking in tonight,” Helmut said. “But I couldn’t bear the thought of you not answering the door, I needed to see with my own eyes that you were okay.”

Exhaling through her nose, she looked at the floor. “It’s not like that. I had too much to drink.” she said, keeping her voice as steady as possible. “It was just a bad night.”

“Then tell me, what was the horrible mistake you made?” he asked, stepping closer. He was close to her, now. So close. And his proximity made everything more difficult.

God, if only she could remember exactly what she’d said, the only thing that came to her were the emotions, desperation, sadness, grief. It was all too much, and he was threatening to bring them all back to destroy her again.

“I shouldn’t have called,” she said, shaking her head. “And I’m sorry. What do you want me to say? What do you want from me?”

“What do I want from you?” He asked, tilting his head, his eyebrows pulling together. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? How hard it was to sit on a plane when all I wanted to do was be here? With you?” His hand rose to cup her cheek, stopping just short of her face when she flinched away from his touch.

“Please stop,” she managed, the burn of tears behind her eyes almost menacing. The last thing she needed was to cry in front of him. “You’re undoing everything.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“You’re….you’re here,” she murmured weakly, wetness seeping, glossing over her pupils. “I only have so much capacity for pain right now, if you touch me now, you’ll ruin everything.”

No one ever had this kind of hold on her, she’d never bent her rules to appease anyone else, and she’d gone toe to toe with super soldiers. He was just a man, and yet, he terrified her.

“You really want me to leave?”

She couldn’t answer, but one tear escaped, sliding down her cheekbone, and she sniffled.

“I’m not the one who did this to you,” his thumb, swiped along her face gently, wiping it away. He’d touched her, just barely, and she was reeling.

“I know,” she stuttered, gasping. “I know it was me, but I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“You are so stubborn.” His expression softened as he looked upon her, his thumb tracing underneath her jaw, tilting her head upwards to look at him. Malleable, she obliged. “I’ve thought about you everyday since the night we spent together. You’ve plagued me. That can’t be a coincidence. Are you really happier this way? You must be honest with me.”

She shook her head, blinking out fresh tears. “No, I’m not. I just thought...by the time I realized I made the wrong choice, you’d have moved on. People like us don’t get to be happy.”

“Says who?”

How could she refuse him anymore? This would continue to go on until she gave in. And from the beginning, she wanted to give in. There was no use in fighting the inevitable. The small point of contact -- his hand on her chin -- radiated impressive warmth, and she could feel every part of herself being attracted to him, quelling some ache deep within her.

Reaching up, she clutched at Helmut’s palm, which didn’t last long, because he pulled her into his arms, nestling her head underneath his chin. She melted into his embrace, finding solace in the warmth of his solid frame.

“Come home with me,” he coaxed softly.

“I will,” she murmured, surrendering to the comfort of his presence. “But you have to let me bring Pumpkin.”

He chuckled, warm and amiable, the vibration of his chest echoing in her own. “Of course, you’ll bring Pumpkin,” he murmured into her hair. Oh, how she had missed hearing him laugh. They could’ve stayed that way for hours, and she would’ve been content, but he pulled away, hands on either side of her face as he studied her.

Unable to hold back any longer, she leaned in to kiss him. It was chaste at first, all the memories of her last night with him came flooding back quickly when he parted his lips to deepen the kiss, but she didn’t want that quite yet, just needed a moment to process this. The simple comfort of being held by him, kissed by him, was more than enough for now. He’d been waiting for this, she could assume in the way that he responded, pulling her impossibly close so she was engulfed in him.

Her stomach flipped, a warmth blossoming in her chest as he pulled away, their foreheads touching. “Oh, I missed you,” she sighed, shivering as his beard tickled her neck, his mouth on her sensitive skin.

“And I, you,” he murmured. His eyes studied her, carefully, up close, and for the first time since meeting him, she really let him see her, teary-eyed and vulnerable.

She would never let him go again.

---

A/N: So here we are! I know it’s been a ride, but I’m really excited for these two. However, I don’t feel like I’m done writing for Zemo yet. If ya’ll have any headcanons, thoughts, questions, requests, etc, feel free to drop them in my ask box or shoot me a DM. I’d love to talk more about him. I also would be down to write more oneshots based around this series, because I am sort of like….okay, they obviously have a connection, but they don’t know that much about each other, and I may or may not have a light future already mapped out for them. I might do an epilogue at some point even. But if you have anything you’d like to add, let me know!

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stayevildarling · 3 years ago

Text

Wilhemina Venable x Reader- When the time is right - Pt 1

Part 2, Part 3

word count: 3.8k

warnings: mention of scoliosis, angst + fluff at the end

A/N: This story is kind of an AU. Reader meets Venable when Wilhemina is light Mina (orange hair, adorable, cute, friendly) and they get together. One day Wilhemina breaks it off suddenly and they only reunite years later but Reader is met with a much darker version (dark Mina).

Also, this used to be on my Wattpad but I decided to completely rewrite it and add multiple parts

Taglist:

@lunaticwhittaker, @rainbow-hedgehog, @mrsdeanhoward, @alexajbitar, @in-cordelias-coven, @kenzbro, @loverofallthingssarah, @twistedpoeticjustice, @billiebeanhoward, @minaslittleone, @lilypadscoven, @vintagepaulson, @ninaahs, @whitelotus00, @httpfiftyshadesofgay

-Flashback-

''Are you serious right now after all we have been through?'' you try hard not to scream but it feels like your body is on fire, your lungs are burning, heart racing and your eyes watering. You cannot believe you are having this conversation with your girlfriend Wilhemina right now. After a whole year of knowing each other and eventually giving the relationship a go she is talking about moving on.

'It's for the best'' is all she said in return and then she walked out, cane in her hand hitting the floor hard and not once did she look back, she ignored your cries, you begging her to stay and please turn back around. You keep repeating this is a nightmare and you are gonna wake up any minute to her holding you in her arms. But it was no nightmare and she did walk out of your shared apartment and ever since that day you have tried to move on. But no matter what you did working, moving out of the apartment, meeting friends, getting to know new people it didn't work, Wilhemina was always on your mind, when you are asleep she would visit in your dreams, when you are driving or outside and a song plays, she is there in your memory as if she never left in the first place.

-End of Flashback-

Even right now as you are walking through the streets on your lunch break, coffee in your hand and earphones in your ears listening to music she is here again.

''I never needed you like I do right now....I never hated you like I do right now'' as you hear those lyrics your heart skips a beat and it feels like it is breaking all over again. You tried everything you could think of, start a new job in a new field, you moved to a new city but nothing seems to be able to take your mind off the redhead, clouding your mind, her touch still so present lingering on your skin, her voice still ringing through your ears and the smell of lavender following you wherever you go.

Currently, you are working for a company in California, in the social media department and to promote the brand and their work. It's mostly boring but you do enjoy social media and advertisement so you gladly took the job considering it comes with a higher paycheck and a brand new apartment. There was nothing left in your old city, no friends anymore because you drove them all away as they always talked badly about your ex-girlfriend and the feelings you still have for her. No family because you were kind of always on your own and after quitting your job there, there was nothing holding you back. The woman with red-orange hair and a purple obsession is currently on your mind again and no matter what you do she is stuck in your head, like a catchy record and it hurts. As you think about her a wave of flashbacks hit you, with no way of putting a stop to it and keeping the storm at bay.

''Wilhemina Venable, nice to meet you'' was the first few words that you ever heard her say and for a moment you were so struck that you couldn't even say anything. ''Cat got your tongue hmm?'' was what she said afterward and what got you to snap out of it, introduce yourself, and shake her hand. And when you touched her for the first time you knew you would never ever get tired of feeling her soft hands.

You would also never grow tired of looking into her beautiful brown eyes or the soft smile she would give you whenever she would see you. Back then you just finished college and you took your first job and she was your co-worker. Starting a relationship with a co-worker is sometimes frowned upon and there probably are good reasons for that but you didn't listen, not to your friends telling you not to do it and not to the other co-workers after they noticed the glances you and Wilhemina exchanged at work. But you both never let that stop you and you fell for her and you fell hard.

Although you had some crushes before, mostly on teachers in college or celebrities, you never had been in a relationship before. Every morning before work you would get up so early and make sure to put your best clothes on, you would improve your makeup skills and try different hairstyles to impress Wilhemina and you did. She would notice how often you would come around to her desk and ask her silly questions you both knew the answers to but you pretend you didn't. And eventually, she took all of her confidence and asked you out and that night was the most magical night of your life.

You went to an expensive restaurant and after she took you home and she gave you something that night that was precious and you held onto it till today. Patience. She was your first love and she made sure to not rush, to not hurt you, to be there for you and hold you whenever you needed her. After your first date, you went on some more magical nights together, before you were ready to allow her to love you and to love her in return and she made you feel things you never felt before. She would make your whole body feel beautiful and worthy, all your insecurities left whenever you were around the woman who had many insecurities herself due to her back. And that's probably what you admire most about her, the way she made you feel whenever you were with her.

Thinking about all this, you think back to the many dates you both went on, to restaurants, shopping, the movies, car dates, attending work parties together, going to get drunk together. Life felt so easy with Wilhemina around, although she was a few years older than you she was pure, she was funny, soft, kind, precious and she was innocent. She would always treat people with respect and offer help and you loved her beautiful and kind personality. You never thought that one night after being with each other for almost a year she would randomly walk out of your life and not once turn back around or try and talk about it.

Hearing the lyrics repeat, you sigh and shake your head because it is true, one part of you needed Wilhemina back in your life because no matter what you do you can not get her out of your head or heart for that matter. Part of you does hate her for leaving and walking out, you never cried harder in your life than the night she left and you couldn't function for days. All you did was cry, toss and turn in the bed or curl up on the floor in a little ball until you couldn't cry anymore but the pain never stopped. It took days and in the end, your friends who picked you up again, taught you how to take care of yourself again by eating, showering, getting dressed, and going to work and you hoped that moving and changing jobs would change something.

As you are sitting in a park, only a few blocks away from your new workplace, watching people having picnics, playing with their kids, walking their dogs, or doing exercise you realize that all this wasn't worth it. Moving away, leaving your job, apartment and friends did nothing, you still miss her and she still haunts you. You miss her gentle side, the soft Mina as you used to call her, who would hold you in her arms, who would say soothing words until you would fall asleep, and who would make you feel better after a hard day at work, hold you after a nightmare or would let you ramble about another one of the co-workers annoying you. You miss telling her about your days and how you feel because you could be free with her and be who you are and you haven't been that way in a very long time.

Checking your phone you notice your lunch break is over in five minutes so you toss your empty coffee cup in a nearby trash can and walk back to your office. Today has been particularly boring because all you have to do is answer people's dm's and requests on social media because currently there is no campaign going on. As you walk back to your desk you put your coat and bag away and start logging onto your laptop. That's when you hear your boss on his way to your desk and you can't help but internally roll your eyes. He isn't a bad guy or anything, he is in his fifties, grey hair, always wearing a suit and he treats you with respect and you appreciate him but whenever he would approach you it means a problem, like an advertisement going wrong or a complaint or a new major client and that means longer hours and staying in the office till midnight. Not that you mind considering there is nothing or no one to come back home to.

''Y/N'' he says as he finally reaches your desk. Looking up from your desk, you force a smile and reply ''Yes Mr. Odell what can I do for you?''. By his posture, you can tell he is in some kind of distress.

''Listen we have a potential new client and I want you to come to our first meeting with them'' he says excitedly and you question why he can't just bring his assistant. ''I can't bring Janet she is sick so I need you to get your things'' he explains and you log off your computer, take your coat and bag and follow him outside the building. It is quite chilly, so you are glad that you put a jacket over your blazer.

As the familiar buildings and streets fade into the distance, you try not to zone out like you usually would but these days your mind would often be preoccupied with daydreams or memories as if someone else was entirely in control of your thoughts.

''I have a meeting with a Mr. Pfister and Mr. Nutter'' he says absent-mindedly while looking into his calendar and talking about the company you are headed to. Snapping out of your thoughts, you nod and mumble ''Of course Mr. Odell'' before averting your gaze back to the window looking at the hectic city and people going on about their days. Your thoughts wander back to work and you try to think of a few possibilities to advertise their products, as that might not be as easy as you originally thought when agreeing on accompanying your boss.

The first thing you see as you walk into a large unfamiliar building, following your boss's steps, is a front desk with some employees sitting there, it seems that this building is home to a few companies and different departments as they guide people into different parts of the building. You watch as your boss approaches the front desk, ''Hello may I help you?'' a woman with blonde hair asks politely.

''Yes I have a meeting with Kineros Robotics'' he says and she looks at you, then him again, and points towards a sign. ''It's to your right just follow the signs'' she says and you notice how her facial expression changed from nice and friendly to cold and possibly scared? after your boss mentioned the company name. Reading people's expressions and understanding their underlying feelings, has always been something you are good at but you quickly shake the thought away and follow your boss.

As you walk down the corridor you see a young woman with long brown curled hair wearing a blouse with flower prints and a skirt run down the hall with a box in her hand, her heels echoing through the building. ''I'm sorry'' she mumbles hectic and nervous as she zooms past you and you give Mr. Odell a questioning expression before reaching the department.

''I'm so sorry there was a bad accident on the 101'' you hear the woman say and then you hear a sound that sounds both so familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. The cane tapping. For a moment you freeze, knowing this isn't just any cane tap as you are so used to a certain redhead woman expressing her emotions partly through the very device that helps her keep her balance. Despite not having heard the sound in over a year, you know exactly who must be on the other end of the hallway.

Temporarily you freeze, thinking maybe her leaving you and breaking things off with you, has ultimately clouded your senses and affected your brain and maybe you are imagining everything. After all the rational part of yourself, is trying to remind you that there is no explanation right now as to why she would be here of all places.

However, the next thing you hear is a clear confirmation that your brain is not tricking you, it's not your mind so clouded by her absence, she is here, the only thing keeping you from seeing each other is a wall and a few steps apart. As you hear a familiar voice your heart stops beating and your throat goes dry.

''Not as bad as the accident that brought you into the world'' that is all you heard and although her voice sounds more cold, harsh and raspy you are fully aware that Wilhemina is sitting at the end of that corridor. For a moment your body goes into a state of shock, your ears ringing, vision blurring, and your heart beating out of your chest.

Shortly after the girl what you assume now to be an assistant comes running back towards the corridor with tears in her eyes and her heels making the same clicking sound. She zooms past you and Mr. Odell again and all he says is ''Damn she seems feisty'' and you know it's aimed at Wilhemina and for a moment you debate whether to just turn around and pretend to be sick or needing to answer a phone call but you know you can't back out now, after all, you have missed seeing her for too long now.

All you wanna do is see her adorable orange hair, that you used to run your fingers through and untangle some knots after she had a long day, the dorky glasses that you sometimes made fun of, and beautiful pastel purple probably everywhere if this truly was her workplace after all. ''Come on'' your boss says, pulling you out of your thoughts yet again and you walk into the large room.

Eyes instantly wander to the source of purple in the room and the source of darkness in your heart and emptiness ever since she left but not only does your heart stop for a moment as you take a look at her, you blink a few times, now actually sure whether this is real or some kind of nightmare.

Wilhemina's hair is a much darker shape of red now and styled into a tall sharp quiff, no sign of her usual high ponytails anymore or the lighter and orange shape it used to be. You notice she doesn't wear glasses anymore and you are convinced her eyes look an even darker shape than before too. She is wearing a dress and it's also a very dark shade of purple with matching earrings. Even her makeup is darker, and as you see her sitting by her desk you can't deny how intimidating she seems, looking at some files, her cane resting on the desk right beside her. Even the cane is different now, it has a snake shape at the top and it's not the old plain one she used to have.

For a moment you believe you just walked right into your own personal nightmare, the funny, sometimes sassy, and beautiful girl you used to love now seems like a completely different and somewhat evil person. The Wilhemina you once loved and still have feelings for, as they never truly changed, seems gone and it seems like she was replaced by a new one, a colder version.

She would have never spoken to anyone like that or treated someone the way she just treated that girl that seems to be her assistant, by the looks of it. All the staring and observing Wilhemina happened in a matter of seconds although it feels like an eternity, everything is silent for a moment, all that is to be heard is your own heartbeat and the typing on Wilhemina's keyboard.

You watch as your boss approaches her and you follow him and finally, Wilhemina looks up noticing the presence of someone else in the room and her gaze is focused on him, so she hasn't seen you yet. He tries to shake her hand and says ''My name is Mr. Odell I have an appointment with Mr. Nutter and Mr. Pfister'' and she just looks at him and his hand with a slightly disgusted expression but she doesn't bother shaking his hand.

''Very well'' she says and takes a glance at you for a split second, noticing a second person in the room and her eyes wander back to her laptop thinking you are just some assistant but when she realizes who you are she immediately looks back over to you and she doesn't avert her gaze at first.

Wilhemina takes in your features for a moment, the sense of fashion, dressing smartly and formally but at the same time stunning as she always said, your hair, the improved makeup skills, and still the same details she always loved about you. She doesn't look into your eyes yet and you are interrupted when two men walk over.

One of them has brown hair and the other blonde hair and you try hard not to chuckle when you see them because they look hideous. ''Mr. Odell, nice to meet you'' they say and shake hands. ''This is Y/L/N maybe someone could show her around while we finalize the details?'' your boss suggests, taking you by surprise, and one of the two turns to Wilhemina and says ''Miss Venable would you give this beautiful lady a tour please''.

For a split second, you are convinced, she is about to kill him but you aren't sure if it's about the tour or compliment. ''Of course'' she mumbles and your boss and the two men leave and you are left there with your ex-girlfriend and awkward silence filling the room. You haven't looked up or into her eyes yet and it terrifies you, she terrifies you.

Wilhemina has no idea what to do or how to react after not seeing you for two years and the last time she did she walked out of your life and your relationship. The redhead looks at you and without looking into your eyes yet she knows the pain, she can see it and she can tell this is killing you inside, the last thing she ever wanted was to cause you pain.

You take a deep breath with your eyes closed and turn to Wilhemina and your eyes instantly lock and you look into her dark brown eyes and not leave her gaze for one moment. She takes a few slow steps towards you, her cane hitting the floor, and with every tap and echo in the room, it feels like your heart is ripped into more pieces and your past is here confronting you right at this moment.

''Mina'' is everything you can say but it comes out as a whisper while your voice cracks. Your ex-girlfriend's eyes close right away because she has missed hearing you call her that for the past two years but as she opens her eyes she reminds herself internally, who she is and that she is currently at her workplace.

''Follow me'' she instructs and you follow her while she walks down a corridor and into a room with big machines. While you follow her you can't understand what would have happened to her to turn into this cold-hearted person. She used to be the sweetest and kindest person you knew but clearly, something has changed. You cannot take your eyes off her and as she walks you into the room with machines, she explains about the work they do here and how they do it and as much as you try to focus and look at the things she shows you, you can't and Wilhemina notices.

''Do I bore you?'' she suddenly snaps in that cold voice again, her nostrils flaring and your heart feels like a knife was just thrown right into it. ''I'm sorr- sorry I-'' but you can't even think of a good enough excuse so you just look at the floor and try hard to keep your emotions at bay.

''Anyways, these are the machines and devices we use, whenever someone places a custom order we make sure to fulfill that order as efficient and quick as possible'' Wilhemina explains her voice still stern, sounding like she has given this tour so many times, she has memorized every single word.

However, you do notice her looking at you the entire time she explains and it seems like she wants you to say something but there are too many things that you want and wanted to say to her for years but you never imagined one day you would run into her like this. For several minutes the two of you stand in the rooms with machines, Wilhemina explaining and you trying hard to focus on her words intently.

''Y/N'' you hear the voice of your boss coming from the door, the two strange-looking men behind him, and you look at him, noticing the satisfied looks on their faces, indicating the deal worked well, and he says ''I'm finished, thank you, Miss, for giving her the tour'' he adds now focused on Wilhemina. ''Let's go'' he says and you walk in his direction without looking back at her and just as you are about to walk out of the door you look at her and say ''Thank you'' and then you walk out.

As you walk out of the large office building, back through the same long corridor, and past the front desk, you can't hear anything your boss is trying to say and the entire car ride back to the office you try and wrap your head around what just happened, abandoning every single word Mr. Odell is saying.

''This didn't happen wake up Y/N wake-up Y/N'' you keep repeating in your head but it's no use this is no nightmare this is reality.

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multiverseofwonders · 3 years ago

Text

Much needed comfort

Hal Jordan GN Reader

･｡ﾟ☆: *.🌌🌟🌙🌟🌌.* :☆ﾟ.

Genre: fluff/comfort

Long AN, skip green to go to the fic//

Hi, I have orientation in about 5 hours and I've never been more mentally stressed in my life because I realized how deathly afraid I am of people but I'm not allowed to go back to full virtual so I kinda just wrote this as a comfort fic so I'd stop, panicking. It's a general fic and the thing bothering the reader is kept vague. The reader is also kept vague so any gender and and race can read 💚💚💚

Word count: 874. It's shorter than my normal stuff but I'm tired and stressed out. I just really needed to write something to make me feel better. This isn't proofread so my apologies for any mistakes.

Oh and psst, here's a song i listened to while writing this. I always associate it with Hal and when i listen to it i go :)

･｡ﾟ☆: *.🌌🌟🌙🌟🌌.* :☆ﾟ.

"Hey, sweetheart I'm baaaack!~"

A familiar and sweet voice sang out. Hal set down his keys and held a bouquet of assorted flowers; his own way of saying 'Sorry I'm home late... again.' Even if they were discounted he thought you wouldn't really mind. The house was dark but he didn't pay much mind to it. It was summer, not to mention one of the hottest days of the year. You, his beloved, were probably just hot and decided to turn them off.

"Sorry for being late again, I had to deal with something for the Justice League. Carol had my head for disappearing so suddenly again but the look on Sinestro's face when Guy flashed him was priceless. Oh and don't even get me started on how fun chasing him was. For someone who gets strong from the fear of others, you'd think he wouldn't be such a coward. I wish I could take you with me at times but…" he paused. A feeling of dread began to sink in. He realized that the house was silent. It was never this quiet.

Even on days when you were napping or asleep, the TV would be on for background noise. He carefully put down the bouquet and balled his fist. In almost an instant he donned the green, back, and white suit you loved so much.

"Ring…" he said quietly, sternly, yet worriedly. "Scan the house for any entities." His breath hitched in fear of hearing something like a 1 or 3. What if something had happened to you while he was gone? What if today was just a distraction?

"There are currently 2 conscious life forms in this house."

Hal paused for a second before asking another question

"And how many of the 2 are not intruders?"

"There are no intruders. All conscious life forms present live here."

A brief moment of silence passed before the sound of Hal powering down his ring broke it.

Hal hastily maked his way from the living room to your shared bedroom. The door was closed and he saw no light from underneath the door. He tensed up a bit. He had silently hoped that today you just left the TV on mute or something while asleep.

Hesitantly, he turned the knob and cracked the door open, still afraid that somehow, someway, something had happened. His mind raced thinking of the possibilities as the door creaked loudly, as a rush of cold air hit his exposed skin. Instead of seeing some big monster waiting to jump him, he just saw you.

Your rarely moving form curled up on your shared bed, beneath the covers you picked out when you two were getting furniture. Your back was facing away from the door, something you rarely did, as your side of the bed was on the far end and you said a long time ago that you wanted to see Hal whenever he came back.

He closed the door behind him silently and approached for a better look before something had broken his heart.

You weren't asleep. You were crying…

He wanted to tell you not to cry, to tell you that everything would be okay but instead, he just took off his shoes and jacket. He lifted the covers and placed his jacket you had loved so much on your shoulders before he joined you beneath the covers of your shared bed. You had flinched a bit and the initial feel of his touch, though you had heard everything and was aware that it was him, it somehow didn't click with you that he was actually home with you.

Hal shifts slightly, wrapping his arms around you and burying his head in your shoulder, and placing his slightly calloused hand over the back of yours. He doesn't say a word, doesn't ask what's wrong, and doesn't even dare think about asking if you want to talk about it, because sometimes those are the last things someone wants to hear.

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand and he placed soft kisses on your shoulder and the back of your neck. He's not completely sure of what to do, hell, he can't even tell if this is the best option, but he just wants to be there for you. He just lets you cry it out for now while he stays there with you.

He didn't think less of you for your broken sobs or whimpers. He didn't judge you for needing time to yourself. You weren't a bother to him and he wanted you to know it. For you and you only he'd spend all of his time and energy, his whole life even, to make sure you were okay. After all, he loved you. You were his one and only, his soul, and he'd rather die a million horrid deaths than let you stay this way.

He stayed there for hours just comforting you, even long after you stopped crying after you had shifted and brought his hand closer to you and kissed his hand ever so softly. After you had fallen asleep next to him. He stayed.

And for you, he'd spend more than a million eternities doing it again.

#hal jordan #hal jordan x reader #green lantern #green lantern x reader #gn reader #black reader #male reader #reader was kept vague so anyone can read #dc #dc comics #trans writer #black writer #dyslexic writer #comfort #comfort fic #hal's jacket <333 #dc x reader #tag readers ily #fuck you trans rights

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yelenasdog · 3 years ago

Text

moving out, moving on (mitch rapp x fem reader)

genre: fluff

summary: mitch and reader are taking another step towards mitch moving on, and it’s bittersweet.

words: 2.2k

warnings: drinking wine, kinda suggestive at times, talks abt katrina, mitch being emotional, my writing being melodramatic LOL

a/n: so. this was written during an all nighter that went to 7 am where i was listening to nicki minaj and eminem (???) for a good duration of it so. i’m very sorry if this is wonky at times! i hope u enjoy either way! mwah

🥍🥍🥍

The early morning rays streamed through thin fabric, draped above the assassin's window. Dust particles floated about, becoming visible within the section of light cast from the sun. The birds perched outside the small apartment tweeted happily from their branch, their songs beautiful.

Though, they were quite pesterous to the pair that lay together, wrapped in gray sheets. They reveled in the heat provided by the soft blanket, but even more so by the warmth from their joint bodies.

A mop of dark brown hair stirred, bringing one hand up to softly rub his eyes with his knuckle, the other hand snaking around the waist of the woman peacefully sleeping beside him. He watched with fond eyes as she lightly groaned, rolling to face away from the invasion of bright, turning towards her love.

Mitch smiled down at her sleepy behavior, reaching out and brushing stray hairs from her forehead. He reluctantly retracted it only moments later, forcing himself out of bed to go and prepare the two of them for their big day as best he knew how: Coffee.

His sock clad feet dragged across the hardwood as he went, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips and groggy-ness (a word Y/n had donned as her own, and Mitch had caught on to) still very prevalent in his entire system.

The Rhode Island air was frigid this time of year, Mitch allowing a grin to break out on his face upon remembrance of two nights previous, just how cold Y/n had been in the arena of the Providence Bruins hockey team. Nose pink, donned in a beanie proudly showing the team's logo, well, he had found himself a new lockscreen.

He shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of said groggy-ness, his body on autopilot as it made the beverages. He picked out her favorite mug from the cupboard (AKA a souvenir from Dubai he had picked up long ago) that she had adopted as her own, drinking out of it every time she would spend the night, almost like clockwork. He waited for his coffee beans to brew, scratching his stubble along his jaw. He flinched, though, when he felt two arms wrap around his middle. He quickly relaxed into the embrace upon realization of who the supposed assailant was, her head finding its way to rest on his bare shoulder.

“You scared me, there.” Mitch muttered, his larger hand inching towards her’s on his waist. He closed his eyes in content and she hummed in acknowledgment. Mitch allowed her to turn his figure to face her, still residing in her arms, seeing a bright smile plastered across her face.

“Only for a minute though, right?”

She laughed to which he chuckled in response, nodding in false surrender. “You’ve got me there, Y/n/n.” He mused, his eyes lighting up at the sound of the coffee machine beeping. He looked back to her, shrugging.

“I made you coffee, was gonna bring it to you in bed but, y’know.” He gestured to where she had now climbed up to sit on top of his counter, his sweatshirt around her that read “Brown University” across the front in large lettering pooling around her thighs.

“It’s alright, I need to get a move on anyway.” She smiled, hopping down to retrieve the mug, taking the warm ceramic from Mitch’s hands and sighing at the wondrous feeling that had spread through her whole body. She lifted it to her lips and drank, not surprised that her boyfriend had made it just the way she liked, to perfection.

“Thank you, baby.” She commented, reaching up to plant a chaste kiss on his lips. Her lip curled as she pulled away, Mitch already knowing what she was going to say, a laugh bubbling up in his throat.

“Mitch! Go brush your teeth, for the love of God!” She whined, watching as he scampered off towards the bathroom, snickering all the way. She rolled her eyes, downing the rest of her beverage before following where Mitch had gone.

Once in the bathroom after rinsing her and Mitch’s mugs, she tied her hair up, undressing and turning on the water (practically scalding hot, of course). Mitch had no objections to the temperature, though, seeing as it was his last time showering with her in that apartment, and in that apartment, period.

The whole thing felt very symbolic to Y/n, at least, seeing it as washing themselves clean for the next phase of their lives together, a sort of preparation. (Maybe not so much for Mitch, who really was just pleased for any excuse to see his girlfriend naked.)

They used generous amounts of soap, as not only were most of them nearly empty (in fact, a few were and if it weren’t for Y/n, they probably all would be), but also that they had decided to simply just buy new toiletries as a whole for their new place.

They giggled at the sight of each other, all lathered in bubbles and suds. Mitch reached a finger forward, wiping it from above her eyebrows and preventing it from falling into her eyes. Y/n brought her arms around his neck, her lips connecting with his. “Much better.” She regarded with a smirk, before leaning back in.

