#but her shoulder was damp with saliva and she keeps wincing away and trying to snap at your hand if you touch her neck or shoulder

[fingertipsmp3]

People need to train their dogs and I’m not asking nicely anymore

[lepusrufus]

Double edged scalpel ch.9

Ch.1 ch.2 ch.3 ch.4 ch.5 ch.6 ch.7 ch.8

Summary: Nicole needs a painkiller.

---

"Mother, please!"

God that was loud. Or far. It was a confusing mix of both. The sound reached her ears muffled, but even that was enough to make the fuzz in her brain even worse.

It took an enormous amount of effort to finally figure out who that voice belonged to, the desperate tone so uncharacteristic. Cassandra of course.

Her eyelids felt too heavy to open, so Nicole just tried to shift towards the voice. That plan turned out to be a huge mistake as with the smallest movement, her body seemed to short circuit. Her side felt like it was on fire, sending waves of pain that made her let out a choked pained moan.

Then, she realized, there were other voices surrounding her. She couldn't make out whether or not it was addressed to her let alone what was being said.

She did try though.

Consciousness was starting to slowly make its way into her mind. With great strain she even managed to open her eyes, harsh light making her groan.

"Oh she's awake."

"Hey, try not to move."

Nicole frowned, trying to focus on the two blurry figures by her side. When her brain finally managed to decipher familiar blonde and ginger hair she let out a sigh.

Bela was in a chair by her side, holding her in place by a shoulder while Daniela was lower down, pressing a white cloth to her abdomen.

Her bloody abdomen.

Panic started to course through her veins when she noticed the crimson mess on her skin and the sheets underneath her. What had happened? Where was she and where was Cassandra?

Sensing her intention to stir again, Bela pushed down on her shoulders to keep her still.

"I said don't move."

"Yeahh, I feel like blood loss may be an issue for you. Don't worry though, Mother will be here soon… I think," Daniela said, hands still keeping the cloth pressed to her wound. It made her wince.

On any normal day, that phrase would've probably shot a wave of terror through her. But in that moment the pain and fog in her mind didn't leave room for much more than confusion. "Mothe-... what?"

Daniela shrugged. "Sorry we uh- don't exactly have the tools to pull out bullets. Mother usually takes care of that."

"Now pray dear Cassie can convince her that your life is worth the trouble."

Nicole really didn't know what was worse. Bleeding out or having Lady Dimitrescu prod around at her wound. She tried not to shudder at the thought. Not that she really had time to finish that train of thought as the door opened and none other than the lady of the castle entered.

The only thing that kept her from whimpering was the sight of Cassandra entering right after, hurried steps taking her to Nicole. She gingerly sat on the bed and pushed a couple auburn strands of hair out of her face. When she spoke, her voice was dripping with worry that she tried to morph into something soft.

“It’s okay, Mother will take care of the bullet and then we can patch it up and you’ll be alright.”

Was she trying to convince her or herself? It mattered little, as the words did a good enough job at keeping Nicole’s focus on something not horrible.

She nodded weakly, trying to keep her eyes on Cassandra and not on Lady Dimitrescu wiping her hands somewhere near the bed. She gulped when she felt the bed dip and with her peripheral she could see claws elongating. No more than a few inches but it was enough to make Nicole consider the option of digging around for the bullet herself.

“Here, wouldn’t want you to chip a tooth.” Bela caught her off guard when she pressed a piece of cloth to her lips.

Nicole bit down and let out a muffled yelp when Daniela moved away to make space for her mother, who only sighed at the bloody mess. The talons were brought right above the wound.

“Keep her still darlings.”

All the warning Nicole got was hands clamping around her arms and legs, before razor sharp talons plunged into raw flesh.

She didn’t even realize that she was screaming, until the damp fabric in her mouth almost made her gag. Eyesight also proved itself a traitorous thing, as it was rapidly turning into fuzzy black splotches so Nicole squeezed her eyes shut.

The sensation of the Lady’s talons digging around inside the muscle was indescribably gut wrenching. Every single movement, no matter how small, sent jolts of pain through her body, drawing out pathetic sobs. When claws finally grabbed the bullet, the metal scraping almost made Nicole throw up, but she made the effort to swallow down the bile, as being shot was already bad enough without choking on her own vomit.

The bullet was ripped out unceremoniously and that’s when her body finally decided that it had had enough and shut down. Her muscles went limp and consciousness finally slipped away from her one again.

Lady Dimitrescu simply stood up and wiped her now bloody hand with a tissue. Her golden gaze softened once it landed on her middle daughter, her shaky hands caressing a damp cheek and mumbling words of encouragement to an unconscious Nicole. She gingerly put a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder.

“We can talk more once she wakes up.”

“Thank you Mother.” Cassandra’s voice was uncharacteristically small and she refused to meet her eyes. Lady Dimitrescu simply let her be, shifting her focus to the youngest daughter instead.

“Daniela dear, can you wrap it up?”

“Of course!” She sprung up, grabbing a few medical tools and bandages and starting to close up the wound.

---

The first thing Nicole was aware of was the utterly uncomfortable dampness of her skin. She felt as if she had run a marathon and then immediately jumped into bed, sheets sticking to her skin. The second sensation that came barreling in together with consciousness was the pain radiating from her abdomen. Of course.

She winced as she tried unsuccessfully to shift just a little in a more comfortable spot. Alright, laying in her own sweat. Wonderful. Next best thing?

Opening her eyes. Right, right.

She tentatively cracked one eye open, getting some semblance of relief from the dim light inside the room. It was probably close to sundown and her surroundings were illuminated by beautiful orange hues.

Nicole looked around the room. It wasn’t one that she was familiar with so she assumed it was one of the many guest bedrooms in the castle. Trying to piece together her hazy memories, she deduced that Cassandra probably just brought her to the closest room that had a surface to lay on.

Next thing her eyes landed on was the bandage around her waist. She gingerly traced a finger over the wound and winced when they brushed over stitches. She really ought to teach Daniela proper stitching. Not that I’m complaining.

The door swung open startling Nicole, who put all her effort into not flinching. Cassandra came in with hasty steps, reading the labels of one of the boxes she had in her hands. Golden eyes snapped to the bed when she heard Nicole stirring.

“Nicole you're awake- How do you feel?”

The redhead just took a deep breath, that was apparently too big of an offense to her wound. “Like shit.”

Cassandra just chucked and came to sit by her side. "I sent one of the maids to buy some painkillers. Not sure which one's better though." She once again brought one of the boxes to her face with a huff.

"Pass me the papers inside."

Cassandra did so, taking out the folded papers from each box and handing it over to Nicole. After scanning over the text, she picked one that she assumed would do its thing the quickest. The pain was starting to make her seriously consider knocking herself out for some sweet sweet unconsciousness.

After swallowing the pill with nothing but saliva and sheer exhaustion, she let her hand fall on the bed. There, Cassandra grabbed it, fingers playing with hers in a manner that Nicole has learned was the brunette's way of fidgeting when nervous. What on earth could she be nervous about?

"Hey, I'm okay. Just need some rest and wait for these bad boys to kick in." She started to rub small circles on top of the wrist with her thumb.

"My moms want to talk with you," Cassandra blurted.

[e-jaegerenthusiast]

how mikasa uses the red scarf on eren

nsfw eremika drabble <3 (part 2)

part 1 here

warnings/tw; smut, unprotected sex, teasing, edging, overstimulation, choking, slight bondage?, some fluff

•••••••••••••••••••••••

eren jaeger was always in control. almost.

mikasa had great strength, she always stood up for herself. never listening to others, she didn’t need anyone. except for eren.

she had devoted herself completely to him. mind, body, and soul. she loved him to bits and pieces. she would do anything for him, die for him, kill for him, live for him.

she would devote all of herself to him whenever he wanted. letting him fuck her until she was shaking, thighs sore and stomach slightly aching from where eren had been deep inside her.

it’s not like she wouldn’t like it. she loved the kind of pain eren inflicted on her. she knew he would never hurt her, could never bring himself to.

however, sometimes eren could be a bitch.

he would tease and edge her for hours.

abusing her so-called ackerman strength and patience.

mikasa knew he could go on for hours, even if she tried to touch him, he wouldn’t let her.

sometimes he wouldn’t tie her up, he would love looking down on her as she struggles to keep her hands above her head like he had instructed her to. would love to see her be at war with herself as she absentmindedly tries to decide between her never ending devotion to eren or her own pleasure.

he secretly wanted her to snap, wanted her to just growl and pounce on him. he wouldn’t ask, eren jaeger never asked for anything. he never asked her to pleasure him. she already knew all his desires, all his weak spots and all his breaking points.

well one time her patience did snap, it was when he was away from her for a week. a week was a lot for two people who can’t stop fucking every other night. he came back after a week of being away from her, and mikasa almost screamed when he demanded she don’t touch him.

he didn’t even let her hug him when he walked through the door. her brows furrowed and her eyes started tearing up. he merely had a small smirk on his face, standing infront of her and telling her it’ll be worth it, that he will pleasure her to no avail later on.

well eren was an asshole. he had prolonged all his activities in the day, taking too long to shower, eat, and just fucking about really.

only when mikasa stopped following him around the house like a lost puppy, sitting on their shared bed, arms crossed with a scowl on her features. only then, he started to move towards her. bastard didn’t even have a shirt on the whole day as he tried to hide his smirk when mikasa practically drooled over him.

he walked towards the bed, sweatpants hanging low on his waistline, hair in a messy bun with multiple strands fanning around his neck and his forhead. he looked godly.

he sat on the bed next to her, putting his large palm on her cheek. she shivered beneath his touch. she close her eyes, took a deep breath, and leaned into his palm. she thought he would finally give her what she wants. finally touch her, let her have him after a whole week and a day of not being able to touch him, to feel his touch.

she was wrong, he continued the torture, just this time on their bed, as he spread her legs wide open, demanding she keep her hands above her head. she squirmed and writhed beneath him, whining and begging. hiding her red cheeks in her scarf.

eren would chuckle menacingly. “look at you, love.”

he would lightly glide his fingers down her stomach, making her arch her back towards him. “got you so desperate, yeah?” she would whine at his deep voice, looking up at his lust-filled eyes, attempting a puppy-eyed look as eren had an amused expression on his face, “‘ren, please, please, let me touch you. I’ve missed you. I wanna touch you!” she would kick her legs like a child, as if she was deprived from sweet candy. she wanted him. she wanted him so bad it hurt, it hurt her insides. her hands hurt, aching to touch him. her lips and tongue hurt, wanting to be on his. her cunt hurt, clenching around nothing as eren’s hand would stop right above her clit.

but most of all, her head hurt. it ached. it was deafening. it was numbing all her other aches, everything fading away except eren’s teal eyes.

she looked up at him, his eyes filled with lust, as if a flick was switched in her, she grunted and pounced on him. pushing him into the bed, she straddled his lap, her wetness spreading on his own already-damp sweatpants as her legs were on either side of him.

he looked up at her with a shit-eating grin, he wanted this. he would let her control him, do anything she wants. it was turning him on more and more by the second. the feral look in the ackerman’s eyes alone could make him cum undone, her eyes glowing with determination. determined to pleasure herself.

she started unwrapping her scarf around herself, throwing it around eren’s neck, god he looked good in it. it had been years since she saw the red fabric around his slender neck.

she tugged on both ends, bringing eren’s face impossibly closer, making him clench his jaw and grunt as she looked down at him, the tip of their noses touching, his teal eyes switching between glancing at her eyes and her lips.

she planted a slow lick on his lips, with that, he groaned and smashed his lips against hers. mikasa’s grip on the scarf around his neck tightening as they swallowed eachother whole. their tongues sloppily playing with eachother, eren biting mikasa’s lower lip as she moans into his mouth.

