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chosos-mascara · 2 years ago

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you shouldn't

𝙩𝙤𝙟𝙞 𝙛𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙪𝙧𝙤 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 - arriving at toji's home after a break-up, you decide to finally make a move.

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 - age gap (reader is mid-20s, toji is late 40s), sex, some angst but resolved, fingering, teasing, petnames, no mentions of birth control, dom!toji, dilf!toji

minors + ageless dni 4k words

"What're ya doing here, kid?" Toji was dishevelled, a bath robe tied loosely around his waist, chest open to reveal a few scars behind the silk. Your eyes were puffy, swollen from tears, lips bloated and peeling, a few marks from where you'd bitten the soft skin a little too much. A state you hadn't wanted him to see, but one he'd answered the door to nonetheless, much to your embarrassment.

"He broke up with me." The sentence left you with reluctance, eyes unable to meet his, instead trailing down to meet the indentations of pink painted on his skin, a mark you knew had been the result of a previous job. Toji sighed and stepped back, opening his door wider to accommodate you, though not before shooting you a disapproving look. "Told ya it wouldn't last." He couldn't help but to scold you for mistakes, no matter how much you'd been hurt in the process. Though, this was new - you hadn't turned up to his home through tears before.

"I trusted him," A sob racked over you as you'd explained, the warmth inside his hall kissing your cold cheeks. "I don't know why. They're all the same." The final words were quieter as you sniffled back another cry, shaking your head. "You keep lettin' these guys fuck with ya. 's your own fault." His voice was a little muffled; you'd understood he had been bringing a cigarette to lips and lighting it with the way the sentence had left the curve of a half open mouth. "Thought he was different, Toj'." You glanced up to him, sporting the usual puppy-dog eyes - the sole reason Toji couldn't turn you away. His social battery was lower than most, though when it'd come to you, his tolerance had increased. There was something about the way you'd looked at him, your mannerisms, and the fact he'd known you'd needed him. Even if you hadn't explicitly told him, Toji understood he was a big part of your life.

He'd been your father's friend - not that you'd spent much time with the man himself; a business partner. Toji hadn't thought himself as a good dad, often leaving Megumi for extended periods of time, but when he'd met an eighteen-year-old you over dinner with the old man, he'd realised his parenting had been award-winning compared to his associate's. Your relationship with Toji had been purely business related at first, beginning a career under the family's sector as his secretary, and through pity, the black-haired male had taken time out of his day to look out for you. You'd play back, and he'd appreciate your witty responses, eventually looking forward to the grin greeting him before he'd step into his office. It had been a number of years ago now, and something had bloomed between the pair of you.

Toji had assumed you'd seen him as a parental figure - he'd been in his late forties while you still in the midst of twenties, a large age gap according to him. Though after a few drinks at the work's Christmas party he'd been dragged to, he'd been met with a confession from yourself - "I used to have a pretty big crush on you." One he found himself remembering late at night, pondering over what would have happened if in that moment, he would've made a move. But, that had been a year ago, and you'd seen multiple people within that time frame - all of which Toji had hated.

Though, he needn't worry about them because after a month or so, they'd drop like flies. You hadn't been able to figure out why, though indulging in the positiveness Toji would offer to you after break-ups, spilling gossip to him in the break-room and basking in the odd compliment of your character he'd fish out in an attempt to aid your sadness. He'd figured out long ago that the reason had been down to your mental state, and the damage caused over the years by your environment. The male had figured that the men looking for a fling hadn't the emotional capacity to support you, and at times, he wasn't sure he'd be able to either.

"Can we watch a movie, or something?" You questioned, bringing the back of your hand to rub away the tears that had accumulated over your face, glancing back to the male. Toji nodded, exhaling smoke and gesturing to his attire - or lack thereof. "Ain't doing shit in this, let me get dressed." The male moved toward the wooden staircase in the hall beside you, placing a foot on the first step before turning back to add to the previous sentence. "Wanna change? Get somethin' comfy on - I don't know what girls like to wear 'n shit."

A laugh escaped tired lips, appreciating the thought he'd had, a gracious nod followed by eager footsteps. Following the male upstairs, you waited outside of the door you'd understood had belonged to his bedroom, listening to the muted noises of movement as he'd rummaged through drawers, pulling a cotton tee and a pair of pyjama bottoms up to study. They'd looked a little too large for you, but with the draw-string, he was sure they'd be good enough. The new outfit had been thrown over his half-bent arm while he'd met you back at the door-frame, stretching the limb out to offer you the fabric. Reaching forward and wrapping fingers around the garments, your skin grazed the silk of his dressing-gown, warmth radiating through the thin attire to bestow heat onto your hand. You'd lingered a little longer than needed, feeling an emptiness once more as his presence left you.

You brought the clothing with you into his bathroom, sliding-door closed behind you for privacy. It had only taken a few moments to change, the newly acquired outfit smelling just like the man you'd taken it from - it had been likely the garments had been left unwashed after he'd worn them last. A large mirror sat above the sink, one you'd glanced over to admire the clothes over your body. The old tee-shirt was baggy, trousers too, hiding your figure in a slightly unflattering way, yet your chest had still tightened as fingers traced over the creases, a warmth within you knowing these had been worn by him.

Toji had been sat wide-legged on the old couch, eyes lingering over you as you'd entered the room. The sensation he'd felt rising through him had been unusual, a fluttering within his stomach, one he'd attempted to push away as he'd removed his gaze from you, hoping the thoughts at the forefront of his mind would subside so he could get through the evening without initiating something the pair of you would come to regret.

"You looked at me funny." The timid voice coming from beside him as you'd seated yourself had caused a strained sigh to leave his lips. He'd wished you'd push your curiosity aside and ignore the tension between the pair of you, something you'd seemingly done with ease when you'd been dating your last fling. Toji was a little too old for you - not to mention a business associate with your father. If the asshole found out he'd fucked his daughter, it'd be over. "Nah, I didn't." Denial, that was something Toji had done often.

"Do I look that bad?" You'd laughed while asking, though there had been a twang of pain with the question. It was easy to understand he wouldn't appreciate you in the state you'd arrived in, though you'd hoped there was a chance he'd see a natural beauty through the midst of tears, or now, in clothing two sizes too big. "You look pretty." The response had his cheeks warming up, face tilting away from your line of sight after the last word had left his mouth. The man beside you hadn't been affectionate, and wouldn't start now.

The compliment had caused a grin to spread eagerly across lips, though with Toji's line of sight aimed at the television before you, he hadn't noticed the consequence of the sheepish words he'd spoken. A late night talk show had been showcased before you, the host talking with an A-list celebrity, though it had been difficult to focus on the screen. With Toji's legs spread apart, his right knee had rested against yours, back slumped against the cushions behind him. His face ahd been painted with his usual tired scowl, eyes half open.

It was possible your heightened emotions following the conflict you'd faced earlier had caused a small misjudgement, though you'd been aware of the feelings you'd had toward the male, finally feeling a surge of confidence. There had been some contemplation with your actions before you'd executed the desire, a question of whether the activity soon to follow Toji zoning out before the television had been appropriate - it hadn't. Yet, the fight within your mind hadn't been able to stop you leaning forward, wrapping fingers idly under the hairs kissing his neck, pressing his lips to yours.

You held your lips against his for a moment, awaiting a reaction before continuing. Initially, there had been a jolt of surprise, his palm meeting your shoulder, but following the small movements he'd remained still. There was a weak push, causing you to shift backward, breaking the kiss. Eyes fluttering open, heart beating, you looked at the man wide eyed, the taste of ciagrettes on your lips.

"What're you doing?" His questioning tone had been gruff, eyebrows furrowed with annoyance, yet you could tell from his body language he'd wanted to continue. "I-" You inhaled, face only inches from his, breath fanning over wettened lips. "I really like you." The child-like confession was spoken as a whisper, imagining the scolding words that were about to leave his lips, because even if Toji had felt the same way, there would be an inner-conflict on whether he'd felt he deserved it.

"You shouldn't." He was quiet, soft timbre from his throat, dismissing the admission. Though as his features moved closer to yours, he'd allowed his actions to counteract his head, closing the gap between you to taste you once more. The motions against one another had been gentle, as if testing the waters.

Toji's tongue slid along yours, exploring your mouth while he'd kissed you, hands caressing your body before settling over your hips. He'd squeezed over the fat as he pulled you toward him, your legs widening to allow yourself room to straddle his lap. Breathing heavy, you maintained the slurry of sloppiness against him, fingers clutching tightly over the hairs at the back of his head, a groan tumbling from him to show appreciation to the action.

Your hand fell to the waistband of the jogging-bottoms he'd been wearing, fingers hooking the hem to pull lightly at the fabric, an indication of what you'd wanted. Pushing his hips upward, he'd allowed the movement, hard dick freed from the confides of the cloth prison. Mirroring the display, the pyjama bottoms he'd gifted you had been removed, cock lined at your dripping cunt before you'd sunk down, a gasp as you'd felt yourself stretch over his size. Toji hissed, throwing his head back while tightening his hands over your sides, as if to offer some stability.

"Fuck, baby." The voice erupting from the male's chest had been one you'd dreamed of, so breathless and hoarse, a demonstration of the pleasure he'd felt through the movement of your hips. "Feels s' good." You uttered words of appraisal, hands on each of his shoulders to aid in the bobbing movement, messy sounds gushing from between the pair for your thighs. Toji pushed upward, pulling you down in order to bottom out, a whimper falling from your lips at the fullness. Both chests rising and falling at an increased rate, hums cascading from parted lips, Toji brought his head forward, eyes watching intently while you'd bounced on his cock. The way he'd fixated his gaze on you had felt invasive, stare hardened, pupils blown-out from lust. His attention sent a throb between your legs, swollen clit making friction upon his waist with each languish movement.

"Wanted to do this f'r so long-" The deceleration had barely been articulated through whines, thighs shaking from the strenuous activity. You were sure he'd feel the tremble as his hands dropped to sit on your legs, though if he had, he'd been unfazed, simply appreciating the effort. A squeeze of his grip, jolt of his hips followed by a groan had signalled his release, eyes squeezing closed. Toji hadn't often looked at peace, weighed down by the stress of running a business, and having a teenage son, yet during this moment, his expression relaxing through post-orgasm bliss, he had looked calm.

You leaned forward, placing a haphazard kiss against his forehead, hands embracing both sides of his face. Green eyes peered up to your fatigued expression, guilt painted over his countenance, though the nervousness his appearance had given you was pushed down with the hopes of what was to come from the encounter.

"I don't think this should happen again." After holding you close and eventually making your way to his bedroom, the words Toji had spoken while gripping his morning coffee had been the last you'd wished to hear. He took a sip, allowing the statement to brew within your unexpectant mind, panic setting across you. Grimacing, he tore his sight from the kitchen floor to the mug, a reluctant swallow of the liquid before inspecting the coffee machine responsible for the beverage. A large hand flicked the switch on the side, displaying his realisation the machine had been set to cold, pouring the unwanted coffee into the sink before placing the cup back down, whirring filling the thick atmosphere as a second drink had been prepared for him. A situation that, before he'd spoken the short sentence, would have been comical to watch. Now, it had only felt uncomfortable to sit through, pitying the old man's display.

"Why?" You questioned desperately, dropping your gaze to the granite breakfast bar you'd been propped up against, hands holding your chin for support. An attempt to remain calm through the encounter had you consciously breathing in, and out, controlling the amount of oxygen entering your lungs, though with this manual movement, you'd felt more breathless than if you'd allowed your body's natural response. "It's not right." Toji spoke, morning voice still low, eyes drooping from fatigue. You'd wodnered if he'd slept at all by the state before you, the man's conscience had been worst than most - odd considering the fact he'd come across as egotistical and blunt. When involving friends and family, there had been something deep-rooted within him, most likely due to a past encounter that had been unknown to you. Pride, and loyalty, had been meaningful.

"Look, kid." He began, an elongated exhale had signified his lack of desire for debate, mug now placed on the counter beside him, fingers instead pressing to his temple. "I'm old enough to be your dad. I know your old man ain't shit, but I don't wanna defy him either. Imagine he finds out we're foolin' around." Green eyes failed to meet you as he looked to the other corner of the kitchen, and you were left to wonder if he'd shared feelings with you, or had been unable to accept them.