Nearly 40 minutes later, they both emerged from the shower, fresh faced and ready for the day ahead. He didn’t have a lot that needed to be packed up, given that his place came fully furnished, so it took all but 2 hours and 5 boxes to pack up Mitch Rapp’s life. It honestly might have taken even longer than originally would have been needed, as Y/n would stop every time she found something interesting, allowing Mitch to tell her all about whatever stories had been connected to the item.

It had started with the ridiculous bird lamp that sat on his bedside table, once belonging to Mr. Nazir, and ended with his lacrosse stick. (And, a promise that one day, he’d show her how to play. He swore he’d never seen her smile that big.)

They also threw away and donated a lot, some of Kat’s old stuff bringing a pained smile to his face as he would place it in a box simply labeled “Kat” in messy, thick letters. He wasn’t sure if the box would end up in his new closet, covered in dust and unopened, or back with her family. But either way, he wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to her completely, which Y/n was able to understand.

“Mitch? Did you pack away your coats already?” Y/n called out, opening up the closet near the front door. Her breath slightly hitched in her throat upon seeing all of the photos of Mansur, still pasted to the painted wood, the edges curling up.

“Nah, not yet, I was gonna handle that while you worked on the cupboards” He responded, busying himself with a text from Irene on his phone wishing him good luck. He looked up and saw what she had been asking about, his phone quickly sliding into his pocket as he made his way over to where she stood, visibly distressed.

“How long have these been here?” She questioned, feeling Mitch’s arms wrap around her shoulders. She brought her hands up to grasp onto his wrists, leaning backwards into him and biting into her lip.

“Since the beach, when I decided to go after Mansur. When everything happened with the CIA, it was kind of a whirlwind, I didn’t really have enough time to even think about taking it down when I was only even here for hours at a time.” He lightly chuckled, watching as she stepped forward and began to take the pictures down, crumbling them up in her hands.

She ran her fingertips over the indents left in the door, feeling the splinters against them. She turned back to Mitch, quipping how “Mr. Nazir won’t be too pleased about that.”

He smiled, joining her in taking all of the images down, ripping them or balling them up in his fists. All of them ended up in one of the old Target bags they had been using for trash, filling up an entire bag (minus a few Dunkin cups sitting at the bottom).

Mitch trailed a few tender kisses down the left side of her next, and though it sounds cheesy, a feeling of hopefulness flooded himself out of most of the bitterness that had been stuck inside for so long.

She turned her head to catch his lips with her own, and smiled into the kiss, her hand finding the back of his head. She lightly tugged on the chocolate colored strands and he groaned in content, to which her grin only widened. She pulled back, ruffling the top of his head before beginning to pack away the remnants of what was left in the closet. He rolled his eyes, following suit.

They had piled all of the boxes into the back of Mitch’s old decommissioned CIA vehicle (which was obvious that is was such, given that the side was littered with bullet holes and metallic scratches), returned the key to Mr. Nazir (who was glad to see Mitch go), and with that, they were off.

The new place wasn’t too far away, the pair taking a page out of Stan’s book and opting for a wonderful sense of privacy. It was nestled in a rural corner of Massachusetts, where Mitch would be able to come home to a sense of serenity. Y/n had already moved in her possessions, Mitch’s items being the last step. They’d also furnished the cozy cabin, trips to IKEA and Urban Outfitters (along with several other over-priced boutiques) making the place feel like a perfect fit for the couple.

Mitch’s strange and varied knick knacks made the house feel like a home, his lacrosse stick finding a new home by the front door, right under a hanging potted plant that Y/n and Mitch had decided to affectionately name “Charles” after a drunken night watching the X-Men movies. The house was littered in plants such as Charles, in fact, with Mitch’s first response to seeing all of them being “Wow, looks like a greenhouse in here.”

(Still, he’d grown to love the plant babies. Trust me.)

Two tired smiles made their ways to their faces as they both sat on their new sofa, admiring a job well done. Though several boxes still lay on the hardwood, unopened, they felt accomplished enough to pull out a bottle of wine that they had been saving for the occasion. It was an early housewarming gift from Stan, to which they were unprepared to take advantage of, it seemed.

“Baby, did we unpack the wine glasses earlier?” Mitch questioned, his mind slightly foggy of the day's events and early start.

“No, I think they’re still packed up.” She replied, to which Mitch’s eyes lit up, an idea forming and an imaginary lightbulb popping up over his head. He got up from his seat, a wide smile spreading across his face. Her expression mirrored his own, with an added quirked brow at his antics.

“I’ve got a solution, wait here.” Mitch responded, padding over to where he had remembered the new home of the mugs to be. Upon realization of what he was doing, Y/n smiled, rolling her eyes and bringing a hand up to run through her roots.

He shuffled back over moments later, his girlfriend recognizing one of the mugs in his hands as her favorite. He sat down next to her, with the bare skin of her thighs touching his own, jean clad. He bumped his knee to hers with a giggle, pouring out the Pinot Grigio into the mugs.

She gratefully accepted it as it was handed to her, smiling as she took a sip. Mitch did the same, the two of them leaning back into the soft sofa. Y/n brought her legs up, cuddling into his side and absorbing his warmth. He brought his free hand to her side, a strong hold giving them both a strong sense of comfort as she lay her head on his shoulder.

The box labeled “Kat” remained unpacked along with the others on the floor, dust already beginning to gather. Mitch had come across it a few times that day, each time more thoughtful than the last as he struggled to decide what it was exactly he was feeling towards the objects; or perhaps towards the memory of Katrina.

He had come to realize that it was acceptance he felt, deep in his stomach, settling down. It had been brought upon him in totality over time, today’s events being the final step. A soft smile spread across Mitch’s face, a single tear falling from his eye. Y/n looked up, eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“Mitch, are you alright?”

He leaned down, connecting their lips in a watery yet nectarous kiss, his hand beginning to rub small circles on her shoulder.

“Yeah, Y/n/n.”

The fire they had built earlier was roaring, now, casting a warm glow across the pair’s features. The damp trail down his cheek was highlighted, nearly glistening on his skin like an amber.

“I’m doin’ just fine.”

🥍🥍🥍

ok btw ik that wine in mugs would be a horrible idea but this is fiction so SHUSH

anyway i hope yall enjoyed! i love writing for mitch and i have lots of future fics for him, so if u liked this, please reblog and follow if ya wanna. mwah, go drink water and have some protein <333

xx hj

#mitch rapp x reader #mitch rapp imagine #american assassin fic #american assassin fanfiction #american assassin imagine #dylan obrien imagine #dylan o'brien imagine #dylan obrien x reader #dylan o'brien x reader #dylan o'brien x y/n #dylan o'brian imagine #mitch rapp x y/n #stiles x reader #we will rock queue #yelenasdog

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softmothprince · 4 years ago

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dragon’s claim

Zhongli's sweet darling needs a... gentle, reminder of what exactly they are to each other

this is a collab piece with one of my friends~ they are much better at writing fluff than i am and it hits me in the feels

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She’s not pouting. Absolutely not. She’s also not glaring at the woman currently leaning on Zhongli’s arm, staring up at him with heart eyes as he rambles happily about the tea he was buying. Her arms are crossed and she leans heavily into the railing of the bridge, jaw clenched and teeth grinding.

No. She is not jealous of some… some… harlot! With a loud huff, she pushes off the railing and walks off the bridge, hearing her sandals click against the wood and then stone. Once she’s close enough, the tall geo archon looks up and gives that stupidly cute smile, cheerfully calling her name.

She refuses to acknowledge him and waits for him to finish his conversation. “Ready to go home dear?” he said with a sweet smile. She doesn’t respond and starts walking away back through the market as gently pulls her close to him. He sighs and leads her to a side alley, where she leans against a wall still not looking at him. He leans in close.

“Is my darling jealous?” He whispers, tucking her hair back behind her ear. His fingertips trace around her temple, then under her eye, before cupping her face. “You know I only hold affection for you, little one.”

He tenderly presses kisses over her cheeks and nose, placing a firm one on her lips. He pulls back enough to stare into her eyes, seeing the internal fight she is having. To submit to him or continue to pout and sulk. It makes him sigh and shut his eyes- as though a headache was creeping up on him.

“It seems I am going to have to… remind you, of that fact.” He decides, sliding his hands down to her wrists and brings her hands up to kiss them. His eyes peek open, glowing a warm amber in the dying light as he gives her a heated look. “I’m going to make love to you until your heart understands how much I love you.”

She pulls her face away and with a sad pout says, "Remind me of what Rex Lapis?"

He frowns, "That's not-"

"Remind me that only I get jealous and that the great Rex Lapis doesn't?!" she said with tears starting to fall down her face. "I'm the only one who gets possessive over you and you don't! It's like it doesn't bother you if someone else looks at me like that! Maybe next time Kaeya tries to-"

He slammed his hands into the wall, pinning her to it, "Kaeya did what?" he said with a low growl, his pupils having shifted into slits.

She shuddered for a moment. Seeing the amount of territorial possessive in his eyes made her heart stop and she struggled to find the words.

“Little one,” he said sternly, “I’m going to ask you again. What did Kaeya do?”

She took a deep breath. “The other day Kaeya came by the office and was trying to flirt as usual and he asked me if I wanted to go with him and have a real man for a master,” she answered nervously.

A fierce growl ripped from Zhongli’s throat, almost like a suppressed roar. She could see his struggle to stay composed as his fangs grew and scales started to appear on his neck.

“That damn bastard,” he said with another growl, “He has the audacity to try and take my precious mate from me?” She let out a small gasp. His horns were starting to poke through. “How dare he. If I see him again I’ll-”

He was cut off when he felt her hug him tightly. “I don't want anyone else!” she said before looking up at him. “The only master I want is you. My dragon, my Zhongli. So please don’t let anyone else try and take you from me either.” Her eyes on the verge of tears.

He sighed and kissed her forehead. “We’re going home. Now. I still have to teach you a lesson.” She nodded, “Yes Master.”

~*~

Her heart pounds in her chest, loud enough she wouldn’t be surprised if he heard it. Though, he’d had to be listening to that instead of the sounds coming from his hand playing with her cunt. After what had happened earlier, he had taken her home and immediately stripped them both of their clothes, pinning her down onto their bed.

It took him only a few seconds to pounce on her, his hand delving between her thighs to her pussy. It was wet and sticky, slick coating her thighs and his fingers. His narrowed gaze shifts from her pussy as he leans forward, latching onto her throat. His teeth scrape over her pulse, then travel down to the crook of her neck.

A deep scar laid on the soft flesh, marking her as his. His heart, his love, his mate. He eagerly kisses and nibbles around it, the scarred flesh much more sensitive and giving him the reactions he wanted. Her breath tickled his ear, every moan, sigh, and whisper of his name making him shiver.

He runs his other hand up her torso, cupping her breast and flicking his thumb gently over her nipple. She trembled more, waiting for him to snap and take her. She saw how fired up he had been earlier when just mentioning another man, she knows that flame is still burning fiercely in him.

And when he pulls away from her neck to look into her eyes, she can see it flickering in those piercing gems. A small bead of sweat drips down her neck and between her breasts, catching his attention. He doesn’t hesitate to follow it, kissing along the soft curve of her breasts, his tongue curling around her nipples when his mouth latches onto them.

Zhongli hums and pulls his hand away from between her legs, glancing at the mess he caused. She was far from cumming, but he had all night to… remind and teach her exactly what it meant to be his mate. Strong hands suddenly pull her across the bed until her legs dangle off the end, feeling a small burning from where the sheets rubbed.

He kneels between her thighs, nuzzling his cheek along the soft flesh and kissing the inside of her knee as he looks at her soaked pussy, a deep croon building in his chest. She shifts her still trembling legs, only to find them suddenly being grabbed and pinned to strong shoulders as a head of dark hair disappears between them.

She can hear him hum and whisper something, then say much louder in a teasing tone: “Itadakimasu~”

Something firm and hot swipes over her swollen clit, making her jolt with a loud yelp. Another swipe and she lets her head fall back onto the pillows, hands balling up into the sheets. Zhongli peers up at her through his lashes, taking in her reactions and growls when her thighs try to shut. He pushes them apart again, huffing against her cunt.

“Do not. Do that.” He scolds, then dives back in before she could speak, keeping his eyes on her face.

Loud slurps and wet smacks fill the room, blending in with his deep moans of pleasure. Her own suddenly reaches a higher pitch, her hips jumping when she feels his fingers slowly push inside and stroke the inside walls of her pussy. Her hand snaps down to tangle into his hair, tugging and causing more growls and moans to pour from his chest.

“I will never tire of this,” He purrs, pulling back slightly to look at how easily his fingers are sucked into her. “I will never tire of how beautiful you are when I pluck you like a lyre. The sounds you make are as sweet as birds' songs.” He dips down to suck on her clit, feeling her nails dig into his scalp.

“Your scent and taste are far better than the finest wines I’ve ever had. I will never tire of this.” He repeats, making sure that when he slowly stands up he catches her flustered gaze. “I will never tire of you.” He whispers, leaning over her body.

“Master-” She gasps and is cut off by him grabbing her knees, pushing them back against her chest.

She watches with wide eyes as his appearance smoothly changes, dark scales bleeding from his skin, fangs growing over his lips and horns poking through his hair. Zhongli rubs his fingers- no, they feel more like claws now -down her thigh and grabs his cock, lining up with her entrance.

His cock slides in easily, the walls of her cunt squeezing and sucking him in deeper. He bows his head, watching his dick thrust in and out, his breath picking up and sounds similar to growling building more and more. He returns his grip to her knees, leaning on them as his hips slap loudly against hers.

Sweat drips down his brow, his slitted pupil fluctuating as he looks at her face. Her cheeks are blushed a deep red, eyes rolling into the back of her head and mouth parted to let out moans and incoherent babbles.

“Master- Master ple-please, mo-more~” She sobs, nails scraping and digging into the skin of his arms and shoulders.

The small pinpricks of pain are lost in the throes of pleasure, his nerves burning with every thrust. He dips down to her ear, moaning and purring for a moment before managing to speak.

“Mate… you… breed… gonna fill you… so full… mine!…” He shudders, the familiar feeling of swelling at the lower part of his cock growing more and more. The knot kisses the outside of her cunt, dipping in ever so slightly before disappearing.

He grunts, one hand dropping her leg and going to grab her throat. He doesn’t squeeze to choke her, just presses enough to get her attention, growling her name when she only whimpers. Once those pretty eyes are on him, he lets his growing knot finally push in completely, feeling her entire body freeze as it registers the sudden sensation.

“Breathe, little one.” His voice is deeper. More rough than the usual smooth silk.

She finally lets out a sob, his knot pushing and rubbing her sweet spots deliciously. He manages a few more thrusts, until the knot is too swollen to pull out again. Does that stop him? Absolutely not. He humps and grinds like a man gone wild, slamming his mouth to hers to hide the animalistic sounds pouring out of him.

Her tongue flicks over his fangs, making him shudder and grip her tighter. He removes the hand from her throat and delves it between their bodies, finding her clit and- taking care of his claws -rubs it swiftly. A few more well placed thrusts, his teeth nipping her bottom lip, and she convulses around his cock while crying out his name.

The ravenette drops onto his arms over her, continuing to move as he himself cums thick and hot inside her. He presses his forehead against hers, sharing their breaths and staring into each other's eyes as they slowly come down from their high. Both of them are shaking, his darling more so.

Ever so slowly, he lets her leg go and brings his hand up to cup her face, stroking his thumb over her cheek and wiping away the tears of pleasure she let out. His other hand goes to hers, bringing it from his shoulder and to press against his chest- right above his racing heart. He can feel hers through their fingers.

He kisses her hand and then dips his forehead to meet hers while their breath slowly steadies and his knot recedes. Once he can move again he carefully begins to clean her up and wrapping her in one of the blankets before sitting next to her on the bed. His dragon features slowly fading.

He pulled her in close, wrapping his arms around her and planting soft kisses on her temple as she nuzzled into his neck. He smiled at his darling as she relaxed in his arms, letting out a small laugh remembering her pouty face from earlier which caused her to look up at him. He kissed her forehead. She was so unbelievably cute when she got jealous or pouted. Something about her moments of attitude made him love her so much more.

He then looked into her eyes with a warm smile. "My precious darling, don't you know that I will spoil you with whatever your heart desires? Whether it be riches and gifts or," he kisses her hand softly, "my time and affection. Whatever you ask of me is yours."

She blushes and tries to hide her face in his neck but he holds her by the chin,

"Don't forget. Dragons mate for life and you darling are my mate. Understand?"

She nods her head, while gazing into his eyes.

"With words my dear," he says leaning in to graze his fangs on her neck as a small reminder of what they had just done.

"Y-yes sir," she says blushing.

He smiles and pulls her in closer while caressing her cheek. "Good girl. Now let's rest shall we? Rest and get all the cuddles you want from your Dragon."

#zhongli #genshin zhongli #zhongli x you #fem reader #genshin impact #reader #zhongli x reader #lemon #writing

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cryptidmullet · 3 years ago

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more renga headcanons bc i miss them

- rekis not one to like. hide his praise or anything he compliments langa a lot but just. every so often he'll grab langas wrist and look at him all soft and say "youre amazing langa" very reminiscent of how langa praises him and it just makes langa feel so fucking mushy and in love

- rekis used to affection from his family but thats kinda it and langas family was never super affectionate but he felt loved still but after his dad died he just felt super lonely but when they meet and start getting super close they both just feel like theyre overflowing with love both given and received and i just thinks that beautiful

- rekis chronically bad at opening bottles bc they hurt his hands and hes always embarrassed but he goes up to langa and is like. open please. and langa does KKFMSMFND

- it gets to the point he'll just go up to him with a bottle and langa will open it without being prompted

- yknow when youre really tired and you feel like youre floating in the ocean reki has that but he feels like hes rolling back and forth on his skateboard

- since he first started skating the movement and feeling got so ingrained in him that he'll be sitting at his desk or laying in bed and just feels the sensation of tick tacking like hes not moving he just can feel it like a ghost in his muscles and brain

- sometimes reki just wants to. stand on his board like not do anything just stand on it so he stores skateboards in his room and when he gets restless he'll just stand on one for a little bit

- reki talks to himself a lot he'll be doing some mindless task and then have a pretend conversation with nobody without even realizing it

- whenever reki cries or gets choked up about smth drinking water for some reason makes him feel better

- reki pokes the twins' bellies and blows raspberries on them to make them laugh :)

- langa cant pick up rice with chopsticks when he first moves to okinawa and reki makes fun of him but still teaches him how to do it

- langa has acne along his jawline its just bumpy and stuff

- reki wakes up and then lays in bed watching videos as long as he can before he gets up

- he also holds his phone like two inches away from his face

- reki uses dark mode langa uses light mode until reki notices it forcibly changes it

- rekis phone is always at like really low brightness bc his eyes are sensitive

- its battery is also always low bc its an old phone and it takes forever to charge

- he takes a lot of pictures and videos of langa just for no reason half of them are blurry and out of focus and langas not paying attention but he keeps all of them

- he has a bookmark on instagram called 'langa' and its full of stuff that reminds reki of him or he wants to show him later

- langa and reki pair up for a presentation once and when theyre presenting they cannot stop laughing reki says um and pauses for a moment too long and langa does one of those long nose exhale laughs and it makes reki snort and then they keep messing up and barely get through it and when they walk back to their desks they shove each other while the class laughs

- langa has a really cheap purple phone case he got at walmart and rekis like dude thats so boring so he makes stickers for him to stick to it

- langa loves them but he also has this weird anxiety about putting stickers places bc he likes them and doesnt want to eventually get rid of whatever the sticker is on but reki tells him he'll make him more whenever he gets another phone so hes okay with it

- langa doesnt really fidget unless hes nervous and then he twists his fingers around but when hes sitting he rolls his right ankle a lot and his foots like always twitching really minutely

- reki carries around a hairband partly for his sisters (and eventually langa) and partly so he can fidget with it

- langa carries one around too for the same reason but one day reki forgets it during work so langa gives it to him bc he looks restless

- and langa kinda feels really bare and doesnt know what to do without it so he just rubs his wrist a lot but he doesnt mind

- reki will get up to go do smth but just sit down curled in a ball on the floor bc he gets distracted for whatever reason and after like 20 minutes of scrolling through his phone hes like wait what was i doing

- reki has a scar on his lip/chin bc he bailed really hard and hit his chin on the concrete and bit through his lip

- langas a dry ass texter when he and reki first meet bc he didnt really have anyone to text before

- but eventually he googles how to turn auto caps and everything changes

- hes actually funnier over text sometimes bc hes less restrained

- hes made a ur mom joke and then was like wait i take it back i love your mom im sorry :c

- and he points out every time reki misspells a word just to annoy him

- reki scrolling through tiktok and he randomly starts crying at a wholesome video and langas like.. you good man and rekis like look at this FRICKING tiktok dude and then langas crying too KFMSMFND

- obligatory "we make a good team" line idk the context ill think about it later but theyre gay they have to say it

- langa promised his mom hed go to the store but had to do a last minute shift at dope sketch and rekis like oh ill do it for you i already know what you get

- langa has a sweet tooth he loves candy and hot chocolate and all that stuff and reki is lowkey an enabler he always brings candy w him or has a bag in his room

- when reki laughs he wraps his arms around his stomach and hes the type to go silent when he laughs hard enough

- he'll go from standing normally to bent over to crouched down to falling and rolling on his back or side from laughing so hard

- its pretty rare but sometimes he snorts in the middle of a laugh too

- when langas laughing Really hard its loud and kind of wheezy and almost like a cackle and he covers his mouth most of the time just out of habit

- he curls up when he laughs too so he'll be laying on rekis bed or the floor and reki says smth that catches him totally off guard and he starts fucking cackling and brings his knees up to touch his forehead hitting his leg and wheezing

- langa helps reki teach chihiro and nanaka how to ride a bike and the four of them go on little bike rides together occasionally

- the twins pulling on langas pant leg until he bends down so they can whisper gibberish in his ear and the first time langa is like ??? but then he learns to just laugh and nod

- all of rekis sisters coming into rekis room while langa is there to be like :D langa :D and reki herding them out and yelling we're busy and then just flopping on his bed to continue scrolling through his phone in silence

- reki does the older sibling thing and just stands in koyomis doorway

- miya makes a meme reference that reki doesnt get and hes like god youre old and it wounds reki on a personal level

- reki has a piece of graphite just like permanently stuck in his leg bc when he was younger his friend accidently stabbed him with it and it broke off and just. stayed there

- reki gets super obsessed with one song for a week or two and he'll listen to it on loop like 10 times in a row and he learns the lyrics to them no matter the language and by proxy langa always has the stuck in his head

#this is so long already but i literally have a 21 page google doc of sk8 hcs #i miss them sm theyre so in love wtf #renga #sk8 the infinity #sk8 #sk8 reki #sk8 langa #snowear #sunset snow #lanreki #langa x reki #i seriously have so many hcs its kinda a problem #if this does well ill post more LOL #sk8 miya

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 4 years ago

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Though I Can't Recall Your Face, I Still Got Love For You

Summary: Spencer’s always been ambivalent about his birthday, but self proclaimed lover of birthday’s Y/N attempts to change that.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Warnings: Spencer’s kind of a sad bitch. Question: Why do I like writing sad Spencer?

Word Count: 2.5 K- ish

Author’s Note: prompts come from here this one is 4,8,25 from @shemarmooresfedora !! please go check out her blog on here and on Ao3!! Also, I’m stilling taking requests for numbers. I’ll update for which ones have been taken 💕

Though I Can’t Recall Your Face, I Still Got Love for You

Birthdays were always hard when all you had to do is go home to an empty house. No sounds of friends crowding the dining room table, no laughter from family members, no well wishes or pats on the back. All there is, is the stillness of silence and the emptiness of solitude. Spencer thought that he was used to it. He remembers the way the sun felt on his face the morning he woke up on his 18th birthday. His first thought wasn’t it’s my day, but it’s the day I put my mom away. The day Spencer became a man, was the first day he really wished he was a little boy again.

Ever since then, birthdays have always been a sore spot for Spencer. They just bring up sour tasting memories of his mother refusing to get out of bed or his father staying late at work to avoid coming home to a wife who doesn’t remember her own husband or a son who he can’t seem to understand. Birthdays, for Spencer, have always been just another day. Or at least, that’s what Spencer tells himself on the long ride up the elevator to the 6th floor of the BAU.

The bullpen is dark when Spencer walks out from the elevator. Paperwork and manila folders clutter the desks. Even Spencer’s workspace seems to reflect himself: frozen in time. He sits at his desk, a photograph of him and his mother placed at the right corner smiles up at him. A newer photograph, one of him and Y/N, sits right next to the one with his mom. There’s one with Derek and Penelope, one with him and Gideon at his Academy graduation, and one with him and JJ, who’s holding Henry. One of him and Luke at a bar, Penelope in the background drunk and singing.

Spencer loves photographs, but recently he’s been obsessed with them. Ever since his mother’s diagnosis, the fear that would ever forget the faces that find a home in his heart paralyzes him. These pictures may very well one day tell a much more older, much more grayer Spencer the story of his life. Today, in his mind, is another day closer to his fate.

His birthday means he’s another day closer to forgetting the way Y/N eyes sparkle when she drinks too much rose, or Henry’s laugh at Spencer’s magic tricks, or feeling when Derek calls him his brother. No one, not even Y/N, knows that Spencer has a drawer filled up of photographs he’s collected over the years. He can’t deal with forgetting the principles of electromagnetism, but forgetting his family? Spencer wouldn’t have anything left, but the smiling faces of familiar strangers, whose names are just out of reach.

Spencer rubs his eyes with the ball of his palm. He knows he’s not going to get work done. Spencer spins in his swivel chair and he’s nearly startled out of his quiet thoughts when his phone rings.

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he says, swallowing his emotions as he shuts the drawer on the shiny faces.

“You really need to start checking your caller ID, Spence,” Y/N says, with a chuckle. Spencer can practically feel the way she’s smiling. For some reason, her teasing never made him feel bad.

“Well, what do I owe this pleasure?” Spencer asks. He drums his fingers on his desk, waiting for Y/N to respond.

“It seems like we have a missing person case,” Y/N starts, “6’2 male, brown hair, some say his eyes are green and some say they’re brown, so we’ll go with hazel, and he’s like ridiculously smart, but also kind of dumb for avoiding his girlfriend on his birthday,”

Spencer sighs as he launches himself into a long spin in his chair. He’s not surprised that Y/N is calling him; she’s always loved birthdays. She’s always been someone to someone. It’s taken some time to adjust to the fact that Spencer is Y/N’s someone.

“Are you coming to rescue me?” Spencer asks sheepishly. He leans back in his chair, watching the elevator. Y/N might think she’s slick, but Spencer’s sure he knows her better than he knows geographical profiling.

“Maybe, can you tell me how fast elevators can travel up to the 6th floor?”

Spencer opens his mouth, ready to fire statistics on top of statistics, but is silenced by Y/N’s arrival. Spencer tries to remain neutral, remain ambivalent about this day being something more than any other day, but Y/N makes it difficult.

As soon as her feet leave the elevator she launches herself at Spencer, not caring that he’s less than capable of catching anything. In a tangle of arms and legs, Y/N manages to sit herself on Spencer’s lap. His hand snakes around her waist; he holds her so tight that it’s almost like he’s afraid she’s going to get blown out like birthday candles on a cake.

“I can’t believe you thought you could sneak out and come to work, on your birthday of all days,” Y/N says quietly, she threads her fingers through Spencer’s hair. She likes how long it’s gotten and his curl pattern is almost fully restored to their original health from before he went to prison.

“How’d you find me?” Spencer asks, thinking that birthdays might not be so bad if they all involve Y/N sitting in his lap and trying to braid his hair.

“Do you seriously have to ask that? Only the Oracle of Quantico,” Y/N teases and Spencer rolls his eyes, thinking he should have known that Garcia would be the one to track his location for Y/N.

“It’s vaguely illegal for a federal agent to tap into those databases, especially for a civilian,” Spencer counters. Y/N, smiling at him, dips her head down to press light kisses on his eyebrows and down the bridge of his nose.

“So’s an ex-Army Ranger giving me his key card to sneak into the BAU,”

“Luke’s in on this too,” Spencer tries to sound upset, but his heart swells at the thought of Penelope, Luke, and Y/N all instigating for his birthday.

“Of course he is, I had to bring out the big guns for my Spencer’s birthday,” Y/N quips. Her fingers climb up Spencer’s sides, tickling him. She likes the kind of laugh that he lets out when she tickles him. It’s a laugh that’s unguarded and full of life. It’s a laugh that doesn’t hold anything back. It’s a laugh that relieves the pressure that festers deep inside him.

Y/N’s hands may make him laugh, but nothing makes him beam more than hearing Y/N call him “my Spencer”. She says it so simply, like my doesn’t even exist, like it’s an involuntary muscle being flexed. For Y/N, loving Spencer came as easy and effortless as breathing.

“You do love birthdays,” Spencer says, looking up at Y/N. He spins them around in his swivel chair, giggling as she lets out a gleeful squeal. Spencer grows dizzy, but he thinks he’s dizzier from Y/N’s love than from spinning in his chair.

“I love your birthday more than any other day, even my birthday,” Y/N says, getting up from Spencer’s lap to pick up the canvas grocery bags she brought with her.

“I was never one for birthdays,” Spencer says quietly. Y/N, more than anyone, knows Spencer’s challenging past. She knows his fears and she knows his dreams. She haunts his every waking moment; somehow a mercurial threat and a constant promise at the same time.

“I know, but I’m sure I’ll make you grow to love them,” Y/N says, “I wasn’t sure which flavor you wanted so I got all of them. Wawa has a surprisingly good selection of Turkey Hill,”

She takes out three gallon sized cartons of ice cream. One coffee with chocolate chips, one butter pecan, and one Moose Tracks. She hands Spencer a spoon and a napkin before sitting down on the floor and opening a carton of the ice cream.