mikasa held both ends of the scarf with one hand, her other hand going to tangle with the loose hairs around his neck as she started grinding on him. eren started meeting her thrusts, both of them dry humping eachother like some high school kids.

when they both ran out of breath and parted their lips from eachother, a string of saliva connecting them. mikasa’s hand in eren’s hair went to tug at the waistband of his grey sweatpants, his breaths coming out his swollen lips as pants.

she managed to bring down his sweats, now pooling around his knees, his cock finally being freed, smacking against his abs, too red and glistening with precum, begging to be touched as eren never would. eren sighed loudly, slightly thrusting upwards as mikasa’s folds glided against the side of his length.

they were both panting messes, at this point just teasing themselves. mikasa grabbed a hold of his shoulders as she buried her head into the scarf around his neck, lifting her hips, waiting for him to finally fill her up.

eren chuckled lowly, one hand around mikasa’s waist as the other grabbed a hold of his own cock, so hard he could swear he would explode. yet the bastard still went on about his teasing, hitting the tip of his dick on her cunt one, two, three times before she whined, he brought his other hand down to her ass, giving it a sharp slap. she moaned loudly into his neck, trying to calm herself with his smell.

eren’s patience ran thin, finally shoving his thick cock into her hole with a groan as he held her waist with both hands. mikasa moaned, eren’s cock wasn’t even halfway in, her wet cunt tightened around his tip, screaming as her legs shook, her head forced back as she came around his tip.

eren looked up at her, amused look on his face as he held himself back from cumming, being too good at that by now. as mikasa opened her eyes, she was met with eren smirking hazily, “you just came around my head, baby?” he questioned in a teasing tone, already knowing the answer.

mikasa furrowed her brows, grabbing both ends of the scarf as she lowered herself onto him in a flash, all of his length buried inside her to a hilt, his tip hitting her cervix, threatening to rip up her insides. she held back a wince, tears welling around her eyes but she swallowed the lump in her throat, she was determined. determined to wipe that shit-eating grin off his handsome face.

eren’s face scrunched up, his eyes shutting without his will, lips parted as he threw his head back with a growl. mikasa could feel thick, white ropes fill her up. her thighs slightly shaking around him from the overstimulating texture of his cum deep inside of her.

eren was a moaning mess beneath her, still cumming, he opened his eyes lazily, feeling mikasa wrap other end of the scarf around his neck and tug at the ends, the scarf cutting eren’s blood flow in the now prominent vein in his neck.

he gasped, holding a tight grip on mikasa’s waist as his slender fingers would most probably leave purple marks there for the next few days. he held her waist as he started thrusting up into her, cock still hard even though he just came.

his breaths came out ragged, turning into moans and groans halfway as mikasa had her mouth open, no noise leaving her mouth as she had a deathly grip on the scarf around his neck. eren’s previous cum was oozing out of her with each of his brain-damaging thrusts, leaking back down onto his dick and his thighs. it was messy, sloppy, hard. just like eren likes it.

eren groaned as mikasa kept clenching around his cock, more cum sliding in and out of her, his thrusts hard and bruising, “harder,” he choked out. mikasa has a confused look on her face as she looked down at him, “choke me,” he said between pants, mikasa clenching around him with his words, “choke me, mikasa. harder.”

he was demanding something from her. for once, asking her to do it, she moaned as she tightened her grip around the scarf, adding one of her hands into the mix as she pressed her fingers around his neck and onto his popping veins.

he whined. eren jaeger fucking whined.

it was too much, mikasa clenched harder around his cock if that was even possible, her thighs shaking and her holds on his neck and the scarf tightening involuntarily.

he grunted and moaned, throwing his had back as he kept thrusting in her, “fuck— fuck— m-mikasa, i love you, i love you, love yo-“ cumming inside her with a loud groan, as she panted his name like a prayer.

they stilled, both of them spent as they had each came twice, mikasa could feel another patch of cum oozing out of her and onto eren’s still-hard dick.

they both opened their eyes at the same time, looking at eachother as mikasa’s grip on the scarf loosened, eren smiled, turning into a chuckle as mikasa snorted.

both of them breaking down into laughs as they were high on eachother.

••••••••••••••••••••••

there we go! as i promised, the other one got 30 likes so :p

hope you guys enjoyed oml- this was a whole ass ride. literally.

i absolutely wanted to write sum where eren is a teasing mf, laughing at mikasa for coming too soon- but mikasa being the badass she is— shows him he ain’t shit either 🥴

not me tearing up at the end tho-

© all content belongs to e-jaegerenthusiast, do not repost or copy any of my work

[mythicamagic]

Funeral Flowers: a Sesskag Oneshot

Summary:  Sesshoumaru knows what Kagome's favourite flower is- because it just so happens Forget-Me-Nots have been filling his throat for months. Hanahaki Disease fic. Sesskag oneshot.

AN: for @drosselmeyerwrites​, who is also a lover of the 'suffering Sesshoumaru' trope. She's been a lovely commenter and wholesome person in the fandom ^^

Warning: body horror elements. This is a Hanahaki Disease fic with a twist on the concept.

Words: 10,000

Rated M

@cookieasylum​ drew an amazing fanart for this fic so please check this fic out on Ao3!

Funeral Flowers

It started as a mere flutter. Sesshoumaru could feel it at the back of his throat: the beginnings of something that tickled and irritated his windpipe- not enough to cause anything serious, but just noticeable. This sensation only worsened with time.

Kagome looked at him like he'd grown a second head after hearing him stifle a certain noise clumsily behind his fingers.

"Huh," she mused, peering closely at him. "I don't think I've ever heard you cough before."

After a few weeks, he'd begun coughing. A little blemish that he could easily hide behind his hand. Sesshoumaru had wanted no one to notice such a shameful thing. An unwilling action, but required in order to clear his airways.

"Hn," peeling long fingers away from his down-turned mouth, he looked away. Kagome shifted bare legs in the glittering water, lounging on some rocks by a river while half-heartedly sunbathing in a tank top and shorts. Golden eyes slid back to the slim, pale stretch of her smooth, toned leg as she swayed it.

"Kind of a human action, isn't it? Do demons even get colds?" her concern only seemed to increase. "You're not sick, are you?"

"No," he huffed, adjusting himself beside her. They kept a respectable distance. 'Friends' was what she called them. Sesshoumaru tried and failed to tear his gaze away from the parting of her thighs as she stretched languidly. "I do not get sick," he added, "such a thing is beneath me."

Kagome slid both arms behind her head to act as a cushion, laying down. "A few years ago you'd have said sitting beside a priestess ankle-deep in a river would be 'beneath' you. Things change."

Sesshoumaru tilted his chin up to regard her haughtily and gave a dignified snort, adjusting his rolled-up hakama pants. "It is beneath me."

Kagome rose a brow, fluttering one hand carelessly in a shooing motion, "go on then. Leave if it's so offensive," she sighed, trying and failing to hide her smile.

No.

His body flared alive at the thought, unsettled. Sesshoumaru bit back another prickling cough, settling for clearing his throat. "You should be the one to leave. This one was here first."

"Wha- no! I got to the river before you!"

"I was referring to age. Bratty mikos should listen to their elders."

Kagome burst out laughing, sitting up to lightly bat his shoulder. "That makes you sound ancient! You're such a dork. No one else knows how much of an absolute dork you are, do they? It's a crying shame."

Sesshoumaru did not know what a 'dork' was, but he assumed it to be something unflattering. He should've been annoyed by it, aggravated. Kagome's playful, happy scent made this notion impossible.

Thin lips twitched at the edges, dragging his heels through the cool current. He couldn't honestly put into words why exactly he'd shown up, following her scent. Logically, he knew he should leave her alone.

They fell into an amicable silence again, one that had been born from months of time spent together. Odd snatches of coincidental meetings had flourished into something more, and they'd begun seeking one another out for company whenever he visited the village. Sometimes she even paid him a visit the Western Stronghold. Any demons who complained about it were silenced by how… determined the miko was to make friends. A force of nature. It had amused him to no end watching ancients tripping over themselves to try to avoid her bad books.

He could also deeply understand those who had taken an immense liking to her.

Kagome was warm and teasing, a rare thing not wholly unwelcome. Her stories of the future were interesting, personality vibrant but down to earth and occasionally sassy. He enjoyed her more than he should, a quiet, snarky male by nature basking in her effortless glow.

"What's your favourite flower?"

He blinked, "this is a question belonging to Rin. I do not expect such fanciful notions from you."

Kagome huffed and flicked her hand to splash some water over his knee. "I can talk about flowers if I want to. Shinto asked me what mine were, so I got to thinking. I'd like to know what yours are too- or do pretty dog demons baring flower crests not have an opinion on them?"

He sniffed, bringing down one leg to create a splash that soaked her side. Kagome let out a yelp. "The Shiragiku flower. "

"Oh you can't be serious!" She giggled. "When I asked what your favourite colour was, you said 'white' of all things. White! That's the absence of colour!"

"This one is aware. You kept rabbiting on about it," he wiped some imaginary lint off one shoulder.

"But still! And now you tell me you like flowers that are infamously used for funerals," blue eyes rolled skyward, glittering with mirth. "Why am I not surprised, Mr Killing Perfection?"

Thin lips lifted into a sneer free of malice. "Very well, Shikon miko. What is your favoured flower?"

Kagome hummed. "Forget-Me-Nots."

Letting out a noise between a huff and a chuckle, he shot her an exasperated look. "And you give me grief over mine. Did you not say that blue was your favoured colour?"

"Hey, Forget-me-Nots can be pink, white or blue! I'm not as predictable in my tastes as some people."

That was most definitely true, he thought flatly. She had moved on from her first love, a Hanyou- only to bond with a Daiyoukai, and then…

And then…

Kagome stood, stretching both arms above her head. Sesshoumaru knew what she'd say before she even said it, wincing and bringing a hand absentmindedly to the base of his throat. It throbbed. Now the ache even seemed to seep lower.

What is this pain in my chest? He wondered. What is this strange sensation?

"I should go."

Sesshoumaru slid tired attention up to her and nodded silently. He would not wish her well.

"Shinto will wonder where I am," she needlessly elaborated.

"Indeed."

Kagome glanced at him and dropped her arms. "What's wrong?"

He thought to tell her, not for the first time. But it was silenced by everything else that had come before. Their history. Their species. Her lack of discernible interest, her new flame. A heavy weight pressed down upon his chest. His shoulder ached.

"Nothing. I am fine."

Dark brows pulled together. Sesshoumaru stood and nudged her away with a single palm on her back that lingered too long. "Go. I am… merely hungry."

"Oh!" a look of relief swept over her face. Kagome laughed, "okay, I'll leave you in peace. Happy hunting!"

Sesshoumaru felt his chest ache and constrict while his expression remained a blank mask. He covertly winced after she'd jogged away to a trail within the forest that would take her back to Kaede's village. She stopped to wave, and he quickly wiped his expression clean again, rendering it neutral.

Kagome smiled gently, her face full of friendly affection. Sesshoumaru regally inclined his head, eyes burning.

Do not go.

She left him alone, hurrying away to see her new flame in complete ignorance.

Sesshoumaru coughed and massaged the base of his throat as soon as she was gone, frowning.

Feeling something stuck to the roof of his mouth with his tongue, he curiously parted his lips and reached behind a sharp tooth to pluck the soft, small thing out.

Damp from saliva, a tiny, pretty blue petal caught his attention, clutched between forefinger and thumb. Sesshoumaru stared. A sense of creeping foreboding slipped into the back of his mind at the discovery.

This did not bode well.

---

His affliction made visits to the village difficult. It was easier in the beginning when he could hide a few coughs and tickles of the throat. Steadily, however, the discomfort increased. Sesshoumaru needed to pick out petals from his mouth every day, and the number of them only grew with frequency. He had to remove the irritating little things every hour now.