The thought of either hadn't been comforting. Toji had been the person you'd trusted for the last handful-or-so of years, a person you'd consider a friend. His rejection would mean an alteration in the dynamic you'd shared, something you'd been unprepared for. "So, you just used me?" The accusation fell from your mouth, anger bubbling through the anxieties you'd felt, thinking back to the night you'd shared, a vulnerability you'd allowed him to see. "What're you talkin' about? You came onto me-" His voice was raised, hand slamming against the counter beside him as his face contorted in annoyance. "You could've said no!" Matching the tone he'd served to you, you stood, the chair once housing you now pushed backward with the momentum that indignation had brought you. "I've loved you for years, Toji." His name had your voice breaking, frown trembling with emotion, vision blurring through tears. The fact he'd been like every other male you'd been involved with over the past few years had broken your heart deeper than any pain you'd felt, disappointment in the cracks of your mind.

"Told ya last night - you shouldn't." There was a pain across his features, one that had been difficult to interpret through your own emotion. "Because, you're scared?" The question was faint, voice soft as you stepped toward him. His arms crossed over his chest, eyes rolling at the behaviour you'd conducted, unwilling to confront how he'd truly felt. "I ain't scared - god, you're such a brat." Another strained sigh had escaped his chest, Toji shaking his head. "I haven't dated since-" He paused, eyes leaving yours to flicker up to the ceiling in thought, reminiscing on the past. "Since Megumi's mother. I'm not fit to be a boyfriend or whatever shit you've got planned." The admission had your eyes tearing up, a stray tear rolling down your heated cheeks. Reaching a hand forward, you met his face, brushing over the stubble protruding his skin, prickling your finger-tips. Though, you ignored the roughness to bring his face closer to yours, a kiss planted on his parted lips. When it had come to Toji, you were willing to stand up to him, understanding the defence mechanism he'd developed of pushing those he'd cared of away, as if to protect them.

"I just want you." The four words spoken had been enough consolation. Toji pressed forward, bringing his hands to cup both cheeks as he pushed into you, an increase in passion as your lips danced with one another. A kiss unlike the ones shared the night before - years of friendship, of guidance, support, transferred between the pair of you as a reminder of the moments you'd shared.

Hands moved to cup one another's bodies, his gliding beneath the fabric of the shirt he'd given you to feel the curves beneath, lifting the hem to slide fingers against bare skin. His touch had been electric, a euphoric affection he'd gifted to you through the grazing of his tongue to yours. The way in which each of you had slotted against one another had been mesmerising, a feat of fulfilment you had felt with no other being. Two flames fighting for dominance; after last night's events, Toji had wanted to take the lead. "Bedroom." The noun had been uttered between kisses, the male eventually pulling back to take your wrist into hand, pulling you toward the staircase.

The ascent was quick, a silent journey taken with haste, and once through the door you hadn't a chance to look over the room, instantly being drawn to him as large digits encased cotton, his loose tee being removed from your body. With a moment taken for adoration of the woman before him, Toji leaned forward, attaching himself back to you, your own hands undressing bottom half before being ushered to the double bed showcased within the middle of his bedroom. Somewhere between your arrival and the male placing himself between your spread thighs, he'd disregarded his own trousers, though instead of using his hardened member to fuck into you with, he'd caressed sodden lips with his fingers, ghosting over your clit before dipping a digit into you.

With a gasp, he was encouraged on, adding his ring finger to middle, sliding them into your opening before beckoning them back out. Your back arched, mouth open and static as your body focused on the sensation his fingers brought to you, a smirk on his lips from the lack of your ability to multitask. "So wet already." His statement was condescending, a rough kiss against your cheek, though despite the cruel action, you'd tightened around him in pleasure. "Like that, baby?" The deep voice tickled your ear, another sloppy press of his lips against neck. Lewd sounds penetrated the atmosphere, a squelching from your increasing arousal. His presence had changed, less conflicted over his actions, allowing himself to take authority over you. "Listen to yourself, so fucking dirty." Using the hand he had free, Toji wrapped his fingers around your chin, forcing head still to be locked into his gaze. Biting your lip, you challenged his superiority, allowing eyes to meet his.

"Tell me what you want." The demand had been evidence to Toji's desires, wishing to take things further, yet wanting to appear unanimous. He scissored the fingers apart slightly while plunging them in and out of you, a moan being forced from you at the motion. "Y-your cock, please." The act of begging hadn't been one that had appealed to you previously, though with Toji working you up, you'd understood what it had truly meant to ache for dick. The need to feel his member within your walls, the understanding that his pleasure was as heightened as yours, was all you were able to picture through the haze you'd fell within.

Toji fulfilled the request without hesitation, moving the digits to grip at your side as he'd pushed himself into you, thumb moving to rub circles across your clit as he'd fucked himself deep into you. The gradual build up to this predicament had meant an inability to keep quiet, moans exiting you with each roll of the swollen bud, eyes squeezing shut and mouth wide. He laughed, though through your own sounds it had been difficult to tell.

"So fucking tight." His praise wasn't lost on you despite the noise, a faint smile forming over your lips, another clench around the thick cock that had been fucking into you. "You best be thankin' me when you cum all over my cock, pretty girl." Toji's words echoed through your ears, back arching while you'd fallen closer to climaxing, squeezing and pulsing over him. He'd grunted, eyes threatening to close, though forcing them open as he'd refused to miss a moment of witnessing you writhing in his sheets, moments from creaming over him. He could feel your orgasm approaching, walls spasming, desperate gasps for air. "What'd I say?" Toji reinforced his request, to wish you'd mumbled out the words;

"Thank you, thank you, thank-" Rendered speechless, only a scream had been able to replace the words you'd spoken, eyes rolling back to reveal only white to the male bullying into you. Toji watched you contort under him, succumbing to the high you'd reached, clamping over his cock. The tight squeeze had him groaning, milking his seed to flush within your walls, a unison of pleasure.

Toji didn't pull out for a few moments, instead basking within the fog of his mind, running hands over the bare body under him. You'd felt cool air when he'd eventually vacated you, opening your eyes when he'd placed hands beneath you, manoeuvring you to lay beneath the sheets, head hitting pillow. He'd joined you, mattress sinking as his weight had been added. You'd wanted to remind him it'd been morning, and protest a nap so early within the day, though as if he'd known the sentence your lips had been about to form, Toji raised a hand. "Jus' get some more sleep." With his arm resting over you, head residing in the gap between your own and your shoulder, you did as he'd requested, closing eyes to rest beside him once more.

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obeymeoasis · 3 years ago

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Demon Bros React: MC Is Insecure

Warnings: mentions of insecurity surrounding body image, physical appearance, self-worth.

Lucifer

It was the day after a party Diavolo had thrown at his castle. You had had fun for the most part, dancing with the brothers and eating delicious foods prepared by Barbatos.

But you also remembered how it had felt to look around the room and realize you were surrounded by gorgeous demons, not a single flaw on anyone’s face. Doubt and insecurity had begun to creep into your mind, and that feeling had carried over into the next day.

You had only talked briefly with Lucifer at the party because he was too busy interacting with Diavolo’s guests. Every time you tried to catch his eye, you noticed how beautiful whoever he was talking to was and found yourself swallowing down your greeting.

Currently Lucifer was at his desk like always, scribbling down notes and shuffling through papers. You brought him afternoon tea and sat reading in one of his armchairs to keep him company.

You had been telling yourself that you were going to ask him the question that was burning in your mind, but an hour had already passed since you first came in. You tried to distract yourself with your book but the words were fuzzy on the page. Finally, you spoke. “Luci?”

He didn’t look up from his desk when he answered, “Yes, love?”

“Do you... do you ever wish I was more beautiful?”

The scratching of his pen stopped immediately and Lucifer lowered the papers he was holding to show his face, a carefully blank expression revealing nothing. “What exactly do you mean by that question?”

“I mean exactly what I asked. Do you ever wish I was more beautiful? More attractive? As the Avatar of Pride have you ever been... embarrassed to be seen with me?”

At this Lucifer’s expression grew cold and furious. “Has someone... made you feel this way? Has someone made you feel as if you are inadequate?” You shook your head sadly and whispered, “No, just my own brain.”

“Ah, I see. Well pet, I don’t ever wish you were more beautiful because you are the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen. So it would be physically impossible for you to be more beautiful than you are now.”

You snorted. “Luci, that was so cheesy. Your brothers would throw up if they heard what you just said.” Lucifer’s lips quirked up in amusement. “Well, I’m glad I was able to make you laugh. And I do mean what I said. I’ve never once felt embarrassed to be with you; you are my pride, the source of my happiness. If anyone were to suggest otherwise, I would gladly kill them.”

“Luci, we’ve been over this. You can’t just kill everyone who is mildly rude to me.”

Lucifer went back to working on his papers but there was a gentle smile on his face. “Darling, you’ll find that I definitely can. I have a permit.”

Mammon

You were regretting tagging along to one of Mammon’s photo shoots. At first, it seemed like a fun idea getting to look at all the clothes, makeup, and jewelry. Plus, you really wanted to see what Mammon was like when he was working professionally.

It was fun at first, you cooing over how handsome Mammon looked in his outfit and watching him get all flustered and blushy. But then the actual photoshoot started and you watched as Mammon posed with a stunning model.

You tried to not let your insecurities get the best of you. You were here to support Mammon! But as the shoot progressed you couldn’t help but start to compare yourself, keeping track of how they were more beautiful and you more flawed.

The photographer stopped to take a break and Mammon immediately bounced over to you. “MC, did you see me? How does it feel to watch the Great Mammon in his natural element? I look good, don’t I?”

You caressed Mammon’s cheek and feigned a bright smile. “You were amazing Mammon! You look so handsome. And this is such a cool outfit!” But Mammon was somehow always able to tell when you were faking a good mood and he frowned. “MC, is something wrong? You look sad. Did something happen?”

You opened your mouth, an excuse ready on your lips, but found you couldn’t lie right to Mammon’s face. You gestured toward the model who was talking to their manager in the corner. “Do you ever wish I looked like that?”

Mammon cocked his head, confused. “Do I ever wish you had blue hair? Not particularly? Although now that I think about it, blue hair would look cool on you too.”

You sighed. “No, I mean do you ever wish I looked like a model? Sexier? Or prettier?” Mammon thought for a moment, processing your question, and then frowned. “Oh no no no. Treasure, what’s this all about? What happened?”

“Sorry Mams, I didn’t want to distract you while you’re working. I just got really low and insecure all of a sudden. Started thinking about how you should be with someone really beautiful, you know? And sometimes I feel like that’s not me.”

Clearly upset, Mammon rushed to give you a crushing hug, tucking your head underneath his chin. “MC I- I wish I could beam my thoughts into your head. That way you’d really believe me when I say that you’re so precious to me. Every day I wake up and think about how lucky I am to be with you.”

You chuckled a little. “I do put up a lot with you, don’t I.” Mammon gently smacked you on your back. “Hey! I’ve been good lately! But seriously MC, you are stunning. You are gorgeous. And it’s okay if you don’t believe me right now because- because I’ll tell you as many times as you need me to! I’ll tell you a thousand times a day! A million times!”

You tried to blink away the tears in your eyes and held onto Mammon even tighter. “Thanks Mams, I love you so much.”

“Love you too treasure. Your first man’s gonna take care of you, don’t you worry about a thing.”

Leviathan

Usually you liked watching anime with Levi; it was one of your favorite things to do together. Levi was always more happy and lively when watching with you because he was able to express his opinions freely without judgment. And you thought it was adorable how excited Levi got over his favorite characters and storylines.

Today, you were snuggled together on some cushions re-watching an episode of “The Magical Ruri Hanai: Demon Girl”. At first you were enjoying the episode, laughing as Ruri got used to the oddities of the human world. But Levi’s repeated comments about how cute Ruri-chan was, which you usually never minded, started to bother you a bit.

You took a quick glance around the room, noting Levi’s enormous collection of Ruri-chan posters, figurines, and other merch. Levi tapped you on the knee, interrupting your thoughts. “MC, you’re missing the best part! What are you looking at?”

You sighed a little, struggling to act nonchalant. “Sorry Levi, it’s nothing. I’m still watching.” Frowning, Levi paused the episode and turned to look at you. “Hey, what’s up?”

Taking a deep breath, you said “Levi, I’m not Ruri-chan.” He narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Yes... I know?”

You continued, “I don’t look like Ruri-chan. Does that bother you?”

“Does it bother me... that you don’t look like an anime character?” He repeated the question slowly, as if you had asked him the strangest question in the world.

Frustrated, you blurted out “I don’t look like Ruri-chan! I’m never going to be as cute as her!”