“I do love dairy,” Spencer says, eyeing the ice cream, but considering the consequences of eating the creamy desert. Spencer shoves the statistics about the effects of dairy on a 40 year old with lactose intolerance down and takes his spot next to Y/N on the floor.

He goes to open his carton of ice cream, coffee with chocolate chips, but before he can dig his spoon into the tub, Y/N grabs his wrist.

“No! Spence, wait. Here, take these. And you need to light it,” she says, plopping a couple lactose pills in his hand and digging out a pack of candles and a lighter from her bag.

“Y/N are you out of your mind! We can’t light something in the BAU, god, Emily will kill me,” Spencer says nervously.

“Spence, do you really think Emily Prentiss is going to give me shit for lighting a candle for your birthday in the middle of the office. That woman lives on the edge,�� Y/N waves him off and lights a single candle.

Spencer, staring at the lit candle, listens as Y/N sings “Happy Birthday” to him. Sitting criss cross on the floor of the BAU, he watches as the candle light illuminates Y/N’s face. She looks almost ghostly in the dark with the flickering light making her eyes glow. Y/N wishes the song and grasps his hand and squeezes hard.

“Make a wish, baby,” Y/N tells him. She really believes in wishes. Spencer wishes he could believe in wishes. He desperately wants to believe that Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos are somehow tying knots in the places where his string has been cut.

But more than anything, Spencer can’t bear to forget the face of the women across from. He can’t bear to one day not recognize the way her hand feels in his. He can’t accept the possibility of Y/N being anything less than the person he knows best in this world. Spencer doesn’t particularly care for the metaphor of the light going out. But his fears are put at bay when Y/N leans over and pecks his cheek. He can feel her grinning against his skin and like some virus contracted through touch, it’s contagious. Y/N breaks apart from Spencer and motions for him to eat some ice cream. They sit, shoulder to shoulder, against the front of Spencer’s desk eating their ice cream.

“Thank you, for making my birthday special. It’s been a hard year,” Spencer says, letting the tension in the air speak for itself, “my mom didn’t remember me the other day. I hate seeing her like that,”

“I know, sweetheart. You’ve been through so much. That’s why you need to tell me these things,” She says, setting down her ice cream. Y/N places her hands on Spencer’s shoulders, guiding him to place his back against her chest. His head rests in the crook of her neck. Spencer can feel her steady heart beat against his back. It’s a constant, patterned drum amidst the chaos of his mind.

“Can we take a picture, you know, just to remember this day,” Spencer asks, his voice laced with trepidation. He can feel Y/N nod, and move to grab her phone from her pocket.

Spencer sits up and scoots over to open the bottom drawer of his desk. He pulls out an old camera, one where you have to wait for the picture to appear on the print out. He likes the charm in older things, you really have to work for it. He likes the effort that you have to put into getting the picture made.

“Going old school, I see,” Y/N teases as she catches sight of Spencer’s old camera. He returns to his spot, snuggled against her back. Their legs stick out on the floor, his much longer than Y/N’s. Her arms snake around his torso, holding him tight. Spencer holds the camera out, facing them to capture their faces in some archaic selfie style.

The light flashes before Spencer’s eyes, and Y/N’s kiss on the top of his head burns a hole that instantly leaves him craving more. He’d let her draw any pattern she desires, as long as her kisses are the medium and he is her canvas.

“Can you tell me what you wished for?” Y/N asks, her voice low.

Spencer, looking off into the distance, makes a disgruntled noise. He can feel Y/N’s fingers crawl up his sides and her arms encasing his body. She’s shielding him from his demons, but little does she know that the most menacing foe is his mind.

“You’re really not supposed to, but considering you’re my wish I think you have the right to know,” Spencer offers, “I wished that I’ll never forget you. Never forget this life we made together,” He feels his chest constrict. Mentioning his fear makes it seem more palpable; more real.

“Spencer, have you felt that way for a long time?,”

Spencer takes a deep breath, letting the floodgates open.

“I’ve felt like this my whole life, Y/N. I’m terrified to forget you. To forget our children that I haven’t even met yet. Forget who I am. I’m terrified that I’m going to leave you behind in a murky past that I can never remember,” Spencer says. He chokes back the pain. He doesn’t want Y/N memories of him to be marred by fear and darkness.

“This is about your mom, right. Spencer, listen to me. I’ll love you even if that comes true. I don’t need you to recall my face to know you still got love for me. And you're not leaving me behind. I won’t allow that. I’m not leaving you behind, baby,” Y/N says, her voice the most soothing cure.

She’s a power mixture of biochemicals and neurotransmitters. She heals him at an epigenetic level and restores him piece by piece. Her medicine is love.

Or maybe her love is his medicine.

“I’ve never been this scared of losing something, because I never had someone to lose,” Spencer mumbles, he twists his head so his breath is warm against Y/N’s neck. Somehow in this twisted position, Spencer has never felt safer.

“You can’t lose something that can’t be lost, my Spencer. I’m not going anywhere,”

“I love you to the moon and to Saturn,” Spencer says kissing along Y/N’s collarbones.

Like the pictures in the drawer, Spencer tucks away the fears of the future. He swallows the threat of forgetting everything because the promise of love swallows him whole. He craves a future with Y/N with the possibility of forgetting who she is over the life he’d live if he left her behind.

She said it best, even if one day he can’t recall her face, he’ll still have love for her.

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olderthanthemorning · 4 years ago

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gold rush (bill weasley) part 1

pairing: bill weasley x reader

summary: “everybody wonders what it would be like to love you.” bill weasley is a golden boy, but i don’t like a gold rush. (based on the song “gold rush” by taylor swift)

wc: 3.1k

warnings: none, someone walking in on someone else but nothing dirty, swearing

a/n: hello! so i didn’t mean for this to be so long lol but anyway, there will be more. once again, a song has inspired me to write. i feel like gold rush totally describes bill and so i tried to run with that. as always, i would love comments/feedback. also if you like it please reblog/follow! i want to start taking requests!

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what a cliche it would be to be hopelessly in love with bill weasley. the charming gryffindor was the poster child of his house, his year, and his family. don't get it twisted, it wasn't that he didn't deserve all the praise; he was kind to younger students, witty in his classes, and bloody brilliant in your shared defense against the dark arts class. you just found it a little funny that everyone he met instantly fell in love with him. how could you take someone like that seriously?

"so you really don't think he's cute?" your friend, rose, asked you as you entered the great hall, the smell of fresh bread and pumpkin juice temporarily distracting you.

"no, that's actually not what i said. he's quite fit, it's just think people make too much of a big deal about it. sometimes i think you'll wet yourself when he looks at you in the corridor." you threw yourself down at your table and started reaching for the pile of sandwiches in the middle of the table. if you two wanted to make it to the beginning of the gryffindor vs ravenclaw game, this would have to be a quick lunch.

"well it's not everyday you see an arse like that in the corridor!" rose says. taken aback by her forward statement, you shove her shoulder, "gross, rose." after a few more minutes of conversation and inappropriate comments from rose, you down the last of your juice and pull your companion off the bench and toward the door.

you could hear cheers long before you were close to the game. after finding a spot with your house, you saw madam hooch release the snitch and the players shoot up to start following the quaffel. a flash of red hair passes in front of the stands as another weasley, charlie, flies at lightning speed.

The game was action packed, but not short. your cold muscles ached a bit as you moved them to walk into your dorm and sit on your bed. as if reading your mind, your roommates crowd into the bathroom to start the showers. you groan, knowing that at this rate, it'll be an hour before you can warm yourself with hot water. then a thought crosses your mind. the prefect bathrooms. your sister had been a prefect years before and had told you where they were, something you were silently thanking her for now. you gathered your towel and robe and slipped out of the room before anyone could ask where you were going.

The prefect bathroom was large and dimly lit, something that made it seem even colder when you walked in. on the far wall there was a myriad of knobs, all leading into a large bath that looked like it could hold your entire upper level herbology class. throwing down your stuff on a nearby bench, you rush to turn all the knobs you can, as blue, and green, and sparkling gold liquids splash into the basin along with steaming water. you slid out of your cold clothes and into the tub, hissing at the difference in temperature between your skin and the water. the water was heavenly and you sunk in until your shoulders were under the water, pulling your hair up from the nape of your neck so not to wet it. the room had filled with the scent of lavender and honeysuckle, and you closed your eyes to take it in.

suddenly there was a creak that you immediately recognized as the door opening. 'fuck, fuck, fuck,' you thought. you could chance jumping out and hoping the person didn't see you naked or you could wait to get caught. you decided that your clothes were too far, and started frantically ushering as many bubbles to you as possible, trying to cover your body. you turn your back to the entrance just as you see the shadow of someone begin to round the corner.

"oh, shit, i'm sorry i didn't realize someone was in here." you wanted to curl up into a human ball of embarrassment. not only did the voice belong to a boy, but you knew exactly which boy it belonged to, and it rhymed with will beasley. unsure of how to respond, you just let out a nervous laugh, not wanting to let your voice give you away as someone who was definitely not a prefect.

"okay, well... i'll just come back later." you waited until you could no longer hear footsteps to climb out of the tub. once dry and wrapped in your fluffy robe, you reentered the hallway, but only after sticking your head out to make sure bill wasn't waiting by the door. as you walked back to your dorm, you could only begin to imagine all the teasing rose would give you when she found out he had seen you in the bath. luckily, by the time you cocooned yourself in your comforter, she was already asleep. you would have to tell her in the morning, or maybe you wouldn't.

by breakfast the three days later, the bath incident had left your mind. after the first 24 hours, you felt sure bill hadn't suspected anything, and even if he did, there was no way he could tell who the student in the bath was. you had to pause with the spoon of porridge halfway between your bowl and your mouth, because rose's impression of flitwick had made you burst into laughter. an owl fluttered down in front of you, dropping an envelope with your mother's handwriting on the front. you ripped it open and began to read.

"Dear y/n,

Hello love, I hope you're doing well with all of your classes this term. I'm writing to tell you that we'll be spending part of the Easter holiday with one of my friends and her family. Her name is Molly and she has two sons at hogwarts. Be sure to say hello to them, Molly says they're nice boys. The three of you can leave school together to travel home for break. I miss you dearly and can't wait to hear about your term in person.

love always,

mum"

rose put her chin on my shoulder to read the letter. "i didn't know your mum was friends with the weasley's," she giggled, obviously thinking about bill. "yeah, well that makes two of us." to be honest, you never really realized your mum had close friends. there was no reason for her not to, it had just never occurred to you that your parents were people outside of being your parents.

"actually, it makes four of us," you whipped around to see bill and charlie, a letter you assumed was similar to yours grasped in bill's hand. "my mum wrote they met here as kids and ran into each other a few weeks ago in diagon alley." his easy smile was attractive and his hair fell effortlessly into place, with one soft strand too short to be pushed behind his ear. it looked almost like someone had written it in, it was so perfectly placed.

"wicked," escaped rose's lips as a strained whisper. you elbowed her, praying that she would come to her senses and start acting like a real person.

"listen, i got to run to practice, but let's meet in the main entrance tomorrow morning, yeah? 10am?" charlie butt in, reaching around his brother to grab a banana off your table and without waiting for even a nod, turned to catch up with the rest of his team at the other end of hall.

"sorry about him, he's..." bill was suddenly looking down at you with a slightly funny expression, a small grin on his face.

"preoccupied?" you finish his sentence, marking the first words you've said since he approached you.

"yeah," then, he leans down close enough that only you can hear him when he says, "next time you go for a soak, i suggest trying the orange blossom bubbles," maintaining eye contact with you the whole time.

taken aback, you feel yourself get blush and lean back, your brow furrowed, "what? how did you-"

"i didn't realize you were so interested in astronomy, y/n," he says a little louder, standing back to his tall figure and casually tapping the back of his neck.

you mimic his motion and remember the small tattoo of a moon that sat at where your neck met your shoulders. you close your eyes and cover them with one hand. maybe if you shut your eyes hard enough and clicked your heals he would disappear. or even better, you would. "i'll see you tomorrow," he sent another cheeky smile and turned to walk away, hands in his pocket, laughing quietly to himself.

"um... what the fuck," rose spoke, making you realize you were still watching his back. "what was that about? how does he know about your tattoo?"

"he might've walked in on my while i was bathing a few days ago," you said, bracing yourself for the inevitable.

"WHAT?!" it was even louder than you expected. honestly, you loved rose but bringing attention to herself, and by proxy, you, was something she had a knack for, but not in an endearing way.

"would you calm down please? everyone was taking too long in the showers so i went to the prefects' bathroom and he came in. he only saw my back so i didn't think he knew who it was, but i forgot to account for moony back there," you rolled your eyes, how could you forget about something that you had chosen to put on your body forever?

"merlin, that's so not fair, do you know what i would give to be seen naked by bill weasley?" once again, you were slightly horrified by a comment made by your best friend. this is what you didn't understand about everyone's fascination surrounding bill. even as he walked away, you had noticed a handful of other students following him with their eyes. it was a fact that bill was attractive, beautiful even, but the way people would do anything for his attention freaked you out. being treated like that had to go to someone's head eventually.

"okay, that's enough of that. i'm just glad he didn't give me detention or something," you went back to your breakfast, although you were no longer very hungry.

the journey to the weasley's cottage by the sea was uneventful. in the morning, you boarded the hogwarts express with charlie and bill. you didn't speak much, but read a book in your shared compartment while charlie talked to bill non-stop about the latest quidditch techniques. "and i've been reading about dragons, and how they fly, and i think it would be really cool to try some of their flying patterns on a broom. it would be really hard and i'd have to make a few adjustments, because obviously i'm not a huge majestic creature, but if it worked, it'd be brilliant!" you looked up to see charlie on the edge of his seat, trying to mark some of the flying patterns, and looking intently at bill, as if waiting for him to be just as excited. "that sounds great, charlie, really. how did you start on about dragons?" bill quickly caught your eye and tried to share some of the amusement his brother brought him. "hagrid gave me a book, they're really something, bill."

your party gets off at king's cross, and you followed the older boy through the station, until he stops in front of a women's toilet. "uh, i think the men's is over there," you said pointing behind you. charlie laughed. "hah," bill faked a monotone laugh, "there's a portkey inside that will take us to shell cottage. dad said it was a," he looked down at a paper in his hand, "toilet brush. lovely. right, we have three minutes until it leaves. ladies first." he gestured and you entered the room. it was somewhat cramped with the three of you and your trunks, but in the corner was a white, and thankfully clean looking, toilet brush. you grabbed it and held it out for the others to hold on too. after about 10 seconds of waiting, you felt your body being pulled up and then like you had just jumped off a high diving board at a pool. falling, but strangely still feeling like you were upright. before long, your feet hit solid ground again, well somewhat solid ground. the sand made your landing shaky, as it moved under your weight. you looked up and saw a cozy house with warm light glowing from the windows.

after lots of introductions and even more hugs, you finally settled yourself in to a guest room. the view was beautiful. the sun was just starting to set over the sea, the orange hues reflecting off the vast water. putting away the last of your things, you walked down the stairs and announced to your mum and molly that you would be going on a walk. they nodded and made you promise to be back for dinner before returning to their conversation. as soon as you got to the beach, you slipped off your shoes and feel the cool sand swallow each of your toes. it was crisp, but not too cold. you walk for a bit and then sit down on a dune, just taking in the picture the world had created for you.

you see a figure walking toward you and, as it gets closer, you notice it's bill. "mind if i join you?" he asked.

"of course not," you watched him as he sat. "it's beautiful here, your family has a really lovely house."

"thanks, mum has a talent for making any place feel like home." he looked out at the water, but for some reason you kept looking at his face, trying to find details. bill felt your gaze and his eyes met yours. normally, you would've looked away, but a new confidence allowed me to hold his eye contact. "so, tell me more about your tattoo." you chuckled, you should've known it would come up at some point or another.

"i got it with rose on holiday using fake muggle IDs," you explained.

"any special meaning behind it?" he asked, his eyes were now flickering from yours to your neck.

"nope, just liked the art," it was true, you knew you wanted to get a tattoo but didn't want something that held too much weight, so you got something that was simply beautiful.

"that's cool," he said, reaching to touch it with his index finger, "did it hurt?" you shivered at the contact and he pulled away, "sorry."

"no, that's okay," you said turning slightly away from him so he could see it better and indicating that he could touch it. he went back to tracing it with his finger, leaning in to get a closer look. "it didn't hurt as much as i thought it would. but now that you've seen it, it's only fair that you tell me if you have any secret tattoos."

you heard him laugh, "obviously, i've just got the gryffindor lion across my chest, nothing crazy," he joked. you smiled and turned back to him.

"seems very fitting for you."

"oh yeah?"

"charismatic prefect, brave older brother, top of our DADA class? if you were any more gryffindor-y you'd be called godrick," you poked fun at him and leaned back to lay down.

"merlin, you make me sound unbearable."

"well–" you start to trail off only to feel a foot hit your knee, just hard enough to show playful anger. "alright, alright, kidding!"

"do you know what you want to do after school?" he asked, also lowering himself to the ground, but staying propped up on one elbow, his body turned to you.

"not exactly, i really like herbology and history of magic, so maybe find a job where i can study how wizards lived in the past? like how they used plants and stuff" it was something you had thought a lot about, but hadn't really found an answer that fit well.

"you'd be great at that." you shot him a skeptical look. "what? it's not hard to notice you're brilliant in herbology. sprout has you practically teaching half the lessons." you felt a blush spread across your cheeks, and felt thankful that the sunlight was starting to dim. you hadn't even realized you two shared that class, you were always more occupied in the nearest plant.

"what about you?"

"something to do with defense against the dark arts, mcgonagall told me about a career in curse breaking that sounds good. i think it'd allow me to travel, which is a plus."

"that sounds amazing," you say, your mind whisking you away to all the places you wanted to see.

"you can come and visit me, wherever i am." bill chuckled, letting another heart-breaker grin fall into place on his lips.

"and what makes you think we'll keep in touch after we leave hogwarts?" the tone turning back to a lighter banter. you push yourself up onto your elbows

"well, for one thing, our mums. but i also just have a feeling." you're betrayed by your cheeks heating up again. you look into his eyes and find sincerity. they're a deep blue, almost like they've been taken from the nearby water. once again you're reminded of his handsomeness, but this time it's a little different. maybe it's because you've talked more and he's shown you the things he's taken time to notice in you. but his beauty feels warmer. like it was only for you, like it could engulf you. you can see he's started to move closer, and you start to mirror his actions. your eyes move from his to his lips and the light stubble that runs along his jaw, and back again to his eyes. "can i...?" you close your eyes and start to nod, anticipating the feeling of his lips on yours, until, "kids! dinner!" and just like that, the moment is ruined. the two of you open your eyes and put space between yourselves. you clear your throat and stand up, brushing sand off of your legs.

"we should get back," you say.

"uh, yeah, totally." he says, also standing and following you back to the house.

on the walk back, you make sure to stay a few steps ahead of bill to allow yourself some time to think. what had just happened? did you like bill? surely it was just a weird moment following a minor existential crisis about the future right? you should just forget about it and try to focus on spending time with you family the rest of the trip.

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btsinwonderland · 3 years ago

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A Drop of Poison - Ch. 14: The Ball

A Loki fanfiction!

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*** This chapter has recommended listening:

Song 1, Song 2

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It was a day before the ball and you sat in the Great Hall with Pom, Mo, and Valkyrie eating breakfast. A smattering of eggs, bacon, stuffed sausage, hash browns, and toast laid in front of you. You took a small piece of toast and buttered it lightly. Another yawn escaped your lips and blinked several times, trying to shake the feeling of tiny rocks rubbing on your eyeballs.

“How was Hogsmeade?” Mo said dejectedly. His parents had sent him quite the howler after the events in the Forbidden Forest. They banned him from all outdoor excursions and he had to stay in the school for the rest of the year.

Valkyrie shrugged. “It was alright, we just tried on some dresses, and I may or may not have seen Nila naked,” she said, smiling at you and Pom.

Mo raised his head with wide eyes. “You did not.”

Just then, Nila came by and sat down beside Mo. “Hey!” she said, leaning over Mo and grabbing a piece of bacon. Mo was stock still and flushed.

You giggled with Valkyrie. “Morning, Nila.”

Valkyrie raised a brow. “So, do we all have dates?”

You blushed, thinking about Nathan Gill, but more so thinking about Professor Laufeyson’s instructions.

You will go to the ball with this boy,

You will dance with him, have a drink, and do what young girls do at balls.

You gulped, thinking about the last thing he said.

And at the end of the night, you will come to my room, and I will punish you for all of it.

“Y-yes,” you said. Then Pom meekly said “yes” with a small blush. You looked at her, surprised that she had mentioned nothing. Then the three of you looked at Mo and Nila, who looked away from each other uncomfortably.

Nila spoke, a little miffed, “I was asked by Thomas, Jury, Mirwich, and Ali.”

You raised your brows, “wow, that’s great, Nila!”

Mo’s expression darkened, and he turned away further as Nila continued talking. “But I said no.”

She slowly turned towards Mo and looked at him. He looked back, trying to conceal a smile. “And what were you waiting for?” he said.

Valkyrie looked at you and rolled her eyes. You could tell she was itching to interrupt them with some blunt statement like, “just fuck already!”, but you hit her thigh under the table to shut her up.

“I was waiting for this stupid boy to ask me, but he hasn’t seemed to get a clue yet,” Nila said, curling a lock of hair on her finger.

There were a few seconds of anticipation. You saw the realization on Pom’s face, and she brightened immediately. Valkyrie’s leg twitched; she was getting so impatient.

Mo got up and knelt in front of Nila and took her hand. “Nila Odesa, will you go to the ball with me?”

Nila reddened, but nodded profusely.

“You didn’t need to embarrass her,” you said, laughing.

Then, Mo and Nila bid you three adieu and left for a walk in the courtyard. You laughed alongside Valkyrie and Pom at the awkwardness of it all, but you were happy for them. Then, a thought dawned on you, and you turned to Valkyrie.

“Valkyrie, do you have a date?” you said.

Her mouth twitched as if she wanted to say something specific, but she threw you a smirk. “On what planet would I not have one, my sweet Hufflepuff?”

Before you could ask further questions, she changed the subject. “So. Blood on the walls. Was it a prank or not?”

Your heart sank, and all levity fled. The teachers had cleared out the hall upon their arrival. They later confirmed it was all rat blood, and most of the students thought it was a pre-Halloween ball prank. Though you recalled the tension on Headmistress Frigga’s face when she made the announcement. She was holding back.

“What if it’s real?” Pom said. “There is a beast out there. What if it’s not done? What if...that thing...comes after Ken again?” She twisted her napkin in her hands.

You took her hand as a flash of evil yellow eyes surfaced in your mind, and you concealed a shudder. “He’s safe here. As long as we stay in the school, it’ll be okay.” Even though the words came out confidently, you did not feel them. Were you truly safe at school? If it was real, then who had written the message?

“What did they mean by, ‘enemies of the heir, beware’?” Valkyrie said. “Who’s the heir?”

“And of what?” Pom said.

The three of you were quite puzzled about it and your conversation eventually went in circles. You thought about asking Leah, from the switcher book, if she might have some answers. A part of you thought perhaps you should bring this up to your friends; the fact that you had conversations with a book that spoke to you, which was still weird even to Hogwarts standards. But when you opened your mouth, you found yourself stuffing more potatoes into it and forgot what you wanted to say.

The windows closest to the ceiling opened up and owls flew in with morning mail. They dropped letters, packages, and newspapers to the students. Pom caught a letter in a pink envelope while Valkyrie caught Mo’s paper. You were not expecting anything but glanced up to see a large package hurtling towards you, which you caught just before it pegged you in the face.

The package was in a black box with a silver bow tied around it. You touched the bow and rubbed the softness; it was velvet.

“What’s that?” Pom said.

“I don’t know,” you said as you undid the bow. The box opened up to reveal a swath of cool fabric. It was black chiffon with lace patterns all over it. You lifted the fabric out of the box to reveal a beautiful black dress. You gasped at the heft, not too heavy, but it definitely carried some weight. The side of it glittered at the hip while the neck was where the black fabric stooped down to reveal a daring neckline that was covered by translucent chiffon.

“Woah,” Valkyrie and Pom said. “Who sent you that!”

You looked in the box and saw an envelope with a single card with the message: Happy Halloween.

There was a black velvet box underneath the envelope that you did not notice before. You let Valkyrie and Pom occupy themselves with the dress while you popped it open. There was a dark glint as the open box revealed a studded necklace of bright green emeralds. You already had guessed who this was from, but the emeralds were his way of signing it off. A quiet laugh escaped you from how heavy-handed it was, but you felt moved by the thought of his gift. It all seemed far too expensive to take, though he would not listen to a single word you said to oppose it. He would certainly be upset if you did not wear this when he saw you at the ball. You sighed and gave in. Professor Laufeyson was the sort of man that did not even need to be present to sway your choices. You knew that he knew you were utterly wrapped around his fingers.

Valkyrie and Pom sent a tirade of questions your way, but you chalked it up to a secret admirer and that you did not know. You stuffed everything back in the box and popped a bite of sausage into your mouth as you headed out of the Great Hall in a mad shuffle. “See you at the ball tomorrow!” You told them.

The rest of the day passed in a blur as you attended your classes. There was no potions class today, and you just wanted it to end so you could see him. You were slightly alarmed at how your concern for his life had now grown into a mild obsession with the man. A part of you lied to yourself and said that you were still only trying to prevent him from dying, like in your visions. But you knew it was far more than that now. Even if Heimdall came and told you he saw a prophecy that Professor Laufeyson would never die, you could not bear to be away from him. He had taken over your mind in ways that even your visions never could.

You glanced out the window from your common room at the darkness and looked around, blinking. The day really had passed in a blur since you could barely remember your classes. Fatigue hit you like a train as you changed into your nightgown. You fell into bed like a stone and, though you feared sleep these days from knowing what toothy nightmares awaited you, it was also what you desperately needed.

***

It was the night of the ball and you stood in your room and looked at the girl in the mirror. She was definitely not anybody you recognized. There was something cooler, more confident about her. She was in a gorgeous black dress that fit her every single curve. The emerald necklace laid around her neck immaculately, and provided the perfect statement piece to the outfit. You glanced at the plunging neckline and bit your lip. Your breasts were not very large, but this dress accentuated the swell of them. Upon doing a little turn in front of the mirror, you appreciated the curve of your rear with a bashful smile.

You shook your head at the mirror, not believing it, but also thrilled. Tucking a stray baby hair behind your ear, you left your room to head over to the ball. The walk through the halls was busy, with beautifully dressed students heading over to the Great Hall. The boys looked older and more handsome with their suits and dress robes. Some wore a sprig of flowers on their lapel while some fashioned a moving brooch that crawled along their pocket. The flurry of dresses of all colours and shapes and sizes excited your senses.

“Freya?” a voice said from behind you.

You turned around and saw Nathan in black dress robes. His eyes widened when he looked at you. “Wow, you look beautiful - I mean, you’re always pretty - but this - like - wow.”

A laugh bubbled up from your lips as he stumbled for the words. He laughed with you and then held out his arm for you to take. You slid your arm around his and the both of you walked into the Great Hall together.

Though you had spent the last seven years marvelling at the grandiosity of the Great Hall, it still took your breath away. Candles were lit amidst jack-o’-lanterns which floated in the ceiling. There was an ethereal aura of a glittering golden glow that swirled through the air. It moved as you walked through it. The tables were lined with crisp white linens and the centre stage was ready for dancing. There was a band at the far end of the hall that played gentle cocktail music. You spotted a rather grumpy looking group of large toads beside the band and wondered curiously which part of the concert they would make an appearance.

It was a little embarrassing once you realized that everyone you passed was staring at you. You looked into the eyes of people who saw you every day, but this time, they looked at you differently. The staring was perhaps supposed to be flattering, but the long gazes and gawks made you slightly uncomfortable and so you stared at the floor.

You spotted Nila, who wore the peach coloured dress she had bought from Gladrags. She looked beautiful. Her heels were nearly four inches high, and she towered over you. You smiled brightly and gave her a delicate hug. She stared at you, eyes wide. “You look gorgeous, Freya!”

Mo came by with swirling blue drinks and raised his brows when he saw you with Nathan. You told him to “shut it” under your breath and he winked at you.

“There’s Pom!” Nila said, and all of you drifted through the room, chatting along the way.

Pom was with a tall boy that you did not recognize. He had sandy skin and looked to be slightly younger than her. Brown curls fell around his temple and he smiled with deep dimples. She was looking beautiful in her short purple dress and ankle boots. Pom looked at you and audibly gasped. She showered you with compliments until you were sure that you would pass out from the embarrassment, but you smiled and nodded. After several minutes of catching up, you excused yourself and went for a drink.

The cool blue liquid slid down your throat and you exhaled after a few more gulps. You looked around from the drinks table at everyone. Couples surrounded the dancefloor, itching to dance. More students trickled in from the entrances and you saw Headmistress Frigga approach the stage. Her dress was a beautiful grey that almost looked silver. Flowers were pleated into the long braid down her back. You continued to look around the room, searching; where was he?

When you arrived back to the group, the Headmistress began her announcement.

“Welcome, teachers and students, to the annual Halloween Ball! Tonight will be a night of merriment and festivity. It shall be one to remember! Now, to send us off, let us begin with the customary dance.”

She stepped towards the stage, and Heimdall walked towards her. He was in more traditional dress robes but looked more like a king as he took her hand and led her into the centre stage. The band played a waltz and the two of them moved like swans in the water. Professor Fandral brought in Professor Sif and they danced. One by one, the teachers all started to dance. You saw a flash of red and gasped when you saw Valkyrie being twirled in the arms of Professor Odinson. He wore a black tuxedo and looked as handsome as a movie star. But it was Valkyrie that held your eye; she was show-stopping. Her red dress billowed as she danced and the slit opened just enough for your heart to race, but closed back up just as you got excited. You raised an eyebrow at her when she caught your eye and she laughed.