"Lord Sesshoumaru has been picking at his teeth a lot lately," he heard Rin whisper to Jaken, pausing mid-brush. She had been tasked with caring for the old miko's horse. "Is it a toothache?"

"Shh! Don't comment on such a thing so loudly, girl! If Lord Sesshoumaru wants to do some teeth maintenance, then he may do so!" Jaken squawked, frowning up at her.

Sesshoumaru cut golden eyes to the sky and turned away.

"Ah, I didn't mean to insult you, Lord Sesshoumaru!"

"You're STILL drawing attention to it!" Jaken griped.

Pointed ears twitched, blocking out their animated voices and tuning into a set of quick footsteps. Sesshoumaru inhaled, wincing as his lungs protested- the scent of citrus, summer and home comforts reaching him long before Kagome appeared from around the side of a hut. She beamed. His heart ached.

"Hey," she called, trotting over.

"Hello, Kagome!" the little girl waved enthusiastically, wobbling.

Steadying Rin atop her wooden perch as she continued brushing the tall horse, Kagome flashed him a knowing look. "You look tense. Is it from being near the stables?" she teased.

Rin gasped, "does Lord Sesshoumaru not like horses?"

"It's their smell, you nitwit!"

Kagome frowned at Jaken, before searching Sesshoumaru's face for answers. Obviously his silence and demeanour was starting to worry her. Taking a breath, he tried to ignore the petals stuck in the gaps of his teeth. He could feel more building, pooling in the back of his throat like thick mucus.

"They are skittish and afraid of this one. It is better to keep distance."

Predictably, Kagome gentled- but surprised him by easing closer. She seized his hand, tugging- and he was helpless to do anything but follow. Heat touched his cheeks.

Kagome walked backwards, maintaining eye contact like the femme fatale she wasn't, shifting her soft touch to grasp the back of his hand, lacing lithe fingers through his. She then forced the Daiyoukai's palm to rest against a warm neck. The horse shifted slightly, tail flicking, yet it did not startle. With Kagome's prompting, Sesshoumaru glided the flat of his calloused palm down the length of its powerful neck, the thin layer of brown fur tickling his skin.

"Maji isn't like other horses, he's calm around demons. He has to be if Kaede is gonna ride him to fight Youkai," her voice glided through his ear canals like melted honey. Kagome hummed, "though she said because of her age that he might be mine soon. Weird, huh? It's like she's prepping me to be the village miko more and more."

"It is not 'weird,' it is expected," he uttered, thrilled at the prolonged touch. How foolish. The heat of her palm felt exquisite, hand clasped intimately around his. "You will make an acceptable village miko."

Blue eyes flitted up to him, smiling. She gave his hand a squeeze. "Thanks, but… sometimes I wonder if-"

"Ah, so this is where you escaped to."

Sesshoumaru stiffened. Kagome ripped her fingers away- tearing open a gaping hole inside him. He quickly stifled a cough, but it was larger this time, throat clogged. His shoulders shook, sweat dotting his brow.

Kagome was busy being scooped up by Shinto, a large male. He dressed well, for a human, a jagged scar running over one eye. A momento from his mercenary days, he'd called it, though he was now reformed.

Kagome laughed and swatted his shoulder, demanding to be put down. Jaken piped up, yelling about indecency. All the while, Sesshoumaru fought not to let anything show. To not let the agony out. The jealousy. The consuming desire to act upon instinct and take what he ached for.

He couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand seeing the male's burly, meaty hands drag over her hips to settle at the base of her spine. Like they belonged there. Sesshoumaru coughed again, drawing away.

Kagome caught the action, turning to him. "Sesshoumaru?"

He hated the concern swimming in her gaze. It would be so much easier to despise her.

"I have lingered too long," he said quietly, trying to mask the rawness of his voice. "This one should be going."

Kagome nodded slowly, "do you want some honey to soothe your throat? It sounds a little-"

"No," he quietly snapped, starting to walk away. Confusion immediately curdled in her scent, and he regretted the lapse in control. Now she'd worry.

Foolishness.

"Lord Sesshoumaru!" Jaken hurriedly ran after him, following his Lord from the village. "Bah, those humans get more presumptuous every day. I don't blame you for leaving in such a hurry," he muttered, keeping up his tangent long after they'd met the treeline of Inuyasha's forest.

Sesshoumaru unexpectedly stopped, slamming claws into tree bark and causing it to splinter.

Jaken yelped, jumping and dropping his staff. "Mi-mi Lord?" bulbous eyes widened upon seeing him stoop over slightly, silver hair obscuring ashen features.

Sesshoumaru's shoulders shook, dry heaving sounds reaching Jaken's hearing. The retainer gasped, watching him cough, gasp and choke. Thick trails of dewy saliva pooled onto the ground. Rasping noises shuddered out from clenched teeth. Trembling claws reached inside his mouth, feeling something at the back of his throat. Grasping it, Sesshoumaru fought not to gag, coughing while removing the thing and looking at it with stinging eyes.

A Forget-me-not flower sat innocently between forefinger and thumb.

Both demons stared. Phlegm soaked petals rested at Sesshoumaru's feet. Jaken stood gravely silent for a while.

"Mi Lord…" he said thinly. "You have fallen prey to something very old…"

"You will not breathe a word about it to anyone," Sesshoumaru coughed, eyes stinging. He straightened and wiped his mouth, collecting himself. He threw the flower aside.

"But-"

"No one, Jaken," Sesshoumaru hissed, molten golden eyes burning. "Or I'll kill you."

Jaken yelped and quickly bowed several times, promising wholeheartedly not to interfere.

"I-I understand! However, if it's not too much trouble, perhaps you could hear out a suggestion?"

Sesshoumaru sneered and started walking again, his breathing slightly hoarse and rasping now, no longer quiet. His lips pressed together, trying to silence himself. It proved painful, and he quickly breathed through his mouth again.

Jaken tentatively continued; "your affliction is something ancient. I know little about it, but I do remember that it's possible to have it removed before it claims your life."

Sesshoumaru stopped, hands curling into fists. Claws scraped palms.

"That will not do, either," came his soft response.

"W-why ever not, milord?! This matter is potentially deadly to demons!"

Sesshoumaru stared ahead unseeingly. He knew of the affliction too. Had recognised what it was immediately. If he removed the flowering bud from within his chest, wiped away all evidence from her from his body, then he'd lose the very thing that had made him catch the illness in the first place.

His feelings for Kagome Higurashi.

"My reasons are my own," Sesshoumaru coughed behind his hand. "I will not die. Do not fuss over trivial matters, Jaken."

His retainer gaped, hurrying after him. Fierce worry painted his features. The infamous and deadly Hanahaki Curse could fell even the strongest of Daiyoukai.

---

It interfered with eating.

Sesshoumaru thankfully did not need to eat too often, but hunger inevitably gnawed its way into his gut. Transformed, he raced through the forest on all fours in a smaller version of his true form. Low-hanging branches lashed at his face. Forget-me-not flowers lodged in his throat conglomerated into a thick mass. They were practically a ball stuck at the back of his mouth. Sesshoumaru managed to ignore it just enough to track the scent of a deer- only to lose it and find a green pheasant within range.

Barely a snack, but it would do.

With a gurgling snarl, Sesshoumaru sprang at some bushes. Squawking with distress, the bird took flight- only to be caught in his jaws. Bringing sharp teeth down elicited a satisfying crunch. The taste of iron filled his parched mouth. Tilting his head back, Sesshoumaru had every intention of swallowing it whole. He'd done so before. The bird was small enough compared to his form. However, this quickly became impossible.

Red eyes widened. The flowers acted as a barrier, preventing food from travelling down his throat.

Spitting out the bird, Sesshoumaru tore into it. He tried again and again, breaking the kill into smaller pieces. He even tried drinking from the river to wash down the flowers. Nothing worked. No food could pass into his stomach.

With a low crooning noise that hissed out between his teeth, Sesshoumaru padded away from his uneaten kill with an agitated flick of his tail.

---

It affected his sleep next.

At his Stronghold in the Western lands, Sesshoumaru set aside his paperwork and retired to bed. Curling into a nest of furs, he stretched out long legs, sprawling on one side.

Only to feel a dull ache thrum from his ribs.

Wincing and setting a hand over the spot, Sesshoumaru frowned. He was unfamiliar with the sensation, however, Kagome had once whined and complained about 'pulling a muscle.' Perhaps the tight, clamping sensation echoed that pain. Deciding to roll over onto his opposite side- he abruptly burst into a coughing fit. The angle had upset his breathing, lungs protesting.

This vicious cycle continued long into the night. He tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable. Even laying still made him feel tense and pained. In the end, Sesshoumaru rose from his futon and began running.

Too tired to think, he transformed, relying on instinct to guide him. He whined softly; the ache spreading. He wheezed a little, breathing constrained despite being physically fit.

The inuyoukai sprinted to the outskirts of Kaede's village. Scenting the air, he caught a welcome fragrance on the breeze.

Mate.

Clearing the hillside with a single bound, Sesshoumaru shrank his form even further to that of a regular dog. Sniffing around the outside of a hut, fluffy ears perked. She was not home.

Where?

Following the invisible trail in the air, he padded around the village, passing by unseen by some villagers. Their lack of vigilance disgusted him. What lax security. Stopping at the Monk and Slayer's hut, he listened, hearing a soft humming from within. The sharp tang of blood, vomit, faeces and afterbirth caught his frayed attention.

The Slayer had been pregnant. From the sounds and smells of things, she had given birth and now slept while Kagome remained awake. He could pick up the faint fussing from a young babe.

Sesshoumaru stayed still, listening to the miko gently hum. Slowly, his body weakened, and the inuyoukai lay down outside the hut, resting a weary head atop large paws.

Something stirred from within, the rustle of covers. "Mn... are you alright? Want me to take over?"

"No, I'm fine," Kagome answered in a hushed tone. "He seems completely zonked out, little cutie-pie."

The Slayer paused, "your head. You said it was aching again earlier."

"Heh, Sango! You've just had another baby! Focus on yourself!" her lovely voice tinged with exasperation. "Really, everything is okay. It just hurts from time to time ever since that night with the boar youkai attack. It's no big deal."

"Prolonged headaches and amnesia does not fall under 'no big deal,' Kagome."

Laughing this off breezily, he could hear the shrug in her tone. "I just blank on a few things from the month prior to the attack. I'm sure it wasn't anything important."

Tired lids slid shut, and Sesshoumaru gained some sense of rest while imagining the woman within cradling a newborn pup instead of a gurgling infant. The two women talked some more, lulling him into a false sense of comfort even as his throat thrummed with continuous pain.

---

Breathing was a struggle.

Every inhale became a wheezing, quivering thing. Like crumpled paper that had been smoothed out and squashed too many times. Mucus constantly filled his mouth, senses clogged. His breathing ranged from laboured to a noisy, rasping thing.

He could no longer afford to visit the village. Sesshoumaru took to monitoring Rin from afar whenever he felt the need to check up on her. Needless to say, he avoided Kagome at all costs. The miko was an infamous busy body who would become a nightmare to deal with if she knew of his suffering.

Yes, that was the only reason.

However, on a random day he briefly let his guard down, the unthinkable happened.

Inuyasha found out.

If Sesshoumaru had comprised a list of all the beings he did NOT want to know about his affliction, Inuyasha would be right up there, along with his meddling mother.

Inuyasha stared, watching him with a complicated, horrified look on his gruff features. Shifting, Sesshoumaru stood from where he'd been knelt by a river.

Forget-me-nots floated downstream.

"... What the hell is wrong with you?" were the first words Inuyasha blurted out.

Sesshoumaru wiped his mouth, sneering. "I need not explain myself to you, whelp."

"Keh, if anything warrants a damn explanation, it's barfing up flowers."