Levi looked completely bewildered, his eyes wide and staring at you in confusion. “B-But you are cute! MC, w-what are you even talking about?”

Embarrassed at your outburst you looked down at the floor silently. Levi scooted over toward you so that your knees were touching and he waited until you broke the silence. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m good enough. I think maybe you’d like it if I looked cuter or acted cuter, like the characters in anime.”

Levi hesitated for a moment before quickly grabbing onto your hand, blushing furiously as he did so. "MC, I-I already think you're c-cute. Really really cute. So don't say things like that. And also, I like you because you're you! Not because you're like someone else."

"And you make me really happy. I'm just a gross otaku. I never thought I'd be able to... to find someone like you. Someone who accepts me."

He tried to lock eyes with you but blushed even harder and stared at your joined hands. "Plus, I couldn't to-touch an anime character. But I can touch you. I can hold your hand or give you hugs whenever you need it, o-okay?"

You leaned your head onto Levi's shoulder and closed your eyes, letting the peaceful silence wash over you.

Satan

You were accompanying Satan on a trip to one of his favorite stores: an antique shop that sold all manner of rare books and artifacts. The owner, Ms. Sparrow, was a friend of Satan’s and she welcomed the two of you wholeheartedly.

Today, she looked as gorgeous as she always did. Her chic pearl dress and matching silk gloves shone against her dark skin. Not a curl in her hair was out of place and even the click-clack of her heels on the floor seemed melodious somehow.

You left Satan to look at the books and went wandering off into the various aisles of the store, marveling at all the bits and bobs. In one of the over-stuffed corners you happened to find a glittering silver key on a red velvet ribbon. Taking it in your hand, you went back through to show it off to Satan, wanting to ask him what he thought it opened.

But Satan was busy chatting and laughing with Ms. Sparrow. You watched the two of them for a moment and noticed how well they complimented each other. Both had a certain poise, a kind of confidence and certainty in their movements.

On your walk back to the dorms, you were unusually quiet and Satan noticed. “Pet, is something the matter?”

You hesitated, wondering if Satan was going to find your insecurity childish. “Satan, I’m not very....elegant.”

“Yes, I know. You choked on a piece of bread yesterday. The day before that you tripped over absolutely nothing and fell down.” He smiled, expecting for you to get riled up, but it fell when he saw that you looked dejected. “Love, what is the matter? Have I upset you?”

You avoided his gaze. “Sometimes... sometimes I wonder if I bring you down by being with you. I feel like you deserve someone elegant and sophisticated. Someone who matches you. But I’m not. I’m clumsy and messy and not perfect, like Ms. Sparrow.”

Satan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Ms. Sparrow? What does she have anything to with this?” He turned you around so that you were facing him. “Pet, please look at me. I love you. And I’m not with you in spite of you being clumsy or messy. I love you because you’re clumsy and messy, because those are parts of you and I love all of you.”

He leaned down to press his forehead against yours. “And why would I need someone perfect? Am I perfect? Yesterday you saw me screaming at my cup because I accidentally spilled some tea and burned my finger.”

You shrugged while giggling, “I thought it was a perfectly reasonable response.” You wrapped your arms around his and buried your face into his shoulder. “Thanks, Satan. You always know how to make me feel better.”

He reached down to give you a gentle kiss. “Anytime, love. I’m always here for you.”

Asmodeus

Asmo has a lot of fans across all his social media accounts. That was made perfectly clear the first time you went on a date with him outside. Sitting in the trendy coffeeshop, several people had come up to ask him for a picture or an autograph. He was never shy about you and always introduced you as his sweetheart, cooing about how beautiful you were.

Some days it was okay. You loved seeing the bubbly social-butterfly side of Asmo. He was always so sweet to everyone who came up to him and genuinely enjoyed meeting new people. But other days, your insecurity rose up like a huge wave and dampened everything.

This particular day you were shopping with Asmo in a new boutique that had opened up. You were aimlessly flicking through the racks of clothes when you heard a large squealing.

Two demons ran up to Asmo, talking and gesturing excitedly. You could make out that they followed him on Devilgram and were asking if he was willing to take a picture with them. These demons were some of the most attractive beings you had ever seen. Their clothes were incredibly stylish and their hair and makeup were done flawlessly.

Looking around the shop, in all of the full length mirrors you could see the reflection of Asmo and his beautiful fans. And you looked out of place, like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit in at all.

Tearing up, you grabbed a random pair of jeans off the rack and ran into a changing room. You turned away from the mirror, not wanting to look at yourself, and took deep breaths to try and keep from bursting into sobs. After a few moments Asmo began looking for you, having finished taking pictures. “Sweetheart, are you changing? Let me see what you’re wearing when you’re done!”

At the sound of his voice you burst into tears and your attempts to muffle the noise were futile. Outside the door, Asmo’s voice sounded panicked. “Darling, are you okay? What’s the matter? Please come outside, whatever it is please let me help you!” You hesitated, not wanting to face him, but this made him even more frantic. He started jiggling the doorknob and knocking on the door.

You opened it, afraid that he would accidentally break the doorknob leaving you trapped inside. As soon as he saw you he gathered you in his arms and began making shushing noises while smoothing your hair. “Sweetheart, why are you crying? Please talk to me, please tell me what’s wrong.”

You tried to get the words out in between sobs and hiccups. “A-Asmo, don’t you want someone m-more beautiful? Someone who-who looks g-good with you?” Asmo paused for a moment, processing your words, and then his eyes burned with anger. “Sweetheart, did one of my fans say something mean to you? Did someone make you feel like this?”

You shook your head vigorously. “No, just me.” Asmo breathed a sigh of relief at hearing no one had harrassed you and resumed smoothing your hair. “Oh, darling. You ARE beautiful. You’re stunning, sweetheart. I wish you could see the way I saw you, how adorable and gorgeous you are. And I understand that there are going to be days when you don’t believe me, when you feel like you’re not. But at least don’t go through those days alone, okay?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak without tearing up again.

"Now, let's go get some ice cream. We can eat it while taking a bubble bath."

Beelzebub

You weren’t really sure why Beel liked you coming with him to the gym all the time, even if you didn’t exercise. He said your presence was calming and that it made him focus better, which was odd because a lot of the time you just sat on an unoccupied machine and scrolled through your D.D.D.

Today was much the same, with Beel running on the treadmill and you watching some videos. The gym was pretty empty, just a few students exercising here and there.

Your eyes drifted to Beel who was running without even breaking a sweat. His body was all solid muscle: his arms, legs, and abs looked perfectly chiseled and toned. Last week you accidentally ran into Beel in the hallway and it felt like you had smashed into a brick wall. Beel, on the other hand, was completely fine.

You began to wonder what Beel thought about your body. He could be pretty handsy at times and he wasn’t shy in his affections. But what if there was something he didn’t like? Something that he thought needed changing?

He’s never mentioned anything about exercising to you before. But you thought back to the students you had seen in this gym: all of them were extremely fit with incredible bodies. You couldn’t help but start to compare yourself to them and think that maybe you were lacking.

Just then, Beel finished his run and walked over to you. You weren’t sure what kind of facial expression you were making but it seemed enough to concern him because he asked, “MC, is everything okay?”

“Hey Beel... do you ever wish I had a nicer body?”

He squinted in confusion. “What do you mean by ‘a nicer body’?”

“I don’t know... just better. Whatever nicer looks like for you.”

Beel was quiet for a moment, thinking. “No, I've never wished for that before. I still don't know what you mean by 'nicer'. I love you. And I love your body because its yours. The only thing that matters to me is whether you’re happy. And as long as I'm still allowed to touch you, then I'm happy.”

He looked at you nervously then, biting his lip. "Am I... still allowed to touch you?"

You laughed and reached to give him a hug, loving how safe it felt in his arms. "Of course, big guy. Thanks for making me feel better. You always know what to say."

Beel flushed with pride and closed his eyes in happiness, leaning into your hand as you patted him on the head.

Belphegor

You knew you were dreaming because you were sitting in a R.A.D classroom surrounded by fellow students, but you couldn’t focus on any of their faces. They were blurry, as if someone had smudged them like an artist had smudged some charcoal.

You were at your desk, looking around the classroom, when as if on cue all of the students began to slowly gather around you. They stood there silently for a moment, unmoving, and you felt a shiver go up your spine.

And then one by one the students began to hurl insults at you.

“You’re not good enough. Not good enough for Belphegor.” “You’re ugly, you’re hideous. “You’re unwanted, go back to where you came from.” “You don’t deserve what you have, don’t deserve good.” “You’re weak.” “You ruin others, you ruin everything.”

As they insulted you the students began to draw themselves closer, pushing and shoving to reach you. They almost made a cover over your desk as if to block out all the light. You hunched over your desk, shaking and panicking, trying to curl up to protect yourself.

One of the demons began shaking your shoulder roughly, you yelping in pain. He began yelling in your ear, “Wake up! Wake up!”

“MC! Wake up!”

You startled awake and looked around the room in fear. You were in Belphie’s bed, your pajamas sticking to you with sweat. Belphie was looking at you with concern, one hand still on your shoulder.

“MC, you’re okay. It’s just me. It was just a nightmare.” You let out a sob and buried yourself in his arms while he patted you on the back until your breaths evened out.

“D-Did you see my dream?” you asked. You were nervous about showing Belphie that weak side of you, the insecurities that had been brewing since the two of you had begun a relationship. He looked apologetic. “I did. You were whimpering and shaking in your sleep. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He reached over, one hand smoothing your hair, the fingers of his other hand interlaced with yours. “None of what they said was true, you know.” You looked down, embarrassed. “I mean it, MC. You are good enough. You’re beautiful, you’re wanted, you deserve all the nice and beautiful things in the world, you’re strong. And most importantly, you lift others up. You lift me up everyday.”

He lifted up your hand and pressed a kiss against it. “You lifted me out of darkness. I love you so much. And I’ll gladly stay by your side, for as long as you’ll have me.”

You grabbed the front of his sweater to draw him into a rough kiss, lips bruising. “Forever, Belphie. Forever.”

947 notes · View notes

therenlover · 4 years ago

Text

In Fleeting Touches & Airy Sighs Chapter One (A Three Chapter Helmut Zemo/Reader Fanfic)

(Thank you to the wonderful anon who requested angst and smut between Zemo and the reader because Zemo had to be away from her on the run!)

Synopsis: A year after working together with Zemo in the events of Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Sam and Bucky seek him out once again in need of shelter from John Walker. Meanwhile, Zemo’s wife resents his absence and prepares for guests.

Tags: Flashbacks, Depression, Alcoholism, Separation Anxiety, Arguing, Struggling Marriage, Reunions

Rating: T (E in future chapters)

Warnings: Guns, Swearings, Reader shows signs of alcoholism/alcohol abuse, Reader uses a hot shower as a mild form of self harm

Word Count: 5000~

This fic has been crossposted under the same title to my AO3!

----------

Helmut Zemo was not often a man backed into a corner.

He was smart, resourceful, and had nothing left to lose. If it came down to the line, he would do whatever had to be done within his morals to achieve his goals, even if that goal was simply staying alive. The Baron bowed to no man, and made his enemies, no matter their size, fall to their knees with sheer wit instead of brute strength. That’s why, when he stood backed into an alley with the barrel of James Barnes’ gun to his forehead as the Falcon watched on, it was strange that he didn’t try to weasel his way out.

“We need answers,” Sam said, hands in the pockets of his dark hoodie. Bucky wore a similar one, only he wore a baseball cap instead of keeping his hood up. “How the hell did you break out of prison for a second time?”

Usually, Zemo would have replied with a clever quip. He had never been one to back down from a fight. This time, though, he looked almost frightened as he raised his arms in defeat. “I got in contact with friends on the outside during our short adventure together. They decided to help me out once I was re-incarcerated, willingly I might add. I had no part in the plan, but who would look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“And I guess I’m just supposed to assume you had no part in getting my pardon revoked?” Bucky spat.

“If you hadn’t noticed, James, I’ve left you alone,” A hint of his usual mockery slipped into Helmut’s tone, but he quickly pulled it back, “Believe what you want about me, but I’ve had some time since last year to… re-evaluate my feelings on the world. You had no choice but to do the things you did as the Winter Soldier, and as long as you pose no threat to society now I have no qualms with you,”

Despite the strangeness of Zemo’s response Bucky remained unphased. Sam, on the other hand, was less stoic.