You looked at each of the teachers, and still could not see Professor Laufeyson. Just as your heart sank at the notion of him missing the ball, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned to see Professor Laufeyson holding out his hand. Your breath hitched in your throat when you looked at him. His hair was gelled back, and he held one hand out to you, with the other bent politely behind him. He wore a black suit with a silken green vest and tie that stood in contrast with his fair skin. He seemed to glow in the warm light of the Great Hall. His eyes twinkled and his cheeks were positively rosy. Your heart dashed into a mad rhythm as you took in his presence. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?” He said.

Pom, Mo, Nila and Nathan stood stock still, shocked. You took his hand without thinking twice or even looking back at your friends and Nathan.

“Good evening, Miss Eves,” he said, whisking you away and onto the dancefloor. He looked at you with a hungry gaze. “You look ravishing.”

You gulped as you placed one hand on his shoulder and one in his hand. His free hand was placed on the small of your back. When you glanced up at him, it was hard to remember your footing. “You clean up well yourself, master,” you said, lowering your voice for the last part.

He smiled at you and twirled you around as the music rose in pace. “My apologies for stealing you away from your date before the night has even begun,” he said without remorse.

You laughed. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty of time to get into trouble,” you said with a grin.

He raised a brow at you and pulled you closer. His arms were firm, and his body led you through the unfamiliar footwork with ease. You fell into step with him and your bodies felt as one, moving fluidly across the dance floor. He whipped you about and held you close all alongside with the music. Every time you turned back into him and your body slammed against his, you felt your desire increase exponentially. Now and then Professor Laufeyson would glance at your visible cleavage and you suppressed a smile. In a room filled with people who stared, he could look unblinkingly at you and you would not flinch. When his eyes were upon you, it felt as though you were flying.

During a slower part of the dance, you looked past him and noticed everyone looking at you again. No, not just you, but the two of you. Your face flushed, and you hesitated for a brief second as your thoughts grounded themselves again.

“Careful, any sudden moves and I’ll rip you to shreds,” Professor Laufeyson said under his breath. “At least, that’s what they all think.”

“Everyone is watching,” you said apprehensively.

He spun you around and dipped you back. A devilish smile stretched across his face. “Miss Eves, are you ashamed to be seen with the most evil man in Hogwarts?”

You shook your head as you brought you back up. “No, and you are not evil.”

The music swelled, and he spun you several times; you were thrilled and dizzy all at once. He ran a hand across your back, leaned in close, nearly inappropriate. “Oh my dear girl, you have no idea what I am.” His voice sounded almost sad, but when you tried to look into his eyes, he deflected your gaze by turning to the stage and clapping for the band.

Nathan approached the both of you hesitantly. “May I steal her back, Professor?”

You did not want to leave him, but any more sensual dances and you would become a puddly mess. Professor Laufeyson nodded and handed you over to Nathan, a gleam in his eyes that told you, ‘see you later’, as a sort of warning.

The next dance was more upbeat and now most of the students joined in and some teachers stepped away. You laughed when you observed the head of your house, Professor Bjorn, dancing rather erratically with himself. Then you noticed he was holding a ferret in his hand and doing a waltz. Valkyrie came over to you and gave you a tight hug. You held her close and both of you shouted each other’s ear over the music at the same time.

“Did I just see you dancing with Professor Odinson?”

“Did you just dance with Laufeyson?”

You both smiled widely at each other and broke into laughter. Arms still entangled, you jostled her gently. “What is going on between you two?” You said, glancing at her and then at Professor Odinson, who was now in conversation with Headmistress Frigga over by the tables.

Valkyrie looked down and then back up at you. “I have a lot to tell you,” she said. But then her eyes grew suspicious. “And what have you got to tell me? Shaggin’ the bad boy now?” She clicked her tongue and looked you up and down, impressed. “My sweet Hufflepuff, always surprising me.”

You hit her shoulder. “Stop it! I am not shagging him…” Not yet, at least...

“Can I cut in?” Nathan said, dancing over to you. You disentangled from Valkyrie who gave you a ‘this isn’t over’ look. You danced together in a big group with Pom, her date Vlad, Nila and Mo, and Valkyrie. Some other members of the Quidditch team came over and joined as well.

The music sped up into a fast-paced rock number as all of you jumped in the newly formed dance circle to show off your best moves. You laughed when Mo started raising the roof and waving his arms in the air and at one point you, Pom, Nila, and Valkyrie made a conga line while the boys watched you sway your hips. The song shifted into another tune seamlessly, and when you heard the croaking of the toads and you undeniably lost your shit.

“This is my JAM!” you said, grabbing Nathan by the hand and dancing away. He perked up at your moves and you spent the next hour sweating, swaying, jumping and having the time of your life.

After another half an hour, you were panting as you yelled, “I need a break!” And left them all on the stage. Your feet got sore but in a good ‘dancing pains’ kind of way. You went to refresh yourself and catch some air. Upon sneaking out the door, you did not realize that Nathan followed you until he gently grabbed your arm as you descended the stairs towards the garden. You jumped and nearly tripped on the stairs when he caught you and held you close.

“Careful,” he said, flashing you a gorgeous smile. You were frozen in place with a small flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

He leaned in and you thought about pushing him away, but your arms stayed still as he kissed you. It was not intrusive; it was more of a questioning sort of kiss. This kiss would have been perfect a month ago, when your life was normal and you weren’t falling for a mysterious man who may or may not be doomed.

He pulled away but continued to hold you. “You’re beautiful, Freya,” he said.

The slight flutter of butterflies now sank into stones from your guilt. You should not have led him on. “Nathan,” you said, taking a deep breath and stepping away from him. “You are so sweet, and handsome, and honestly, a lot of fun…”

“But you want to stay just friends?” he said, with a knowing look.

You looked up at him and nodded. “I’m sorry,” you said.

He seemed slightly crestfallen, but the smile never left his face. “It’s okay, and you’re pretty fun too.”

“Thank you for being such a great date,” you said.

He laughed and nodded, leaving you to go back inside. You appreciated what a gentleman he was about the whole thing. Many of your friends had rejected boys only to receive scorn, disdain, and sometimes downright violence. It warmed you to know that Nathan was one of the good ones and you hoped he would find someone extra special.

The night air was cool, and a gentle wind fanned against your skin. You closed your eyes as you wandered into the gardens. You looked at your watch and realized that it was nearly midnight. The balloons would explode at the stroke of midnight and the tiny pumpkins would be there to surprise everyone. You thought about returning, but the thought of tiny pumpkins nipping at your ankles was just not as appealing as spending your time in the night air surrounded by flowers and beautiful trees. You had gotten your fill of the Halloween prank last year, when the stone gargoyles had sprung to life and puked all over you and Valkyrie. Mo had laughed up a storm until a gargoyle flew across the Great Hall and vomited right on his head.

“Did the Headmistress not advise you to avoid wandering about alone?”

Your heart leapt at his voice. “I’m not alone,” you said, not looking back yet, and continued walking down the trail of gardens. A long row of willows stood gorgeously with their sweeping leaves blowing in the breeze.

He fell into step with you, a hand on your lower back. His touch made your chest tighten. Where else might his hands go?

“Thank you, by the way,” you said.

He glanced at you, not clear on your meaning.

“For the dress and necklace. I only wore them since I knew you would curse me if I didn’t,” you said with a teasing smile.

He chuckled. “That’s right, I would have.”

For several minutes, the both of you silently walked through the gardens; smelling the flowers without speaking. It was peaceful and not terribly awkward. There was a comfort that had set in when you were around him. However, after a certain amount of silence, you wondered why the man who loved to talk so much was particularly taciturn.

“You’re quiet tonight,” you said boldly. Perhaps it was the overexertion from dancing or the dress that gave you the delusional idea you could coax the truth out of this man, but regardless, you tried.

He shifted closer to you. “Perhaps I’m plotting to kidnap you as a part of my master plan, and lock you in a tower,” he said mischievously. You laughed loudly at his response.

“Do you always laugh when the villain reveals their grand plans?” he said, smiling. Though his smile did not reach his eyes.

You pushed him as you walked. “You’re not a villain,” you said.

“And how do you know that?” he said, stopping underneath a tall tree. You had wandered back towards the castle. The warm glow of the candles and pumpkins inside illuminated the windows in an orange light, as if the entire castle itself were one gigantic jack-o’-lantern.

There was a rustling, and you stepped away from Professor Laufeyson in case it was a student, or worse, a teacher, and a couple walked by. However, they barely glanced at the two of you, for they were far too busy searching for somewhere to...well...finish off the night. When they walked around the corner in a hushed fit of giggles and quiet moans, you took a step towards Professor Laufeyson again.

“I know you’re not a villain because there is warmth in your heart,” you said, placing a hand on his chest.

The moonlight reflected off his eyes and illuminated his face. You noticed a look of utter desperation in his expression that you had never seen before. It was there for only a second before it vanished with a raised brow. “What you see is a fire, Miss Eves; dangerous if you get too close,” he said and seized you with a grin. You wrapped your arms around him and his lips touched yours in a passionate embrace.

Your core awakened from the feel of his tongue gliding across your lips and the strength of his arms gripping you so tightly that you might break. But you wanted him closer, tighter. You bit his upper lip as he took a hand and palmed your breast through the fabric of your dress. It was as if a new feral hunger hit you. It took all your strength of will to not strip bare right in the garden and let him take you. You tangled your fingers through his hair and moaned as his hand grazed the most sensitive part of your breast.

A scream tore through the air. You broke the kiss and immediately felt the chill of the night. Screams erupted from the Great Hall. You and Professor Laufeyson glanced at each other before seeing several students run out the door in terror. Some were frantically moving about as if they were trying to get something off of their bodies. A boy was thrashing so hard that he ran down the stairs, knocking several people over along the way.

“It’s not supposed to be like that, they’re just pumpkins,” you said to Professor Laufeyson, alarmed at the chaos that ensued from the castle. What was going on?

It was then you saw a girl, completely pale and red-haired in a light blue dress. At first you thought she wore a strange patterned glove, but in fact, there were large black masses covering her arm. They wriggled over her skin and she screamed and shouted, “get them off! Get them off me!”

You both were about to run over to the crowd of students when a shriek closer to you echoed through the garden. “Help me! Please!” It was in the direction where the couple from earlier had gone.

You and Professor Laufeyson ran over to the couple and you saw the boy was crawling away on his hands and knees while the girl was trying to do the same. The boy shoved past you as the girl reached out for help.

A horrifying creature, about the size of a dog, was slithering through the garden. It was scaled and dark green with the body of a snake, but five times thicker. It had five heads protruding from its centre, and each head had a menacing pair of red eyes. Each head snapped its fangs at you and the girl. The creature hissed and lashed its barbed tail. You ran over to the girl and grabbed her by the arm to help her up.

The creature whipped its tail, and you pushed the girl away from it, right into Professor Laufeyson. You cried out when you felt its painful barbs against your leg. The creature hissed, and you saw five forked tongues, inches away from you. You tried reaching for your wand, but the pain had set in immediately and it was debilitating. You fell to your knees.

This was when the screaming and noise all slowed down, as if you were in a film. One moment the five heads reared back to bite you, the next, you saw an insanely bright green light. You heard someone screaming right next to your ear, and it annoyed you to the point you begged them to stop, only to realize that it was you that was screaming.

“What’s happening?” You said your words slurred.

Darkness edged your vision, and you saw Professor Laufeyson’s face above yours, looking terribly distressed. “Stay awake Freya! Stay awake!” It looked as if he was yelling at you, but his words sounded far away.

You felt yourself being carried, or floating away. Perhaps you were in the castle again? It was hard to tell. Your stomach was aching terribly and your whole body was sore. Shooting pain ran up your leg and your chest tightened. How you wished it would end, but as soon as the wave of pain ended, another wave rose. You thrashed back and forth trying to shake the feeling, but it would not stop. “Please, make it stop,” you screamed.

Darkness clouded your vision, and you saw Professor Laufeyson once again. This time he was saying things, but you could no longer hear him. “Loki,” you whispered, and everything went dark.

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totallyexhausted · 3 years ago

Text

So, I am re-watching Danny Phantom and the idea of Lancer caring for an ill Danny crossed my mind after I read all the ones I could find. I also toyed with Danny’s powers; him being able to change, obviously, but also seance and see dead spirits (and ghosts; leaving spirits and ghosts as separate entities) walking around. Basically, I upped the rating on Danny Phantom and combined Klaus Hargreeves powers with Danny’s own abilities.

Also, I’ll say, and maybe it’s the song I’m listening to, or the fact that I was reworking Greenberg and Coach from TW, but I got the picture of Danny showing up at Lancer’s door, high off his ass mumbling about Sam, Ghosts, and other teenager things.

…………………………………..

Lance Lancer had never seen a kid so sick, nor did he remember his own son ever being this ill. Danny groaned loudly, curling further into himself, his arms tightly protecting his stomach as his nails dug bloody indents on his forearms. He was shivering, his ghost sense going off every few minutes, creating a barely visible burst of cold air biting back against his sweaty flesh. He clenched his eyes shut as he tried to forget about the spirits flooding the room. As he tried to forget their voices, their screams, their hands brushing over him as they pleaded for him to look. As they begged for him to help.

Lancer bit his bottom lip as he pressed his hand harder against the 17-year-old’s shaking front shoulder, his other trying to work through some of the knots plaguing the boy’s shoulder blades. He shouldn’t have this many tight muscles, this much stress forced in his back at his age… and the fact that Danny seemed to curl tighter into himself, straining his muscles further every time he took a slow, shallow breath, worried the English teacher more.

The teenager groaned again, clenching his eyes shut tighter as he swallowed quickly, letting out a shaky breath. He stilled, hoping his lack of movement would help ease the nausea stampeding through his body and after taking several slow breaths, he relaxed. He hated being sick… not that anyone loved puking their guts out for hours, let alone in someone else’s home, but his ghost sense always made him on-edge, unable to sleep peacefully or unwind. Every spark of Ghost-breath as Tucker called it, sent violent shivers through him making it harder for his body to heat or cool properly.

The last time Danny remembered being this sick was a few days after the Accident. He’d been on a famous “Fenton Family Vacation,” which was just code for some lame ghost-convention his parents attended every year, forcing their two kids to cram in the RV for a 12-hour car trip to some middle-class hotel. Usually, Jazz and Danny occupied their time exploring the city or making fun of the people who attended the convention. But since the Accident a few days before, for Danny, the family vacation turned into 3-days of complete feverish hell as his body tried to figure out how to survive with only half an immune system, half the person he used to be.

There wasn’t much to remember from that experience except cold showers, endless puking, aimless wondering in some sauna-type hotel as Danny tried running from himself, and the vague memory of leaning against his father several times as his mother coaxed him to take whatever foul-tasting liquid she wanted him to drink. Whether or not his parents actually attended the convention, or if Jazz had explored the same boring city, Danny couldn’t remember. But he remembered his parents arguing, his sister cradling him to her chest on the bathroom floor, and at some point, crouching under the bathroom counter as he forced himself small, trying to hide from the green-eyed, white-haired kid in the mirror or the bloody, contorted people following him. Since then, sickness never came easy despite his immune system being half-dead or ghosted or whatever it was Tucker had told him.

The 17-year-old pressed his face against the comforter, lessening the pain shooting through his temples as the thought of puking again slowly began to evade, and his head welcomed the soft cool fabric cushioning the migraine eating away at his jawline. He was lying at the edge of the bed, curled into what had to be a pathetic sweaty ball, his knees pulled halfway to his chest as he braced his arms across his stomach. This was hell. It had to be. Because only some sick fuck would make him miserable, feverishly grasping what little reality he could hold onto, and so nauseous he couldn’t move, away from his parents with only Mr. Lancer as his only comfort. It was some kind of sick joke.

Danny’s stomach churned, and he swallowed hard, his hands clammy against his overheated skin, trying to will whatever else he could possibly still have in his stomach, back down. He stilled again, breathing shallowly through his nose, feeling his stomach relax slightly. He sighed internally, praying to God he was done puking as heat lit through his veins, and Danny lurched, retching loudly as he shut his eyes, willing for everything to stop. He had no strength left to hold himself up; his mind fuzzy and everything hard to piece together through sweaty nauseating moments. He whimpered as he lurched again, retching as bitter acidic bile spewed from his mouth, running down his chin, and the 17-year-old coughed harshly, tightening his grip across his stomach, and clenching his eyes shut as he struggled to breathe through the rest of it.

He felt something wipe across his chin and mouth, his stomach lurching further at the thought of the humiliation of being so exhausted and sick he couldn’t even be bothered to wipe any of his vomit away from him. Danny whimpered loudly, letting foul saliva pool from his mouth as his stomach heaved, hanging his head off the edge of the bed over what he had been hoping for the past two hours was a wastebasket… but considering Lancer had rapidly become more concerned with other ailments such as the teenager’s temperature or the tight muscles straining in his shoulders and back, the 17-year-old was willing to bet the dark wooden floor wasn’t pretty. He’d also been too scared to look, not wanting the guilt of Lancer having to clean up his vomit added onto the guilt and humiliation he already felt.

“Alright. Easy, Daniel. It’s alright… just let it all up. It’s alright,” Lancer said as softly as he could. He was pretty sure the kid was mostly delirious by now, his fever spiking as sweat layered on top of him, soaked through damp clothes and sheets that were plastered to the teenager’s pale skin. He couldn’t even hold himself up anymore, his face pressed against the edge of the bed while Lancer kept a firm grasp on his shoulder so the kid wouldn’t topple off.

Lancer pressed the disregarded and mostly warm rag from the nightstand against the teenager’s face; forehead, cheeks, neck, trying his best to mop up as much sweat as he could, trying to cool Danny off as much as he could without physically carrying him into the bathroom and forcing him under a cold shower. It wasn’t ideal, and Lancer knew from previous experience with his own son, it wouldn’t be pretty; but considering Lancer was currently in charge of the poor kid, he was willing to do whatever was necessary. He’d just never seen a kid so sick.

Lightening flashed outside as a branch scrapped against the glass windowpane, thunder clashing loudly as rain continued to beat against the old house. The small leak in the roof audible in the kitchen as tiny droplets fell against some crappy tin figurines his wife failed to take in the divorce. Lancer had always hated them… but he didn’t have the heart to toss them… or admit to himself that those stupid scrap metal trinkets were his last thread he had tied to her. His last hope that maybe she’d come back. But it’d been 12 years… and she wasn’t coming back. Neither was Charlie.

Danny coughed harshly, flinching as something cool touched the back of his neck, brushing sweaty sticky hair matted to his neck from his burning flesh. He felt like he was on fire. No, worse… his core was always cold, freezing almost; so, his temperature was lower than any other humans. So, the fire eating away at his muscles and memories, was excruciating.

He coughed again, wheezing slightly as his heart skipped. He had to be breathing faster than normal… hell, he was breathing faster than normal. Air sucked through achy lungs and forced out through a dry mouth as his heart tried keeping up the pace. He swallowed, pulling his knees further to his chest, shivering again as his ghost sense went off, and he opened his eyes slightly, wincing as the dark room spun in a multitude of blacks, browns, and dark purples. Red mixed against almost translucent flesh as faces inched closer, and Danny’s stomach lurched, hard, as his eyes met the contorted and split face of a middle-aged man in coveralls.

The teenager choked, swallowing loudly as his stomach cramped again, barely feeling Lancer’s hands trying desperately to work out the clenched muscles in his back. Blood dripped from the man’s face; his appearance split into two as his smile dropped in opposite directions. Normally, Danny could ignore it; ignore them… but it was worse when he was vulnerable. He couldn’t block them out. And to be completely honest, the past couple of months hadn’t been easy on him.

He and Sam had broken up before they ever began dating. Tucker had maintained under the radar both boyfriends and girlfriends while helping his childhood crush, Valerie, pick off the ghosts Danny had missed. They were still close, the three of them; but Sam had been more distant, avoiding plans with Danny when it was just the two of them… and deep down the teenager knew it was his fault. Everything was.

The 17-year-old bit his lip, blood coating his tongue as he buried his nails further against his flesh. Sam had almost died. She had been willing to sacrifice everything for Danny… and that was something Danny would never have been able to live with. He had fucked up. He had tried to help… and she had almost died. The faint tan scars still visible against her neckline, shining as a reminder in the sunlight and under the florescent lighting in the chemistry lab. Since then, she’d been doing her best to avoid Danny, and Danny let her. He couldn’t face her. He didn’t know how.

That had been months ago, but it still flooded the teenager’s mind every time he glanced in her direction. Every time their hands touched in chemistry… every time she forced a watered-down excuse past purple lipstick. The sigh. That sigh. She had been scared of him that night. He saw it. The fear plagued across her face. The horror. And Danny didn’t blame her because he scared himself nowadays too.

He felt colder than he had been in his youth, emotions concrete against things that troubled his peers. His demeanor seemed further away as he toppled over the puny shadow of his early years. He wasn’t a pushover; Dash didn’t come near him anymore… but he was still outcasted, marked freakshow as newer threats and tougher bullies appeared. Sam had borne witness to things Tucker knew nothing about; she had seen a darker side of Danny that the teenager tried so damn hard to hide. But it was getting harder… the spirits were bleeding through more and more, scratching his mind and haunting him with nightmares that kept the 17-year-old up most nights. Nothing was a comfort anymore. Not even his friends. Not even his sister.

The teenager’s stomach lurched again, and he felt cooper flood his mouth as he bit his lip harder, forcing his eyes shut, cutting off the images around him as the spirits continued to scream. He breathed through his nose slowly, feeling Lancer’s hand grip his fingers as he tried to pry the teenager’s grip baring against his sweaty flesh.

“Wuthering Heights, Daniel!” Lancer breathed, still trying to force Danny’s fingers away from his arm as the small bloody marks from his nails became visible. Despite visibly shaking, and his breathing coming in teeth-chattering waves, Lancer was surprised Danny’s grip remained resilient. Likewise, when Danny had grabbed his wrist in the hallway earlier, when Lancer had startled the teenager, his icy-blue eyes daggered towards him, watching the older man’s actions, his fingers tight and threatening around his wrist… Lancer had been taken aback by the teenager’s strength. Just like now.

The English teacher sighed, giving up and pressing his hand against the 17-year-old’s shoulder once more as Danny lurched, coughing harshly. Concern and sympathy ate away at Lancer’s expression; his own actions feeling clumsy and foreign as he tried to soothe the teenager as much as he could. As much as he remembered. But he hadn’t comforted his own son in almost 12 years… and Danny had become much more distant and independent over the past three. So, the comfort Lancer used to try and reassure the kid, felt awkward, just as the sickened pain written across the teenager’s pale face, looked wrong.

The lights flickered above, and Lancer glanced up, hoping he wasn’t going to lose power as that would add to his already worrying list of problems. Lightening cracked again, a tree in the front yard visible momentarily as a branch fell against the window, rain threatening to break glass, and the distant sound of a tornado signal blaring through Amity Park.

Danny whimpered loudly, clenching his eyes as voices cut through his skull, pounding against the pain enveloped in his forehead and cheekbones, trailing down his jawline and neck. The bed spun despite the teenager being curled into a tight motionless ball, sweat falling from his hairline as the smell of body odor reached his nostrils, and the 17-year-old gagged.

Lancer pressed a reassuring hand against the teenager’s shoulder, murmuring he’d be right back before rising, grabbing the lukewarm rag from the nightstand, and trashcan from beside the bed as he made his way towards the kitchen. After replacing the trash bag and running the rag through cold water, Lancer sighed loudly, pressing his hands against the counter as he watched water droplets forming through the small hole in his ceiling and ping against the metal statues harbored on the bar.

He huffed again, running a tired hand over his bald head as he stared at his reflection in the dark window. The electricity shut off as the lights flickered before the microwave beeped loudly as the powerlines fought against the storm. He didn’t need this. And if there was any type of superior being looking out for him, they’d keep the lights on. At least, Lancer would have one thing going for him then.

He sighed again, glancing towards the direction of his guestroom then back towards his reflection. It was nearing 5am, and despite the sun aimed to rise in an hour, Lancer doubted it would bleed through the storm that had showed no signs of letting up. He wished it would, wished the skies would clear… wished flights would take off because that meant Danny’s parents and sister could fly home. They’d be able to take better care their son… they’d know what to do. Lancer didn’t. He hadn’t been a dad in years… he hadn’t looked after someone in years…

Danny had been miserable all day, this had become evident to Lancer in 4th period as he berated the teenager for once again sleeping in his class. His cocky, sarcastic attitude pushing the English teacher to his limit as he awarded the 17-year-old with another days’ detention. But it hadn’t been until later that Lancer began to notice things he should have seen to begin with. The dark circles, pale complexion, the bloody nose, and red tint painted across sharp cheekbones; his voice, cracked and sudden, as Danny retorted sarcasm aimed to hurt… his stare gazing past whatever Lancer had been teaching, staring at nothing but looking at everything.

Lancer shook his head as he glanced down at the red coffee cup and abandoned bowl of cereal lying in the sink. This had not been in his Wednesday evening plans… then again, there was no way in hell Lancer was going to let the teenager go home to an empty house. Lord knows what could have happened, and the fact that Danny’s temperature had spiked in the night, confirmed any doubts the older man had of letting the kid stay with him until his parent’s plane landed, which had been grounded until tomorrow evening, at best.

The older man glanced back towards his reflection, catching sight of the radar flashing across the television in his living room, silently. The storm was huge, coming from the Gulf, pressure building from the North and East as it moved slowly over Amity Park. And it was only expected to get worse which was ironically befitting. Lancer had played with the idea of taking Danny to the Emergency Room several times within the past few hours; the only thing stopping him was the question of what was more dangerous: Danny’s illness or the storm?

Jack Fenton had argued while on the phone with Lancer that he had half a mind to rent a car and drive back, despite it being a 20-hour drive back to upstate New York. But much to the English teacher’s amusement, Mr. Fenton’s plan had been shot down from his wife in the background, asking Lancer the condition of her son. Danny’s sister groaning loudly in the background, yelling something about embarrassment. But that had been yesterday evening…

And now. Danny couldn’t keep anything down, not even the miniscule amounts of water Lancer had encouraged him to take to prevent dehydration. His fever had spiked from 102 yesterday to 104.8 through the night, and most of the hardened demeanor Lancer had come to expect from his pupil over the years, was vanquished within a matter of hours. The tough, fuck-you-attitude Danny had adapted, was replaced with the youthfulness of his age. Only 17. He was still a kid; scared, alone, and whether he wanted to admit it, trying his best not to cause his teacher any further inconveniences than he already had. And despite Lancer finding the teenager’s attempts admirable, he found himself at a loss of trying to convince not only the teenager, but himself, that he only wanted to help, to make the kid feel better. But Lancer was so far out of his parental element, and he’d never seen a kid so sick before.

It hadn’t taken long once Lancer had settled down for the night, warming his hands against a mug of tea, quietly watching the news, for things to take a turn. Danny had been rather quiet during the drive to Lancer’s house, slumped in the passenger side, forehead pressed against frosted glass and still mumbling in disagreement with whoever thought he needed a babysitter every couple of minutes. The 17-year-old had attempted to convince Lancer he was fine, that he felt better since puking in detention, and his parents were overreacting. And despite sloppily scribbling through his homework, half of which the older man was certain Danny hadn’t even bothered to read, the teenager remained sullen, flushed, barely touching the sandwich Lancer had offered.

After some time spent brooding in a chair at the kitchen table, Danny had apparently concluded his English teacher wasn’t going to take him home anytime soon. He seemed more compliant then, taking up to inspecting Lancer’s memorabilia instead, trying his best to leave everything exactly as he’d found it. The older man had admired how careful the 17-year-old had been when picking up photos or knickknacks, casting weird what-the-hell-is-this glances towards his teacher as he explored.

Something sounded to his right, and Lancer blinked, running another hand over his head as he cleared his mind. Most of the things taking up refuge in the old house were objects ghosted with the memories of previous family, previous love, a previous life. He had never had the heart to take them down… it was creepily comforting.

Lancer sighed, reaching for the water-soaked rag puddling on the counter as something moved in the corner of his eye causing the older man to jump. He turned, facing the 17-year-old leaning heavily against the wooden arch of the hallway, shaking as he pressed a hand firmly against the wall for support, the rest of his lanky form hunched.

“Great Gatsby, Fenton! What are you doing up?” Lancer advanced, his tone slightly harsher than intended causing the older man to grimace. The teenager looked fairly close to passing out, a hand on his stomach firmly, the other grasped at flat wallpaper. Sweat trailing down his flushed face, forming in droplets at the kid’s chin before melting into his sweat-soaked shirt. Red set high across the bridge of his nose, painting his cheeks as he opened his mouth to speak before closing it, confusion setting across his features.

Lancer made a move towards the teenager as Danny stepped back, his eyes wide as they observed the older man cautiously. The English teacher raised an eyebrow, taking another step forward, a sick feeling sitting in the pit of his stomach as the teenager recoiled once more. Lancer cursed softly, pushing his hand towards the 17-year-old slowly, his voice low and calm as Danny reeled back. Lancer hesitated, “I’m not going to hurt you, Daniel.”

Danny pressed against the wall as Lancer took another step forward, leaning a shoulder against the wall, his eyebrows furrowing together as he tried to focus on the swimming interior around him. He couldn’t breathe, the air around him sucked from tired lungs, voices piercing through his head as he raised a shaky hand to his ear, wincing loudly as the spirits around him grew louder. He clenched his eyes shut, feeling his body struggle against the wall supporting him as he jerked away, wincing again as questions pelted him, begging, pleading for his help, for him to look. Look. Look! Just look at what had happened to them!

“Daniel?” Lancer questioned quickly, stepping forward again as the teenager gasped loudly, forcing a hand against his left ear as blood began dripping slowly from his nose, his shoulder slamming against the ugly wallpaper, “Daniel? Danny! Hey!”