He didn't need to hear anymore, turning with the intent to leave. No doubt the fool would talk nonsense, and he had no patience for such things with his current headache. His temples were pounding, throat parched.

"Why don't you just fucking tell her, you coward?"

That certainly caught his attention. Sesshoumaru halted. "What?" he croaked.

"Ya think I'm that ignorant, huh?" Inuyasha rolled his eyes, shoving both hands inside his sleeves. "I know."

"Know what, exactly," silken tones rasped. "You are but an ignorant pup. You were not raised within youkai circles, and so could not possibly understand."

"And whose fault is that?" shaking his head, Inuyasha huffed. "I dunno what crap you're yappin' on about, anyway. I'm talkin' about your secret relationship with Kagome that you had a couple of months ago."

Stiffening, Sesshoumaru felt his bones lock and throat inflame. He swallowed, wincing slightly. He flashed his teeth, "whatever you think you know, it is incorrect. A baseless assumption."

"Bullshit!"

Continuing to walk with every intention of escaping the pending conversation, he stopped dead the second Inuyasha opened his mouth; "I could smell you on her! But that all changed the second she hit her head. Did she forget you or something? You were happy to just abandon her after she stopped being useful for a good time?"

A deafening snarl upset his aching throat, ripping something inside. Blurring through the air impossibly fast, Sesshoumaru snatched up his sibling's throat and slammed him into a tree, causing the trunk to shudder.

"Silence," a blood-curdling rasp hissed out from clenched teeth like boiling steam. Crimson eyes glowed, claws itching to bury into the nuisance's windpipe.

Even while choking, Inuyasha managed to bark out a laugh, grasping a striped wrist. "You really do like her, huh? Never thought I'd see the day, bastard." White ears pulled back flat against his skull. "What's the deal? Just open your mouth and tell Kagome. Then I don't have to smell your pining ass all over the forest while you stalk her."

Burning embers were snuffed out. Sesshoumaru coughed, lifting a hand to his mouth. His shoulder thrummed, aching. "I cannot do that."

"Why not?"

"She does not remember," releasing him, the Daiyoukai stepped back. "The miko fell quite quickly for the male who rescued her that night. The fault lies with me that she sustained injury. If she is content with another, I cannot force her gaze to me."

It wasn't as though he hadn't tried. However, Kagome seemed happy with their relationship as friends. Guilt, stung pride and other such ugly emotions were all tied up with the incident.

Inuyasha blinked with disbelief, sizing him up. "When the fuck did you get so noble?" Sesshoumaru sneered, glancing away as his brother continued. "And anyway, what does that have to do with you coughing up flowers?"

Since he'd revealed more than intended as it was, Sesshoumaru felt no inclination to divulge extra information. He turned and this time; resolved not to stop walking. "Drop the subject, whelp."

"Maybe I'll tell Kagome about it."

Sesshoumaru did not falter, knowing the fool's game by now. "Do as you please," he dismissed in a wheezing, thin voice, stepping under the cool shade of weeping willow trees and leaving him behind.

---

He did not intend to revisit their old rendezvous point. Sesshoumaru had wanted to put it behind him, to let everything that had happened within the cave fade into obscurity.

The second he stepped foot within the mossy mouth of its opening, however, Kagome's lingering scent fanned over a striped cheek like a breathy exhale.

Long white lashes slid half shut. Hooded golden eyes became hazed. The memory of her salty, sweet taste wrapping around his tongue flooded his senses. Claws twitched, recalling the phantom sensation of full breasts falling into his palms as her back arched exquisitely. Her eyes had darkened into a lush, deep blue.

She'd been memorable, to say the least.

Walking further in, so that he stood fully submerged in their love-nest, Sesshoumaru basked in the illicit scents and breathy whispers he could remember caressing his hearing. It hadn't just been about sex. It never was with her.

Kagome had held his demonic hand without fear and stroked his cheek, murmuring ardently or giggling quietly. She told him things he hadn't thought he'd wanted to know before.

'You're nothing like your father' she'd said easily but with a conviction that made the ageless demon believe her. The notion should've been insulting. His sire had been unbeatable in strength, so of course he should wish to be like him.

Yet Sesshoumaru had never appreciated such compliments. He wished to be unique, bold, powerful, walking an entirely different path. Her words had been strangely welcome.

"And yet here I stand, Father," Sesshoumaru uttered to himself. In love with a mortal. Dying, because of a human woman of all things.

Just like you.

"Sesshoumaru?"

Golden eyes snapped wide open. A wave of elation, dread, guilt and longing washed over him. Every fibre of his being flared to life, muscles stiffening, heart racing. His lungs constricted.

Sesshoumaru swallowed a rasping breath, shifting to face the priestess.

Kagome crept closer, glancing around the cave curiously. "Was just in the forest to collect some things. I thought I sensed you close by. Looks like I was right. What are you doing in here?"

"Nothing," he said softly. His voice sounded fragile these days.

He could tell she was confused, radiating hurt. He hadn't visited in so long. No doubt she'd wondered why. The flowers buried within his windpipe felt heavier in her presence. He cleared his throat.

"Oh," Kagome scuffed a sandal over the dirt-covered floor. "Well... I'm glad I caught you-" she offered a tentative smile. "I've missed talking with you."

Sesshoumaru's insides screamed at him. The marks on his shoulder felt like blistering iron tongues being thrust into his flesh they wailed so loud.

Mate.

"I dunno what's kept you away," Kagome continued talking, making her way out of the cave. He followed, "but you haven't missed much. Rin is progressing nicely with her riding though. I'm not too shabby with that thin sword you gave me either, though Shinto says I need more practice."

That very sent icy needles piercing his skin. Stepping foot outside, Sesshoumaru couldn't stop the abrupt bite in his tone; "why are you here, miko?"

Kagome blinked and glanced at him over one shoulder. She then threaded her fingers behind her back, attention sliding away, voice unreadable.

"Shinto proposed to me."

Sesshoumaru stopped. A profound sense of loss rendered him breathless. He anticipated a coughing fit. Wheezing. Pain. But there was nothing, just him and Kagome standing alone in the silent woods. But she'd be beyond his reach for good soon.

He'd tried. He'd tried hard to forget, as she had. To push all the feelings and words right down from his throat into his chest. Maybe that was how the curse had started.

But he'd have kept the curse for good if it meant lingering in the 'almost' fantasy of them.

Now that illusion would shatter.

The very idea of her belonging to another felt like a wound somewhere inside him that he couldn't locate. The sensation of teeth on his shoulder thrummed, and he coughed, snuffing out the sound behind his hand.

"I didn't really know what to say," Kagome was muttering. "A part of me feels like it's too soon. I wanted to talk to you about it-"

"This one is needed elsewhere," he said in a clipped tone, turning on his heel.

He couldn't be her confidant anymore. Not about this.

"What?"

He began walking, trying to put distance between them. He should've known it wouldn't work as Kagome quickly caught up and planted herself firmly in his way, halting the demon.

"Okay, what is going on with you?" she demanded. "Is it the cough? Are you in so much pain that you can't talk to me?"

Sesshoumaru flashed his teeth in a faint sneer, throat protesting at the extended use of his vocal cords. "is it so unthinkable that for once, I may not have time for you, miko?"

"Yes," Kagome planted both hands on her hips. "Because this isn't an isolated thing. I've hardly seen you all month! And besides that, you're my friend, Sesshoumaru. Friends tell each other things. Remember how you talked about the court and how obnoxious General Kito was to deal with? Things like that. I need to talk to you about this- and clearly, you need to talk to someone about whatever's going on with you. I'm worried about you!"

His heart clenched, and Sesshoumaru bit back a hiss at the stab of pain it caused. Thin breathing rasped and rattled. He raised a hand, urging her aside via a gentle grasp on her shoulder to continue walking.

Kagome's grip was not so gentle as she latched onto his arm.

Frustration abruptly burst in his chest and Sesshoumaru snarled, whirling with the intent of spilling everything to her. Ruin their friendship. Burn everything they'd built and admit his failure to protect her-

-only to cough up a mouthful of blood onto her collarbone.

Kagome yelped in surprise, eyes wide. Touching the wet substance dazedly, horror paled her complexion. She looked up at him with palpable fear.

"S-Sesshoumaru?"

Humiliation stung white-hot and burning into his body. The visceral, blinding sensation of being exposed- of being seen- felt like too much. Too raw. As a demon unused to such things, his first instinct was to remove himself from the situation.

Sesshoumaru blurred away from her outstretched hands, putting the length of the clearing between them.

Kagome called his name again with alarm, asking him to wait, but he would not heed her call.

Taking to the skies, he flew fast and erratically, a wobbly figure. Coughing hard and feeling blood clog up his windpipe like mud, Sesshoumaru had no choice but to land not long after.

Within an overcast clearing upriver from Kagome, he steadied himself against a gnarled tree.

"Hah- hah-" he wheezed, doubling over and squeezing stinging eyes shut.

Something suddenly constricted tight around his lungs, around his very ribcage. Bones protested and ached. He gasped for breath, blood leaking from his open mouth to pool on the floor. Forget-me-nots mingled with it, petals stained red.

Jolting and snapping upright, Sesshoumaru arched his back, throwing back his head. A cry escaped him unlike any other. Loud, agonised and roaring in its ferocity tinged with pain.

Stems shot out from within his ribcage, tearing his chest asunder.

---

Her friends made noises of alarm at the sight of Kagome's bloodied clothes, but the miko ignored Sango and Miroku's questions, bypassing them in favour of finding and grabbing Jaken by the scruff of his robes.

"You're going to tell me in 10 words or less what the hell is going on with your lord," she demanded.

Jaken yelped and squinted, hanging from her hold. "Haven't the faintest idea of what you could be alluding to!" he sniffed.

Kagome snarled and bared her teeth, lifting him closer with a menacing expression and gesturing to the red substance marring her priestess robes. "This is HIS blood. He looked awful. Like- like he was dying, Jaken," her voice broke. "Please. I need to know what's happening. He won't tell me what's wrong and I'm scared."

Yellow eyes rounded wider, swallowing the imp's face. He appeared conflicted.

"Kagome!"

Releasing Jaken, Kagome shifted her attention to Inuyasha, who leapt towards her with alarm pinching his gruff features.

Dread dropped low in her stomach. That was never a good sign.

Distant snapping noises like wood being felled reached her ears. From behind the approaching Hanyou within the forest, large vines could be seen shifting and slithering over a portion of the trees.

"What is it?" Miroku gaped. "I sense a demonic aura, but it's distorted."

Kagome shuddered, feeling strange. She recognised that energy. Identified it as easy as breathing.

"Maybe a forest spirit has been disturbed?" Sango guessed, clutching her son a little more protectively.

"It ain't that," Inuyasha dropped from his jump, landing before them. He panted, white hair windswept. Of all people, his gaze landed upon the miko first. "It's Sesshoumaru."

----

Their way became blocked by a thick mass of vines crisscrossing through the forest. It created a wall, preventing any from entering.

"Lord Sesshoumaru must be further in," Miroku observed, leaning to inspect the leaves. "Beyond this 'barrier' I suppose you could call it."

"I wonder what could have happened," Kagome murmured, brows pulling together. "Sesshoumaru doesn't even have nature powers."

"Why on earth did you bring ME along for this?" a high pitched, nasally voice reached their ears. Sango and Inuyasha readily ignored it, while Kagome frowned down at the imp she held by the scruff of his robes.

"Because you're clearly hiding something, and until you come clean, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

His mouth thinned into a stubborn line, glancing away.

Kagome turned her attention back to the vines. Worry took root in her stomach. The memory of the Daiyoukai spitting up blood remained fresh in her mind, evidence of it staining her clothing and plastering it against her skin.