“Man, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but the government is looking for Bucky and I harder than they’re looking for you, and it’s kind of all your fault, so excuse me for not giving a shit about your supposed sudden change of heart!”

“Can we get to the point? I’m afraid my flight leaves in an hour and I would hate to be late,”

“Cut the bullshit!” There Bucky went, pushing the cold metal closer to Zemo’s furrowed forehead.

“Bucky...” Sam warned.

“No, Sam, I can do this. Did you or did you not actively attempt to get my pardon revoked when you took us to Madripoor? Because thanks to you, a worse symbol than Sam is now standing unchecked with the title of Captain America AND he has access to the last of the new super soldier serum AND he’s trying to get us killed so we can’t tell the world about the awful shit he does,”

“I-” Zemo went to speak and, for the first time since he had met him, Sam believed he was being genuine. There was a tremble that made its way through him, all the way to his raised hands and even his voice. It was enough that Bucky even lowered the gun minutely. “I understood that by following my lead, the both of you were risking a lot. I didn’t intend any specific malice with my actions though, no. If I may… the two of you have attracted a lot of attention here in the past few days. I assume Walker is very close to finding you?”

Sam and Bucky shared a look before Sam responded. “Maybe, why?”

“I have a safe house,” he continued, “I don’t stay there often so the location isn’t compromised, but it’s my next stop. Might I suggest we take this conversation on the road? I would hate to host your reunion with Mr. Walker in an alley over my corpse,”

There was a moment of complete stillness. Zemo remained, face dark with that strange deer-in-headlights look, a perfect statue, as the barrel of Bucky’s gun remained pointed firmly in his direction and Sam shared what seemed to be a completely silent conversation with Bucky. It was true that they had been burned before. Zemo was a man with his own agenda who did what it took to fulfill it. That being said, he had returned willingly with them back to prison before he was broken out, and without his help, the band of freshly minted super soldiers would still be running around Europe causing chaos. In the end, Bucky lowered his gun slowly before tucking it away into his boot holster.

Zemo grinned.

“Don’t think this means we trust you,” Sam groaned, pointing a finger at the man.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Now, gentlemen, I believe we have a plane to catch,”

As the trio began to make their way out of the alley Bucky and Sam fell to the flank of the group. “Do you really think this is a good idea?” Bucky asked, eyes darting between his two companions. Sam shrugged.

“At this point, I’m doing whatever it takes to get home to my family in one piece. If that means I have to ride in Zemo’s stupid private jet again and lay low for a while, then that’s what I’m gonna do, because Sarah and those kids don’t deserve to lose me all over again,”

“But don’t you think he’s acting a little… weird?”

“Don’t worry, I have my eye on him. If he tries anything we can just throw him out front when Walker tries to shoot us,”

“You’re doing a very poor job of concealing your conversation,” Zemo shouted.

Bucky stormed ahead as Sam laughed.

“Oh, shut up!”

Surprisingly, the drive to the airstrip was mostly uneventful, as was the relatively short flight from Zurich to Avignon. There was, of course, the usual cutthroat banter and tension so thick you could feel it like a fog hanging over the group, but in an unusual twist of fate, the baron did very little to initiate. Of course, he wasn’t fully innocent though. He never was. That being said, even as his chauffeur carefully navigated the stone roads to the dropoff point he was strangely quiet. He had texted someone earlier to have the house prepared for their arrival but he kept looking down at the phone as if a response would come. It didn’t.

Sam appreciated the break from the noise. To him, it was a moment of peace after a few months of constant opposition. For the duration of the trip, he had chosen to shoot a few choice quips Bucky’s way before taking a long nap. Bucky, on the other hand, was only growing more suspicious of Zemo by the minute.

After his time with Hydra, Bucky had become intimately acquainted with the type of man that Zemo was. He was ruthless, driven by ideals that couldn’t be changed by any amount of debate or theory read inside a prison cell, and willing to do whatever it took to fulfill those ideals no matter the cost. There was remorse but no regret. A man like that doesn’t just stop believing in the thing that led him to kill dozens if not hundreds of people, because once the impetus is gone so is the only thing upholding their sense of self.

In basic terms, he was hiding something. Bucky was intent on finding out what that thing was, a thing important enough to make Zemo of all people shut the hell up and tell his enemies exactly where his safe house was, and he wasn’t going to rest until he did. The answer came easily enough in the end, but not before Sam and Bucky were forced face to face with the strangest thing they had ever seen, even when including aliens and wizards. That thing was Zemo buying flowers.

The trio had gotten out of the car somewhere around the center of the city and continued towards the safe house on foot. A few minutes after they started, though, Zemo had spoken.

“I apologize, but I’ll have to stop for a moment,” He said, holding up a hand to alert the two men trailing him to the fact that he was about to stop. Sam quirked up an eyebrow.

“At a flower shop?”

There, to the right of them, was a small fleuriste. The window was a burst of bright color. Pinks, reds, whites, purples; a certain bunch of spring blooms had caught Zemo’s eye. He shrugged. “It’s rude to arrive at someone’s house asking for a favor without a gift, Mr. Wilson. Excuse me,”

With a comfort that said he had been into the shop many times, Zemo walked through the door and began conversing with the shop owner in perfect French, even referring to her as tu instead of vous as he made his purchase.

“Did he just say someone’s house ?” Sam asked Bucky, eyes widening.

Bucky gritted his teeth. “Yeah, I think he did,”

“So, we’re just showing up at someone’s door,”

“Yup. Not to mention they’re someone who aligns themself with him,”

A groan escaped from Sam as he ran his hand down his face in disbelief. “I didn’t expect much from Zemo, but damn,”

“It’s your fault for expecting anything from Zemo in the first place,”

“For once, you’re right,”

They dawdled for a moment. As their conversation stilled, Zemo returned, now burdened by a sizable bouquet from the window. Around them, the city was starting to get off of work. Families walked together as businesses had their 5 o’clock shift change. Somehow as the world around them came to life it didn’t look at Sam and Bucky with anything more than a passing glance. They were tourists, nothing more. For a moment Sam understood why Zemo would go to a place like this for safety and anonymity.

Without ceremony, the trio began walking towards their destination once again.

“I apologize for the delay,” Zemo said, keeping his pace brisk and remaining about a foot ahead of his companions, “I suppose it’s become a bit of a habit that I buy Y/N flowers whenever I come back. We shouldn’t be long now, though, the house is just a few more blocks away, maybe 3 minutes by foot,”

“Y/N?” Bucky asked. The name felt heavy on his tongue, familiar. That had to be a coincidence though. Zemo would never align himself with anyone who had worked for Hydra, and there was no other place he could have heard that name and had it hold any significance. Right?

Zemo chuckled. “Y/N is our host. I’d appreciate it if you tried to maintain some semblance of respect when we arrive, she tends to have quite the temper and it would reflect badly on me if she believed I was asking her to indefinitely house two people who would happily send her to prison,”

“About that,” Sam chimed in, “Who the hell are we about to be staying with? It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t, and by extension, I also don’t tend to trust people who trust you,”

“I assure you, Sam, Y/N is more trustworthy to you than I will ever be,”

“That doesn’t answer my question, nor does it make me feel any better,”

“She’s American, and like you, she is seeking shelter from the government. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“Man, at this point I feel like you’re not telling us because she’s actually some sort of crazy Sokovian sleeper agent who’s gonna stab us in the back while we sleep. Am I crazy, Buck, or am I right?”

Bucky, who had been trying his best to stay out of the conversation, replied. “You are being unnecessarily evasive, Zemo, though that’s nothing new…”

“Right? Like, I’m really grateful that you’re lending us a hand, but I’ve gotta be honest, if I think for a second things are going south-”

Sam never got to finish his sentence.

Suddenly, Zemo stopped short, turning around and looking Bucky in the eye with a madness neither he nor Sam had ever seen before. His whole body was stiff, rigid. The hand that wasn’t cradling the flowers delicately was gripped in a fist at his side. He looked angry, but underneath the anger, he really just looked scared. “You will not touch her. Do you hear me? Do what you’d like with me, I have made choices worthy of punishment, but you will not touch Y/N. If you so much as think of it, all bets are off. Do you understand me?”

Bucky nodded, sharp. This was certainly interesting. Sam just smirked.

“Is there something else you want to tell us?”

Zemo walked up a small set of stairs towards a home to their right. “No, Mr. Wilson, I don’t believe so,”

The building was a nice one, all tan stone with dark wrought-iron fixtures on its many windows. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like a normal midtown manor-house for some upper-class member of the community. The normalcy of it all hid its true purpose in plain sight. It was genius, really. Over a dividing wall made of the same yellowing stone, Sam could see a small sliver of vibrant green garden space and a pool at the side of the building.

With a steadying breath, Zemo knocked on the door.

“You have to knock on the door of your own safe house?” There was a hint of incredulity in Bucky’s voice as he crossed his arms. This was going to be a disaster. Why had they agreed to this again?

“A little etiquette goes a long way, James, especially when you’re already in the doghouse,” Then, the door opened.

Bucky froze. There, standing in the doorway with a pistol in her hand and a fire in her eyes, was a woman he thought long dead: you. This couldn’t be right! He had killed you back in ‘02 with the rest of the AAHR...

You quirked up an eyebrow at Zemo.

“Give me one reason I should let you in and not shoot you on the spot,”

They were so fucked.

________________

The day, on your end of the world, had gone by much slower.

It started off like any other, with the alarm on your bedside table blaring as you opened your eyes and your arms reached out into the emptiness in the sheets beside you. Sometimes, when Helmut’s flight got in late enough, you would wake up and reach to the side only to find that he had appeared beside you in the night. Those were the best kind of reunions. They were free of pretense, no bitterness or resentment clouded your sleep-heavy brain when you opened your eyes to his peaceful resting face, and you could simply fall into the comforting rhythm of husband and wife. If you reunited with a clear head things tended not to go as well.

You groaned. It wasn’t as if there was even a guarantee he would come back, especially not after the way you’d left things last time. The philosophy of attendre et espérer, waiting and hoping like an Edmond Dantés type, wouldn’t do you any good, at least not anymore.

Maybe it was time to start moving on…

Tomorrow. You could start thinking about the next steps tomorrow. For today you’d enjoy what you had.

Getting out of bed was difficult but you managed. The sun streamed through the curtains that billowed gently in the breeze near your balconette, brilliant gold beams illuminating the dust that danced in the air. The first thing you did was shuffle along to the corner and pour yourself two fingers of brandy from Helmut’s private collection. It was like a morning ritual these days, a numbing agent against the loneliness. Once the drink was downed you moved on to the closet to get dressed.

Dressing yourself wasn’t of much importance these days. You couldn’t exactly leave the house, and nobody was visiting, so more often than not, it was easier to just wear the same pajamas for a few days until you knew Oeznik would be around to drop off groceries. Today, though, you felt… filthy. Not dirty in a physical way, just sticky and filthy and unclean under your skin and in your very heart. Maybe a shower would help.

You looked around the closet with a clinical eye. It was difficult to be in there, surrounded by lavish dresses and expensive suits that you and your husband had worn arm in arm while plotting the downfall of the Avengers before your unsteady alliance had turned into so much more. Everything still smelled like his cologne. In the small, often-closed, walk-in closet, the scent had only intensified, covering every article of clothing with a fog of cedarwood and sage. It made you sick, choked the air from your lungs and left you gasping for even a single breath that didn’t sit heavy on your tongue with the bitter taste of that familiar musk.

The alcohol had helped. It always did. The remnants of its burn in your mouth formed a sort of guard against the scent of the closet as you searched through a pile of shirts for something soft and easy to wear. Your hands suddenly stilled.

“Zemo, I’m gonna be honest, this is the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen in my entire life,”

“I’m hurt! That’s one of my favorites,”

“Where did you even get it, a 90-year-old grandpa’s closet? Jesus Christ, it looks like something out of a shitty 70’s flick about family values,”

“I’ll have you know that I thrifted that sweater. It’s very eco-conscious you know,”

Your heart hurt. Well, no, your whole body hurt, but your heart ached a little more prominently as you carefully picked up the sweater and held it to your chest. It was terribly ugly, 4 sizes too big even on Helmut and covered in an olive and forest green argyle. Somehow he was always able to pull off the oversized thing no matter how ridiculous you had always insisted you found it. When was the last time he’d worn it again?

The memory evaded you.