The 17-year-old felt something brush against his wrist, and he forced his eyes open against the harsh lights flickering above him. Everything was hot, confusing, mashed together in a nauseating off-kilter vibrancy that hurt; his legs refusing to support him, lungs unwilling to take air as panic took over as he tried to clear his head, as he tried to remember where the hell he was.

He grimaced, sliding against the wall as his legs fought to keep him upright. He felt wrong. Everything felt wrong, weird, gone. He swallowed, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, fear crossing his face as he pulled back, red sticky liquid coating his fingertips. Tears threatened to spill as he tried to catch his breath. This was his fault. Everything. And now he had blood on his hands. Sam’s blood.

Piercing cut through as Danny pressed a shoulder to his ear, crying out as the man in coveralls laughed, reaching towards him. Danny dropped to his knees, his fingers trembling as they slid down the wallpaper, forcing a picture of a little boy in a baseball uniform to the ground; the glass breaking around it as it smashed against the wood flooring. Tears clouded his vision as he glanced towards the photo, the blonde-haired kid morphing, mirroring Danny’s own reflection through splintered glass.

“No,” The 17-year-old choked, pulling the photo from the floor, glass splinters slicing his trembling fingers as the kid’s gap-tooth smile distorted. He couldn’t breathe; suffocating fear eating away at him as he realized he was gone. The kid in the photo was gone. Taken, dead, his soul split, lifeless as the portal had taken everything from him. He had died, leaving behind grief and broken disappointment. His friend’s hurt, bleeding out on the side of the road as Danny struggled to hold onto any humanity he had. As he struggled to save those he should have left long ago.

Blood dotted the photo, the boy’s face hidden by crimson, and Danny wiped his hand under his nose again, smearing blood across his face. The innocent boy in the photo was gone; he had killed himself in the Accident, left behind by evil contentment and a nightmarish reality that he’d never been good enough. He was broken, built in a sweetness that no longer existed, a black gaping hole where his soul was, under aching ribs, sweaty skin and a tormented, fucked up version of himself. A black pit of beautiful disappointment. An unlovable thing. He had become something unlovable, the portal killing the good and resurrecting the bad, and even that wasn’t worth much. He wasn’t worth much.

Danny gagged harshly, crumpling the photo in his hands as the leftover glass pressed into his palm. The floor swaying under his body as he grasped the wall for any support he could find. He wanted to go back; to be his parent’s innocent little boy again, to forget about the shitstorm around him, forget about the portal, forget about those he’d hurt, the blood he’d shed. But that was unfixable. He was. And unforgivable. He’d hurt Sam; hurt others, the blood of death splattered on what was left of himself, his human self. And in the end, he was the cause of everything; the collector of souls, the Grim Reaper labelled by Freakshow years ago. The bringer of death.

Lancer took another cautious step forward, crunching down before reaching once more towards the teenager as Danny crumpled sideways, slamming against the wall beside him. The older man faltered. Sweat glistened against the 17-year-old’s face as he gulped for air, his breathing harsh and sporadic as he pressed a trembling hand against his chest, eyes towards Lancer, clearly alarmed by his own breathing. He coughed roughly, doubling over as he caught his breath, and Lancer reached towards the kid, his fingers brushing against the sweat-soaked cotton fabric clinging to Danny’s shoulders.

The 17-year-old flinched, shoving his English teacher away from him harshly, wincing again as he pressed his shoulder to his left ear. He fell backwards, his knees failing him as he slammed against the wall, his head smacking against the small hall table. Darkness swallowed him momentarily, his hands shaking as the photo was crumpled tighter in his hands, letting out a strangled cry as the spirits towered over him, their eyes white, pupils missing as they shouted his name.

The electricity failed as the teenager recoiled violently, and Lancer swore the kid’s cold-blue eyes flashed green before the lights flickered back on, the light in the living room broke, glass shattering to the ground as Danny flinched, gripping one of the iron legs of the hall table, tightly. He eyed Lancer, his knuckles white against black, his forehead pressed against the cold metal, his breathing labored as he pulled his knees towards him in an effort to make his lanky form small.

The 17-year-old coughed, the sound hurting his chest, forcing his headache to crawl, spreading across his shoulders. He grasped at the metal leg of the table, yearning for more cold than the iron rod was willing to give as he sucked in breath after breath. He couldn’t think anymore, the heat had taken everything from him, had taken his core, leaving him with a spinning floor, voices flooding in dizzying waves, and the horrifying notion he was surrounded by death. He had died… the portal had stolen half of him, and now, the nightmares screaming at him, had killed whatever he had left. And the photo crushed in his hand was all he had of forgotten innocence.

Phantom had taken everything. And no one knew. No one understood. The beating, aching heart pounding in his chest was a lie. He was soulless; Phantom was soulless. Welcoming the darkness that swallowed the person Danny once was. And everything else, everything he did, was insignificant. His life was insignificant, a short dull buzz, a flicker. Just shit that happened and none of it meant anything. It was the flick on his lighter as he tried cupping his trembling hands against the wind, trying to spark one of the cigarettes he’d stolen from his father; the light fading, barely there; lighting what has killing him. Because no one wanted Danny Fenton. He was just a mask of stupid disappointment, broken and haunted by his past, damaged by unlovable fear. A shell of a person; a shell of a kid with nothing else to offer the world except the blood he was willing to spill. And then, life moved on.

Something pressed against his wrist, and the teenager yanked it back quickly, clawing at the back of his neck with both hands as he pressed his forehead against his knees, trembling as he tried blocking out all of them. Tried blocking out the tormented and lost souls swallowing him. He clawed again at the back of his neck, pressing his head between his sweaty arms as he rocked on his heels.

Something wet splashed against his joggers, barely noticeable against the heat plaguing him as the 17-year-old coughed. He clenched his arms over his ears as he realized he was crying, hard. He felt sick, wrong, the ghost sense no longer going off because he had nothing else left to give. Tears sliding down overheated flesh, meshing against black cotton as loud pleas left his mouth, the taste of blood sitting on his tongue. Something grabbed his arm, and Danny choked, “Please go away. Please go away. Go away. Go away. Go away...”

His parents would be disappointed. His sister would be a wreck. If they knew. Knew he had killed himself years ago; that the innocence that he once had, was gone; eaten away by the things his parents aimed to hurt. Danny Fenton had surrounded himself in a hypocritical tranquility; believing nothing past the Ghost Zone yet praying to God every night that there was a way out, a way away from himself, from Phantom. Because despite the good he’d done, bad followed him further, bathing his body in the blood of those around him. Sam’s screams, her tears, the fear she felt as Danny shred the last remaining hope of becoming more than the ghost killing him.

Some people deserved to die, and yet, he was the exception. An unkillable thing because the Accident had done that for him; and no amount of pills, cuts, stupid mistakes, or blood could take that from him. A cosmic joke of isolated soulless bullshit. The 17-year-old dug his nails harder into the back of his neck, coughing on the blood in the back of his throat as it smeared further down his chin. Tears mixed with the monster he’d become, crushing his heart as the reality of himself, the fact that no amount of water could wash away the pain he’d caused others, was coated in blood on halfa hands. An unholy thing.

Someone laughed, and Danny flinched, digging harder as something sticky coated his fingertips. The spirits were louder, yelling for him, scratching his skin as they tried forcing him to look; to look at their pain, to look at what had happened to them, at what he had done to them. The 17-year-old gagged as the scent of blood, dirt, and rotting flesh overpowered him. This was his fault. Their lives. Their souls. Death had collected those around him, pulling their individualities from themselves as the teenager tried to hang onto his. Danny was drowning in death, spirits shredding him, ghosts pulling him apart molecule-by-molecule as he constructed more damage than his parents ever could.

Air fell between his lips as his lungs refused to take any more. He couldn’t do this anymore. He needed his friends, his family- but they didn’t need him. They needed Phantom. Leaving Fenton as nothing more than a liability, a liar with cops and parents, a part-time substance abuser as he tried killing what everyone needed. Danny refused to move, pressing his body as hard as he could against the wall as spirits crowded him, ripping skin from his body, screaming for him to look at the damage around him, the lives he had taken.

The grip tightened on his arm, clawing at bruised skin as his world morphed and the ground hovered below him. He was pulled up, his body slamming against the spirits pulling towards him, no longer able to cooperate himself. He gagged loudly as he forced his eyes open, meeting the upside-down bloodied split face of the man in coveralls, an elderly woman praying in the corner, the back of her head blown off revealing dark grey matter.

Danny heaved as some of the grey matter fell from the woman’s white hair to her rosary, liquid meshing against him as the man in coveralls slapped another man, his head decapitating slightly, spewing blood across his vision. The teenager groaned as he glanced towards a German couple screaming at each other in the hall, the wall moving as hot fingers braced against the memories etched in the wood paneling and ugly wallpaper. He whimpered as he locked eyes with a small boy reading in the corner; the boy glanced up from his book and waved towards Danny as the 17-year-old wheezed.

Words passed his ears, muttered and useless as the pleas continued to pierce his mind. Red tears of pain he’d caused, spirits forcing him to look; their bodies distorted and warped as they screamed for the souls he had taken. The ones that had left him, a bloody and tormented ending of human life. His death was coming fast, Danny knew. He could feel it. A sudden drop-off from connection, any humanity left, falling moment-by-moment, a punctuating ending happening so involuntary fast as those would soon realize the monster he had become; realize the death he had collected. Danny retched weakly as the man in coveralls forced his head together, pain screaming from his mouth as lips that no longer wanted to meet, met, and hatred ate away at his features before the heat that fell from the 17-year-old washed over them, their bodies disappearing in the flames.

Danny gagged as the smell of menthol and stale sweat filled his nostrils, his head falling back further as a heartbeat echoed around him. Sweat trailing upward as blood fell back down in a disheveled passion, choking any air left, and the teenager’s body gave out. His eyes connected with the flames engulfing the man in coveralls, his disgust bleeding from his eyes as his face separated again before he disappeared in the fire. Danny whispered, “I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry I couldn’t save anyone…”

His vision failed as he continued floating through those he couldn’t protect… and death swallowed what was left.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Danny had fallen asleep, and relief settled across Lancer’s features as he took another slow sip of his tea, leaning further back in the couch. The teenager had been pretty quiet, but his looks and constant moving had become a distraction to the older man as he tried re-reading Pride and Prejudice. It’d been a long time since there’d been a kid in his home, and Lancer had forgotten how annoying they could be despite wrangling them during class as he desperately tried to pour some type of education into his students.

Lancer set his book down, glancing towards the television as the weatherman showed another map of the storm outside, the pictures flashing silently across the screen as Lancer hit mute. He sighed as rain began to pelt against the roof, the shutters on his windows slamming against the old brick harshly, and thunder echoing around a few other houses in the neighborhood as wind threatened to tear down the old house. It was going to be a long night if the storm kept up and the damage was probably going to cost him a fortune considering his salary wasn’t worth a lot these days.

The teenager coughed, and Lancer turned to see the kid curled at the other end of the couch. His head resting on the armrest at an awkward angle, his knees drawn to his chest as he refused to take any more space than needed, as he tried to force as much distance between himself and his teacher as possible. He shivered slightly, and Lancer wondered whether he should have told his charge to take the guestroom or given him a blanket… or checked for fever. After all, the 17-year-old had been trying to convince the teacher he was fine over the last few hours, but something about him, something about his demeanor told Lancer otherwise.

Lancer sighed again, setting his mug on the coffee table, eyeing the pile of books crammed into the rickety wooden shelf as it slanted forward. He needed to fix it, to buy another one before it fell, or before the weight of the books forced it down. He swallowed loudly as his eyes met the ripped, yellowed copy of Catcher in the Rye, dust coating it as it lay on the top shelf, untouched and abandoned for years. Despite all the books Lancer had reread, all the books he spent his nights enveloped in, that one, that book, he refused to touch… refused to move, to think about, to reread. Memories sat in its pages, crushed between folded pieces of paper from being read over and over, and that was something Lancer didn’t want to revisit, to think about, to remember.

Danny shifted uncomfortably, and the English teacher leaned back again, pulling his book from his lap once more, opening to the page he’d left off on. Considering it was closing in on midnight, Lancer debated heading to bed, but he hadn’t reread Jane Austen in a while. And besides, with the storm raging outside, and a kid he would feel guilty about waking, the older man considered waiting to see if he would need to dig the flashlights from the back of his silverware drawer before making any further decisions.

The ceiling fan sputtered slightly as the lights flickered, and Lancer grit his teeth as the teenager shivered again, his teeth chattered momentarily. Lancer sighed. The situation was uncomfortable needless to say; but Lancer had been a teacher and dad long enough to know that kids were good at hiding things… especially Daniel as he always had some excuse for his tardiness, his absences… his injuries. And a simple cold could turn quickly because most of the students at Casper High were walking petri dishes. Besides, Lancer and Danny’s parents agreed it was best, if the teenager were to become ill, to be surrounded by someone who could look after him or take responsibility for him if he were taken to the hospital seeing as he was still a minor and given the circumstances.

So yeah, the situation was uncomfortable; and Lancer knew that pissed Danny off. But the Fenton’s had gone with Jasmine to visit several Universities, refusing to let their only daughter attend if they couldn’t ensure the campuses were safe from ghosts. An amusing and almost stupid idea but considering Amity Park had seen its fair share of ghosts, not ridiculous. Besides Lancer could understand the Fenton’s concern, their protectiveness over their children as he once had felt it too. He knew what it was like to want to hide your kids from the evil in the world… to protect them, to hurt anything that hurt them, to give them everything. But that was gone now.

The lights flickered again as the screen door slammed against the side of the house. Wind howling outside as the news channel flashed a weather advisory warning across the screen, and Lancer exhaled, setting his book down, and leaning further against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest, closing his eyes. It’d been a long day… like most. Lancer spent a good portion of his time trying to keep a classroom of 17-year-olds from laughing over the cringing dramaticism of The Mysteries of Udolpho. Considering most of the books he taught were classic romanticism or gothic, the English teacher understood he was faced with a level of immaturity from his students. After all, it was hard for 17-year-olds to fully grasp the concept of metaphorical and real monsters of society.

The other portion of his day was spent grading poorly written essays over whatever topic he had sought to assign his students for the week. Honestly, Lancer had come to the conclusion that the only capable student in his class, after Jasmine Fenton had graduated two years prior, was Tucker Foley. If only his intelligence would rub off on Daniel, Lancer would have very little to worry about. Clearly, the teenager was capable of decent grades as Lancer had always been surprised when Fenton passed an exam or book report. But he seemed more concerned in his peers, in his life outside academics, to give his grades the attention they needed. He wasn’t stupid, Lancer knew that… and considering he came from a family thriving on higher IQ’s than half the city, the English teacher was sure that if Danny put even a little effort in his studies, he’d have no problem climbing to number one in his graduating class just as Jazz had.

But Jasmine Fenton had been competitive; aiming for greatness through academics and challenging those who threatened her perfect GPA. Daniel, however, competed with his teachers, refusing their help as he challenged them, challenged Lancer on a daily basis. Danny’s comments and cockiness had become a problem in his classroom; his antics or clownishness, difficult, as he proved how very little he cared about his grades. And despite his attitude problem, the older man was almost certain the teenager suffered from ADHD, which would explain his inability to focus most of the time and his forgetfulness.

Today had been no different. And Lancer had given the 17-year-old several chances to correct his behavior, letting his less-than-quiet remarks slide under the radar as he continued teaching. But with the constant bickering between him and Tucker, the annoyed whispers from Sam, falling from his seat twice, and the inability to explain what page the class was even reading from, Lancer had had enough. He’d tried to push back, pointing his ruler in Daniel’s direction and explaining there was an idiot at the end of it; but this resulted in the teenager’s sarcastic question of which end? After the laughter had died down, Lancer retorted that the 17-year-old could find out in detention.

Normally, detention was Lancer’s chance to unwind; to bask in the quiet as he encouraged his students to take the time to go over their studies. But today had been different. Not only had the lights gone out more than twice during his 3-hour prison sentence, but Danny had seemed different than earlier that day. Distracted, his eyes out of focus, shivering, and his quiet, slumped demeanor. Usually, the 17-year-old was pouting, refusing to do any real work, or trying to rally those who shared detention with him. But today he just sat there, quietly tracing some type of drawing on his textbook with his finger, his head resting against his desk.

Lancer had let it go for a while… after all, it was beginning to become obvious something was wrong. But into the 2nd hour, the complete lack of motivation, had become annoying, eating away at the older man’s patience. The other students in the classroom had taken Danny’s character as an invitation to abandon their own work for better things such as texting, making paper planes, or horseplay. Through the 17-year-old’s melodramatic and pitiful attitude, Lancer was losing control of his classroom. That had been when things had taken a turn, going from long to endless.

The older man had risen, scowling the other students into compliance as he made his way towards the cause of his current problem. Lancer scoffed when the teenager didn’t even bother reacting to his presence, but continued tracing over the outline of Thomas Jefferson on his torn-up history textbook. And it hadn’t been until Lancer had slammed his copy of Northanger Abbey on the 17-year-old’s desk that Danny reacted.

He jumped, flinging his book from the desk as he jerked towards Lancer, a look of horror crossing his face as he straightened slightly. The older man crossed his arms, a stern look casted down as he raised an eyebrow while the teenager scrambled to grab his textbook from the floor, flipping to a random chapter. Lancer stood there for several minutes, ensuring Daniel was at least pretending to read the words in front of him, and to enforce his authority as the superior in the classroom to his other students. This didn’t last long.

Once he had situated himself back at his desk, opening his book to the last page he’d read, Danny had raised his hand. Lancer raised his head towards his pupil but ignored him and continued reading. After a few minutes, the teenager put his hand down but forced it in the air a few moments later. Again, the English teacher refused to acknowledge his student’s attempt to leave detention. Normally, Danny would give up and ride out the rest of his punishment, partially compliant. Lancer had learned this during the kid’s Sophomore year; refusing to acknowledge or give the teenager permission for whatever excuse he had, was the only way to ensure he completed detention without further incident.

Lancer watched from his peripheral as the 17-year-old dropped his hand, sighing loudly as he continued scanning the words in his barely passible history book; Lancer smiled slightly. Some quiet had passed, relaxing the mood in the room as the older man felt himself beginning to unwind from the day once again. A few seconds later, however, there had been a noise, and the older man had glanced up to see Daniel rushing from the room, his book once again smacked against the tiled floor. The remaining students had jumped, conversing amongst themselves as their eyes watched the open-door slam against the wall.

Lancer grit his teeth, a scowl crossing his face as he calmly rose, placing his book on his desk before glaring towards the remaining students. They straightened, returning to their tasks as the older man exited the classroom, closing the door gently as he traced over the small indent in the wall from the door handle slamming against it. He shook his head as he glared back inside the classroom to his students watching him before looking busy as the wooden door clicked shut.

Out of all his antics, Danny had never defied Lancer enough to leave. And something in his gut told the English teacher this was either a new low from the teenager or an incident that needed attending to. Lancer had hoped all that was needed was a harsh conversation and another week of detention, but as he rounded the corner past the lockers, the root of the 17-year-old’s behavior became evident.

The older man closed his eyes briefly, sighing loudly as he ran a hand over his bald head and made his way towards the kid. Danny was hunched over one of the trashcans in the hallway, retching loudly as his arms trembled slightly, threatening to bring him down from his own weight. He had expected the unpleasant smell of half-digested food, but what Lancer hadn’t expected was the warmth radiating off the teenager as he reached out to grasp his shoulder. Both him, and the 17-year-old gasped, and Lancer stumbled back slightly as Danny pushed him away, slumping against the wall as he slid to the floor.

Danny had landed with a small smack, and he groaned as he eyed his teacher before closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall. He mumbled something that sounded like a half-assed apology as Lancer inspected his character. Pale, sweaty features set in a flushed undertone as pink ate at his cheekbones. The English teacher ran another hand over his head as he glanced towards his classroom, then back towards his pupil, before turning and advancing towards the class.

After explaining that he felt like cutting detention short due to the storm clouds forming outside, Lancer had gathered his belongings, slinging Danny’s tattered backpack over his shoulder as he crossed through the halls towards the teenager still slumped against the wall, pitifully. He knelt down, reaching a hand out to rouse the 17-year-old, his fingers brushing against his hairline as he made an attempt to check his temperature before the kid jumped. He grasped Lancer’s wrist, pulling it from him harshly, his fingers tight enough around his arm that the older man could feel Danny’s fingernails digging into his flesh.

The teenager’s eyes were locked on his English teacher; the warm blue turning cold and hard as a menacing look crossed his face. Lancer had opened his mouth to speak but closed it a second later as Danny tightened his grip. He’d been surprised by the amount of strength the kid possessed seeing as he always seemed lanky, awkward, and weak. And the threat crossing the 17-year-old’s face sent chills down Lancer’s spine as Danny blinked, releasing his grip before apologizing quickly.

The older man stilled, his eyes glancing over his student as the kid refused to make eye-contact with him. Lancer sighed, offering the teenager a ride home, only to find out that his parents had been out of town for the past few days and weren’t due back until later that evening. And after a very awkward but short conversation with the Fenton’s and finding out their flight had been cancelled due to the oncoming weather, Lancer was driving a pissed off teenager to his own house until his parents returned. Thus, claiming an uncomfortable situation which neither Daniel nor Lancer liked much. But the older man wasn’t a monster… and if a night of letting Danny occupy his guestroom until he was convinced the 17-year-old was fine was what it took, then the English teacher would bare through it.

Lancer sighed again, letting his mind drift as he felt his body relaxing, sleep creeping towards him. Outside, the wind ate away at the chimes and shutters surrounding the house, lightening sparking against powerlines as the lights wavered in and out. Thunder roared overhead, creating a low rumble through the old house as the imminent threat of a tornado loomed in the horizon. But silence engulfed the English teacher as the thought of just resting for a few minutes evaded his tired mind…

It hadn’t been the flinch that woke Lancer, but the loud crash of things falling. Panic clouded his mind as the thought of a tree crashing through the front windows washed over him as he jumped up, cursing loudly. He glanced towards the windows quickly to find them intact and instead turned his attention in front of him as another sound hit him. Heaving.

“Lord of the Flies!” Lancer remarked as he turned his attention towards the sound. The coffee table had been overturned, laying on its side, its belongings littering the floor. And the rickety bookshelf the older man had been wary of earlier, had fallen slightly; its shelves no longer apart of it as the books wedged between non-existent space had crashed to the floor, surrounding Danny as he struggled to breath.

Lancer made his way around the overturned table, crouching down next to the kid as he gagged again, vomit coating his sweatshirt, puddling on the floor below as sweat trickled down his temple. The older man put a steady hand on the teenager’s shoulder, running his hand between his shoulder blades as the muscles in the 17-year-old’s back spasmed between heaves. Lancer let out a slow breath, his voice low and calm, “Alright. It’s alright, Daniel. You’re alright, just get it up. It’s alright…”

The teenager tensed, breathing through his nose lowly as he spit foul-tasting salvia from his mouth, and concentrated on settling his stomach. He felt disgusting, sweaty and embarrassed. He could feel vomit squished between his fingers, and the fact that he had just emptied the contents of his stomach on his English teacher’s floor, mortifying. But considering he had forgotten he wasn’t home, and in attempt to seek out the bathroom, tripped over the coffee table, not only taking it and its belongings down, but falling against the bookshelf, bringing a pile of books crashing to the floor with him, was more humiliating than the acidic puddle in front of him.

Danny closed his eyes briefly, breathing slowly as he leaned back on his knees, scrapping a hand against his mouth and chin. He turned his head towards his teacher but refused to make eye contact because he was afraid of the expression on the older man’s face. The 17-year-old groaned inwardly, setting a hand on his stomach as he let the short silence pass over them; the television cutting off then flicking back on a second later.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Lancer asked softly as he glanced around at the state of his living room. Surely, the shelves or books had fallen on top of the kid when he fell, and given the state of the coffee table, Lancer was betting the kid had tripped over it or something. The splintered shelves could have cut him, or his foot could have gotten caught on the ledge, and injury wasn’t something the older man really wanted to add to his list of problems right now.

Danny was quiet for a while, making brief eye contact with Lancer before looking back towards the floor. He swallowed loudly against the hiccups forcing themselves up his throat and hunched his posture further. He looked downright miserable which didn’t help Lancer’s current situation. The 17-year-old swallowed again before muttering quietly, “Sorry, I’ll help you clean up… I’m sorry about all the mess.”

Lancer sighed, relief washing over him as the kid finally spoke. He ran a hand over his head as he bowed his head, trying to get the teenager to look him in the face, “That doesn’t answer my question, Mr. Fenton. Are you hurt?”

Danny froze for a few seconds before meeting the teacher’s gaze slowly. He shook his head, his body twitching slightly as hiccups still resonated through his chest. Lancer nodded, glancing over the kid quickly, looking for any visible injuries but finding none, and ran his hands over his knees before standing, exhaling loudly.

The wind howled outside, and the branches on the tree outside knocked against the window forcefully as Lancer glanced towards the clock hanging on the wall. It was around 2am, which answered two questions: Was he to be expected at school tomorrow and was he going to get any sleep tonight. The 17-year-old coughed gently, and the older man turned his attention back towards the teenager.

“Well,” Lancer started carefully, “Let’s get things cleaned up.”

Danny cast his gaze back towards the floor as he moved to pick up one of the books next to him. Lancer crouched down again, pulling the book from the kid’s grasp, “What are you doing, Daniel?’

The teenager glanced up slowly, “You said to clean-”

Lancer shook his head, cutting the kid off, “The state of my living room doesn’t concern me right now, Mr. Fenton. You, however, do. Despite what you and your friends may think of me, I’m not heartless.”

Danny’s expression shifted as the older man grasped the kid’s arm, pulling him to his feet. He put a hand on the teenager’s shoulder as he swayed slightly, an eyebrow raised as a silent question flashed across the teacher’s face. The 17-year-old swallowed and gave Lancer a weak nod before crossing his arms over his stomach gently, stepping around the chaos as he followed Lancer into the hallway.

He shivered harshly as his ghost sense went off, and his eyes danced over the photos nailed against the ugly wallpaper in the hallway. Pictures of family- of times no one at Casper High knew of; a different side of the English teacher never shown. Danny lingered on the photo of a young boy with blonde hair, a huge gap-toothed smile swallowing his face as he held his ice cream cone towards the photographer. Confusion crossed the teenager’s face as he glanced over some of the other photos, the blonde kid present in almost all of them… and a pretty woman in a few others, posing next to the kid. As far as everyone knew, Lancer didn’t have kids, and he wasn’t married.

His ghost sense went off again, and Danny shivered as he paused momentarily, the photos around him blurring together, spinning into a colorful mess as dizzying fatigue washed over him, his limbs shaking as they fought to bring him down. He made a slight noise as he glanced towards the end of the hall, towards a small boy hiding behind a half-closed door; his green eyes huge and alarmed as he watched the teenager. Danny swallowed, Lancer’s questions floating over him as the boy peered further out the door, motioning for the 17-year-old to follow.

The teenager made an attempt to move, the hallway spinning as the pictures on the wall melted together in an array of sickening colors, and Danny blinked slowly as several spirits began to crowd around him, blood forced from gruesome wounds. A sharp noise escaped his mouth as he glanced back towards the boy, only to find the doorway empty, the door fully open now. Chills washed over him as his knees gave out, and his ghost sense sparked again.

Someone grasped at him, a hand gripping his arm while another snaked over his torse, pulling him back on his feet. Black filtered through Danny’s vision momentarily as his body went limp before he groaned, looking towards his left as Lancer adjusted his grip on his torso, asking something Danny couldn’t grasp. The teenager’s feet dragged against the wooden floor as he struggled to gain his footing, but his legs felt clumsy and foreign. He felt like shit, weird, split into two, leaning heavily against his teacher as the older man led him slowly down the hall, towards the room that’d been previously occupied by a scared little boy.

The 17-year-old hadn’t realized he’d been deposited on a bed until everything stopped moving. The room swaying slightly but no longer spinning in a multitude of nauseating colors. Heat pressed against his body as he glanced over the side of the bed towards the boy he’d seen earlier, hiding behind the rocking chair in the corner. His eyes fixed on the teenager as cold air pushed past Danny’s lips, and he shivered again, turning towards the ceiling fan as his shoes were slipped off his feet, followed by his socks.

He groaned as Lancer pulled his hoodie over his head gently, forcing his arms from the sleeves, leaving him shivering against the warmth dotting against his skin. He was freezing. His ghost sense going off every few minutes, causing his body to ice, goosebumps breaking out over his arms as warmth rushed through him a second later. He blinked slowly, feeling something press against his forehead, and he squinted towards Lancer leaning over him.

“We need to get that fever down, Daniel,” He whispered, running his hands through the kid’s messy black hair. Danny groaned, tuning out his teacher’s movements as he turned back towards the boy hiding behind the chair, hoping that this was as worse as his night got…

……………………………………………………

Heat. Heat blistered against tired flesh and limbs that refused to move… and warmth. Warmth pressed against bruised flesh gently, killing the heat sweating against him, weighing him down in thick blankets. Warmth poured over him, comforting him, drowning the confusion and panic etched in his veins, and Danny suddenly found himself calling to his childhood memories.

“M-mom?” He whispered, his voice barely audible as it scratched past his throat, rough and raw. He swallowed harshly, trying to force his eyes open but finding the task difficult. His body felt heavy, weak, tired… he felt like he had gone several rounds with Skulker… or someone worse.

“Shh, don’t talk, Daniel,” Someone said softly, and Danny blinked slowly, squinting against the dim lights swaying next to him. He shivered as shadows danced around him, and he groaned loudly as he tried pushing himself up. Strong warm hands pressed against his chest, keeping him in place as any strength the teenager had, left him momentarily.