Handing Miroku their son, Sango went first. She swung Hiraikotsu with a seemingly effortless toss- the bone boomerang spiralling, cleaving trees in half but bouncing straight off the vine wall. It didn't so much as leave a dent.

Not wasting another moment, Inuyasha unsheathed Tetsusaiga. Everyone immediately gave him a wide berth, watching as he shook the sword out into a monstrous blade. He swung it back over one shoulder, feet planted far apart- delivering a swift blow downwards with a loud cry.

A burst of power shot out, heading straight for the vines. They made contact, and for a moment Kagome thought the consuming golden light might break through, only for it to fizzle out. The insurmountable wall remained intact.

Inuyasha tried again and again, using different techniques. None of them worked.

Nocking an arrow in her bow, Kagome took aim. Pale pink reiki split forth, coating the arrow while glowing ever more blinding until she set it free.

She held out hope as it shot through the vines, managing to burst through the dense foliage- which repaired itself almost immediately, covering up the hole.

"Nothing appears to be working," Miroku muttered, turning his friends. "Perhaps we should seek advice elsewhere first before trying to continue."

Her friend's voices faded into background noise as Kagome approached the vines. Frowning slightly, she stretched out her senses, using her aura to touch and brush against the barrier. It felt like him.

If that were the case, the wall was of Sesshoumaru's own making, whether he'd consciously chosen to hide away or not. Perhaps they were going about things the wrong way.

Thinking back to Maji and how carefully they'd run their linked hands down his neck, she raised a palm. Gradually easing closer, Kagome set it down gently onto the vines, stroking downwards.

Hearing outcries of alarm as the greenery parted, only for swirling stems to curl about her shoulders- Kagome quickly grabbed Jaken.

"It's okay, guys. Just find a way to follow me in later," she met their startled gazes. "I feel like I need to reach him quickly."

"Kagome, wait!"

Ignoring their protests, Kagome lept into the fray. She welcomed the green vines that wrapped around her, enclosing the miko and wailing kappa securely behind its wall.

---

Mercifully the winding tendrils of vines that moved as though infused with a will of their own allowed her freedom of movement. Kagome climbed through their moving, twisting stems, occasionally losing her footing and having to grasp hold of some.

"Again, I ask; WHY ARE YOU BRINGING ME ALONG WITH YOU?!" Jaken shrieked, clinging to her back and looking around fretfully.

"You know the answer to that. Tell me what you know about Sesshoumaru's situation and I'll let you go," Kagome hummed, shielding her eyes and looking up at sprawling branches above where sunlight streamed through. Maybe she could punt him over the treetops.

"I have sworn not to break my vow of silence on the matter!"

Grinding her teeth, Kagome stopped and reached over her shoulder, tearing him from her back to frown at him. "If your silence ends up hurting him, is it even worth it? Which means more to you; Sesshoumaru's trust or his life?"

Jaken clamped up, thinking about this for a moment. His eyes abruptly filled with tears, "fine! But you had best save me from his wrath once this is over."

Kagome grinned and patted him on the head, continuing to walk. "I promise."

He huffed, "Lord Sesshoumaru is suffering from a curse."

Blue eyes widened, and Kagome set Jaken over her shoulder like she would Shippo. He did not appreciate the gesture as the kit would while she minded swirling vines aside from their path and ducked through. "What kind of curse?"

"How much do you know about youkai mates, foolish mortal?"

At that, she tilted her head, noticing a blue flowering bud among the vines and gently touching it in passing. "Very little. I know they're like married couples. They, uh... make love and bite each other instead of having a wedding ceremony and stuff. That about sum it up?"

"Insolent girl!" Jaken griped, noticing the bud she touched opening up into a flower behind them. "It is far more than that! Their energies synchronise, aura's linking. However, it's quite imperative they both bite one another."

"Or else the mating is incomplete? What's so bad about that?"

"The partner that was bitten will consider them mated and suffer a one-sided attachment. This isn't so terrible if they have the bite mark healed and lose their troublesome feelings towards their mate," he continued with a self-important air. Kagome didn't mind it if it meant getting answers. "But... if they choose to linger in longing and are prevented from completing the mating, then their energies become distorted! Their youki takes on a life of its own as flowers."

"That's what these vines are," Kagome mused. She shifted, a strange, unsettled feeling churning in her gut. "You're implying someone bit Sesshoumaru? He'd never allow someone to do that if he didn't want it- let alone not reciprocate. Besides, if he could remove it, he'd have surely done so."

"I agree this situation is unprecedented! Unthinkable! Besides that, ANY partner resisting Lord Sesshoumaru's advances is unworthy of being his mate! AH-!"

Kagome jolted, feeling a weight lift from her back. Glancing over her shoulder, she gaped and strained to reach Jaken. Vines had wrapped tight around his mid-section, lifting him away.

"Hang on!" she shimmied her bow off her arm, quickly taking aim. Releasing the arrow, she watched as it hit the mark, sailing through a vine and breaking it in two. Jaken yelped, falling, only to be caught by another vine that continued dragging him back the way they'd come.

"J-just leave me!" he wailed. "Go save Lord Sesshoumaru!"

Kagome blinked, strangely touched. Nodding with conviction, she turned and hurriedly continued to make her way through the dense foliage.

---

Her breath caught the second she caught sight of the flowers.

Forget-me-nots littered the area, becoming more frequent the further in she ventured. Soon she practically waded through a sea of blue petals. They hugged trees, peppering logs, the ground beneath her feet, even climbing above to hang from branches. The vast mass of familiar flowers eventually opened out into a huge clearing packed full of them.

And there, at the centre of it all, Kagome finally saw him.

Vines had burst his chest open, putting quivering lungs on full display. To her horror, she witnessed them expanding and deflating with each struggling, wheezing breath. His ribcage had been repurposed for a vase of flowers. Vibrant blue forget-me-nots poked out between his ribs, green stems tightly wrapped around his bones, constricting.

Sesshoumaru's body lay tilted back, face turned upwards to the sky. Glassy eyes were vacant, blood caking his chin. His armour and hankimono lay shattered and torn on the ground. Around him, the stems that had spilt forth from his gut propped up his lifeless form, clearly part of the mass of greenery that had hindered her approach. Kagome covered her mouth, hand shaking. Tears pricked her eyes. Blue veins visibly spread over his flesh, causing her to wonder if the stems had buried beneath his very skin.

This was not Sesshoumaru. It couldn't be.

Choking on nothing, Kagome hurried closer with a thin noise. Reaching his motionless form, her hands hovered uselessly over his decimated chest. She didn't know where to start. How could she even help him?

"Who did this to you?" her voice wobbled. Stinging eyes misted over, running over his body. He looked like a corpse that had been picked clean by crows. His moving lungs moving were the only indication he was even alive.

"Sesshoumaru- I don't know if you can hear me," Kagome tried, reaching out and touching his cheek. It shocked her skin, icy to the touch. "But please- let go of the person who caused this," she said, locating what she assumed was the mating mark upon his shoulder. "No one is worth dying over. You could start over with your mate. Ask them out- anything!" she shuddered, looking at the flowers poking out from his ribs.

"Just don't die! This isn't like you!" Kagome snapped, tears rolling hotly down her cheeks to slide free from her chin. "Fight this! Keep living. T-there's still so much I want to talk to you about."

The tears landed upon pretty blue petals.

Leaning against him slightly, Kagome sobbed. She wondered if she could just reach out and rip the awful things free from inside his chest.

Why Forget-me-nots, anyway? Why not another flower-

The mating mark halted her hand, fingers brushing the stems. It didn't look like an animal bite, nor did it belong to a demon.

Kagome's eyes slowly widened. She had a distinct tooth at the back of her mouth.

The tooth marks looked like a perfect mould of her teeth.

"Was it...me?" she breathed, glancing up at Sesshoumaru's features dazedly. "Those blank spots in my memory. Was I... with you?"

The puzzle pieces slotted into place perfectly. Kagome stared, feeling like a fool for having not noticed. She'd just thought, assumed- he would never look at her like that.

But if the miko cast her memory back and pictured Sesshoumaru's lovely features, his honeyed gaze resting upon her face, half-lidded, lips quirked, face soft and drinking her in- maybe he had been looking at her 'like that' the whole time.

Kagome shook her head, feeling frantic. She latched onto his shoulders.

"I-I'm so sorry. I'm sorry! I never meant for this to happen. Why didn't you bite me? Why didn't you TELL me, you stupid demon!" she snapped, cheeks reddening as a fresh wave of tears stung her eyes. "All that time we spent together goofing off and talking- and you were suffering in silence? You're so stupid, Sesshoumaru!"

His anguished face did not stir. Kagome mindlessly wiped away the dried blood from his chin with shaky fingers.

"There's no taking this back now," she said quietly, glancing at the bite mark. "So... I guess there's only one thing for it."

It sounded terrible, but Shinto was far from her mind as she lay a hand over her mating mark and began concentrating. When resolving to save someone, Kagome became bullheaded. Sesshoumaru was all she could see as her aura rose out from her body, seeping into his bloodstream via the bite marks.

"You need to wake up," she mumbled, using her free hand to adjust the parting of her white kosode. Sliding it off one shoulder to bare her flesh, Kagome remained heedless of the vines growing and curling around them. They seeped into her ebony hair, twining into the long locks like a lover's hands.

Kagome straddled the Daiyoukai, shuddering a little at being so close to his bare bones. She couldn't have sex with him, obviously, but she suspected it wasn't truly needed to complete the bond. Feeding her energy into his body, she bit her bottom lip. Sweat beaded on her brow.

She began to mumble and pray under her breath.

When her spiritual energy had spread through most his system, Kagome grit her teeth and hoped he'd forgive her. Laying one hand atop his rib-cage directly over his heart, she raised her voice.

"Wake up!"

A pulse of reiki shot out through her palm.

Sesshoumaru jerked beneath her. A ghastly, chocking noise escaped him. His head lolled to the side as he looked at her unseeingly, a trickle of blood welling from the corner of his pale mouth. Kagome quickly wrapped an arm around him, guiding his head to her shoulder.

"Bite down, Sesshoumaru," Kagome whispered fiercely into his ear.

Sharp canines brushed her skin, causing a shiver. Wet flecks of blood accompanied it as he coughed. Whimpering with desperation, the miko curled trembling fingers into silver hair. She pressed a kiss against his cheek.

"Please- I want this." She'd do anything to save him. Besides that, a small, buried part of her felt strangely at peace with the action and its meaning. "Bite down!"

A blood-curdling snarl vibrated out from his open chest. Fangs sank deep into her shoulder. At once, dark, dominating youki burst through her system like a shot of adrenaline. Kagome gasped, back arching. It turned her heart into a burning star. Sesshoumaru's presence filled her until she practically burst at the seams. She distantly understood why youkai had sex before biting each other, reeling from it. The orgasm probably softened the intensity. Completion was something the mind could fathom, a release, the pooling of cum inside her.

This felt overwhelming. He was everywhere. His energy burned and licked, igniting and soothing her body like burning whisky.

Kagome felt the pinpricks of fresh tears in her eyes, overcome with a hurricane of emotions she couldn't quite name. She could feel his weakness. His exhaustion. The part of him tethered to her became a lifeline between them, feeding him the energy he'd lost.

Sesshoumaru's mouth peeled back from her flesh. He panted, sinking back. Kagome caught him about the shoulders, cradling him close.

A wave of tiredness sent her sinking down against him, lashes falling shut as dizziness spun her vision.

The last thing she saw before surrendering to the lure of unconsciousness was a canopy of Forget-me-nots surrounding their weary bodies.

----

Drowsy lids slowly cracked open- wincing at the setting sun's harsh orange light peeking out from between the trees. Golden eyes averted and Sesshoumaru stirred with a dusty rumble.

Something heavy lay over his bare chest. He lifted his head.