Still, it was a happy relic, happier than most of the monuments to a failing marriage that lined the shelves of your beautiful personal prison. It wouldn’t hurt to hope that by wearing it, you might rub just a little bit of that lost happiness off onto your present-day, right? With one last forlorn glance around the closet, you gathered up the sweater and a pair of jeans before getting out as fast as you could. With the scent of cologne clinging to you, the shower wasn’t just a good idea now, it was necessary.

So, you showered. You took the stupid foot-long exfoliating brush Helmut loved so much and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed yourself under the near-boiling stream of water until your skin was pink and raw. Disappointingly, even the new skin felt filthy. It was better, though, less intense. With some lotion and a little bit of Neosporin on the fresh patches of blotchy red, you were able to feel okay. Not good. Not clean. Just… okay. At least you didn’t smell like him anymore. The clock read 12:14 when you finally made it out of the bathroom in search of some real food.

Lunch, if you could call it that, was a silent affair. The fridge was almost empty and the pantry was only a little less bare, so you threw together a cheese sandwich, not even bothering to waste butter and grill it. You ate it plain with another glass of brandy out on the pool deck. It was gone sooner than you hoped it would be.

Oh well.

You finished your brandy with a sigh. Only seven or eight more hours until you could finish your day with a few more drinks and pass out in bed until nine or ten once again. Ah, dreamless sleep. That sounded divine. Now if only you could fathom any non-depressing way to spend the time between sleeping and waking. Swimming was out, the chemicals would burn your freshly eviscerated skin. Playing solitaire for the fourth day in a row sounded like absolute hell on earth. Even watercolors, a usual calming respite from the torturous and neverending monotony of life trapped alone in a house you had no help in stocking, were off the table ever since you’d run out of paper.

Somewhere inside the house, your phone dinged.

The second the sound hit your ears you jumped, dropping your glass and letting it shatter into a thousand tiny shards on the stone of the patio.

Phones were a difficult thing to own for someone who was trying to stay out of the eyes of the government. They were too easy to track and could tip off enemies to your location with very little error needed on your part. Even searching the internet for innocent things was too risky. If your search history was too similar to that of the alias you had used before Helmut went to prison, it would have been easy for them to find a connection and send someone to track you down. Still, you kept a cell phone charged and ready on the kitchen counter despite the risk for one reason and one reason only: Emergency contact with your husband.

He never texted from the same number on more than one occasion, always switching from burner phone to burner phone as he flew across the country doing god knows what, but if he was ever in a situation where emergency contact with you was needed, he was able to reach you at your number immediately. It had only happened a couple of times, and each time he had been in a considerable amount of danger. So, when you suddenly heard the sound you dreaded more than anything else in the world, you were quick to rush inside, even ignoring the shattered glass at your feet as you shoved through the doors and found the phone.

The small, LED display was lit up with the notification. It made your heart both soar and sink.

Flying home with two guests. Prepare the two rooms for their stay. We will be there by 5 at the latest - B

You read over the message several times before letting the phone fall from your hand and back onto the counter with a dull thud.

That absolute asshole.

Three months. Three months you had spent sitting alone. Three months without a call, or a text, or a letter, or even a word of when he was coming back by way of Oeznik. Three months! And after three months of loneliness and sleepless nights and empty bottles on the drink cart he reaches out through an emergency line of contact that almost certainly means he might be dying only to tell you he’s bringing two strangers into your safe house, the place even he refuses to stay in too long in order to not give its location away. The scar on your spine was starting to burn as you leaned up against the counter and cried.

It was ridiculous to think you had ever believed him capable of more tact than that.

Really, it was your fault. From the beginning, you’d had too much faith in a man incapable of being trustworthy, even to those closest to him. You knew that, and yet you had married him. Maybe the soft touches and sweet lies he had spoon-fed you had made you weak. Maybe you always had been.

“I’m not a child, Helmut, I know what I’m doing!”

“I don’t think you do,” he shouted. He was a few drinks in now, you both were. The nights before his departures never tended to end well when you both drank. “Because no matter what I do to protect you, you have the need to disobey me! Have you considered that I do the things I do for your own good!”

“Oh! Oh yes, the things YOU do!” You slammed your glass down on the table as you stormed over to Helmut, “I sit here all day like a fucking dog in a cage while you fly to fucking Ibiza and flirt with supermodels, but YOUR story is just so fucking tragic! I’m your wife, Helmut! I’m not an animal or your property, I’m your goddamn wife! You can’t just order me to sit and stay like a dog,”

He glared down at you, eyes hawkish and glinting in the low lamplight. For the first time in years, he looked threatening, “You may not be a dog, or a child, or my property, but you are a weapon! It’s my job to keep you here, away from the-”

“Excuse me?” You interrupted. The two of you stood, inches away and yet miles apart. Slowly, the drive in Helmut’s eyes faltered. “Say that again. I dare you,”

“Schatz, I-”

“No, Helmut, you meant it so say it again. Call me that again. I fucking dare you,” Tears were streaming down your face now. He took a step towards you, hand extended to wipe them away, but you were quick to take a step back out of his reach.

“You misunderstood me,”

“I don’t think there was anything to misunderstand,”

You swept the shards of your glass tumbler into a dustpan, hands still shaking even ten minutes after you’d read Helmut’s message to you. As you worked, your last conversation before he’d left echoed in your mind.

How had it all devolved into that? It wasn’t hard to remember Helmut before prison, jaded and broken and lonely. He had been so much like you and yet so different. Each of you seemed to be the perfect balm for the others' wounds. In the end, despite all of his flaws, you had found yourself in love. Now that he was a different man, was that love gone? You couldn’t say. All you knew for sure was that you weren’t nearly drunk enough to be facing the confusing feelings in your brain. With the last of your energy, you emptied the dustpan of glass into the trash can and returned to the house, sweater itchy against your irritated skin, to ready the guest rooms.

The job wasn’t a long one. You had never used the guest rooms in all the time you’d spent at the Avignon property, so the sheets were already clean. There was just a thin layer of dust on the furniture that needed to be swept away as you checked to make sure the dressers were bare and the bathrooms were stocked with amenities. Then, when that was done, you were left to your thoughts as the hours ticked by.

Most of the time you spent sitting on the couch doing absolutely nothing. It sounded terrible, and in all honesty it was, but what else could you do? The house was already spotless so cleaning wasn’t an option, and you didn’t quite feel like doing much of anything as you stared at the clock and tried to remember a time when your life was less of a disaster. As it got closer to five, though, you started to get antsy.

You had tried your best to not think about the obvious issue of the guests. Zemo was not the type to threaten his home, even if he wasn’t happy with you, so usually having anyone who wasn’t Oeznik or another paid lackey aware of the location of your safe house would be a big no in his book, but then you started thinking of the implications of him bringing people into your home. Your home, not his. Was he on his way to kill you? It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Or maybe he was bringing your replacement.

Now that thought made anger bubble up in your throat. You were no stranger to the idea that when your husband was away, he could be doing anything. There was no guarantee when he slept in lavish hotels or drank the night away in elite lounges that he kept his wedding ring on. The fact that there were two guests meant it was unlikely he was bringing two mistresses, but never impossible. Nothing was impossible when it came to Helmut.

No, it was more likely he had finally decided it was time to end your suffering. The shouts and boisterous laughter that started to sound directly outside of the front room window only confirmed the for you. Slowly, you crept towards the door and grabbed a small pistol from its place in the umbrella stand. If he wanted you dead you weren’t going to go without a fight.

Through the curtains on the front door, you could just barely make out the trio. When you saw them your blood ran cold. It was one thing if he needed help to take you down, but getting the Winter Soldier on board? Your rage only grew by the minute.

Helmut said something, probably planning the best course of action to catch you off guard, and you sneered. Two could play at that game. When he knocked on the door you opened it calmly and held the gun with your finger just barely ghosting over the trigger.

Everyone froze.

“Give me one reason I should let you in and not shoot you on the spot,” you said, rage coursing through every nerve in your body. You may have been in retirement for quite a few years, but you still knew how to handle a gun. Everyone there, except maybe the Falcon, knew that. As Zemo went to open his mouth, you prepared for a firefight.

“Because I brought you flowers,”

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

a/n: Sorry that only one chapter is out! The fic is just getting very long and complicated and I wanted to make sure you got as much as possible before the next episode drops lol. I’ll be working pretty much nonstop from now until then, though, so the next parts should be out soon!

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater , @elaineygrace, @multiyfandomgirl40 , @lovelymischief , @rami-malek-trash , @dazzlingseb, @avgravy , @sarahsilver , @wh0re-4-techno , @forcebros , @sugarsweetkiss , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff , @killsandthrills , @novasstudy , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp , @inmate-marmalade, @alanathedeer , @mossybank , @simsiddy , @xxspqcebunsxx

Please do not post my work on other sites, thank you!

#zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo #baron helmut zemo #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo x reader

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peralta-guaranteed · 3 years ago

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un-dress to impress

(not me being completely obsessed with this dress of Mel’s and imagining Amy in it and then totally writing a ficlet about it which turned away from the dress itself about two paragraphs in....)

It was a fairly old dress - Amy remembers buying it in college, long before she really had a set sense of style for herself, and felt a bit more adventurous than she would now, considering that cleavage-knot in the front and the absolute impracticality of wearing a bra underneath that cut of dress.

After college (and at least one boyfriend who made use of that knot, although at a rather inopportune moment that definitely became a bullet point in her break up presentation), it was stuck in the back of her closet, a bit too airy for most days in New York, a bit too light for her usual colour tastes. Teddy had seen it once on a date, and he’d made the obligatory compliment he made about all of her outfits, nondescript and very polite and quickly forgotten. He’d not even mentioned the knot, much less tried to open it.

Jake had seen it first after quite a few months of dating, and an endless array of date outfits, but the way his eyes widened just a bit when she came down the front stairs of her building was worth more than all of Teddy’s compliments combined.

He knew her dresses well enough - almost all of them, really, after years of friendship and now months of a relationship. He knew her fancier ones she reserved for holidays, the chic yet classy options she had for work-events and official parties, the modest dressed-down ones for museum visits or a day at the library, even her two black ones Camila had helped her buy for funerals. And by now, he knew pretty much every single ‘risky’ one, the ones reserved for impressing dates, the ones she always felt a little bit nervous in, a little bit like playing a role, until he spun her around in them, or made a winking joke about them, or generally just looked at her like she was wearing a full ball gown and she could feel all the nervous flutters in her chest subside.

Jake loved her dresses, the ones he knew well, the ones she surprised him with, the ones she pointed out to him in some shop window and then twirled around in the dressing room. And he was very obviously loving this one as his hands bunched it up a little on her waist during their hello kiss.

He bunches the fabric up quite a lot more once they finally got back to her place after a day out in public, where his hands had to stay in appropriate places, on the small of her back or her shoulder. They travel up from her hips to her front now as he presses kisses along her neck, down into the perfectly cut cleavage, a finger tugging on the tied up fabric in front.

“This knot has been staring at me all day.”

“I think you’ve been staring at it much more.” Amy squeals with a little laugh as she feels teeth nip at her skin, two hands now fidgeting with the accursed knot.

“A whole day, Ames. You’ve been torturing me with this dress for a whole day.”

“It’s not torture if you like it.”

He shoots her a grim little look while still chipping away at the tied up fabric.

“I promise you one thing, and that is that today’s gonna be the longest you ever get to wear this dress if I see you in it- if I can get this goddamn knot open at least-”

“Lemme help-” She tries, but it gives way at the same moment with a proud little ‘aha!’ from Jake, before his head dives down a few inches lower to the soft pink nubs the falling fabric has finally revealed.

Amy’s head drops back with a content sigh, her fingers carding through his hair. Jake really did love her dresses - but he loved figuring out how to take them off of her even more.

-*-

He kept his promise every time ‘the dress’ re-emerged, on a few more ‘date nights’ that most of the time didn’t even leave their apartment - and on the second week of their honeymoon, after Holt had finally left and she’d felt safe enough to sneak it out of her luggage - and she’s definitely planning for him to keep his promise now as she slips it over her head, in the hotel room of their surprise weekend getaway, organised and paid by both sets of in-laws, who are also happily sharing the babysitting duties for three days. It’s hard to believe that Mac is already 8 months old, more than old enough to spend a few nights with his grandparents without Amy constantly worrying about him. So she worries about other things, instead.

Like the dress sitting a bit snug now, she notes in the mirror in front of her as she tugs at the waist of it, swiping over the flowing skirt around her widened hips. Everything seems to sit a bit tighter, anyway, but the amount she has to adjust the knot is definitely something to notice.