Warmth threatened to pull him under again, and Danny swallowed, his head lolling to his right as he forced his eyes to stay open against flickering, dancing lights. Something pressed against his temple, his cheek, his neck, dampening the fire momentarily wherever the warmth touched, lingering against his skin just long enough to cool the sweat clammed against his body.

Danny coughed harshly as he opened his eyes sluggishly, unaware he had closed them, and he glanced around disoriented, his neck aching from the little effort he put into turning it. His vision wavered slightly, and the 17-year-old groaned as he made another feeble attempt to move only to be stilled by calm hands.

“Just relax, Daniel. Otherwise, I might be obliged to add to your weeks’ worth of detention,” Someone chuckled softly, and Danny forced his eyes open again, “Mr. L’ncer?”

The 17-year-old winced as his voice met his ears, weak and small; the syllables barely leaving his mouth as his tongue felt heavy against his teeth. He swallowed, his mouth feeling cottony and thick as his eyes lazily met his English teacher’s face hovering above him; a stern expression settled on tired features.

The teenager groaned loudly, closing his eyes briefly as the room began to spin, leaning his head back as he listened to the silence surrounding him. A quiet popping echoing around him, and Danny squinted, noticing several candles sitting on the counter and next to him, their flames flickering wildly. Confusion crossed his face as Lancer leaned further over him, “The power went out a while ago, so I had to improvise as I couldn’t find any batteries for the flashlight.”

The older man held up the flashlight, shaking it gently as confusion continued to sit on the 17-year-old’s face. He blinked slowly as he tried to piece together everything. But it was hot. And he felt weird, sick, his mind a muddled mess of exhaustion; his headache still pounding behind his eyes. He tried moving again, sitting up slightly before being pushed back down gently as Lancer sighed, “I swear, Mr. Fenton, do you ever listen?”

Danny swallowed, doing his best to understand his surroundings. He sighed loudly, letting his head fall behind him as he slowly connected the dots. He was in a bathroom. More importantly, he was lying in a warm bath, shivering against the heat beaded on his skin. And more embarrassingly, Lancer was soaking washcloths in the water, pressing them against his face, wiping down the sweat that was forming on Danny’s body. It took him longer than he liked to realize his shirt was gone, gentle fingers pressing lightly against his torso, covering every inch of heat that surrounded the bruised and scarred flesh. Whether or not he was wearing further clothing wasn’t something Danny tried to think about, and if he had the energy, he would have protested this level of comfort. This level of embarrassment. This level of weakness. But he felt too tired, too sick, and too hot to care.

Something moved in his peripheral, and Danny peered at the end of the tub to find the boy from earlier sitting on the edge, his gaze still watching the teenager. He bent down slightly, his blonde hair covering his face as he touched the water before jerking his hand back and shivering. Warmth hit him as Lancer washed over his chest, and the 17-year-old squinted, his eyes still watching the boy, refusing to let his exhaustion overpower him.

The boy disappeared momentarily before returning to his spot at the edge of the bathtub, a rubber duck in his hand. He set it in the water gently, pushing it in Danny’s direction before smiling widely, his two front teeth gapped, three missing from the bottom. The 17-year-old stirred, pressing against Lancer’s hands as his eyebrows furrowed together, and he yelled, “Hey!”

The boy jumped from the ledge, fear setting on his face as Danny struggled against his teacher’s grasp. His ghost sense went off, goosebumps breaking out over his naked skin as the boy disappeared, and the teenager let out a strangled cry as he shoved Lancer’s hands away, leaning over the edge, water splashing to the floor as he scanned the hallway for the boy. The 17-year-old gripped the slippery ledge of the tub as he scrambled to pull himself up, water slapping against the ground loudly.

Lancer gripped the kid’s shoulders, forcing him back down as alarm crossed his face. He held the teenager down as the candles flickered, water soaking into his khakis as the 17-year-old continued to thrash. The older man let out a quick breath as he tried grabbing the kid’s attention, “Daniel! Danny!”

The teenager stilled, his gaze moving from the hallway towards his teacher as his nickname left Lancer’s mouth. The older man sighed softly as he felt the kid’s body relax, his grip loosening on the bathtub as the teacher eased him back down. The alarm that crossed Danny’s face earlier, vanishing as confusion set in, his head smacking once again against the back of the bathtub as exhaustion ate away at his features.

He exhaled loudly as Lancer pressed a washcloth against his forehead, leaving it there for several minutes before repeating the action. Danny swallowed softly, closing his eyes against the dimly-lit room as his teacher cleared his throat, “I’m sorry about the circumstances, Daniel. But your temperature spiked again causing you to pass out, and I had no other way of bringing it down quicker. I know it’s uncomfortable. My son freaked too.”

Danny turned towards his teacher’s voice but kept his eyes closed as his mind spun violently. He furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to understand the information, as he tried to recall the pictures on the wall in the hallway. He coughed, sweat dripping from his hair plastered against his face, “The kid…”

“In the photos. Yeah,” Lancer sighed, wiping across the teenager’s chest again before pressing another rag against his forehead, “He passed some time ago… a car accident.”

The 17-year-old’s eyes opened slightly as he met his teacher’s sad smile before his focus lazily danced towards the hallway. The boy stood there, leaning against the doorway as he fumbled with the zipper on the bottom of his blue jacket, worry flashing across his face as he met Danny’s gaze. The teenager swallowed again, closing his eyes as he turned his head away from the door, sweat rolling down his cheeks as it dripped from his chin.

“Hey…” He muttered softly as he tried calling the boy closer, as he tried to connect the dots. He felt like shit. Even after being extremely sick after the Accident, he didn’t remember it feeling like this. Then again, that had been 3 years ago… and Danny hadn’t really been sick since. But maybe that had to do more with Phantom. Maybe he’d left… leaving the 17-year-old as a barely alive thing. Maybe this was his immune system dying, the other half giving out as it had struggled to survive with half function over the years. Maybe this was the portal killing the other part of him, claiming what it had started.

Danny’s teeth chattered loudly as he shivered against the warmth, “I shou-should call my parents…”

“I assure you they’re fine, Mr. Fenton,” Lancer said calmly, rewetting a washcloth and pressing it against the teenager’s neck, “They’re just concerned, trying to find a quicker way back to New York… unfortunately, the storm is making that difficult.”

The 17-year-old swallowed slowly, confusion washing over him before swallowing again. He coughed, his throat raw and his mouth dry like sandpaper, feeling his mind slipping, the reality he could understand becoming harder and harder to grasp. Everything was muddled, fuzzy, hard to comprehend.

“I- I should call them,” He muttered softly, “Apologize for killing myself… they’re going to be-be so- disappointed in me…”

Lancer froze, alarm flooding through him as he choked. He watched the confusion on Danny’s face melt, his features relaxing slightly as moments passed. The older man turned the teenager’s face towards him, shaking his shoulder gently as he let out a sharp breath, “What? Mr. Fenton- what! What does that mean? Daniel? Daniel- Danny!”

The kid whimpered but other than that, showed no sign that he had even heard Lancer’s questions. The English teacher took a few slow breaths, closing his eyes as he forced the panic back down. Perhaps he had misheard… or the 17-year-old’s temperature was getting to him. Hallucinations and muddled speech were common, so perhaps, that’s all it was. Thoughts of a delusional and feverish mind.

Then again, Danny’s attitude had shifted over the years as he still maintained his cocky and sarcastic demeanor… but darker things lurked over him. Lancer knew the kid smoked from time-to-time, and he had heard from a few rumors that Fenton had become no stranger to weed or alcohol. Then again, the aspect of rebellion was fairly common in teenagers, and Lancer couldn’t see the Fenton’s letting their son get away with anything too serious. But perhaps they didn’t know… perhaps they didn’t know about their son’s newer habits. Or the fights. The grades. The attitude problem. The bruises or scars. Perhaps Danny was hiding his true self from them just as he was from his peers.

But it wasn’t Lancer’s place. Not exactly. Sure, he cared for the kid, as he did for many of his pupils. But Jack and Maddie had become neighborly to him after the loss of his son, and the divorce. They expected Lancer to keep Jasmine and Daniel on the straight-and-narrow when they entered high school… which Jazz was no problem… but Danny. Danny was a different story.

Every direction Lancer took, the 17-year-old steered in the opposite direction. And it seemed even worse the last couple of months. Lancer knew something had happened between Fenton and Manson… and Danny seemed really broken up about it. After all, he had overheard Foley’s comment that the two had begun dating… among other things. And rumors were they’d been caught in the Janitor’s closet several weeks prior… But for the past few months, both Danny and Sam could barely sit next to each other, let alone look at each other. And most of the flirting Lancer had come to expect from the two, was replaced with cold stares, harsh short comments, and feeble excuses as to why they couldn’t work together.

Something sounded behind him, and the English teacher jerked, turning his head quickly towards the hall, squinting against the flame’s shadow dancing over the dark doorway. He scanned the empty area before closing his eyes briefly, breathing slowly through his nose, allowing his thoughts to calm as thunder roared overhead. Most nights Lancer could swear his house was haunted. Haunted by the memories of his past, the memories of his wife, his son… the life he missed every day. But that was ridiculous. An idealization deluded from the minds of Jack and Maddie Fenton… and nothing more.

The lights flicked several times as one of the lightbulbs above the bathroom counter popped, before burning out. The TV in the living room spluttering to life, news blasted through old speakers loudly before silence and darkness once again evaded the small house. Lancer sighed, running a hand over his head, listening to the rain pelt against the roof. Despite it being close to 10am, the storm hadn’t ceased… in fact, it seemed worse with every passing hour which was ironically befitting given Lancer’s current situation, and Danny’s condition.

The English teacher sighed loudly, wringing another washcloth out before pressing gently against the teenager’s forehead, cheeks, and neck as lightening cracked against the house. The 17-year-old whimpered softly, his eyebrows drawing together momentarily before Lancer shushed him, forcing another rag against his forehead lightly. Despite trying his best to bring the kid’s fever down, the older man was more than certain he was doing little to cause a significant change in the teenager’s temperature. Or at least it felt like that.

When the 17-year-old had passed out in the hallway, collapsing against Lancer the second he was pulled from the floor, going limp in his arms as the older man tried his best to hold Danny as gently as he could, Lancer had been at a loss. But when the lights spazzed, the shutter door slamming against the entryway and the power gave out, Lancer was close to both panicked tears and self-consumed anger.

He’d been angry over the situation. Over the power going out, the storm wreaking havoc outside and forcing flights to ground. Angry with his own useless attempts to soothe the teenager he thought he could care for. Angry he hadn’t taken Danny to the Emergency Room earlier and angry, that in spite of everything, the teenager seemed to be getting worse rather than better. Panic had eaten away worry and concern, leaving fear racing through thoughts riddled with questions; his own parental instincts, despite having died long ago, blaring as every sound, every cough, every whimper, and every unconscious groan that whispered from the 17-year-old’s mouth, sent Lancer’s senses on high alert.

Something that had scared Lancer more than he could account for was the fact that the 17-year-old was crying, hard, and his temperature. The moment he was near, the heat melting off Danny was deeply concerning, sweat plastered down pale flesh, dripping in puddles down his face and soaked through hand-me-down clothes Lancer had given him earlier. The teenager had been on the verge of hyperventilating when Lancer pressed his hand against his forehead, worry and panic lacing his tired mind as Danny cried harder, pleading with fevered hallucinations to leave and forgive him.

The thought of which was worse, the storm or Danny’s illness, no longer a debate but a firm decided answer that should have been sought long ago. But Lancer wasn’t sure if he would be able to find his keys in the dark, the rain pounding sideways against the windows as it threatened to break glass… and even though it was early morning now, the sun having rose two hours prior, it was still black as hell outside. Lancer’s own attempts to calm the teenager were futile. He was out of his element… so beyond his own familiarity, and he had forgotten how to soothe his own child. Lancer needed help, he needed another adult, and Danny needed a parent, but the older man hadn’t been a parent in a long time…

…………………………………………………………………………………….

He wasn’t a hero. Because a hero wouldn’t do this. A hero couldn’t. And Danny Fenton was no hero. He’d shed blood through Phantom hands, ghosted in hellish torment as he sat, throne to bodies and souls collected at his feet. Human hands forever red with mortal lives, halfa instincts more dead than alive as Fenton became a facade for Phantom. A mask. A plaything. A puppet of normality and bitter resentment as Phantom was forced to live in a barely alive flesh suit. And now, only now, was the teenager hit with the realization that he was no hero. He’d never been.

He’d been a boy. Stupid and ignorant in childish idealization, playing make-believe, costumed in his parent’s clothes, pretending to be something more. Something better. But he wasn’t. He was joke. A harsh cosmic occurrence of puny humanity and preemptive temperament of selfish actions. Cocooned in the tranquility of his youth as he tried to convince himself that he was more than the blood dripping from halfa hands, that he was the savior of death instead of the bringer. But he’d been stupid. Weak. Pathetic. Insignificant. A joke.

Danny Fenton was a joke of unlovable fear and horrible outcomes. Death followed him. Shadowed by terrible posture and cold features. Sam had fallen for the wrong boy. Had loved the wrong boy. Fenton wasn’t a hero. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t save her… fuck, he couldn’t save anyone. He was just a stupid kid with stupid luck. A false identity born to humanity, mirrored from the reality of Phantom, a messenger, a front for what had killed him years ago. Fake bravery. Fake chivalry. Everything fake.

Ectoplasm oozed down his temple, sliding past his left cheekbone, gathering at his chin as sweat and dirt fell past, splattering against ashen snow and green puddles of forgotten souls. Blood pooling from open wounds, forced between busted knuckles and broken fingers as red stained white. Danny choked, his fingers pressing tighter across Sam’s neck as blood gushed from wounds he couldn’t close… from a death he couldn’t stop. From a love he couldn’t lose.

The purple haloed around Sam no longer vibrant or visible through dark crimson, eaten away by the innocence of her youth, and the immorality dripping from Danny. He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t a good guy… and Phantom? Phantom couldn’t save her. Phantom couldn’t save anyone. Ever. But Phantom wouldn’t have done this… he couldn’t. Fenton had.

Fingers slipping from flesh, Sam’s necklace pulled from her neck as Danny fought for a better grip, forcing the broken bones in his right hand to bend, to curve, to keep blood from puddling around him… to fix this. But he couldn’t. There wasn’t a way to fix it. A way to fix death. To restore what was lost. What he had taken. What he had always taken. Over and over and over again.

And now, because he wasn’t willing to live without Phantom, Fenton had destroyed the one thing he loved more than anything. The one girl he loved more than anyone. The one girl willing to fight for him instead of Phantom. But that had been a mistake. Sam loving him had been a mistake. He and Sam had been a mistake. An intimate beautiful mistake.

Danny wasn’t the same person she’d fallen in love with. He wasn’t the same person he used to be. He was different. Darker. Quieter. Colder. He was awkward in his own shadow, uncomfortable in a foreign skin as he allowed Phantom more and more control. Danny Fenton was a waste. Danny Phantom wasn’t. He was the thing people needed. But Phantom wasn’t the one Sam had loved. He wasn’t the one she trusted. He wasn’t the one she tried so desperately to save… He wasn’t the one who had killed her.

The fight was over the second it’d begun. Box Ghost had slipped through the Ghost Zone, followed by Skulker and Johnny; the three musketeers of complete failure as they threatened to destroy the state of New York. But Danny had barely broken a sweat. Ghosts were easier now; less challenging than in his youth, repetitive and old, and most of the time, the teenager had bigger things to worry about. Like Spirits. The Veil. The Spirit World. And Vlad. There was always Vlad fucking Masters. A pain in the Fenton family ass… not that Jack would ever admit it.

Snow had started littering the ground in heavy flurries by the time Vlad appeared. Danny had sat on the park bench for hours, waiting for the stupid pointy-haired bastard to make an appearance; after all, Danny had gotten his message the night before when he was pulled into the Veil. He always got the message while in the Veil. He wasn’t welcome. He was never welcomed. And the Spirits collected within made sure he knew it, made sure he stayed long enough to understand the damage he had caused, the lives he had fucked, and the lives he had taken. Many in the Spirit World knew him, but he knew very little about them.

Despite knowing almost everything about the Ghost Zone, the teenager knew almost nothing about the Spirit World. About summoning. The Veil. The Spirits. He only knew how to tune them out, but the older he got, the more his power grew, the harder it was to keep them in check. Too many times had he been caught in public, or with his parents, or his sister, talking, ranting, yelling or even fighting Spirits that refused to leave. He couldn’t block them out. Their voices, cries in the dark, hands pulled through murky water towards his body as he dreamed, screams echoed through restless thoughts. They were getting harder to ignore… harder to kill.

Drugs didn’t really work anymore, barely a dull buzz of quiet whispers, and other outlets were laughable options. Weed made it hard to focus between Fenton and Phantom, his abilities harder to control… and the Spirits had barely left. Ecstasy was great, the screams a distant thought, the Spirits warping into smokes of green, yellow and red; but Phantom disappeared too, refusing to appear for several days after. And Acid… Acid just made the teenager more jittery, more paranoid, more on-edge than he already was.

Vlad had taught him a few tricks to keep the Spirits quiet enough to function before he died. He’d promised to teach Danny more, but his death made that almost impossible. Unlike the Ghost Zone, the Spirit World lacked a supernatural possession; rather turning anyone such as Vlad, normal and human- barely able to summon Danny through the Veil to talk. And Danny? Danny’s powers were pretty much useless inside the Veil, humanity coursed through fragile bones, muscle, and skin as blood beat through a half-alive thing. The teenager could barely summon, barely survive a night in the Veil, of being pulled through, forced out-of-body through airless lungs and the stillness of a barely beating heart.

In the Spirit World, the teenager was human. So very human. And so very vulnerable. A War progressed through the Veil, the Spirits capable of darker, more sinister realities than Ghosts such as Skulker or Freakshow could ever procure. A world of Death. True Death. The promises of the Ghost Zone vanquished through shreds of paper-thin souls of victims to the War. Death in the Spirit World meant no Ghost Zone after. No other World beyond. No connection or tie back to humanity. To the Human World. Nothing. Just black. Just…

The 17-year-old’s ghost sense had been going off for hours; his teeth chattering as he pulled the thin green jacket closer, cursing Vlad for taking his sweet time. To any untrained individual, the teenager appeared to be alone… but Danny was never alone. Not anymore. His shove through the Veil on his 16th had killed any isolation or solitude he had. They were always there. Always watching. Always with him.

The teenager grit his teeth as he smacked his head against the bench behind him, staring towards the grey sky as white dust fell in clumps, blanketing Amity Park… and most likely, the rest of New York. The weather had been unpredictable lately; a chaotic shitshow of indescribable patterns, something his father chalked up to some weird readings in the Ghost Zone. Despite never really seeing a ghost, his parents still obsessed over them, inching closer and closer to diving into the portal with each passing week. But Danny, Danny wished he’d never have to see another fucking ghost in his life.

More and more of the transparent bastards had been slipping through the portal lately. Part of that was Danny’s fault. The other, unknown. Valerie had helped pick up the slack, along with the Fenton Duo, but the teenager had more important things to worry about like Spirits. The harder they were to ignore, the more of them appeared… and they could touch him. Hurt him. Kill him… the scars plastered against his right ribs should be evident enough to speak to their danger. He’d barely survived his first trip through the Veil, and Vlad kept pulling him fucking through… mainly because summoning wasn’t something the 17-year-old had mastered yet. And with Vlad dead, Danny doubted if he’d ever actually be able to master summoning… leaving no hope for resurrection.

Something kicked against the teenager’s red converse, and Danny shot up quickly, expecting Vlad to be standing over him. A smile crawled across his face as his eyes met Sam, her black hoodie blowing viciously against the winter air, small specks of white clinging to the fabric. She kicked his foot again, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear, “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Danny smirked, forcing his hands in his pocket, his right hand clamped around the red lighter he had stolen from his dad’s secret stash. Whether or not Jack Fenton had noticed a few of his smokes were missing, the teenager would never know. After all, if his father ended up confronting him about it, then that meant Jack would also have to come clean to Maddie about smoking… something he supposedly gave up a few years after Danny was born.

Sam slumped down next to him, her shoulder hitting his as Danny turned towards her, smiling. Sam rolled her eyes, her purple lipstick twisting into a grin as she leaned her head against his shoulder. She sighed, “So, I take it Vlad hasn’t shown?”

The 17-year-old shook his head, before clearing his throat, “No.”

“That’s pretty unusual for him, isn’t it?” She asked, pulling her head up as wind forced her hood down, short black hair flying chaotically. She glanced in Danny’s direction as he flicked some snow off his jeans. He hadn’t really thought about Vald’s behavior- about his pretty punctual habits, but now that it was mentioned, it was rather worrisome the older man hadn’t shown yet. Especially given he seemed rather paranoid the night before. But surely, the older man would have said if he was in danger.

Danny shrugged his shoulders, meeting Sam’s gaze, biting his bottom lip. Pieces of ice clung to her hair, freckled across her face, and the 17-year-old hesitated, before brushing his thumb across her cheek carefully, wiping away some of the fallen snow. He paused, his fingers pressing gently against her jawline, following the curve softly before Sam pressed her hand over his. Danny froze, warmth flooding his face as he refused to advert his gaze.

Sam had been weird lately. She’d been acting weird… almost feminine… which was weird for both Tucker and Danny as they had always seen her as one of the guys. But between a few awkward non-date dates, a few fake-out make-outs, and being caught half-naked in the Janitor’s Closet a few weeks prior when Danny had phased through the wrong room after a fight; Danny was finding it harder to act normal around her. And then there was the Annual Winter Dance last month which neither Sam nor Danny refused to acknowledge, involving some sloppy drinking, heated kissing, and one awkward morning after at the Fenton household as Danny tried sneaking Sam from his room only to be caught by his sister.

Since then, Sam had become more… Well, it was hard to explain because Danny was pretty sure he’d become more of it too. Every moment he was around her, it seemed like he had reverted back to his weird, awkward, clumsy demeanor. He couldn’t talk around her anymore, let alone act normal anymore. His ghost sense unpredictable, his powers uncontrollable as his body forgot how to be him around her. He couldn’t eat or sleep and paying what little attention he normally did in class, unbearable. He couldn’t get Sam out of his head. Her purple lipstick. Her laugh. Her hands clasped around his. Her mouth… Her. And it was driving him insane.

Mentioning it to anyone was out of the question. Tucker had them married in 9th grade. His parents were too hyperactive and weird to be able to deal with their only son dating- let alone his sister’s recollection of her very awkward first date that involved more of Jack Fenton than Danny wanted to picture. And Jazz? Jazz had freaked when she had caught Danny and Sam together the morning after the Annual Winter Dance, forcing both teenagers to attend a lecture involving responsible actions, so asking Jazz for advice was out of the question. Honestly, Danny had found some console in Vlad, but that bastard’s advice was wishy-washy and outdated.

Sam’s fingers brushed over the rough scars on his hand before she trailed up his arm. Her hand hesitating on his shoulder before cupping the back of his neck, her fingers tussling his hair softly. The wind whooshed past, snow raining over them as Sam met the 17-year-old’s gaze, a small smirk painted across purple lips. Danny shivered slightly, brushing his thumb over her cheek again, “I-”

“Shut up,” Sam cut him off, pulling herself from the bench as she pressed her lips against his, pushing the 17-year-old back slowly as he dropped his hand from her cheek, trailing down her shoulder slowly, arm, back. He inhaled loudly, a hand pressed against the small of Sam’s back, the other pressing her closer to him as she kissed him again, one of her hand’s slipping underneath his shirt. Cold fingers pressed against the warmth on his back. Black nails scrapping gently over scarred flesh, fingers through black hair, and Danny’s hands dragging her closer. Sam was driving him insane… but maybe this time, they could acknowledge it… maybe this time, he could tell her how he really felt.

Maybe this time he could tell her he couldn’t get her out of his mind. That he couldn’t concentrate around her, he couldn’t get that night at the dance out of his mind… that she made everything better, made everything okay. He needed her like he needed air. She was a reminder that he was still alive, that he was still human, that he was still more than Phantom. Because she seemed to want him more than Phantom… She liked him. Not Phantom. And that- that was all Danny ever wanted from someone. From her…

Her nails scrapped harder against his back as Sam straddled him; her hair flying in the wind, covering her face, smacking against Danny’s face comfortingly. His hands gentle as they trailed down the rest of her back, her thighs, holding her steady against him. Her lips forceful against his, nails marked against skin, her heart pounding against his. She breathed deeply, “Danny…”

“Well, isn’t this nice,” Someone sneered. Danny pushed Sam off him gently, jumping to his feet as he pressed Sam behind him, his stance protective as he met the stranger’s gaze. The 17-year-old watched as a woman stepped forward, a smirk on her face as she pushed some of her long blonde hair behind her ear. She eyed the 17-year-old, sizing him up as she walked around the small bench. She scoffed, “They said the halfa was young, but I never would have thought this young… Tell me, handsome, do you even know how to tie your own shoes?”

Danny tensed, “Do you want to find out?”

The woman laughed loudly, circling them once more before standing a few feet from him, “Oh, and that wit. I bet you’re a troublemaker, uh?”

She crossed her arms, straightening her posture until she was eyelevel with him. Her skin almost translucent against the white ground, blood dotting against her neck where a necklace should have been. Her bright pink and blue jumpsuit standing out against the snow, fitting the ideal clothing for an 80’s teenager… her blonde hair in half-buns, purple triangle earrings dangling from her ears. She laughed again, shaking her head, her red lipstick twisting slightly as she peered towards Sam.

Sam had risen from the bench, pulling her hoody back over head as her hair still fought against the wind. She forced the sleeves past her hands, her fingers intertwining gently with Danny’s as the 17-year-old stepped forward, “Where’s Vlad?”

The woman cocked her head, her smile offsetting as she held up her hand, inspecting her chipped blue fingernails, “I wouldn’t worry about Grandpa anymore. He’s been taken care of.”

The teenager swallowed, dropping his hand from Sam’s as he took another step forward, his hands burning slightly as Phantom threatened to appear. Danny swallowed, “What did you do to him?”

The woman laughed again, shoving her hands on her hips as she faced the 17-year-old again, “You’ve become quite the gossip in the Veil. Did you know that? Everyone talks about the halfa; the teenage boy with a hitlist bigger than… well… for decency, think of someone historically bad. The merciless angel. The bringer of death. The red. You could say you’ve become very popular amongst Spirits… and to hear, the little ghost boy could be harmed,” She paused, clasping her hands together as a smile painted her face, “Well, that was like Christmas morning.”

Sam reached for Danny’s shoulder, her fingers gracing over the fabric of his hoodie as he stepped forward again, “What did you do with Vlad?”

The woman smirked, “Me? No, honey, I’ve done nothing. See, I don’t really care for the creepy-uncle-lotion-in-the-basket types. You, however, are much more interesting. Much more powerful than Vlad would be… I can feel it. Radiating off you like the wind around you. It’s beautiful… And we can hurt you. We can touch you. Something those pathetic airbags in the Ghost Zone could only dream of. And believe me, pretty boy, there are many in the Veil eager to show you their real power. Eager to walk this Earth again… all we need is the blood of the halfa.”

“Fuck you!” Sam yelled, stepping in front of the 17-year-old, her finger’s gripping Danny’s wrist. Sam took a step forward, her stance tense, her hood down as wind washed over her. Snow beading in black hair, melting down her face as hatred flashed across her features. Her grip tightened around the teenager’s wrist, protectively; and Danny swallowed softly as he realized she wasn’t about to let go.

The woman stepped forward slowly, smirking again as she chuckled, “Call off your guard-dog, Daniel. I have no intention of killing you today… besides, in order for us to be reborn, you have to come to us willingly. Which I give you… a year before you enter the Veil for the last time.”

Danny scoffed, “Unlikely.”

He shivered as he met the woman’s gaze, her smile hiding something that scared the teenager more than the threat. An understanding… knowing. She knew what went through his mind. What he thought about, how he thought about himself… The way she looked at him, the way she smirked towards him, sneering… she knew. About the drugs. The blood. About the recklessness. She knew what stimmed through a tired mind in the nightmarish reality of Fenton from Phantom. She had to know… but the only way she would, would be- Vlad.

Danny glanced down for a second, swallowing loudly. Him and Vlad had had their differences, but they seemed to work it out over the years… so would Vlad really tell people about him? Would he really betray his secrets to other people, well, Spirits? The teenager had confided in him over the years. Not about everything… but about himself, about how he had come to hate Phantom. How he had become forced to live with Phantom’s pain and torment. How he felt, as the years past, and he let Phantom have more power, he could feel reality crumpling around him. Crumpling in, and slipping through his fingers, through the cracks created by Phantom, opened and birthed through the Ghost Zone and Spirit World. How it felt like he was being drained… that his humanity was dying. Would Vlad really betray him like that? After all this time?

The woman scoffed again, “Perhaps. But I’m willing to help you out… give you another nudge in the right direction.”

Confusion crossed the 17-year-old’s face as he stepped forward again, only a few feet from the woman as she crossed her arms, raising her head. She shook her head slowly, “I can see you’re confused, so I’ll make it simple for your stupid hormonal teenage brain.”

There was a flash, and Danny dropped harshly, his hands and arms burning as he felt the shift starting to take over. Phantom gaining control as the Fenton canister, forgotten on the park bench, exploded loudly, and the teenager pressed his burning hands against the snow. Cold braced against his fingers as he looked up, wiping away some green ectoplasm that litter across his body, blood dripping down his chin slowly from a cut on his upper lip. His eyes flashed green as he let Phantom gain control, his body burning slightly as he shifted, the aching pain that plagued him, gone as Phantom took over.

Within a second, he had the woman pinned against the tree, a smirk twisting against his lips as she struggled pathetically. He huffed, his tone cocky as he tightened his grip, “You missed.”