Kagome rested against his shoulder, dark hair spilling everywhere. Sesshoumaru stared, feeling he must be dreaming. They were laying within a clearing together, which looked clear, quiet and picturesque.

Squinting, he sat up, adjusting the woman against him. Kagome sank against his side, revealing a gaping hole in his flesh, exposing his rib-cage.

Ah, that's right.

The flowers. The vines spilling forth from his chest as blood asphyxiated him, making breathing impossible.

And Kagome...

The miko had come for him. Saved him.

Sesshoumaru ghosted stiff fingers over his mouth, dragging clawed nails down to the fresh bite mark branding his shoulder. He then shifted Kagome, running an aristocratic nose to similar marks adorning her shoulder- a tongue sliding out to drag over bloodied flesh. She tasted wonderful.

Kagome groaned and wrapped her arms around him tighter, burying her face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

Closing his eyes, Sesshoumaru held her close and revelled in the sensation. However, he soon picked up on the far off shimmer of his barrier enclosing them within their mini safe space. He could sense Inuyasha waiting outside, along with Jaken.

Deciding to lower it, Sesshoumaru rested his lips against the crown of Kagome's head before drawing himself up to stand unsteadily, lifting her into his arms.

When Inuyasha burst into the clearing, leaves scattering and clinging to his thick white hair, he brandished Tetsusaiga, only to lower it with a raised brow.

Sesshoumaru stood clad in his hakama pants, arching a regal brow in return. He approached the hanyou and passed Kagome over wordlessly, ignoring his noise of surprise at the sight of his ribcage.

"It is healing," the demon dismissed.

"Uh, alright," Inuyasha grunted, supporting Kagome. "Should I even ask what the hell happened?"

Sesshoumaru ignored him in favour of looking at the miko. His shoulder ached, and when he drew back his heel with the intention to leave- a fresh wave of discomfort elicited a wince.

Kagome stirred, blue eyes blinking open. She then drew a hand out towards him, "where are you going?"

"This one is..." he trailed off. "I must..."

"No, you don't," she murmured. Patting Inuyasha's shoulder to prompt him to set her down, Kagome flashed her friend a smile. "Thanks for coming for me, but I need to stay with this impossible guy to make sure he heals alright."

Inuyasha eyed the bite mark on her shoulder, nostrils flaring. "You sure?"

Kagome nodded firmly.

"What do ya want me to tell Shinto if he asks where ya are?"

Guilt passed over her face, and blue eyes flicked away, before finding him again. "Just say I'm visiting another village. I need to tell him the truth myself."

Relenting, Inuyasha stepped away, shooting Sesshoumaru a warning look before reluctantly leaving them be again, feeling like the wind had been thoroughly knocked out of his sails.

The Daiyoukai watched her, stunned.

"It's crazy you're even up and walking around in your condition," Kagome rubbed at her forehead, reaching out and seizing frozen fingers. "Come on, let's find a cave to take shelter in for the night."

----

The demon lord stopped and slid unrelenting attention down to her once they reached the mouth of a cave. "What made you choose this place?"

"I dunno, it wasn't far away and it felt familiar," Kagome hummed, meeting his gaze. "Have we... used it before? In the past?"

Golden eyes cracked wider. "You remember?" he asked in a quiet, brittle tone.

She shook her head, "not at all. I just figured it out. Would've been nice if you'd told me," releasing his hand, she wandered inside, finding a bed of furs awaiting them further in, cracks of sunlight streaming in through holes in the rock ceiling. Her cheeks reddened a little, imagination running wild.

"You really scared me back there," she murmured, back turned to him. "I thought you were going to die."

"That is why you completed the mating," Sesshoumaru uttered. To save him, and for no other reason.

A part of him had hoped she'd remembered, but another had immediately recognised the sacrifice she'd made. Kagome was a selfless individual in the face of danger. If Inuyasha were dying, or any of her other friends, he wondered if she'd mate them if it meant saving their lives.

With a benevolence he did not truly feel, Sesshoumaru forced himself to prioritise her comfort. "If this is not something you wish for- there are ways of severing the bond."

"Stop," she grit out, whirling to face him. Flinty blue eyes took his breath away. "Stop lying all the time. I remember valuing your company and opinion because you were always so blunt with me. You never held back your opinions."

"I am not lying, there is a way to sever it."

"But that's not what you want! Damn it- you nearly died because you couldn't open your mouth! Just be honest for once and tell me how you're feeling, Sesshoumaru. What do YOU want?"

Energy lashed at the air, kicking up a breeze that caused dark hair to fly back. Hands closed over the back of her neck, cradling her skull. Lips were shoved against hers, smothering startled breath.

"You," Sesshoumaru breathed in a brief parting, kissing her fiercely again. His mouth slanted ardently over hers, the hint of a fang brushing her lips. "Is it not obvious I cannot abide anything but having you? Foolish woman, it is for your sake I held back. Once you submit, there is no escaping me."

Kagome gaped, unable to keep up with the sheer amount of heated kisses. Her hands settled over his arms, heat igniting her cheeks. She'd never received a kiss like it before and tentatively returned it. A small gasp and accompanying noise from him only confirmed to her how much he wanted it. She could feel the tension in his frame. He was holding back even now.

When he pulled away, she panted, thumb dragging over magenta cheek stripes. "Didn't that feel so much better than burying everything?" she teased weakly. "Even if I'd rejected you, surely that would've been better than regret- than nearly dying."

Sesshoumaru's gaze slid away. He then released a long sigh, clawed hands curling in her hair. "You seemed happy with the mercenary."

"Ex-mercenary," she corrected out of habit, leaning into his touch. "And I was. I like him. But..." Kagome looked at him. Really looked, and somehow it clicked that his face was the only one she wanted to wake up to in the mornings to follow. When had things gotten to that point? Had she wanted this while lazing on the riverbank with him so long ago? Things would've been so much more simple if she'd identified it sooner. If he'd said something.

How foolish they both were.

Stepping closer, she blushed and tilting her head back in order to ghost her lips over a firm jaw. "I like you more."

Power sparked her insides at the ensuing shudder he gave. "Mating entails more than 'liking' one another, miko. Can you deal with my extended company? Being mine?"

Kagome pretended to consider this. "For how long?"

His lips quirked. "Centuries. Possibly thousands of years."

"That's a long time," her eyes danced. "I guess I'm okay with that if you work on your communication skills."

He inclined his head gravely, dipping his nose into her hair and inhaling a lungful. It felt so good to have clear airways again.

"Sesshoumaru, there is something I want to ask you about; Why didn't you bite me? And what happened during that night I lost my memories?"

"I intended to, miko," he said with dark promise. Displeasure curled his lip. "You managed to bite me during climax. I do not think you understood the ramifications of it at the time. I would have reciprocated nonetheless. Unfortunately, my senses- brilliant as they are- sensed a disturbance in the forest. A herd of boar youkai were bolting towards your precious village."

He could scowl all he wanted about it, but Kagome knew of his attachment to Rin. No doubt they'd both wasted no further time in lovemaking and quickly made for the village.

"We fought them, tried to redirect them. You asked me to save a boy that had fallen during the village's impromptu evacuation. Naturally, I did so- but it meant leaving you alone."

Kagome winced. Her hand found the back of her head, remembering waking to a sizable bump and stitches. "They got me, huh?"

"One struck you down," Sesshoumaru uttered with a weary tone. "I did not know where you were, as we had become separated in the chaos. When I eventually found you... the mercenary was nursing your wounds."

"I remember," she said gently. A stab of sympathy clenched her heart. Stroking a hand down his bicep, she sighed. "That must've been awful, to lose me so soon after almost completing the mating. I didn't realise, didn't recall our relationship. I greeted you so casually and didn't get why you were lingering around in his hut."

"The fault is not yours," Sesshoumaru rested large hands possessively on her hips.

Kagome glanced at him, squinting. "Neither is it yours," she pressed her fingers to his lips when he opened his mouth. "Nope! Not yours. I wouldn't have wanted you to prioritise guarding me that night. If you had, that boy you saved might've lost his life. Besides, I can usually take care of myself. They caught me on a bad day."

The two fell into silence. Sesshoumaru closed his eyes, resting thin lips against the crown of her head while Kagome leaned carefully against him.

"I find it weird that we've had a whole conversation while you have a massive hole in your chest. At least I can't see your whole ribcage like before. Seems like the skin and muscle are repairing," she mumbled.

"It will heal quickly," he dismissed, palms gliding over her back.

Kagome made a soft noise, basking in his warmth. "It's also weird that this feels so natural to me," she lifted her head, catching his eye. "I might not remember us. Ever. So just... promise me you won't search for my past self in me. I've been through that before."

He swept her down into the furs, covering her form with his own. "Hn, we will live in the present."

Heat flushed her cheeks as she sank into the soft, comforting furs. Her heart fluttered, stomach jumping. "Thank you."

A silver curtain of hair blocked out their surroundings as Kagome pulled him closer, both mindful of his injury. She smiled, searching his gaze and slowly delivering a sweet kiss to his lips.

Sesshoumaru let out a long sigh of relief, their foreheads meeting.

"Hey, on the bright side..." Kagome gave him a cheeky grin. "I get to experience my 'first time' with you again."

Astonishment painted his features. A simmering, darkly satisfied look soon replaced it, transforming his face into something more raw and honest. Kagome accepted his anticipation, his hunger, not dissuading him from it. She endeavoured to encourage even more displays of emotion from him.

"You don't need to hold back," she murmured, accepting his searing kiss. "Tell me everything you've wanted to say to me since losing my memory. I don't mind."

Their energies twined once more, and the miko hooked her leg over his hip to anchor him against her without any seductive intentions. She merely wanted him close, and Sesshoumaru did not argue, burying closer to her the second he healed. Skin met skin, noses brushing.

In the hush that followed, Sesshoumaru took his lips to her ear and began talking.

End

[totallyexhausted]

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….

[lucrezia-thoughts]

The Lesson - How to Admit You’ve Fallen in Love

Pairing: Pero Tovar x (F) Reader

Warning(s): 18 +, light Dom Pero, brief almost sexual assault, feelings

Summary: You never expected an intimidating lodger to teach you the ways of pleasure…

Link to Master List

“Sleep, amor. I will teach you more when you wake.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Pero realized both his mistake and the truth of it. Amor... Love... There was no room for love in his life.

Sitting up in bed, he put some physical distance between the two of you as his mind spun. You were just so beautiful... so... responsive... so innocent... and you'd wanted him. Him. A man whose hands were stained in the blood of innocents and sinners alike. And yet, you'd allowed him to touch you, to taste you, to guide you.

Pero suffered no delusions about what kind of a man he was. He was a killer. A liar. A thief. A mercenary. He lived hard, fought harder, and fucked harder still. There was no room for innocence in that reality.

Getting off the bed, he padded quietly over to the table and grabbed the hunk of bread from the dinner tray you'd placed there. Seeing the neglected meal only served to strengthen the guilt beginning to run through him. You'd just been doing your job. Feeding a lodger... and he'd dared to touch you.

Ripping off a piece of the bread, Pero sighed as he turned to watch your sleeping form. He could still see the shine of your arousal and his saliva on your sex and he cursed his manhood for its rising interest.

Chewing unnecessarily violently at the bread, he silently vowed to himself that he would no longer taint you with his corruption.

¤¤¤¤

Soft pressure along your cheek gently roused you from your sleep and you leaned towards the feeling. You heard some soft mumbling in a language you didn't understand and smiled as you remembered the previous night and whose bed you were in. "Pero..." You whispered as your eyes slowly opened to take in his handsome face above you.

"Good morning, mi amor." You frowned slightly as you took in his closed off body language. He'd donned his pants while you slept and he moved away when you'd opened your eyes. "Pero?" You questioned as you sat up to get closer, but he got up off the bed and bent down to pick up and hand you your dress. You felt the tears begin pooling in your eyes as you got up and took your dress from him with shaking hands.