“Wow.” Jake steps out of the bathroom in his towel, looking exactly the same as he has for years - maybe the tiniest addition to his paunch from eating any and all leftovers of Mac’s on top of his own meals, but otherwise barely changed by the fact that he’s a dad now. It’s another unfair deal for the moms, Amy thinks before Jake whistles. “Haven’t seen that dress in ages.”

“I’m just glad I got at least one that still fits.”

She leans into him as he wraps his arms around her from behind, lays his head in the nook of her neck to let his eyes travel up and down her mirror image. They’re shining the way they always do when he looks at her, and it does always do wonders in making her feel better.

“You’re wearing most of your old stuff again, though, right?” He asks and she nods - she does, apart from the most comfortable maternity pants she’s ever found that are now official home sweatpants.

“It’s all too tight.” She pouts even as the kisses on her neck start up. “I mean, I can wear it, and I know I shouldn’t be complaining and it’s all normal after a baby but- nothing fits right anymore.”

“I think you have a right to complain about anything that’s changed your body if you don’t like it.” Jake hums against her skin, a well-worn phrase that has settled her mind during her pregnancy as well, when a growing belly and growing everything else was upsetting her more than she expected it to, unable to vent to anyone else in fear of being judged as a ‘bad mom’ already. “But I’m definitely not gonna complain about having a bit more of you to love.”

“That’s such a cliché, cheesy line, babe.”

He laughs softly while his hands swipe up and down her waist, grabbing her hips a bit tighter as she watches his eyes rake up and down over her in the mirror. And maybe it is cheesy, but it’s also true - there’s nothing but love and that little hint of desire on his face that he always has when looking at her, mixed with a tinge of awe that he not only gets to look at it in ways no one else ever will, but even gets to touch it all.

Amy wishes she could see what he sees. All she can notice in the mirror in front of her are thighs and hips that don’t fit into her favourite jeans anymore, a waist that she knows was cinched an inch or two tighter before. Arms with less tone to them, a paunchy little belly sitting between the stretch marks right above her hips. Squish in places that never squished, volume in areas she’s not used to squeezing into tighter underwear anymore after a good half year of comfy panties and nursing bras.

She’s pulled out of diving further into these negative thoughts by a hand clearly trying to work on the knot in front of her, a pair of teeth tugging on her earlobe.

“Jake, I just tied this-”

“Well that was a bit silly, then, wasn’t it?” He grins as he twists her around to face him, a quick kiss to her lips as two hands can now try to figure out that knot. “You know as well as I do that I have a promise to keep.”

She wants to protest again before she feels cold air and then warm hands on her skin, soft and careful, yet stopping immediately when he notices her hesitation. Her chest almost sinks away from him in response, that sense of nervousness she’s never had with him before creeping back in, the way it had during their first nights alone again after having Mac. When she wanted him to turn off the lights, hid under her duvet not just because of the cold, and shied away just a little when his hands wandered into now unfamiliar places of her. He put the work in then to calm her nerves, slow and steady and full of praises for this new shape of hers he clearly loved just as much as her old one.

But doubts have a habit of creeping back in from time to time, and they're definitely at the forefront of her mind as his thumbs swipe under the crease of her breasts carefully, set a bit lower than before. It’s one of the few pieces of her that Jake hasn’t yet been able to make her feel good about again, hidden away in those nursing bras most of the time, far too sensitive to be touched even if she did take them off a few times for their more private moments. All the mom-message-boards had been winking and hinting at the ‘benefits’ of breastfeeding after you stopped, about adjusted bra-sizes and excited hubbies, but they just seem off to her now, another thing about her that has changed shape without her control. Judging by the way he bites his lip and grins up at her, Jake doesn’t seem to mind as much.

“Damn, I missed those two.” He half-jokes, and she snorts a little laugh at him trying to ease her mind with it like he always does.

“You’ve seen them several times a day for months.”

“Yeah, with a baby attached.” He huffs and grins at the same time, and she feels the nervous butterflies in her stomach calm down just a little, thinking about the perfect tiny boy that was the cause of all her body changes. “And as great as that view is, it’s not exactly meant to be sexy, is it?”

She shakes her head as his dips down to pepper kisses across her cleavage, his hands still careful to move up slowly.

“But now they’re back to being sexy bits again.”

“Sorry for Mac hijacking them for so long.”

“Well, I mean, he did kinda use them for their actual intended purpose, so I can’t really complain. I’m just enjoying them for the fun.”

Amy laughs as Jake’s lips travel further, teeth and tongue grazing over her skin, and realises that even if she’s still unsure about her body herself, she’s never once had the need to doubt her goofball husband’s commitment to and adoration for it. She can see it in his shining eyes as he straightens back up to kiss her, a bit more insistent than before, one of his hands between her shoulder blades pushing her against him.

“We were planning to go out, Jake.” She tries to reason as their lips part, but he’s already got the skirt of her dress up on her hips, hands underneath it and giving her butt a squeeze. (There’s more there to grab for him now, too, but he’s definitely not against that in the slightest. And somehow, neither is she.)

“C’mon, Ames. We only got the weekend… we should totally pretend to be newlyweds and just stay in bed.”

“Kinda hard to pretend that now with all the evidence against it.” She mumbles as his hands travel to the front, fingertips tracing along the stretch marks on her hips he’s weirdly obsessed with sometimes, her ‘mama mermaid stripes’ as he lovingly calls them.

“Oh come on now.” She earns herself a pointed look, one eyebrow raised, like he usually does when she’s rambling on about some inane topic she’s been worrying about for no reason, before he brings her down to earth again with a joke or question. “You’re making it sound like you doubled in size out of the blue or something. Your body’s allowed to change a bit after literally growing, birthing and then feeding a whole little human.”

“I know. It just feels weird. When I was pregnant I could pretend that everything else was simply squishy and soft because of that and would disappear just like the baby belly. But it didn’t.” Jake’s hand pets across her little paunch matching his now as she speaks, and she doesn’t feel the need to suck it in by reflex like she usually does.

“I like how soft you are. I mean, you were all nice and soft before, but y’know.”

“I know.”

“And I love your new shape just as much as your old one.”

“I know.”

“But…?”

Amy sighs again, but it’s with a smile this time, at least.

“I guess I need a bit more time to wrap my head around it. About being mom-shaped now.”

Jake’s grin turns dangerous, and she wonders if she should shush him before he can even speak, but it’s already too late.

“Milf-shaped, more like.”

“Jake!”

“What? It’s true!” He laughs as his kisses begin wandering down her shoulder again, and she only rolls her eyes.

“Is that another kink showing?”

“Nah.” He looks up with that grin still on his face before kissing her, and this time she lets him be as insistent as she wants and answers him alike. “You’re the only Milf in my life.”

“Good.”

“And I think I’m gonna need all weekend to show this mama why the -ilf part is there.” Jake mumbles into her ear, pushing the straps of her already dishevelled dress down her arms.

“I never get to keep this dress on long, do I?”

-*-

He hears her soft laughter from their bedroom, which is not an unusual noise at all, except she’s in there alone and the tv is definitely not on, so he might need to investigate.

He doesn’t really see the reason for her giggles as he steps in, but she’s still shaken by them even if he can only see her back, covered in a very familiar off-white with black stripes across it.

“Oh, that dress, hm? Already planning friday’s date night?” Jake jokes, but she only shakes her head with more giggles.

“I thought it’d be cute to see if it still works, but- look at this.” Amy giggles as she turns, and Jake is met with the tightest, tiniest knot on the front of her he’s ever seen, the rest of the fabric straining under her chest and belly. She’s only a few months in, and the little beanie growing in her hasn’t yet had time to grow to the watermelon-size her big brother had given their mom towards the end, but she sure as hell has been hard at work in other areas.

“Wow, Ames.” Jake can’t fight back the soft laughter himself now. “You are popping out of this.”

“Help me.” She still giggles. “I can’t get the knot open anymore.”

He steps up immediately, fingertips fighting against the very tight little bends of fabric as she leans forward to bump her belly against him. He grins as he pushes back, feeling a little kick against his shirt too, and breaking apart the knot just in time.

“Damn.” Jake only huffs as the top opens up, not quite with a pop, but pretty close to it, and Amy grins.

“Can’t wait for friday now, huh?”

The answer to that is a very long kiss, after which he’s quick to help her out of the rest of the dress too. He barely catches her little sigh while she folds it, and he’s already scoring their dresser for a more practical couch outfit for her.

“You’ll fit into it again, babe.” He kisses her cheek as he hands over a baggy shirt and immediately kneels down to help her into her sweatpants, pressing another kiss for Beanie onto her belly button.

“I know.” Amy scratches through his hair with a smile. “I’m not worried about it this time. I mean, I can only get more mom-shaped with two kids, and that’s alright.”

“Double the babies, double the Milf. Wait, that kinda doesn’t work, does it-”

She laughs again as she pushes the folded dress into his hands when he stands up.

“Put that in my post-baby-box please, Casanova.”

“Yes ma’am, right away, ma’am.” He salutes as she rolls her eyes, and then pulls him in for another kiss first.

“Well, at least you can say you kept your promise this time, too.” She giggles. “I think this is actually the fastest you’ve ever gotten me out of that dress.”

#my writing #ficlet #fic #B99 #Brooklyn 99 #Peraltiago #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago

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reidgraygubler · 3 years ago

Text

goldilocks (reid/reader)

Title: Goldilocks Request: no Couple: spencer reid/gen-neutral!reader; spencer reid/ethan; spencer reid/lila archer Category: fluff Content Warning: bi!spencer, kissing/making out, Word Count: 2,102 Summary: spencer recounts all his first kisses A/N: thank you all so much for the support! i really do appreciate it. check out my masterlist!

{***}{***}{***}

When Spencer was 12, he had his first kiss. He was with his only friend, Ethan, in his backyard. They were playing cowboys versus pirates- Spencer being the cowboy rightfully so. Whenever Ethan was over Spencer knew he could be himself, he didn’t have to worry about his mother, or school bullies, or anything else. Ethan was his safe space. Ethan knew that, too.

It was nearing dusk. Ethan was up in a tree, pretending it was the crow’s nest of his pirate ship. Spencer was on the ground, dressed like a cowboy, complete with the lasso and cowboy hat. Their play fight would soon come to an end, and they would have to go in for the night. The two friends knew that their fight would come to an end like it usually does. With Ethan winning and Spencer losing.

Ethan had jumped from the tree, landing beside Spencer before tackling him to the ground. Spencer looked up at his friend, trying to fight him off his body. It was obvious that the smaller of the two boys would lose a fight. The smaller boy knew that too. Although maybe he wanted to lose to Ethan.

“What are you doing?!” Spencer said through giggles. Ethan returned the giggles as he pinned Spencer’s hands to the ground above his head. Ethan looked down at his friend, a smirk growing across his lips the longer he stared at him.

“I won,” Ethan whispered as he lowered closer to Spencer’s face.

Spencer’s eyes widened as he looked at his friend. The young boy knew for a long time that he had a crush on his friend. He’s never acted on his feelings before. The thought passed his mind many times, but he didn’t want to risk losing his only friend.

Until that day. Until the day he and Ethan were playing pirates and cowboys, when he knew the cowboys had really lost (for the hundredth time too). When Ethan still had Spencer pinned to the ground and he was rubbing it in his face that he had won. It was then did he realize he wanted to kiss Ethan. It was something he wanted, a curiosity that would kill him if he didn’t just do it. And it was a risk, a calculated one, but he knew he wanted to take it.

When Ethan had gotten low enough, Spencer lifted his head and quickly pecked his lips to Ethan’s. After the briefest moment, Spencer dropped his head back to the ground and stared up at his friend.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and looked away when he realized he might’ve messed up. “I was… I was just curious. That’s all.”

“You were just curious?” Ethan asked as he crawled off his friend and sat on the ground beside him. Spencer slowly sat up and nodded.

“Yeah, yeah. J-Just curious.”

Unfortunately, this kiss with Ethan was too soft. But Spencer was too young to know that. He’d learn one day that even though he had the smallest crush on Ethan, that they’d be better off as best friends than anything else.

{***}{***}{***}

When Spencer was 24, he had his second kiss. It was with Hollywood star Lila Archer. He was working a case, and protecting Lila from a possible stalker she had. The two were outside, Spencer was watching Lila swim in her pool. Spencer was very adamant about Lila getting out of the pool, so they could be in the safety of her home. But Lila wasn’t having any of it.