The woman hesitated before laughing loudly, snapping her fingers as Phantom reverted back, forcing Fenton through translucent skin as he was shoved back into his teenage body. Sweaty fatigue washed over him as she kicked his leg, slamming him against the ground harshly, pinning him against the snow. The 17-year-old squirmed, trying to coax Phantom out, trying to shift but finding the task difficult, his fingers tingling and sparking green but refusing to change.

The woman snorted, grasping his hand in hers, smiling down at him as her blonde hair brushed over his chest. She pressed her fingers between his, humming softly before jerking her hand back, bending Danny’s fingers as she clawed at his palm, bones cracking, causing the teenager to scream loudly as he fought against her. After a few seconds, she let go as wind rushed past them, and she pressed her chest against his, stroking his hair back gently. She bent down further, her lips brushing against his ear, “I wasn’t aiming for you, honey.”

The 17-year-old twisted; his head jerked towards Sam as he tried forcing the woman from him. Blood splattered against the snow as Sam fell, her face pressing against the ice, her hand, bloodied and shaky, as she reached in Danny’s direction. The teenager cried loudly as Sam’s hand dropped in the snow, her body going limp as red bled through white. The woman pressed her fingers against the 17-year-old’s cheek as he screamed again; his hands and arms burning as heat clawed through his chest. Sam opened her mouth, purple lips parted but no words came, only tears trailing down pale flesh before green eyes shut.

The woman laughed softly, digging her nails painfully into Danny’s cheek and chin, prying his eyes away from Sam and towards her. Rage ate away at his features, his skin scorching against Phantom as green began to steam off him, his eyes flashing bright green before darkening as his eyes met hers. The woman tightened her grip as green smoke continued to envelope them; a smirk plastered to skin pulled back too tightly as she pressed her clammy forehead against his, gently. She took a deep breath as Danny struggled against her, his skin itching as black ectoplasm began to drip from his nose and ears, running down his face before smacking against the ground. Cold soaking through his clothes as his skin began to burn away, green fading to black, and black sparks radiating from his fingertips as the woman pressed her lips against his.

The teenager jerked away, his gaze meeting Sam’s stilled face. Her features silent, and Danny choked again as he yelled her name, fighting against the woman’s grasp again. Her nails dug once more into his flesh, pulling his face back towards her as black tears fell down his cheeks in thick trails. She thumbed some away slowly before licking the liquid from her thumb and smirking, pressing her chest once again against his.

“Such power. Such a waste,” She bent down further, her lips pressing against his temple, “Two down… See you in a year, lover.”

Pain seared across his chest, and the 17-year-old screamed as her hand pressed over his heart, burning against flesh as the greenish black swallowing him, ceased. His eyes flashed back to blue as he choked, grasping towards her hand before realizing she was gone. His hand pressing over the bloody handprint stained against his shirt as the pain slowly began to evade, and he twisted around, stumbling to his feet as he forced himself towards Sam….

#in the mood to watch danny phantom #danny phantom #fandom life #i need some fanfiction in my life right now #sick Danny #I was told to stop writing this and create a book out of this lol #posted on archive #lancer taking care of Danny #kb

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nugnthopkns · 4 years ago

Text

i’ll tell you i was wrong if you dance with me

word count: 3.3k

warnings: explicit fem!reader, slightly unhealthy relationship moment (lack of communication), mention of infidelity, cursing, alcohol consumption, a fair bit of angst

recommended listening: fred astaire | adam brock

a/n: communicate with your partners!!! also yeah this is the song from lady bird. it’s a banger

This seriously isn’t happening.

You never fight with Travis. Communication comes easy between the two of you, but you also make it a priority to talk about your feelings. It keeps things from boiling over; both of you are known to unleash wicked tempers on occasion and have found being direct stops issues from occuring. Arguments still occasionally happen, but they’re typically over trivial things like what movie to watch or where you’re spending the holidays. Travis apparently forgot about the fact you talk to each other about things.

He’d been upset when he came home from practice, but you were pretty sure he was fine after he woke up from his pre-game nap. Knowing he’s a superstitious person and has a lot of pressure on him to put up points, you had made the choice not to ask about what was bothering him. Throwing off his routine could have detrimental consequences. Tonight's game is tighter than it should have been, but the Flyers come out on top. Travis spends a bit more time in the penalty box than you would have liked, but everyone was getting chippy by the start of the third period. Claude tries to talk to him on the bench but he gets shut down. Whatever Travis was upset about before is still clearly bothering him, and it’s affecting his game.

You’re following Travis home from the game, and can tell he’s uptight from the way he’s gripping the steering wheel. As you wind through downtown Philadelphia you try and prepare yourself for any bomb that could drop. Chances are that when you reach your apartment things will explode. Maybe it’s nothing; Travis is fine and just wants to be a responsible driver for once. You pull into the free spot beside his car and see him walking towards the elevator, suit jacket balled up and tucked under his arm. This won’t be good. Trying to buy yourself some time, you take the stairs. Seven flights later you arrive outside your door; he left it unlocked, which gives you a sliver of hope things will be fine.

“Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?” you call into the darkness of the apartment. Your sneakers are left at the door and to retreat towards the bedroom, looking for a sign of life. You find one in the bathroom: the light is on. A gentle push on the door reveals your boyfriend is in the shower and ignoring you.

“Trav?”

“Yeah,” he huffs, words muffled by him tossing his head back to rinse the shampoo of his hair. Apparently the shower isn’t as relaxing as he had hoped.

You don’t bother to tread lightly, upset that he’s acting like a child. “You’re being an asshole. I get that you had a bad day, but you can’t take it out on me. I just want to help.”

Travis turns the water off suddenly. “Can’t help if you’re the problem,” he scoffs.

His statement doesn’t make sense. You’ve done nothing out of the ordinary the past couple of days; nothing that would warrant the behaviour you’re receiving. “What do you mean?”

Shouldering passed you to exit the room, Travis doesn’t bother to respond. You’re beyond frustrated: partners in healthy relationships communicate, not show emotions like grade schoolers. “You’re not giving me the fucking silent treatment Travis. You gotta talk to me.” The bedroom is dark when you enter and you flick the overhead light on to see better.

“You really don’t know?”

“Of course I don’t know,” you seethe. “If I did know we wouldn’t be in this predicament because we’d be solving the issue.”

The glare you receive is sharp enough to cut stone. He pulls on a t-shirt, anger clear in the aggression he does it with. “Why did I have to find out from Carter that you’ve been getting coffee with your TA?”

You’re shocked. In no way is it what he thinks it is. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you sigh, upset that Travis would take someone else’s words at face value and not talk to you about it.

“I’m dead fucking serious Y/N. You preach communication, but it looks as though you’re the one who hasn’t been doing enough talking.”

The room around you starts to spin. You can’t comprehend what he’s insinuating. “Wait, you think I’m cheating on you?” you ask. There has been a gross miscommunication error somewhere; never in a million years would you think of having an affair.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well what the fuck did you say?”

Travis tugs at the roots of his hair in frustration. He doesn’t answer immediately, pacing the length of the bed a few times. “I just–” he struggles to articulate his words. “I just said that you’re being a bit hypocritical, don’t you think? You’re standing here yelling at me because I didn’t voice my concerns, but you haven’t been talking to me about what’s going on in your life.” Travis’ tone is sharp, and it stings.

It’s your turn to show how upset you are. Your hands curl into fists at your side, and you squeeze your nails into your palms before releasing them. “I do tell you what goes on in my life Travis,” your breathing ragged as you try to not lose your cool. “I ran into my TA at the coffee shop yesterday, and he paid for my drink because my card wouldn’t work. Didn’t think it was breaking news, sorry I don’t send you every single fucking life update that happens. What’s gotten into you?”

“You could have been cheating!”

“But I wasn’t!” you scream, no longing caring about keeping up appearances. You can’t believe Travis would think that. It hurts. “And I never would! You know this”

He turns his back to you, like it pains him to look at you, but you don’t understand why. You're not the one suggesting infidelity. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?” he seethes.

“That’s all there is to say! There’s nothing to explain, no secret to uncover. I’m not in the wrong here.”

“And you think I am?”

You look at Travis like he has three heads. “Are you serious? You’re the one who’s so fucking upset over a situation that could have happened to literally anyone.” Your tone suggests that you’re exhausted with the conversation, and Travis gets the hint.

He slinks towards the door, still visibly angry. “I’ll take the couch tonight,” he grits out before tightly gripping the doorknob and shutting the door with more force than needed.

The bed doesn’t look appealing, full of much happier memories, but fighting with Travis has knocked any and all energy out of you. You gingerly pull back the covers and slip underneath. Tears trickle down your cheek as you toss and turn, trying to fall into some sort of slumber. However, your mind has other ideas, replaying the blowout. You can’t begin to understand why Travis is so bothered by the instance, and more importantly why it caused him to disregard a fundamental part of your relationship. There’s little movement from beyond the door, but you can hear the faint noise of a Johnny Cash record playing from the speakers in the living room. After hours of staring at the ceiling your eyes close and a fitful sleep follows.

You might have gotten nine hours of sleep, but you wake up feeling exhausted. Fighting with anyone drains you, but fighting with Travis is especially terrible because it rarely happens. There doesn’t seem to be any movement from the other side of the door; maybe he’s still asleep. You refrain from heading into the kitchen, unsure of what will happen if you see him. After nearly twenty minutes you can’t wait any longer to start your day and pad into the main living space. It’s empty: no sign that Travis has been there for many hours. Guess you don’t have to immediately deal with the fallout of last night.

A post-it note is tacked onto the fridge handle and your heart skips a beat. In Travis’ chicken scratch it reads I’ll see you at the gala tonight. We’ve got media all day and I won’t be back in time for us to go together. There’s no mention of the fight, and you can’t judge from a two sentence note whether or not he’s still pissed off.

“Fuck,” you groan. “The gala.” Tonight’s the annual Flyers Give Back gala, and you’re expected to be in attendance. It’s not even a charity event; the organization is offering a chance for business men to chat up the players in hopes they continue to donate. You find things like these unbearable and tedious, but Travis does his best to make them enjoyable. Not knowing what page you’re on with him is going to be terrible. There’s a pretty good chance he’ll ignore you if he’s still upset.

As if someone is reading your mind, the better halves group chat starts to explode. Everyone is chattering excitedly about tonight, and under normal circumstances you’d be excited to see them in such a relaxed setting. It’s been a while you’ve all hung out, but you can’t find yourself to contribute to the conversation. You mute the notifications and do your best to move on with your day. The rest of the morning is spent working on your thesis; mind numbing work that almost makes you forget about everything that happened in the past twenty-four hours. Once you’ve hit an acceptable word count for the day you shutdown your computer and make lunch.

The grilled cheese sandwich you eat while watching a John Mulaney comedy special fulfills your appetite but doesn’t curb your dread. You decide to call your sister, hoping she can be a welcome distraction. Dialling her number you sink further into the couch cushions, wrapping yourself tightly with a blanket so that only your head is poking out. “What’s up?” she asks, and you hear her shuffle in the background, presumably to move somewhere more private. It isn’t normal for you to call her unannounced.

You hold it together for approximately two seconds. The tears start and they don’t stop. Every emotion you’ve felt since getting home last night comes to the surface, and before you know it you’re sobbing into the receiver.

“Woah, slow down,” she says. “Y/N, take some deep breaths.” When your breathing returns to a somewhat regular level she continues speaking. “What happened?”

It takes you nearly twenty minutes to tell the whole story because you’re so distraught. No detail is spared, and you go back much farther than is probably needed. You recount what happened after yesterday’s practice, pretty much the entire game, and the fight that followed. “I just don’t know what brought this on,” you sniffle. “We don’t fight, we talk about things. I’m not sure if I’m more upset at what he insinuated or at the fact he broke a cardinal rule.”

Your sister sighs, and you hear her breath fan in slight annoyance. You’re worked up about something kinda stupid, you know, but you can’t let it slide. “It’s probably a bit of both. So, what are you going to do?”

“What can I do? I know that we need to talk about what happened, but a public event is not the best place to do that. I also can’t not show up or ask Trav to ditch in order to figure this out. We have to be there.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it figured out then.”

You really don’t. “What happens if he ignores me the entire night?”

She laughs and tells you to not to anything stupid, and to take your mind off of things tells you a story about your nephew eating dirt. It does the trick; you’re momentarily distracted and forget about Travis. You talk for a while longer before she has to go. “Miles is crying, will you be okay if I let you go?”

It’s your turn to laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you insist. A glance at the clock tells you it’s time to start getting ready. “I’ve gotta shower and start the process. Beauty is time consuming you know.”

Against your better judgement you open your text messages to see if there’s anything from Travis. His text thread is the same as it was yesterday and you’re disappointed. You had hoped that maybe he’d get bored between interviews and check in. With no new notifications you exit out of the application and pull up a playlist you hope will brighten your mood. The steam from the shower relaxes your tense muscles and warms you up. It’s comforting in the way a cocoon is; you practically have to drag yourself out of the bathtub.

Your bedroom is cold and doesn’t offer the same respite as the bathroom. The music continues to float in from the hallway, and you allow yourself to get lost in it. It’s been a while since you danced around your room; it worked to cure sadness when you were a teenager. Hopefully the magic hasn’t worn off. You flail your arms, not caring how silly you look since no one is here to see you anyways, and scream along at the top of your lungs. After a few songs you feel better and return to the task at hand. The dress code is labelled as ‘black tie’ on the invitation, but that isn’t what you’re worried about. You own a million dresses for situations like this after being with Travis for so long. You don’t know what he packed to wear, and there’s a decent chance you’ll be pushed together for photos. Clashing colours will look terrible.

A quick glance through his side of the closest leaves you no clues, so you decide to be as literal as possible. Black is a flattering colour and works well with every colour combination. There’s a jumpsuit hanging in the back that catches your eye and you think it’s the perfect choice. After pulling it on you move back into the bathroom to do your hair and makeup. Everything is natural and relaxed; once again for the sake of potential photos. The clock strikes on the hour and you realize it’s time to leave. A pair of heels are slipped on and you order an Uber before locking the apartment and heading to the lobby. You had thought about driving yourself, but on the occasion that things don’t end well with Travis you’ll probably have more than a couple of drinks.

The entire way to the venue your leg bounces up and down. It’s been years since you’ve been this nervous about being around the team. You’ve been with Travis for a few seasons now, and the organization has become a second family to you. No one is going to know about the fight and you worry they’re going to talk about your solo arrival. The outside of the convention centre is sharply decorated, and your driver lets out a low whistle at the extravagance of it all. “Thank you so much,” you gush, and exit the car. Thankfully no photographers are set up outside, and you dart inside without being seen.

Once in the main event space, you scan for the bar. There’s no sign of Travis, which should make you more relaxed but doesn’t. What if there was an accident on the way to the venue? You have no idea where he was all or who he came with. Overthinking distracts you from your original goal, leaving you standing aimlessly in the middle of the room.

“You look like you might need one of these,” Ryanne chuckles, handing you a champagne flute. You gladly accept and down it in two gulps. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, eyes scanning to see if your boyfriend has made an appearance.

She sees right through your facade of calm and wraps you in a tight hug. “What’s going on?”

For a second time today you explain what happened last night. There’s no judgement from Ryanne as there might have been from your sister because she understands. Dating a professional athlete isn’t easy; things like this happen much more frequently than you’d expect. Perhaps it’s all the time spent apart that makes the occasional lapse in communication so apparent. She listens quietly, full attention on you. To your credit you don’t cry this time, slightly more numb to the situation to due more time passing. It still hurts a tremendous amount.

“He’ll come around,” Ryanne insists. “TK is a little moronic sometimes, but he’d never jeopardize his relationship with you. You’re quite literally the most important thing in his life.”

“I know. I’m just upset because the whole thing could have been avoided.”

She offers you a sympathetic smile. “I know.” Ryanne links her arm through yours. “Let’s go find something to snack on.”

You spend most of the night with Ryanne, and occasionally Claude when he can get away from the hot-shot businessmen. Travis eventually came in, flanked by Nolan, but was immediately pulled into the politics of the night. The two of you occasionally sneak glances at each other and you tell he’s uncomfortable. You can only hope it isn’t because of your presence. It’s nearing eleven; the party has become a much more relaxed affair, and the DJ is playing sappy love songs in an attempt to get the media team some good photo ops. An intern asks the Giroux’s if they’ll dance for an instagram story and they both look hesitant. “Go on guys, I’ll be fine,” you reassure. It’s the subtle push they need to enjoy a quiet moment together.

As if he can sense you’re lonely and feel out of place, Travis approaches you. It’s tentative, like he’s petrified you’ll turn him away, but he comes regardless. Drinks are in each of his hands and he extends one to you. When you don’t take it he sets it on the table behind you. “Hi,” he says sheepishly, fiddling with something in his pocket.

“Hi Travis.” You’re determined not to let his presence crack your resolve; last night illuminated a big issue and it needed to be dealt with. It’s proving to be difficult because he bumps a shoulder against yours and all you can think of is kissing him senseless.

The song changes to a Bruce Springsteen ballad, and you recognize it instantly. It played at the coffee shop on your first date with Travis all those years ago. One look at him tells you this isn’t an accident, that he had requested it specifically for the two of you. “Dance with me?”

You sigh deeply, looking him in the eyes. “Trav, this isn’t going to magically fix things.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he pleads. “I fucked up so bad last night because I was being an idiot. I wrote down everything I would do differently if I had a time machine, look.” A hand reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a piece of paper filled with his nearly illegible print. “Just one dance, and then we can go home and talk about it like I should have suggested in the first place. Let me know we’re still okay.”

If you hadn’t been in public you’re sure Travis would have been in tears. It’s not necessarily a good look to cry in front of hundreds of sponsors. He has a reputation as the goofy boy who takes no shit to uphold. “You have a lot of talking ahead of you,” you say, and let him drag you onto the dance floor. Swaying in his arms you realize things are going to be just fine. Travis loves you and you love him; there’s nothing the two of you can’t work through.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

taglist: @jamiedrysdales @kiedhara @tortito if you want to be added shoot me an ask :)

#travis konecny imagine #travis konecny x reader #travis konecny fic #philadelphia flyers imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #cwrites

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kandoesfanfics-writes · 4 years ago

Text

A Song Your Soul(mate) Sings

This is my Maribat Secret Santa for @my-northern-downpour. I hope you enjoy it! This is a soulmate!au based off of a trend on TikTok in which soulmates can hear each other when they sing. I extended this to include humming as well.

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The room was dark by the time he returned to his bed.

It was sparsely decorated, the six-year old boy not wanting much for potential enemies to use to conceal themselves. His eyes scanned the shadows, watching for the slightest movement, trying to see if there was anyone currently in the room. Seeing nothing that tickled his fight or flight instincts, he cautiously walked into the room before locking it behind him. He quietly barricaded himself in the room before walking over to his meager bed.

His body ached as he laid down to sleep.

Where there was not gauze or bandages was dark skin decorated with purples and blues of varying colors. The pain was a dull throb in his limbs as compared to the sharp pains in his joints. His stomach ached from the punishing training he'd been put through earlier that day. He hadn't wanted to train, but his mother had smacked him and told him to be grateful that he was chosen as heir.

"Des yeux qui font baisser les miens, un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche, voilà le portrait sans retouche, de l'homme auquel j'appartiens…"

The joyful echoes in his head began again, right on time. The echo sounded child-like, like the singer was someone his age. The echo sounded feminine, and he wondered why such a feminine voice would be echoing in his ears. He wasn't a girl after all so why did it sound like a girl? Why couldn’t he talk to that echo either? He could always have conversations with himself, but the feminine voice never answered him.

"Quand il me prend dans ses bras, qu'il me parle tout bas, je vois la vie en rose, Il me dit des mots d'amour, des mots de tous les jours, et ça m'fait quelque chose…"

It wasn't in a language he knew either. So far Mother had only taught him Arabic and English. The strange foreign vowel sounds and unfamiliar words made no sense to the little boy. Why was he hearing a voice speaking in a strange tongue?

And was he the only one?

Mother and Grandfather had never talked about hearing strange voices in their heads. Neither had any of the others the little boy had met. If they heard the voices too, wouldn't they have talked about them? Why would Mother and Grandfather hide the knowledge from him… unless they didn't share the same experiences.

The little boy did not fear the voice, but he vowed never to speak of it. While he did not believe the voice was a threat, he did not wish to be seen as defective. He saw what had happened to those deemed unworthy of his Grandfather's presence. He did not wish to die…or worse, go through painful procedures to get rid of the voice in his head.

"Il est entré dans mon cœur, une part de bonheur, dont je connais la cause, c'est lui pour moi, moi pour lui dans la vie, Il me l'a dit, l'a juré, pour la vie, et dès que je l’aperçois, alors je sens en moi, mon cœur qui bat…"

As he curled into a ball, his daggers close at hand, he listened to the cheerful voice. He listened to the way the strange words would roll, and occasionally stutter, through his mind. It wasn’t terrible...if he had to be honest, it was rather relaxing. The sound was more often than not soft and gentle sounding compared to the harsh orders barked at him daily. Sometimes the voice had giggles and laughter interrupting the words, sending a strange warmth through him. He could feel himself relaxing enough to sleep, but he forced his green eyes to stay open as he wanted to hear more.

“Des nuits d’amour à plus finir, un grand bonheur qui prend sa place, les ennuis, les chagrins s’effacent, heureux, heureux à en mourir…”

He could feel sleep overtake him as he listened to the happy voice, glad that at least one thing in his life radiated warmth and was not tinged with fear.

He hoped Mother and Grandfather never found out.

Damian didn’t want the voice to go away.

————————

“Why do you keep singin’ if you can’t hear them, Mari?” a dark skinned boy asked, picking apart the sandwich his mother made him.

“Because Maman explained that some people can’t sing, Nino!” a little girl with paler skin responded. “Maman said that sometimes people are born without the ability to talk, or they get hurt real bad and can’t talk no more. She also said that sometimes people have a hard time hearing or can’t hear at all, so they learn FSL instead of talking with their mouth! What if my soulmate is like that? They’d be real lonely if I didn’t sing to ‘em!”

The little boy adjusted the small red cap on top of his head and said, “I guess that makes sense.”

The little girl nodded, her bob swinging a little with the force of her movements. Marinette Dupain-Cheng and her best friend, Nino Lahiffe, were sitting in her parents bakery, enjoying lunch. Nino was picking apart his food, not feeling very hungry after Chloe Bourgeois called him chubby. Despite Marinette telling Nino he wasn’t chubby, the little boy seemed to be down in the dumps. Marinette had tried to cheer him up by asking about the song he could hear his soulmate singing as Nino was very excited that he was hearing his soulmate more often now.

That had brought them to the conversation of Marinette’s soulmate...who she had never heard before.

Marinette knew her friend wasn’t trying to be mean by asking about it, and that he was worried about her. It wasn’t common that soulmates couldn’t hear one another’s voices so long as both people were alive. If one couldn’t hear their soulmates voice it could mean that they might have died, that they hadn’t been born yet, or that the person didn’t have one. There were also instances where both soulmates were still alive and still couldn’t sing to one another, and that was the type Marinette’s mother had just recently explained to her— people who were unable to verbally communicate due to either issues with hearing or speaking verbally.

Marinette was nibbling on her sandwich too, secretly trying to reassure herself as well.

After all, Chloe liked to tease her that she didn’t have a soulmate.

Marinette shook her head, kicking her feet back and forth. No! Stupid Chloe was wrong! She did have a soulmate! They just couldn’t sing to her right now! Maybe they couldn’t sing at all, but that didn’t matter! As long as she kept singing, they would eventually find her voice...wouldn’t they?

“Hey Mari, do you wanna go to the park?” Nino asked, interrupting her train of thought. “I got a new football. It’s in my bag.”

Marinette smiled brightly, adjusting the straps on her pink overalls before saying, “Prepare to lose, Nino!”

The little girl jumped out of her seat and raced towards his backpack, the little boy following after her. Neither child noticed the dark haired woman watching them with a soft, sad smile. Her near silver eyes shone with love and concern as she watched her daughter go off to play with her best friend. She looked so happy...and Sabine desperately hoped she would stay like that.

———————-

...things at his father’s house were strange.

His rules were confusing.

No killing. None. In fact, Damian got into more trouble killing while with his father. It just didn’t make any sense to him! Hadn’t Mother told Father anything?! Hadn’t Mother told Father that he was going to be heir of both the cowl and the League of Assassins? He had to know how to kill in order to do that! He had to keep up with his skills to be able to maintain and grow to surpass anyone who would challenge him!

But Father told him that he didn’t want Damian to do any of that.

He told Damian that he wanted different things for him than his mother did.

And that confused him.

The other thing that confused him was his place in his father’s house.

With his mother and his grandfather, the dark haired ten-year old’s position was always clear. He was to be the Heir to the League of Assassins. He was to be stronger, sharper, quicker, and more deadly than anyone else in the League. He was constantly being tested by Mother and Grandfather too. He knew that if he did not perform to their standards then a punishment was in order...and they never let Damian forget how replaceable he truly was at the end of the day.

He might be considered more important than the other League members, but he had to continuously earn that position.

Richard Grayson didn’t seem interested in fighting him for the cowl...at all. In fact, the young man seemed to want to get to know Damian. He seemed to get over his annoyance at the younger boy’s appearance rather quickly, and he’d started getting into Damian’s space. He asked him questions, trying to learn more about the newcomer. He didn’t appear to be threatened by Damian very much either, which irritated the aforementioned boy severely.

Dick was quick to suss out Damian’s boundaries, and while he’d ultimately respect them, he was also quick to push them too. His excuse was that Damian needed to act like other ten year old boys, and his father had agreed. While Damian had at first hated it...he had to admit he’d grown fond of Grayson, as the second Damian began to feel anxious, the older one would cease his pushing.

Dick was...well he was an older brother, through and through. He loved Damian, but he wasn’t afraid to try and kick the younger boy’s ass either. Damian appreciated someone who could see he had skill but wasn’t scared off by it. Dick was insistent in getting Damian to learn more about ‘normal’ kid stuff. Dick was the one showing him kids’ movies, loudly singing along to the lyrics, making their father groan.

Tim...Tim still wasn’t okay with Damian. Damian wasn’t okay with Tim either. Damian was more willing to overlook Dick as he was his own superhero— Nightwing. Tim was Robin. Tim was the one who had his role, according to his mother. Tim was the one he was supposed to show he was superior too. Tim was the one he had to get rid of.

But that had made father and Dick extremely angry.

Tim fought valiantly for his position, which Damian respected, but he also seemed to be sticking to Father’s no kill rule. It was clear that Father trusted Tim much more than he trusted Damian. Tim was still with the family. Tim hadn’t been replaced by him. Tim still hung out with Dick, though he did it less when Damian was around. Tim also clearly had Dick’s trust as well, while Damian was still on thin ice.

The younger boy couldn’t explain why that upset him so much, but it did.

As Dick had explained it to him, and Alfred re-explained, ranks were based purely on seniority. Alfred was in charge of Bruce, and Bruce was in charge of them. Dick was the next in line because he was the oldest, then Tim, and then Damian. There wasn’t any fighting in order to gain the upper rank...and despite Damian being on the bottom, he was treated with just as much respect as a living person deserved.

He was allowed to point out holes in plans. He was allowed to talk during meetings. He was allowed to offer his opinion. He was allowed to fight with them...he was allowed to fight without fearing death.

For the first time in Damian’s short life...he was allowed to do things without the risk of death constantly hanging over his head. The most his father would do is bench him from patrols, stop him from training, and put him under house arrest. All of these punishments were preferable to the ones his mother would come up with, and he felt so much better about that.

He was freer to be himself here than he ever had been with his mother.

“Here comes the sun, do, dun, do, do. Here comes the sun, and I say, it's all right. Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter. Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here. Here comes the sun, do, dun, do, do. Here comes the sun, and I say, it's all right!”

Damian looked up from his oatmeal, grimacing at his elder ‘brother’ as said man skidded into the kitchen in a tee-shirt, boxers, and his socks.

It had been an entire year since his mother had left him with his father. He was eleven years old now, and he’d told his mother that he was staying with his father. He had thought he’d grow used to his ‘brothers’ antics, but it appeared that there was one thing he still wasn’t used to— Dick’s insistence that he break out in a random musical number anytime he felt like it…

“GRAYSON, would you please shut up! Tt, it’s too early for this nonsense!” the green-eyed boy said with a scowl. “Alfred, please tell him that he’s much too noisy.”

“No can do, lil’ D! I have to let my soulmate know I’m a-okay! And the only way to do that is sing!” Dick said happily. “Good morning, Alfred!”

The elderly man shook his head in fond annoyance before saying, “Good morning, Master Dick. If you eat cereal, please leave some left for Master Tim. That boy hasn’t been eating much, but I have been getting him to eat cereal...and do lower your volume, Master Dick.”

“...what the, and I can’t emphasize this enough, fuck are you talking about, Grayson? Where did you hear such nonsense?”

The kitchen fell silent as both Dick and Alfred looked at Damian in shock. Alfred hadn’t even corrected Damian for cursing, both men clearly fighting back and array of emotions. Dick appeared to recover first. His inquisitive blue eyes focused on Damian before he took a deep breath.

“Dames...you know what soulmates are right?” Dick asked slowly.

“What kind of asinine—”

“Master Damian, have you ever heard a voice in your head?”

Damian froze like a rabbit that had just spotted a predator. Despite the boy’s training, Alfred could see it in his microexpressions that the child was afraid. It looked like he had no idea how to answer the question, so the old butler took pity on him and continued.

“This voice...or echo doesn’t sound like it belongs to you. It sounds like someone else...someone you may not know. It could be in another language, possibly, or it could take form in the sound of humming—”

“Almost everyone has one, Lil’ D...” Dick interrupted, his expression twisted with worry. “My soulmate sings back to me after I sing to him.”