"Amor..." Pero sighed as he reached out, cupped your chin, and lifted your face to look at him. Your damp eyes locked on his and you tried to express everything you couldn't formulate the words to say. He leaned forward and kissed you softly before stepping away. Turning his back to you, he picked up your dagger and pulled a whetstone from his pocket. As he began sharpening the blade, you knew you'd been dismissed.

Swallowing your tears, you dressed quickly and ran from the room. You hadn't even bothered to get the tray. You took a few deep breaths and did your best to train your face into a neutral expression as you made your way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

When Gwendolyn stumbled into the kitchen a few minutes later, you kept focused on the dough you were kneading to prevent her from seeing your face.

"Isn't it a lovely morning?" She mused cheerfully as she grabbed a pail to go collect milk.

"It is certainly a morning." You acknowledged, tossing more flour onto the counter top to keep the dough from sticking.

"Did you manage to learn your lodger's name?" She asked conversationally and you shut your eyes as you tried to keep your voice even.

"Yes...I did."

¤¤¤¤

Pero scowled as he saw William's beaming face approach him in the hallway. "What right have you to be so cheerful, amigo?"

"What right have you to be so dismal?" William countered, coming close enough to clap him on the back. Pero shrugged his hand off as they made their way down the stairs and into the main room. "We need only collect our weapons, then we may be on our way." William grinned and Pero grunted non-committally.

As they made their way towards the stables, a loud bell rang through the room and you emerged from the kitchen. Your eyes locked with Pero's for a moment that pierced through his heart. He saw such pain and sorrow in their depths and he knew he was the cause of it.

As you turned your head away, he wanted nothing more than to disappear. You'd allowed him a glimpse at heaven and a man like him had no right to want or expect more, but when you opened the door of the inn to let in two new mercenaries he knew he wasn't going anywhere. He may not deserve to have you, but he would do everything in his power to keep you safe from other men like him.

Tugging William back from the hallway that lead to the stables, Pero slapped his hand over William's mouth and pulled him out of view. William struggled for a moment before he saw the problem. William nodded his head and Pero took his hand off his mouth as they watched you greet the mercenaries.

¤¤¤¤

"Good Morning, sirs." You couldn't help the uneasy feeling that settled like a stone in your stomach. These men were just as heavily armed as William and Pero had been and infinitely more sinister in manner and appearance.

The taller one circled around you and your hand blindly sought out your dagger, only to find the sheath empty.

"We require lodging, little lady." He sneered and reached out to stroke a hand down your cheek where Pero's fingers had been just that morning. You moved your head back from his hand, but kept your eyes trained on the man.

“Your weapons will have to stay in the stables.” You responded and stepped back when he tried to touch you again.

"I don't go anywhere without my weapons, woman." The man's sneer turned to a scowl and your eyes darted from his face to the kitchen, trying to gauge the likelihood that you could make it past him, when William and Pero appeared from the fireplace room.

"That's no way to treat a lady." William grinned as he grabbed the man's shoulder, but you saw the flash of a wince on the man's face. When you felt a presence behind you, you hadn't needed to turn to know it was Pero.

"Now, I believe the lady gave you the condition for lodging here." William's grin widened. "So, either comply or my friend and I will escort you out."

You watched carefully as the man's eyes swept from William to the other mercenary at his side to Pero behind you. Scowl widening, the two new men began to strip off their weapons. "Excellent choice." William gathered up the weapons and nodded to you before disappearing through the hallway leading to the stables.

You took a deep breath before addressing the men. "Please follow me." You lead the men to their rooms without incident, but you were quick to realize that was because of Pero when you caught him watching from the end of the hall.

Your stomach clenched and your heart ached when you saw him, but he disappeared down the stairs before you could thank him.

Making your way back to the kitchen, you stepped into the room quietly before hurrying back out when you found William and Gwendolyn locked in a passionate embrace. Silently walking back to the stairway, you made an effort to make as much noise as possible as you made your way back to the kitchen. "How is the meal coming, Gwendolyn?" You all but yelled as you crossed the threshold to find them at complete opposite ends of the room now.

"Gwendolyn?" You asked again when the silence in the room became awkward.

"Oh!" You sighed as the plate she'd been holding fell from her hands and shattered on the ground.

"Let me help." William offered and was across the room before you could object. Shaking your head, you gathered a few more plates and loaded them with food for the lodgers. As you left the kitchen, you felt Pero's presence again as you made your way to deliver the food.

The next few days passed in much the same manner. You'd taken to loudly announcing yourself as you approached the kitchen and knew Pero was tailing you everywhere you went, but he hadn't so much as addressed you since that final kiss in his room.

On the evening of the third night since William and Pero arrived, you and Gwendolyn were finally alone in the kitchen as you prepared dinner. "So..." You started as you finished chopping the vegetables. "William?" You asked his name as a question and held your hand out to catch the jug Gwendolyn had been holding.

"What about William?" She asked as her eyes widened. You smiled as you set the jug on the table before pulling her into a hug.

"I am happy for you, Gwendolyn." You explained and smiled wider when she squeezed you tight.

"I really like him...he said he was going to ask my papa for my hand when winter is over!" She sniffled  and pulled back to beam at you. "Me, he wants me!" She added excitedly.

"He's a very smart man." You assured her before pulling away to add the vegetables to the stew.

"May...may I go spend time with him while the stew simmers?" She asked tentatively and you nodded your head. She practically bounced from the room in excitement.

Stirring the stew, you heard someone enter the kitchen and assumed it was Gwendolyn until a rough hand tugged at your waist. Turning around, your entire body tensed as you realized it was the larger man who'd tried to touch you before.

"You're a hard one to get alone, little lady." He grinned and your eyes darted around the room to find an escape path, but he'd rested one hand on the counter top and the other on the wall to effectively block all your exit paths.

"Please...sir...I need to-" You tried to plead with him, but he cut you off.

"It can wait." He grinned wider as he stepped closer to you and your back hit the wall. Your stomach churned in fear and you turned away from him and started to shut your eyes when the man's scream rang out through the room.

Whipping your head back around, you saw your dagger protruding from his hand and Pero's hand was wrapped around the hilt. "Do not touch what is not yours." He growled to the man and twisted the dagger until the man cried out and nodded. Tugging the dagger back out of the man's flesh, Pero stepped aside as the man scrambled from the kitchen clutching his bleeding hand.

"Did he touch you, amor?" Pero asked as he walked over to you. You shook your head and felt tears fall from your eyes as he tentatively lifted his hand to cup your cheek.

"Pero..." You whispered and leaned towards him, but he just stroked his thumb along your skin.

"Good, amor." He breathed as his eyes searched your face and your body trembled at the praise.

"Pero, please...I need you." You whimpered and reached up to cup your hand around his.

"Mierda...te amo." Pero groaned at the contact and captured your lips in a desperate kiss, but quickly pulled back.

"Hermosa...Amor, I can't." He grunted and watched as more tears spilled from your eyes. Tears that he'd caused. No matter what he did, he was hurting you.

"I want you to..." You breathed and leaned forward to press against him.

"Amor, I am not a good man." Pero tried to cling to his vow, but his resolve was quickly fading with you being so close and wanting him.

"You are to me." You whispered as you gently pressed your lips against his.

"Hermosa..." He groaned and swiped his tongue along your lip just to hear your moan. "If I do not walk away, I will take your maidenhood." He warned.

You pressed closer to him and brushed your nose against his.

"Take it."

----

A/N: Ask and you shall receive! I hope this meets your expectations @kiwi-the-first! I'm sorry I had to break it into two parts...As always, comments and feedback are love!! And if you have an idea, please send it in!! ALSO, if you guys want this one to continue, please send in some ideas!!

TAG LIST: @prideandpascal @paintballkid711 @artsymaddie @computeringturtle @northernpunk @clydesducktape

[writtenfan]

Asmodeus’s Captives

Prompt: Lucifer is being held captive by Asmodeus, weakened in magical drunken haze, and tortured by  the juiced up Prince of Hell. Yet, all that’s on his mind is finding you.

SpnLucifer x FemReader Warning: Some swears, body fluids and a little blood.

__________________________________________________

"Blah, blah blah blah...I don't care, I don't care...where is she?" His voice croaks. He clears his throat and spits blood onto the floor.       

"Oh hang tight will ya, she's doin' mighty fine...and she'll stay that way... if you corporate"

Lucifer's gaze hangs on Asmodeus, although it was getting harder as his head bobbed up and down and wobbled to and fro. "I'm...I'm gonna-" Lucifer starts laughing as he swings his head back and falls into the back of the seat.

"-Uuuhhh...WHERE IS SHE?! He screams, his eyes flickering red while the lights flicker off and on in the cell.

He rolled his head back around and slumped over in his chair with a smile. His arms strained behind his back "...I'm gonna...heh- I'm gonna slaughter y-you highbred redneck."

Asmodeus, wipes the angel blade in his hand using a white cloth and moves over to a small wooden table next to Lucifer. He takes a vial of moving white essence and proceeds to pour it on the blade and then, drink the rest. Lucifer, watching this continues to laugh.

"Now...it would be best if you'd shut that mouth of yours." He admired the blade in the dim light of the cell room and turns to Lucifer with an angry scowl.

Lucifer gargles in response and spits at Asmodeus, the blood loogie hitting his chest and trailing down his white suit, which has survived the previous torture with care. Asmodeus scowled and snatches the white cloth up and dabs at the dripping red spit, and slams the cloth back down on the table.

"Now, you know this ain't no Arkansas toothpick." Asmodeus chuckles as he turns the blade in his hands admiring its craftsmanship. "Especially with the kick from you insane little brother.." Lucifer rolls his eyes,

"I don't care about him, where is (y/n)-'"

"-AND IF YOU DON'T SHUT UP!! With all that nonsense..." He presses the tip against the side of Lucifer's stomach and Lucifer lets out a groan in response. "I'm gonna slice open this breadbasket of yours." He mutters as he presses the tip into his skin.

Lucifer lets out a pained yell and muttered curses as his blood seeps through his shirt. "Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck You and Oh. Fuck. You!" he hisses through his teeth as he jolts himself towards Asmodeus with a grimace.

"That's not very cordial of you." Asmodeus twists the blade further into his stomach and Lucifer growls through his teeth. His eyes flickering between red and blue. "What what do I expect...all rank and no class."

"Class my ass....besides that stick isn't gonna do much on me Asmodeus!" Lucifer laughs as he watches the white-suited prince slide the blade out of him, only for the wound to begin healing. "Even with that little  Archangel juice from my, annoyingly not dead, psycho brother Gabriel." He rolls his shoulders with a grin and straightens his posture, wobbling still.

"...And once this funny juice is all out of my system, I'm gonna kill ya. I'm gonna kill you and shove my fist down that Aristocracy assho-"

Asmodeus punches Lucifer and his head swings in the direction of the punch.

His blood flicking across the walls the floor and Asmodeus's face. Lucifer's blond hair, flicking in the wind and sticking up all over the place. Yet he only chuckled as his head hung down. He slowly tilted his head to Asmodeus, his red eyes staying in action this time.

"Where is she?" he drunkenly sings as the blood drips from his mouth. "Tell me Asmo, and I make you die a fraction less painful~"

Asmodeus scowled at the king and grabbed his matted dark blond hair, yanking it back as he positioned the tip of the blade over his jugular.

"I find it so cute that the almighty Lucifer has his own little strumpet..." Lucifer stopped laughing and blankly stared at the wall in which his head was being forced, his smile gone.

"Such a pretty little thing...poor girl. Stuck with the devil himself. Oh, I think once I'm through with you...and find that Lance of Micheal, making sure you're damned to the empty foreva'..." " I'll keep her company, she'll need a strong shoulder to cry on when her darling Lucifer is gone." He taps the blade's tip against Lucifer's neck and craned his head to look into the empty red eyes of his former King.