“Five minutes,” Lila begged as she swam up to the edge of the pool. Spencer was standing close, watching her with a worried crease in his brow. “Go get a suit in the house!” She nodded towards the open sliding doors of her home. Spencer looked over at her house and then quickly back at her with a scowl.

“What?! No! I don’t wanna grab a suit! Are you kidding me?!” Spencer shouted, his voice cracking out of annoyance. “Please let’s just go in.”

“Join me,” she pressed as she looked up at him. For a small moment, Spencer considered it. But it wasn’t long enough for him to actually go inside and change.

“No, I'm not gonna join you,” Spencer eventually said. Lila rolled her eyes before pouting.

“Why not?”

“You're being pursued by a psychotic killer who shoots people in the head!” Spencer shouted, again, his voice cracking, again. Lila pushed off the wall of the pool and floated on her back, away from Spencer.

“I'm not gonna stop living my life. I'm just not,” she stated firmly as she closed her eyes. Spencer stared at the woman in the pool, shock growing across his face. Any normal person would be scared, hiding for their lives when they hear that there’s a psychotic killer after them.

“This woman is insane,” Spencer thought the longer he stared at her. Although he was extremely cautious about his surroundings and who was around, he could feel a strange carelessness grow in his stomach.

“Lila, please, I'm begging of you. Will you please get out of the pool?” Spencer pleaded as he squatted down to the pool.

“Really, Spence, you should live a little.”

“Live a little? I've known you 48 hours, I feel like I've already aged 10 years.”

“I can't be that bad,” Lila mused as she swam back to the edge of the pool.

“Yes. no, you are that bad,” Spencer said as he stood back up.

“Fine, can you help me out at least?” Lila asked as she lifted a hand up to Spencer. Spencer stared at her hand for a moment before grabbing it. As he went to help her out, Lila pulled on Spencer’s hand, pulling him right into the pool.

Lila was instantly thrown into a fit of laughter as Spencer re-emerged from the water. He glared over at the girl as he pushed his hair away from his face.

“Yes, very funny. Laugh it up, Lila. Hilarious. My gun's wet. So great. My clothes,” Spencer’s tone was very clearly annoyed with what just happened.

‘I should have seen that coming,’ Spencer thought to himself as he looked at the woman. She smiled as she swam closer to him.

“You should have worn the suit,” Lila giggled as she grabbed Spencer’s tie and pulled him closer to her. Spencer swam closer to her, allowing her to pull him as close to her. She brought her hand to rest on the nape of his neck. And when he was close enough, she pressed her lips to his, quickly deepening it.

Spencer ended it just as fast as Lila started it.

“This is completely inappropriate,” Spencer said as he swam away, leaving Lila behind.

Spencer found a certain attractiveness in Lila, he wouldn’t lie about that. The moment wasn’t right. Would there ever be a right moment between Spencer Reid and Lila Archer? The pair had two wildly different career paths, and two wildly different lifestyles… There would never be a right moment for the two.

Even though Spencer enjoyed this kiss with Lila, it was too rough. It was very heated, and a moment of intense feelings. He began to wonder when he’d find the person who would give him the best kisses, and how long he’d have to wait for that moment.

{***}{***}{***}

When Spencer was 34, he found the person who gave the best kisses. There was more than one factor for why Spencer loved this person, their kisses were just a bonus. Like with Ethan, this person was Spencer’s safe space. He could be himself and not worry about anything. And like with Lila Archer, this person made Spencer feel free and near careless.

His first kiss with this person was… gentle, and sweet. Unlike with Ethan, this kiss wasn’t a quick peck to the lips. It wasn’t out of pure curiosity. Unlike with Lila, it wasn’t rushed and heated. It wasn’t because they wanted it. It was because they both wanted it.

It wasn’t their first date, not even their sixth date. In fact, they weren’t even on a date. Spencer had invited the BAU team over to his house to meet this person. The team had been excited to meet them since Spencer first spoke about his person. And after the team left, it was just Spencer and his person. Their first kiss just happened. They weren’t expecting it.

They were sitting on the couch, a movie playing- though neither of them were watching it. The couple was too busy talking about cleaning up the mess their dinner party had left behind, and when a good time to clean it would be.

“Do you want me to get ants? Because this is how I get ants,” Spencer said as he gestured towards the coffee table and the several plates and cups that occupied it. His person laughed before moving even closer to him. Even though they were already pretty close to cuddling, his person wanted to be even closer to him. “But what’s stopping us from taking care of the mess in the morning?” they asked as they looked up at Spencer. He sighed before looking back at his person. “I’m just saying, Spencer,” they whispered before shifting to his lap. Spencer’s eyes met theirs, and a small smile grew across his lips.

“Okay, okay, we can take care of it in the morning. If I get ants though I’m blaming you,” he laughed as he wrapped his arms around his person’s waist.

“I’ll take full responsibility!” they shouted, jumping and nearly falling backwards off his legs. Spencer laughed before pulling them closer to safety. Instead of falling off his legs, his person fell closer to him. “I’ll clean up first thing in the morning. Promise!” They wrapped their arms around Spencer’s neck.

“So now you’re spending the night?” Spencer raised an eyebrow as he looked back at them. They smiled before nodding lightly. The couple drifted closer together.

“If that’s okay. If not, I can go home after the movie is over,” they whispered before cocking their head to the side. Spencer looked at their eyes before glancing at their lips for a brief moment.

“It’d be the first time you spend the night here.”

“I don’t have an issue with that,” they shook their head and smiled. “Only if you don’t have an issue.” It was his person’s turn to look between his eyes and lips. They both wanted to kiss each other, but were both afraid. Spencer knew his person wanted to kiss him. And his person knew he wanted to kiss them.

“No issue here,” Spencer replied, although he wasn’t sure if it was a response to them spending the night, or giving them permission to kiss him. But he replied...

“Good,” they whispered before pressing their lips to Spencer’s. He hummed before bringing his hands to their cheeks. It only took a moment before he deepened the kiss.

Spencer had never kissed a person like he kissed his person. He could feel a fire grow in his chest. His arms wrapped around their waist and he pulled them onto his lap.

It felt like ages before they broke apart. In that moment, all they wanted to do was just be with each other and be in each other's space. But they knew they couldn’t. There were still things they had to do before they went to bed.

“We… We should clean up,” Spencer whispered, just so the silence would go away. His person laughed before tumbling off his lap. His hand caught their’s, stopping them from going any further. They turned around and looked down at him.

His person admired how his cheeks were flushed, his hair was tousled just right, and his lips were still pink from being kissed raw. He had a slight dazed look in his eyes.

“I like it when you look like you kissed someone. I like it even more when I know I’m that someone you kissed,” his person whispered. Spencer laughed and nodded.

“I like it even more when you’re the person I kissed, too,” he whispered as he pulled them back down to his lap. “What’re you doing?”

“Going to clean, like you said.”

“We can clean in the morning.”

There was no curiosity with this kiss, and he wasn’t hesitant. Spencer knew, 100%, that he wanted this kiss. And he was happy that this kiss was perfect. Better than the kiss with Ethan. Better than the kiss with Lila.

Spencer was happy he’d be spending the rest of his life with his person.

if you have any comments/questions about this part, let me know here! please consider reblogging or leaving a comment if you're a part of the taglist. it's so much work tagging everyone.

taglist: @thebluetint @mggsprettygirl @muffin-cup @misshale21 @spenciegoob @reidspoet @kuolonsyoja @broken-stardust @rainsong01 @beepboopboopbeep @babebenhardy @flipperpenguins @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @ash19871962 @samaraaaaa

tags that didn’t work: @isabellasimps

#shadow writes stuff #masterlist #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fan fic #criminal minds fan fic

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justasparkwritings · 3 years ago

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Merry & Bright {13}: Not Another Christmas Movie

Previous: Blue Memories

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG13

Warnings: Swearing!

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Namjoon wants you to watch 25 days of Christmas movies with him – with the hopes of maybe moving your relationship from friendship to something more. But he’s unsure if he’ll ever succeed.

Tag List

Tag List: @knjkitten�� @mochikeyds

Namjoon sits next to you, like usual, sipping his mulled wine ever so cautiously. He’s been burned twice this week. “So, you know the 25 days of Christmas?”

“The movie watching thing?” You ask, not looking up from the notes in front of you to stare at his stupidly handsome and manly face.

“Yeah, I’ve been working my way through and wondered if you had any favorites I could add to my list,” He says. He’s been trying to pull you from your work for at least fifteen minutes.

You finally glance up at him. “I - why didn’t you ask me before now?”

“Well, I was kind of hoping you’d watch them with me, too?” His dimples pop, staring at you like shooting stars. Bright and sparkly and alluring.

“A movie a day until Christmas? For the next 12 days?” You say, watching as he nods along. “I don’t even like you that much.”

A look of outrage crosses his Hershey irises, and his chest puffs in indignation. “That’s not true.”

“Oh really?” You snort, how would he know?

“I know you have a crush on me,” Namjoon winks, it’s clumsy and endearing.

“You’re the cockiest man I know, and Seokjin is dating my best friend,” you turn back to your notes, jotting a few comments in the margins of the papers before returning them to their rightful place in your binder.

“Please?”

“I can’t commit to that.”

This time, he laughs. Your pathetic attempt at getting out of spending time with him humorous and outrageous. “We see each other -

“We work together, that’s different.”

“So, what’s this?” He asks, hand motioning between you.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re in my apartment, on my couch, eating dinner I made for both of us, doing work that you could easily do tomorrow. Come on, you like being with me,” His shoulder gently nudges yours, and you don’t pull away or glare at him.

“I tolerate you,” you correct.

“No, I see that twinkle in your eye, that sly smile. You’ve had a crush on me for a while now.”

You huff loudly as you stuff your work materials back into your bag. “You’re not gonna stop until I agree, are you?”

“That’s correct,” his smile somehow widens.

“Fine.”

“Great, we’ll start tonight!”

There’s no more fighting, you’ve committed and you already regret it. “What’s the next movie?”

“Would you believe it if I told you, it’s Elf?”

“Fuck Elf!” Your voice reverberates throughout his apartment, crisp and clear and music to his ears.

“What?” His jaw drops, eyes widening as he stares at you.

“I hate that movie.”

“Why?”

“It’s so fucking annoying,” You know your rant could last an hour, but you’ll keep it brief. “And in the end he gets a fucking book deal? Predictable.”

“You can’t tell me that when this film came out, you knew the ending,”

“No, I was a child,” Your hard cider is long finished, which, in its cold state, runs no risk of burning your muscle.

“Well, that’s not true,” Namjoon is younger than you by a year, and knows perfectly well you both saw that movie with no idea Buddy would find his father.

“Still.”

“Well it’s next on my list so, watch it with me, yeah?”

“Is there more alcohol?”

“It’s a Monday evening”

“And?”

He laughs, standing to retrieve the open bottle of Chardonnay you’d insisted on popping a few days ago. Returning to the couch, he set the glasses in front of you and leans back. You don’t miss the way his body opens to yours, eyes watching you lean forward to sip your drink, shirt rising up just enough to show the bare skin of your lower back. He inhales slowly, watching the space stretch and contort as you lean back, shoulder and body snuggling into his open arms.

“Do you cuddle all your friends?” He whispers.

“Only ones who stare at me like they wanna fuck me,” You answer.

He doesn’t have a response, instead reaching for the remote and changing the streaming service.

“Let’s make a bet,” Namjoon suggests.

“Not a sex bet,” you warns.

He rolls his eyes. “If, after we watch these Christmas movies, you still don’t like me -

You’re quick to correct him. “I never said I didn’t like you.”

“Oh?”

“You assumed I meant platonically or romantically, but neither of us confirmed which we were referring.”

“It’s semantics!”

“You haven’t heard it both ways.”

“If you have one ounce of fun watching these movies, will you be my date New Year’s Eve?” Namjoon suggests.

You pause, weighing the pros and cons of this deal.

“And if I hate every minute of it?”

“I’ll stop openly flirting with you.”

You blink, not looking at him, but staring straight ahead. What a stupid suggestion. “Why would you do that?”

“You don’t like it?”

“You’re so stupid. Play the fucking movie,” you say back against him, a little harder than necessary. He does as directed, starting the film.

“When did we agree to switch houses?” You ask, letting him into your apartment the following evening.

“Unspoken rule,” Namjoon slips his shoes off, leaving his coat hanging in the closet.

You roll your eyes. “What’s tonight’s movie?”