The green-eyed boy’s jaw dropped, looking back and forth between Alfred and Dick in an alarmingly vulnerable way. Dick was about to go get Bruce before Damian let out the softest sound of shock and surprise he’d ever heard. He had to strain to hear what Damian said to Alfred next, hating how small and weak the proud boy sounded.

“I’m...I’m not crazy? She— she’s real?”

“Talia never told you about soulmates, did she?” Alfred said, taking the available seat next to Damian. “Of course you're not crazy, Master Damian. This is completely normal.”

Damian shook his head, looking anxiously at the butler and Dick. He thought the voice was just in his head! She was a real person? She was singing to him? Was he supposed to be singing back? Why could he hear her? Why him?

“Why we don’t explain what soulmates are first,” Alfred said softly. “A soulmate is someone whose soul compliments yours. You are whole as you are, Damian, but a soulmate is someone whose personality will compliment yours. They are the one person in the world who has the chance to know you as well as you know yourself. They’re a blessing to have, not a weakness to exploit.”

“In order to be able to find our soulmates, we have an almost telepathic connection of sorts. When our soulmates sing, we will be able to hear them in our heads. The same goes for when you sing. She’ll be able to hear you,” Dick added. “You will be able to find your soulmate through their singing. You’ll know when you’ve met her...Lil’ D...does your soulmate still sing to you?”

“Everyday...though the time has changed since I got to the states. I’m assuming she’s European due to the timezone difference and what I believe is a Latin-based language,” Damian mumbled, twiddling his thumbs. “Is that good?”

“That’s excellent, Lil’ D. It means she hasn’t given up on you,” Dick said with a grin. “So don’t keep her waiting anymore, okay?”

“Mother and Grandfather never talked about—is it safe? I assumed I was crazy because they never spoke of soulmates and neither did anyone else. I thought—”

“You’re not crazy, Master Damian,” Alfred said, this time firmer. “You are just like any other young man with a soulmate. You hear her voice when she sings to you, and you enjoy it, don’t you?”

“...it is a nice song…very pretty…”

“They probably saw their soulmates as weaknesses to their plans, but what they failed to realize is that soulmates are sources of strength as well. Do not be afraid to answer her now, Master Damian. She’s probably been waiting quite a while to hear your voice.”

Damian still felt like he was going to throw up, but he nodded. He was still tense as a freshly tightened spring as he watched Dick return to his breakfast. The older man started humming a tune that Damian recognized was a song from the movie they’d just watched the night before.

“Dick...what’s the name of that song? The one you’re humming from the movie last night?” he asked, trying to control his voice.

Dick raised an eyebrow, surprised by the use of his first name. He calmly told Damian that he was humming ‘Can You Feel the Love Tonight’ as performed by Elton John. He said nothing further as he watched Damian make a beeline towards the door, clearly not wanting to speak anymore on the subject, and abandoning his oatmeal. He looked towards Alfred to see if he should bring him back to at least finish breakfast, but the butler shook his head.

“Let Master Damian go. This must be overwhelming for him as well as slightly invasive. Let him process.”

Little did Alfred know that Damian had already accepted that the voice was in his head. He had already accepted the voice that lulled him to sleep as a piece of him that he’d protect willingly and viciously. The only change was that he now understood why he was so keen on protecting the intruder in his head.

He wasn’t crazy.

She was real.

That song was real.

Everything she ever sang to him was real.

Damian wasn’t broken.

She was real.

———————

The last thing Sabine Cheng expected was for her daughter to be awake at seven thirty am, no matter how early she and her husband got up.

Her sweet little Marinette had never been a morning person, always sleeping in and making herself late. Sabine had tried to break her daughter of the habit, but she was just as stubborn as her father. Now Sabine simply tried to mitigate how late her daughter got up so that she wouldn’t be as late to things.

She’d gone to wake her daughter up as she had errands to run. Sabine needed Marinette to come with her to help carry some of the items they were picking up for her mother-in-law’s birthday while Tom worked the store. Neither parent expected the shriek that came from their daughter’s room.

Nor the disheveled state she came nearly crashing down in.

“MAMAN! PAPA!” Marinette shrieked, her hair half-in, half-out of her braid. “HE SANG! MAMAN, HE’S THERE! PAPA, MY SOULMATE ANSWERED ME!”

Marinette’s eyes were wide with shock as she spluttered, trying to get words out of her mouth. Her hands were flailing in every direction, trying desperately to articulate the words she couldn’t get out. She was still dressed in her pajamas, looking at her parents helplessly.

“Marinette! Marinette, you have to breathe, little dumpling,” Sabine said, grabbing her daughter’s hands. “Take a few deep breaths.”

Marinette took a deep breath, following her mother’s instructions of in and out. As soon as she had stopped practically vibrating out of her skin, Marinette grabbed her mother’s arms and said, “He sang back, Maman. He was so shy and stuttered a lot, but he sang back. He answered me!”

Tom looked absolutely relieved, his posture relaxing slightly. He had been worried about Marinette’s soulmate never singing back, and how that would affect Marinette. They knew that she’d been bullied by the mayor’s daughter for never hearing her soulmate sing, and they knew how bad that had made her feel. Tom then stiffened back up when he realized that Marinette’s soulmate sang back, and now someone would be trying to find his little girl.

Sabine couldn’t help but roll her eyes at her husband. Their daughter was only eleven, so she doubted that someone was just going to come and steal her away! However, she was very excited for her daughter. She kissed Marinette on the forehead before saying, “That’s amazing, little dumpling. You go get changed, and you can tell me about it while we walk to the store.”

Marinette nodded eagerly before pausing.

“Maman? Do you think we could get some English books? To help me practice and learn? I’m pretty sure my soulmate sang in English,” the dark haired girl said, biting the tip of her thumb.

Tom looked at his wife, waiting for her to give the nod of approval, before telling Marinette that of course she could get some English studying material. While Tom was apprehensive of the soulmate that just started singing (why hadn’t he sang before?), he wanted nothing more than his little girl to be happy. He kissed his wife on the cheek before walking back into the kitchen, continuing to work on the pastries.

Marinette couldn’t stop the smile on her face as she raced back up to her room.

Her soulmate sang back to her!

She bounced over to her mirror, picking up her hair brush. She pulled out her hair tie, allowing the braid to fall apart completely. As she began to brush her hair, she picked up where her song had left off before her soulmate had tried to sing back.

“Quand il me prend dans ses bras, il me parle tout bas, je vois la vie en rose, il me dit des mots d’amour, des mots de tous les jours, et ça me fait quelque chose, il est entré dans mon coeur, une part de bonheur, dont je connais la cause, c’est toi pour moi, moi pour lui dans la vie, il me l’a dit, i’a juré pour la vie,” she sang, carefully braiding her hair.

She paused for a moment, waiting to see if he would try singing again.

Her soulmate sounded male, but it was hard for her to hear him. He sounded uncertain and shy as he stumbled across his words. Then he sounded a little bit upset before changing to humming a tune she was familiar with. He was humming “La Vie en Rose” which was a song Marinette sang very often, and that was another reason she believed he wasn’t French. He clearly knew the tune, but didn’t seem confident to say the words.

A familiar tune timidly filled her head, soft and sleepy. She felt affection well up in her chest as he continued to hum “La Vie en Rose” to her. Marinette could tell he’d been listening to her every time she sung him that song. He hummed every note perfectly until his voice began to drift off. Marinette wondered for a moment if that means he’d fallen asleep.

She finished getting dressed quickly after that, throwing on her pink sundress and black ballet flats. Blue-grey eyes sparkling with joy and excitement, Marinette practically ran down the stairs, causing her papa to call out to her to be more careful. She told her papa she would as she skipped over towards her mother.

She couldn’t wait to tell her mother about her soulmate humming her song back to her.

——————

It wasn’t until Damian was almost seventeen that he felt comfortable enough actually singing to his soulmate.

At first, he’d attempted a clumsy rendition of “Can You Feel the Love Tonight”. He hadn’t been able to remember the words properly, so he’d gotten frustrated and embarrassed. She had been able to hear him messing up! He already hadn’t been singing back to her for years, and now his first attempts were pathetic! He had been worried about how she’d respond to him finally returning her songs, but he’d then begun to worry about what she thought about him screwing it up entirely!

Instead of giving up though, he had decided to hum her song back to her. He knew every note of that song, despite not knowing the words or the name to the song. He had hummed until she answered him back with her own bright cheerful song. She had sung the words, strange and unfamiliar to him, while he hummed the melody, creating the most beautiful sound Damian could have sworn he’d ever heard.

Her voice had sounded even brighter than before, and Damian could tell she was happy. After the first day, he’d noticed an uptick in his soulmate’s humming and singing. The more he’d returned her humming with his own, the happier her voice had sounded. It had warmed his chest in an inexplicable way...almost as if he’d missed her without ever meeting her until he hummed back.

Damian had reached the point where he could easily recall all of the words to Elton John’s “Can You Feel the Love Tonight”, but he’d only hummed it to her. He hadn’t felt confident enough to attempt to sing it out loud again, but he was getting there in small steps. He’d been working on it, speaking the words out loud to ensure he remembered them as to not have a repeat of his first attempt. He had begun singing little bits and pieces to the song, which seemed to get the interest of his soulmate. He had fallen even faster for her when she began to show him what she’d been working on.

Singing in English.

Despite her difficulties, his soulmate had continued to try and sing to him in what she probably assumed was his native tongue. She had learned another language for him! She had learned one of the most difficult languages to learn (the grammar rules could be absolutely atrocious, and Damian hated it) just so he could understand her singing.

The least he could do was actually sing for her.

Especially since his soulmate had grown more somber and sad in the past few years.

Her songs seemed to have changed from the light-hearted melodies about love and life to heavier music, in both genre and topics. She’d never stopped singing the song he’d come to know as “La Vie en Rose” though. It appeared that she only sang it for him now because her voice was always quiet, almost like a whisper as she sang. Some nights she only sang a few words or not at all, which worried Damian greatly. So, he did the only thing he could do.

He hummed to her even when she was silent or didn’t seem to want to sing much.

Damian began to hum to her like she’d sang to him all those days while he still lived with the League. She had dealt with his silence for years, never knowing if she had someone on the other end of her connection. Damian only realized how terrifying that was when she’d gone completely silent for a day, not singing anything at all. He could toughen it out and hum to her until she felt like she could sing again, but it only got worse.

She had begun to sing in the softest, saddest voice Damian had ever heard.

It broke his heart to know she was in pain.

Which led him to his current situation, standing in a busy Parisian patisserie with his father and brother, singing to his soulmate for the first time.

“There's a calm surrender, to the rush of day, when the heat of a rolling wind can be turned away. An enchanted moment, and it sees me through. It's enough for this restless warrior, just to be with you,” he sang softly, ignoring the shocked looks of both Bruce and Tim. “And can you feel the love tonight? It is where we are. It's enough for this wide-eyed wanderer, that we got this far, and can you feel the love tonight. How it's laid to rest? It's enough to make kings and vagabonds believe the very best.”

The small Asian woman behind the counter looked concerned until Tim apologized and kindly informed her that Damian had never actually sang to his soulmate before. The woman chuckled before telling Tim that he didn’t need to apologize, and that their order would be out soon. Tim nodded, paying the kind woman before Bruce guided them both off to the side to wait.

The dark haired boy ignored his brother’s insistent questions, listening for her voice. She was still quiet, having stopped singing the previous song that had gotten Damian so concerned to begin with. He continued to sing, wanting his soulmate to know that even if it felt like no one else did, he cared about her.

He’d have to thank Dick later for his annoying pop music obsession, or he’d never have recognized Sia’s song “Breathe Me”.

“There's a time for everyone, if they only learn. That the twisting kaleidoscope moves us all in turn. There's a rhyme and reason to the wild outdoors. When the heart of this star-crossed voyager beats in time with yours,” he continued, ignoring all of the sounds going on around him.

Just as Damian was about to sing the next section, the patisserie door slammed open. A tiny girl(?) with pitch black hair that was falling loose around her face came racing in. He could see tear streaks down her face as if she’d just been crying. Her body posture was defensive. Her arms were crossed tightly against her chest, and her body was hunched over as if she were trying to make herself smaller.

A blond haired guy followed her into the building. He seemed out of breath with his face as flushed as it was. His green eyes reminded Damian of limes or acid, bright and loud. His entire demeanor displayed a nervousness as he tried to reach the girl, whose posture seemed to scream ‘I’m not okay’ the closer he got to her.

“Marinette, listen! It was just a joke! Alya said they didn’t mean it, and Lila already told the class to stop messing up your schedules,” the guy said. “Please, Marinette? Don’t be mad. You’re better than that.”

The young woman, Marinette, stopped dead in her tracks before turning around. With the more composure than Damian had thought she possessed, she simply said, “Adrien, I am allowed to be upset. They destroyed my planner, which had all the events for our class in it. As class president, I’m supposed to have all of those dates written down and available to anyone who needs them. I now have to remake the entire schedule on top of all my other responsibilities. Besides, real jokes don’t normally involve destroying someone’s personal property, now please leave me alone.”

Damian felt his heart drop into his stomach.

He knew that voice like he knew his katana.

He’d never be able to mistake the voice that had lulled him to sleep so many nights.

That was her voice.

He knew her.

“And can you feel the love tonight? It is where we are. It's enough for this wide-eyed wanderer that we got this far, and can you feel the love tonight? How it's laid to rest? It's enough to make kings and vagabonds, believe the very best,” Damian continued, needing to be certain it was her.

He watched the young woman’s arms fall to her sides, looking almost startled. Her eyes, which he now noticed were an enchanting slate blue color that reminded him of a storm, were now darting around. Her petal pink lips, which looked so soft, were agape which hinted towards her being alarmed by something. Her posture straightened up as she scanned the room again. Not finding what she was looking for apparently, she slowly began to sing, her eyes searching the room once more.

“Et dès que je l’aperçois, alors je sens en moi, mon coeur qui bat.”

Damian’s heart then decided to make a violent return to his chest as he could hear it pounding in his chest.

It was her.

Those were the last lines to “La Vie en Rose”.

It was her.

——————

Marinette, to say the least, had been having a couple rough years.

At the age of thirteen, she had been given the ladybug miraculous by the former Guardian and became the spotted heroine known as Ladybug.

At around the age of fourteen-fifteen, Lila Rossi had joined her class and the bullying began.

At the age of sixteen, she realized that she had less friends than she thought she did.

And now at the age of seventeen, Marinette was just done.

She hadn’t been able to locate Hawkmoth due to his increasing power, gaining Mayura as an accomplice, and her inability to keep a standard set of heroes. Some people had lost the privilege to wield the miraculous by breaking Marinette’s trust, and others had been compromised by Hawkmoth. This meant that everytime she needed assistance, she either had to combine the miraculous or give a rookie hero a crash course in superhero training.

Add to that Chat Noir’s endless attempts to flirt and get her to sing in front of him, and Marinette was ready to throw herself out a window.

Being a superhero with little to no training had been hard enough, but now she was the Guardian of the box! Now not only did she have to worry about her Kwami, Tikki, she had to worry about all of them! She would also have to do this with absolutely no training as well except from what the kwamis could remember/tell her.

And all of that didn’t take into account the Marinette part of her life either.

Her only solace had been her soulmate, who had slowly been learning how to sing. She had been surprised to hear attempts at singing, as he’d been humming almost consistently since his first attempt, but it made the ache in her chest feel lighter. Her soulmate clearly cared enough about her to try and overcome whatever had been stopping him from singing before, and it made her feel good. She had come to find the humming comforting, but she also found she enjoyed his voice while he sang too.

More grown up now, his voice was a deep baritone that settled into her bones and made her relax. She had found herself wishing she could talk to him more, wanting to hear words instead of humming. She had forced herself to be patient though. If her soulmate had had problems singing before, it was a possibility he’d only recently gained the capability to verbally speak. She didn’t want to be rude and push for more if that was the case.

Which was apparently something none of her classmates understood.

Marinette had walked into her classroom, only to find the planner she had painstakingly put together for the class in tatters on the floor. She’d left it for their teacher to use, as the teacher needed to add a few more dates in for school functions that had just gotten approved. She wished she could say she hadn’t been upset, but she was.

They’d stuck her with this thankless job, due to Lila not wanting to have to do anything, and this was how they repaid her?

She found it ridiculous that they were still bullying her over Adrien. Sure, she’d liked him when he’d first arrived. He was handsome and rather nice, and most girls had a crush on him. She knew he wasn’t her soulmate though. While he could speak perfect English (thanks to his aunt and cousin living in England, and his late uncle speaking mainly English), the time zone differences didn’t match up.

Her soulmate hummed at specific times, and Marinette had attributed that schedule to reflect their difference in time zones. If Adrien had been her soulmate, then the humming would have occurred around the same time Marinette was normally singing. Plus, she’d heard Adrien sing before when Nino had pressured him into doing it.

The click didn’t go off in her head and as a result, her crush slowly began to die out. She’d even explained to Alya the situation when she’d told her former best friend that she was giving up on dating Adrien. Alya knew that Adrien wasn’t her soulmate, so she didn’t want to waste her time on him.

So why had she joined Lila in bullying her?

Why had she conveniently forgotten that Marinette was completely over her crush and didn’t want to date him?

Why had she lied to Adrien about Marinette wanting to date her?

Most of all, why had Alya believed Lila over her?

Marinette hadn’t heard anyone apologizing to her when she raced out of the room, overwhelmed and upset. She was doing her damndest to control her emotions so that Hawkmoth couldn’t akumatize her, but she could still feel the tears hot on her cheeks. She ignored everything else, storming back towards the patisserie, considering telling her parents she’d thrown up on the way to school and decided to turn around and come home.

Taking a deep breath, she began to sing an English song she’d found while browsing around online. At first she wanted to listen to English songs to help her learn her soulmate’s language, but she did end up finding music and artists that she liked.

“Help, I have done it again. I have been here many times before. Hurt myself again today, and the worst part is there's no-one else to blame. Be my friend, hold me. Wrap me up, enfold me. I am small and needy. Warm me up and breathe me,” she sang, picking up the pace as she heard Adrien shout out her name.

“There's a calm surrender, to the rush of day. When the heat of a rolling wind can be turned away. An enchanted moment, and it sees me through. It's enough for this restless warrior just to be with you.”

Marinette nearly froze in her tracks.

Her soulmate had sung!

From the sound of his tone, he seemed worried about her. Marinette continued the song she’d been singing, only pausing when he began to sing his song back to her. She had continued walking on autopilot, taking comfort in her soulmate’s voice despite the fact that she could still register Adrien’s shouting in the back of her mind.

She slammed the patisserie door open, too shocked and upset to think about using the private entrance to their home above the bakery. She heard Adrien’s footsteps follow her inside. She had planned on ignoring him, not wanting to have another fight about whether or not Alya and Lila’s latest shenanigans had been ‘friendly teasing’ or not.

She was going to until Adrien opened his stupid mouth to tell her she was ‘better than this’.

“Adrien, I am allowed to be upset. They destroyed my planner, which had all the events for our class in it. As class president, I’m supposed to have all of those dates written down and available to anyone who needs them. I now have to remake the entire schedule on top of all my other responsibilities. Besides, real jokes don’t normally involve destroying someone’s personal property, now please leave me alone,” she’d told him, firmly.

Before Adrien could respond though, she heard her soulmate sing.

Marinette felt like she’d been struck by lightning as she realized she’d heard an echo, meaning that he was also in the patisserie. He was here! He was here, and he was singing for her!

Her eyes darted around the room, taking in everyone who was present. She saw that her father and mother were swamped with orders, doing their best to keep the line short. There were several regular customers in line with a couple new faces, but no one who stuck out. There was a small trio off to the side, clearly waiting for their order.

They did not appear familiar at all but from the looks of their suits, Marinette wagered they were businessmen. Perhaps they were in the city on business? Or perhaps this wasn’t their normal stop for baked goods, but they came here because it was closer?

Still feeling anxious, she steeled her nerves and began to sing slowly, trying to find the one person who would react in the crowd.

Her eyes were drawn back to the trio, noticing how awestruck the one looked.

He was objectively handsome with a sharp jawline and defined cheekbones. He had tanned skin that made the two men next to him look rather pale in comparison. His hair was jet black and well groomed. He looked strong with broad shoulders, and Marinette was certain he had several inches on her as far as height went.

It was his eyes though that caught her attention.

They were a jade green, a bit darker than Adrien’s, but captivating all the same. They were also looking at her with a look of longing that for some reason didn’t frighten Marinette. He looked like he desperately wanted to come over to her, but he appeared to be waiting for something.

The second he realized she had her eyes on him, he opened his mouth and finished the song.

“It's enough to make kings and vagabonds believe the very best,” he sang, looking at her almost hopefully.

Marinette felt something in her mind click into place.

She also could swear she heard Tikki giggling from inside her purse.

The little kwami had always told Marinette she’d meet her soulmate one day. She’d also told Marinette that she’d meet him when she needed him most. The little red kwami had seemed extremely confident about that fact and about how her soulmate would be able to help her.

Feeling a nudge from her purse, Marinette swallowed before marching over to where the three men were standing. The one whose gaze had been fixed on her also began to step forward, meeting Marinette half-way. He smiled at her, but his eyes told her he was nervous.

“Hello, my name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she said, holding out her hand in what she knew was a traditional American greeting.

He took her hand but surprised her by kissing the back of her hand instead of shaking it.

“Hello, I’m Damian. You have a lovely voice.”

Marinette felt her cheeks heat up as she smiled back at him.

“You too...though I’d like to hear it more,” she replied, ignoring the fact he’d yet to let go of her hand.

The grip wasn’t harsh or uncomfortable...but rather warm and reassuring.

“Okay, seriously Demon Spawn,” the shorter man said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “What the hell is going on, and why were you singing to your soulmate? You never sing out loud! Who is she, and why did you kiss her hand? Do you even know her?”

“Shut. Up. Drake,” Damian hissed, his cheeks coloring a bit. “Can’t you and Father give me a moment?”

Marinette could see the tension building, so she asked the question that had been bugging her since she was a child.

“Why didn’t you ever sing to me before we were eleven?”

This made the two men freeze. A look of realization dawned on them as they looked between Marinette and Damian. The younger of the two had the decency to blush a little bit, mumbling a ‘nevermind’. The older of the two seemed almost...relieved? Happy? Ecstatic?

“Terribly sorry,” the older man said with a smile. “My name is Bruce Wayne. I’m Damian’s father. This is his brother Tim Drake, who I adopted, hence the different last name. Damian, we’re going to take our pastries and head back to the hotel. You can meet us there when you’re done.”

With that, Marinette watched as Bruce pushed Tim towards the exit, still feeling a little confused and dazed. She returned her attention towards Damian, who looked very uncomfortable and upset. She almost told him to forget about her question until he said quietly, “...my mother never told me about soulmates. I wasn’t allowed to sing or hum growing up, but my mother never told me why. They never taught me any songs either. I mainly had to learn them myself. I— I didn’t even realize I was hearing another person’s voice until someone explained it to me.”

Damian was looking down at his shoes, but he managed to lift his head to look at her before continuing.

“I’m sorry. I never meant to make you feel lonely or unwanted. I tried singing to you at eleven because I started living with my father around that time.”

Marinette felt relieved and heartbroken all at once.

“You don’t have to apologize just because your mother didn’t tell you about this,” she murmured, getting closer to her soulmate. “I’m just relieved that it wasn’t because you didn’t want me.”

“Excuse me, but Marinette and I were having a conversation! Marinette, you can’t just ignore people! It’s rude! Besides, Alya and Lila are here to apologize.”

The dark haired young woman let out a hiss, making the man in front of her chuckle.

Adrien.

She’d nearly forgotten about him.

Marinette turned around to see that Adrien was glaring daggers at Damian. The blond walked forward and actually had the audacity to wrap his arm around her shoulders. She pushed her arm off of her and stood in front of Damian.

From her new position, she could also see the two harpies from hell waiting at the patisserie door. Alya looked only a little nervous, and Lila had her usual fake sad face on. She could also see the simmering anger in Adrien’s eyes as she chose the stranger over him.

“Oh! Marinette, there you are!” Lila crooned, latching onto Adrien’s arm. “We’re so sorry! We didn’t realize that was your book.”

“I thought you said it was a joke on me though,” she responded, looking between both of them. “If you didn’t know it was mine, why would the joke be on me?”

“We never said that—” Alya began, but Marinette just cut her off.

Reaching into her bag, she took out the little tape recorder she’d been bringing to school to gather evidence. She briefly rewinded it before playing it, the two girls’ voices coming through crystal clear. Her expression did not change as Alya and Lila began to scream about how she couldn’t just record them like that, scrambling to also include how recordings could be taken out of context or misconstrued.

“You’re only mad because Lila won’t let you have Adrien!” Alya shouted, gaining the attention of Marinette’s mother and the other customers. “You’ve had a crush on him forever, and now you’re jealous because you can’t have him because of Lila!”

Marinette could feel a migraine coming on as she bit out, “I. Don’t. Have. A. Crush. On. Him. Seriously? That crush was like a month, two months long before I told you I was over it?”

“Don’t you still love me?” Adrien interjected, looking like a sad puppy.

“Not any more than a friend,” she said bitterly, “but I have no idea if I can consider you even that now.”

“You’re a filthy liar! You so totally have a crush—”

“Excuse me, but could you three kindly fuck off?” a cold voice came from behind her.

Marinette’s head twisted back to see that Damian no longer looked all that shy or vulnerable.

“I’ve waited years to be able to hear her voice in person, as Miss Marinette Dupain-Cheng is my soulmate, and I’d really like to get to know her. Without an audience of absolute buffoons,” Damian continued, still coming off cold. “She already asked you to leave her alone, Blondie. My suggestion is take your two bitches and leave before I make you.”

“Ugh, you’re so rude!” Alya snapped. “No wonder you ended up with a cheat like Marinette!”

Marinette felt a twinge in her chest as she looked down at her shoes. She wasn’t surprised Alya had said something like that, but it still hurt deep down. Alya had once been a dear friend of hers, and for her to say such terrible lies about her made her heart break. She went to call out to her mother when Damian let out a snarl.

“You’re the rude ones. You think destroying private property is a joke? You think taking people’s belongings is a joke? You think barging into a place of business isn’t rude? Do you think interjecting on conversations that you’re not a part of isn’t rude? You think what you said isn’t fucking rude? Why don’t you try thinking before you speak? I know that takes up a lot of oxygen, but I can get you a plant if you’re worried about running out. Now, Get. Out.”

Damian cracked his knuckles and slid off his suit jacket, showing off muscled arms that looked a lot stronger than Adrien. He glared at the trio, watching them carefully as they backed off of Marinette. The subtle threat seemed to work as Alya latched onto Adrien’s other arm, both girls pulling him out of the patisserie. They were complaining loudly about how rude he was and continued to say passive aggressive things about Marinette. She thought the situation was going to explode until her mother walked over to them.

“Marinette? What’s going on?” Shouldn’t you be at school? And why were your classmates here?” she asked, gently holding her daughter’s face in her hands.

“I don’t feel well, Maman,” Marinette replied quietly. “It’s getting bad again.”

She watched her mother’s normally gently and friendly face twist into a well concealed look of rage. Sabine’s silver eyes narrowed, slightly worrying Marinette, as she looked at Damian before demanding to know who he thought he was, thinking that he could speak on her daughter’s behalf.

“I’m her soulmate, ‘mam. I wasn’t trying to speak for her, and I apologize if that’s how it was coming off. You see, my mother didn’t allow singing when I was growing up, and I went to go live with my father when I was ten, so for the first ten years of my life, I didn’t know what a soulmate was,” he answered. “It’s been about six years since I learned what a soulmate was, and I’ve been waiting since then to meet the girl who still sings to a silent soulmate.”

Marinette began to blush, stuttering apologies before Damian responded that she had nothing to apologize for. He then smiled at both her and Sabine before asking if they wanted to attend dinner at Le Grand Paris so Sabine could meet his father.

“I’d really like to get to know you, Marinette, but only if that’s what you want too,” he said with a soft smile. “I want this to be your choice as much as it is mine. I don’t want you to think you have to say yes just because we’re soulmates.”

And as she looked into the face of a man who taught himself how to sing just to be able to connect with her when she needed him the most, Marinette actually believed him.

Perhaps this wouldn’t be like Chat Noir and Ladybug…

A hard nudge from her pocket prompted her into answering, “Yes...I’d really like to get to know you too, Damian.”

As he smiled at her, a genuine smile that reached one’s eyes instead of the fake one he’d been using when talking to Lila, she felt her heart skip a few beats. He readjusted his grip on her hand, sending tingles down her arm and making her entire body feel warm. She gently squeezed his hand, receiving an evenly pressured squeeze in return as he talked to her mother about their patisserie shop.

Vaguely in the back of her mind, Marinette wondered if this is what being with your soulmate was supposed to feel like.

If it was...well, Marinette wasn’t going to be trading the warm homey feeling she got watching her mother talk nice with Damian for anything in the world. He seemed to have a quiet sort of charm about him, and he wasn’t easily intimidated by the looks of it, as he didn’t flinch when her father came out to meet him.

No, instead Damian had shook her father’s hand firmly, introducing himself with proud shoulders and confidence. This seemed to make her father happy as he wasn’t frowning as hard when he asked Damian what he did. Her father also seemed satisfied when Damian responded that his father owned a large business, and he was studying to help his older brother take it over once his father decided to retire.

The way he seemed to seamlessly slide into her family, the domestic feeling of it, made Marinette very happy.

Now all she had to do was figure out how to break the news to her soulmate that she was a superhero…

Oh boy.

*Songs in Order of Appearance:

“La Vie en Rose” by Edith Piaf

“Here Comes the Sun” by The Beatles

“Can You Feel the Love Tonight” as performed by Elton John

“Breathe Me” by Sia

#maribat #Maribat Secret Santa #Maribat Secret Santa 2020 #Marinette xDamian #daminette #i hope you like it!#long post #it ended up being a biggin'

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