“Christmas with the Kranks.”

“I fucking hate you!”

“You agreed to this!”

“Whatever,” you move to the living room, him close on your heels. He stops abruptly, taking in the set up you’ve created. Popcorn, a plate of Christmas cookies, and two mugs of what he assumes is perfect temperature hot apple cider.

“You’re a softy,” he coos. Sitting down, he pulls you to him and kisses your cheek.

“I’m multi-faceted.”

“Yeah, you are,” he mutters through his smirk. If only he couldn’t see how deeply you are blushing.

By the fifth evening, you are exhausted. A shitty day coupled with a shitty week, and not sleeping nearly enough… which for the record, isn’t your fault entirely. It was also Namjoon’s, because he was the one who kept talking to you well passed your bedtime. You haven’t minded, and he knows that if you really wanted him to go, you would’ve kick him out in the middle of a movie with no reservations.

“Tonight,” Namjoon starts.

“If it’s Four Christmases I quit. Or that really sad one with Henry Golding where Emilia Clarke gets his heart. Fuck that movie,” You huff. Namjoon can sense your tone, you’ve been slightly on edge all day.

“The Polar Express!”

“Fuck off!” You snap. “That one’s equally as bad!”

He stares at you, concerned and frustrated. “Never have I met a person who hates that movie.”

“Well now you have.”

You plop onto the couch first, and he follows. You don’t even ask, not anymore, before you lay horizontal on the couch, ear pressed to his chest, arms around his torso. He doesn’t dare ask, or question it, but wraps his arm around you to hold you close.

Somewhere between the first 10 minutes and the kid realizing a hole is in his pocket, you’ve fallen asleep. Namjoon can hear your steady breath, feel it inhaling and exhaling through his shirt. It’s peaceful and cozy, the light of the Christmas tree bringing warmth to the dark night.

Namjoon doesn’t know when it happened - but he knows he started crushing on you way before the 25 days of Christmas. Months before actually. But he didn’t think he’d be here, cradling you on his couch, heart swelling to make room for you, eyes drifting shut as he too falls asleep.

When Namjoon awakens, he’s under a blanket, a note waiting for him on the coffee table.

“Went to get donuts. Used your toothbrush. JK – found a spare.”

He smiles, of course you’ve made yourself at home in his place. He gets up and brushes his own teeth, changing from his slept in clothing to a fresh outfit. He riffles through for the sweatshirt you’ve often borrowed and finds a pair of your leggings that must’ve gotten left after the Thanksgiving Spill debacle of 2019.

“Joon?” your voice echoes as you come back from the bakery. “You up?”

“Yeah,” He calls, stepping out of his bedroom. “I found clothes if you want to change.”

“Oh, thank you,” You smile. Setting your haul on the counter, you step into his bedroom to look at the clothes he’s found for you. Picking up the sweatshirt, you decide to be brave. “Hey Joon?”

“Yes, Y/N?” He answers.

“Can we talk about this week?”

Namjoon stares at you, expression momentarily blank. “What about it?”

You and I have been, well, we slept together,” You set the sweatshirt back on the bed. “And, well,”

“You don’t know what it means?” He finishes your sentence.

“Yeah, do you?”

Namjoon shrugs and sits on his bed. He places his large hands on your wrist and pulls you to stand between his legs. Your downcast gaze stares directly into his, giving him pause and a twinkle of hope.

“I know I’ve been projecting,” Namjoon smiles. “Projecting my crush on you, well onto you. Flirting like you’re the one head over heels for me, not the other way around.”

The focused creases in your brow relaxes with realization. “Is that what you’ve been doing?”

“Yeah, for a while now.”

“Is that why you’ve been kissing me? And cuddling me, and wanting me close?” You ask. The feeling of giddiness starts moving up your spine, spreading through your limbs and twitching your muscles into a smile.

“Is that why you’ve started kissing me too?”

“You know I like you as more than a friend, Joon.”

“I mean, I’ve speculated, but I don’t know if I’ve ever really known … until now.”

“So, it wasn’t your plan all along?”

“It was my hope, but you’re unpredictable,”

“Yeah, I suppose I am. And you’re a little slow on the uptake.”

Namjoon opens his mouth to argue, his brows rising at your chiding, but he’s stopped by your lips on his, kissing him soundly. In his shock, and the force of your gentle motion, he leans to far back, toppling over.

“You’re really turning this into another Christmas movie, aren’t you?” You laugh.

“Maybe, but only if you’ll be mine?” His voice is hopeful, his hands strong on your thighs.

“I think I can commit to that,” You lean down again, lips finding his once more.

Next: A Single Christmas

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septicace-writes · 3 years ago

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Truck Stop

Summary: You meet a handsome stranger at a highway rest stop. Syverson x cis!M!Reader Genre: Smut Warnings: smut, blowjob (Sy recieving), mutual masturbation a/N: I had a dream where a truck pulled up beside me at a truck stop and while I woke up too early for anything to happen, this is the result. Also exists as a cis!F!reader version here 1.8k words You had been driving for hours and while the music kept you going for a while you also had gotten up at 4am and were in dire need of a break. In the middle of nowhere, on an empty highway, you keep your eyes out for a reststop. After about 30 minutes you finally find one, even though it's really just a small parking lot, a few benches and an outhouse without even so much as a vending machine. Luckily, you had some packed lunch in a cooling bag. You walk around a bit to stretch your legs while you eat your sandwich, then soak in the sun for a while, sitting on one of the benches. In all this time you don't see a single other car so you decide to have just a quick nap before continuing your drive and get back in the car, leaning the seat back as far as possible.

You startle awake from the noise of someone knocking on your car window. For a second you're not sure where you are until you remember your drive and the stop. Sitting up straight, you look out the window and see a man standing a few steps back but looking at you. He's big, his body well-endowed with muscle under a healthy layer of fat. He sports a massive beard that does its best to hide the smile he's sending your way. As you're still taking it what's going on he gives you a little wave and motions for you to open the window. You take another look around, everything is still well-lit by the sun, no sign of it setting yet, and you don't see anyone else. The only other noticeable change is the large truck he had parked on the other side of the parking lot. Feeling a little reassured by him keeping his distance you roll down the window. Sorry to disturb you, Young Man, just wanted to make sure you're alright. He gestures to your surroundings Don't get many people riding solo and stopping here of all places. You blink slowly, taking him in further, his voice is deep, smooth like butter and from the first word you're caught in a dream of what it might sound like in certain other situations. You're so caught up you forget to answer until Are you... Alright? There's concern in his voice now so, quickly, you nod. Yeah. Yes. Yep. Yeah I'm alright... Just a long drive and I needed a break. You smile in what you hope is a reassuring yet charming manner. Glad to hear it. Just make sure you're not staying here till nightfall. The place has a bit of a reputation of... Well, less reputable folk to meet here. Damn that charming, dreamy southern accent. You're barely taking in what he's telling you but nod along anyways. He turns to get back to his truck and in a sudden burst of bravery you speak up So... If this place is so disreputable, what brings you here? He looks back for a moment It's part of my route. I usually don't pull in but your car here so all alone in the middle of the day had me worried. But since everything's alright I really ought to get back on the road. Shit shit shit you don't want to say goodbye just yet. You barely know what's gotten into you when you open the door and say And what would it take to make you stay a little longer. At that he actually turns back around, takes in your form, now leaning against your car. You push off, take a step towards him and bow your head just a little, looking at him through your eyelashes. He adjusts his posture, straightening his back, and visibly swallows. Well, a temptation like you certainly might. If you're implying what I think you are. Your heart is beating a million miles an hour in your chest, you did not think it was going to be that easy yet here you are, about to fuck this man in an empty parking lot. You take another step forward, and another, until you stand face to face with him. He's a few inches taller than you, and from so close you can smell the motor oil in his clothes. You want to reach out a hand and touch him but for a short, tense moment you both just stand there, staring at each other - neither knowing how to make the first move. It feels like an eternity even though it's just a few heartbeats and then he places a hand cupping your neck and, looking directly into your eyes If you're sure about this, I'd like to kiss you and how could you say no so you nod, already leaning up. His lips are warm and soft, smoothly moving over yours as he continues to hold your neck, caressing the side of your face with his thumb. The full beard tickles a little, but you can tell he keeps it well as the hairs are soft against your skin. Now distracted from your nerves, you sling your arms around his back, feeling the muscle underneath as you slide them up and down. He brings his arm around your waist, pulling you tight against his body. You moan at the feeling of his already growing erection pushing against your belly and he ceases the moment to slip his tongue between your lips. You find the hem of his shirt and slide both your hands underneath to feel his

warm skin at the same time as you grind your hips into his just a little to see how he reacts. With a growl, he breaks the kiss for just long enough to pull his shirt over his head and discard it, giving you a perfect view of the dark hair on his chest until his lips are back on yours. He lifts you up with ease, wrapping your legs around his waist. As you pull your own t-shirt off he walks you both towards his truck, leaning you against the sun-heard metal. You yelp and he pulls you back up. Shit, sorry! Here let me... And he take your shirt and puts it behind you as a buffer. God you're gorgeous he takes you in for a moment, then nuzzles his beard into your neck and begins kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin. You squirm at the ticklish sensation but he's got a strong hold on you, not letting you get away. He works his way further down, taking a nipple between his teeth and gently biting down while one hand pinches the other. At your enthusiastic moan, he does it again, making your rut your hips up against his body for any friction you can find. You look down to see a devilish grin on his face before he comes back up to kiss you. You can't help another moan as he palms your dick over your trousers. Biting at his lower lip in revenge, you elicit a low groan. He moves his hand back to your ass, supporting you as he grinds his own, now fully hard cock into yours. Panting, you bring your hands down to free him from his confines but your hands are quickly seized by one of his. I don't remember giving you permission He all but growls, making you whimper with the loss of stimulation as he stills his hips. Please, sir you squeak out, your brain already muddled with neediness and thankfully he seems merciful and releases your hands which immediately resume their task. Even with how shaky they are you make quick work of his button and zipper and, with an appreciative sound, finally wrap your fingers around his now freed cock. You press a line of kisses from his neck down his chest as he continues to rut into your fist, bracing himself with one hand on the car behind you. You work your way lower and lower, sliding down the hood until you hit the ground, now kneeling with his imposing endowment right at your eye level. His free hand falls to your head as you give a testing lick to his tip before wrapping your lips around it. You slowly work him deeper until he hits the back of your throat and wrap one hand around what doesn’t fit, pumping at a maddeningly slow pace. But not for long, as the man above you gets impatient with your teasing and begins fucking into your mouth at a quicker pace. Your free hand wanders along his body until it reaches underneath to cup his balls, gently rolling and massaging them as a contrast to pace he has set. His groans and growls only spur you on, wanting to hear what he sounds like falling apart. You’re peripherally aware of your own arousal straining in your pants and the slight friction your movement provides, but the thought is overshadowed by your need to make him cum. Before it comes to that, he pulls out, holding your head back by the neck as you try to chase your prize. Come back up here sweetheart he commands, voice deep and raspy with arousal and you obey, standing up. He reclaims your lips, moaning at his own taste on your tongue as he fidgets to free your own neglected erection. You helplessly pant into his mouth as he wraps a strong, calloused hand around it, giving you a taste of your own treatment as he starts a teasingly slow movement. When you try to chase his hand with your hips, rutting faster, he stops until you still again, quickly teaching you that he is in charge. In your effort to keep your hips still you wrap your arms around his torso again, hands raking over his back as you groan and pant at his ministrations. He opens his hand a little and for a moment you’re worried he’ll stop but then you feel his dick pressing against yours as his hands closes over both. You join a hand between you and together you pick up the pace, cocks tightly pressed together, hips

desperately rutting into each other, a cacophony of moans as you both chase your high. You give in first, hips stuttering as your spend shoots over both your fists as he continues to stroke you through it. He is not far behind, the pearly white slick mingling on your chest and sticking to the hair on his. For a while there is no sound but your breathing as you both try to catch your breaths. Then, he gives you a warm smile, pulling you up from where you were leaning against the car. He grabs your shirt from behind you and begins cleaning you up before tending to himself. When you’re both clean, though still shirtless as your shirt is now covered in come, he smiles, hugging you tightly You were amazing darling. Now let’s get you home for dinner.

#Captain Syverson x M!reader #male reader #captain syverson smut #syverson smut #captain syverson fic #syverson fic #reader insert #henry cavill fic

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totallyexhausted · 3 years ago

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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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