"Until I get bored that is, then after I'm done with her, I'll end her." Lucifer's jaw clenched and unclenched as he ground his teeth, trying to lock eyes with Asmodeus. "Maybe even...see how tasty that little soul of her's is."

The walls begin to swirl in Lucifer's vision, but the anger inside him prevents him from going out cold. His eyes keep their red glow as he tries to crane his head back to face the lowly prince but Asmodeus slams the hilt of the blade against his forehead whacking his head down.

Lucifer closes his eyes and tries to concentrate.

Yet, Asmodeus yanks Lucifer's head back up and lets him go, as his cell phone rings in his pocket.

He twirls the blade in his hand as his other takes the phone. He looks at the screen and wipes a strand of hair from his eye with the back of his bladed hand. "I'm gonna need to take this..." he holds the phone to his ear but gives Lucifer a glance before he walks to the door, opens it, and exists.

Lucifer's eyes flicker back to blue and he lets out an exhausted exhale.

"Come on Luci, feel that energy, that sweet sweet energy..." He mutters as spit and blood trails down his mouth. He closes his eyes and starts humming. "Come on....where are ya at..." he thinks to himself. Suddenly his mind's eyes show scattered images of a van, the inside...and your legs. Your legs chained together, your eyes covered. Your mouth gagged.

His eyes snap open and he starts hyperventilating. He then doubles over and proceeds to throw up clear liquid stained by his blood. The vomit spreads on the concrete floor and slides towards a drain in the middle of the room. He smacks his lips and lets out an eww as the taste in his mouth hits him. He then sits tall as if nothing had happened. He blinks and notices his vision getting clearer.

"Oh, wow. Better out than in is right..." He runs his tongue across his upper teeth and tries to puke again and sighs with the lack of success. "I feel like one of those bulimic teens." he sticks out his tongue and tries to get the taste out his mouth.

His attention snaps to the door as it unlocks and swings open.

"Now I'm gonna have to leave ya here to stew...when I get back, with Gabriel recaptured. I'll make sure we continue this little shindig of ours."

Lucifer nods as if what Asmodeus was saying was reasonable, "Alright then... but how about instead you piss off you Kentucky c-"

Asmodeus throws the blade into the Lucifer's upper chest and Lucifer lets out a pained shout and stamps his foot against the ground.

The door locks and Lucifer wince at the blade, feeling the throbbing pain ooze throughout his body. "Shake if off...shake it off..." he sings to himself as he bites hard on his lip and slumps against the back of his chair. A few minutes passed before Lucifer could power through the pain, the potion was wearing off and he started to feel his strength powering up his healing progress again.

He shook his head, " Wooo, alright. Stay on track Lucifer. Slaughter the Southern Slavemaster later. First find, my only reason for living, and only barrier from me not completely tearing this whole universe apart."

He looked at the hilt of the blade in his chest and tilts his head to the side, and within a second it flings out of his body, the hole healing itself instantly. His vision got foggy again and he felt like he was going to puke, but couldn't, instead a dribble of saliva dropped to the floor as he tried.

"I do my...haaiiir toss," he says in a pained but laughing tone as he shakes his head, swallowing back some bile in the process.

"Check my nails." He breaks apart the handcuffs that held him together, and they melted as they fell to the floor. He flexes his hand in front of him.

"Baby how you FEELIN?!'" He rocks himself up and snaps the cuffs on his ankles kicking them across the room rather dramatically as he spun around and faced his chair, shooting finger guns at it and blasting it into the wall. He holds his hands to the sides of his mouth and leans back shouting at the ceiling "Feeling good as Hell!" He sings as he gives his body a shake and smoothes out his shirt and flicks some dried blood off his pants.

Without looking he throws up his hand and the door behind him broke from its hinges and slammed into the nearest physical object. Which happened to be a strolling demon. He then let out a loud and rather monstrous shout and all the lights in the building exploded.

Leaving all who were inside, in pitch darkness. The only light coming from the glowing red eyes, that all who came across in this building, saw as the last thing in their after-lives.

______________________________________________________________

You're tied up on a blanket in the back of a van. Your senses dulled by the drugs used to make you compliant.

You hear a sound, a distant scream. A splatter. Another scream, seemingly so far away. Yet the air hits the side of your face. You cant see, its pitch dark. You hear a muffled voice as if underwater. Hands rush to take off what binds your hands and legs, although you can hardly feel them do so.

The wrap around your eyes reveals a foggy world and a foggy form. A man. He presses you into his chest. He smells of rust.

He presses his lips against your head and holds you against his chest. His arms, so warm, his chest. So damp. His voice repeating something over and over. His kiss sends tingles down your head.

You open your eyes and look at his face.

You try and wrap your arms around him, but you're weak. He presses his hands against the side of your face as he pulls back. A blinding light and suddenly all your senses rush back. Overwhelming you. 

You shut your eyes as your vision clears in an instant. The noise of his breathing accompanied by the words-

"-Yeah, there we go...hey...hey feeling better?" He whispers into your ear as he pulls you in and sits you on his lap as he leans his back against the hole he made.

You give him a nod and a few soft words and he shushes you.

Despite your feeling physically better. You're emotionally worn out.

"They really just gave you the perfect dose. Even an addict with a high tolerance would be right at pearly gates by now." He punches the side of the van, right through the metal, you jolt against his chest as he does this and you let out a distressed moan.

"Sorry...oooh sorry." He wraps his arms around you and rocks gently.

"I'm surprised...and relieved that you didn't die," he whispers as he smoothes his hand across the side of your face.

"You think they would be more careful considering who I am but no...yeah let's kill Lucifers sweetheart, see how that holds up once he realizes she's dead...idiots. At least leave some playing cards left in the deck to play."

He wipes the crust from the corner of your eyes and your runny nose with his sleeve.

Suddenly the air around you shifts and your hearing pop.

You slowly open your eyes and Lucifer is holding you back in the apartment you've been staying together in.

"I missed you...I missed you so much." his voice croaked as he said this.

"I- I can't, I won't let this happen again." he holds you tighter.

"But I'll personally deal with everyone involved with what happened...pinky promise.~"

[suspiciouslypinkrosegarden]

Chapters 6 and part of 7 of The Passed Out Princess

Pairing: My CMC (Uyu, Dan Byeol) x Suit Saeran See all chapters

Description: On days 7-9 of Ray’s route, the player is denied food as “Saeran” makes his presence first known. But, what if MC fell very ill under this method of torture due to a medical condition? Sadly, my custom MC, Uyu (full name Dan Byeol), would deal with exactly this dilemma.

Notes and warnings found in chapter 1

With the silverware wrapped neatly in a cloth napkin sitting in his pocket alongside the candies, the plate of food in both hands and the water bottle tucked between his chest and arm; he snuck his way back over to Dan. As he knew she would be, she remained in the same position, lying in wait for his return in the fairytale bedroom. He set the fresh food down as well as the silverware on the small tea table at the room’s center before walking back over to her, sitting at the side of the bed directly next to her. Twisting his back, Saeran turned to watch her with a worn out expression of sadness, tracing his fingertips along the side of her face before pulling away rather sharply. He was the one who had hurt her, so he had no right to touch her the way he just did, as if he suddenly cared.

His skin was so chilly in contrast to hers, as if she were alive and he was just a walking corpse. Her heat...he’ll admit...felt interesting against him. But, now he suddenly felt self conscious over the times he had let her feel the glacier that he is. Maybe Ray wasn’t so wrong to wear those gloves.

For once, he felt too tired to be angry. He could get back to his usual self the second she was ok, right? She had no power over him...it’s natural for him to be worried for her like you’d worry for an ill pet. When would she wake...that he didn’t know. But, he’d be there to feed her the second she did. He could be a better owner...a better...whatever he was. His beautiful cyan eyes welled up with salt water once more, glossy tears bouncing off his long lashes as he observed her again. Here, in this room, it was just him and her, with Dan deep in slumber. He could let his mask crumble down like old clay, revealing behind it the sad and scared human being desperate for love and approval he truly was. It’s normal to yearn for such things, something Dan wanted to inform him about.

Would she hate him after she awoke? Why did it matter to him if she did? Would she still be kind to him? Would she view him as the beast he pushed himself to be? Would she be better off without him?

He sniffled, overwhelmed with an odd urge to just hold her, something he knew he didn't deserve to do and tried to reason he didn’t actually want to do. Those were Ray’s thoughts...not his own, as the savior told him. Ray had the weak thoughts and wishes, Saeran none at all. He altered his position so he could press his face into the blanket by her waist, allowing it to absorb his sobs and occasional heart wrenching animal noises he wasn’t used to making in the company of someone. If anything, his usual tears were quiet, long mastering the art of silent sobbing. He was frustrated with her...no, himself, and she’d probably be disgusted by him upon waking. She’d for sure push him away now that he had really fucked up. He made his best effort to hush himself.

He lifted his head, wiping his eyes on his sleeve, ignoring the built up snot in his nose and overall appearance as he reached out to her again, in an attempt to wake her from her “beauty rest”. He started with a gentle poke on the side of her arm.

“Princess..?”, a hesitant rub, “princess..”

He moved in closer, unsure of how to wake her without giving her a small jostle, his voice extra nasally.

“Please wake up...you need food...I brought you food…”

Saeran sighed, turning around to face the wall in front of him as he cried again, feeling suffocated by his own loss and uncertainty.

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

Dan’s eyelids fluttered open slowly, realizing she somehow made it back into her bed, neatly tucked underneath the warm covers. Turning her head to the side groggily, she saw a hunched over black figure sitting beside her, making it out to be Saeran. His weight sank the mattress with a little dent, his back towards her with his face in his hands, shoulders shaking ever so slightly. He seemed distraught. Even without facing her, she could tell he was crying, a weeping so rather silent one would think he was used to keeping his tears hidden away; stuffed inside a closet deep within. She was too enveloped in slumber to pick up his earlier sounds.

Seeing how close he was to her, she placed a hand down onto the blanket to help her shift away backwards instinctively, stopping as her fingertips felt a dampness in the fabric. There were (what she hoped and figured were) tear stains on the duvet cover, and not her own. As she regained a slightly steadier consciousness, her temple pulsed again with a sharp sort of stinging. She sucked in air as her pain returned to her, the smell of food wafting through the room certainly not helping the situation. The smell of food?

Saeran knew she was awake now, with her little movements shifting the mattress and hearing a gentle wince. He picked his face up and rubbed his eyes, sniffling deeply before clearing his throat. A part of him didn’t want to turn and look at her, scared of what her face might say to him; that she was repulsed by him and his monstrous behavior. But, he turned around anyways, knowing it was his responsibility to make sure this didn’t happen again. He felt a loss of face and dignity, but he also didn’t care to try and fix her perception of him as “her master” at said moment. He dug his pretty hand into his right pocket, pulling out one of the mint candies he fetched for Dan before holding it in front of her, unfurling his fingers to reveal it in his palm.

He cleared his throat again before speaking faintly. “Eat this first to raise your blood sugars and then there’s food. It might be cold by now but...eat it all. I want every last bite gone.”

Uyu stared at him dumbfounded for a moment, gently looking over his glorious puffy features and reddened nose as she blinked away some last signs of sleep. She didn’t have the heart to tell him with her condition, sugar made her blood sugars drop more after the high.

Saeran’s stare shifted downwards, avoiding what he feared she might turn into. She’d probably curse him and yell, taking out her rage on him, wanting revenge. And he felt he rightfully deserved it to a degree. The odd silence was killing him as his ears prepared themselves for a fit of shrieking, picturing her voice to sound like a violin bow being slammed into the instrument’s strings too harshly; the beautiful melody lost in the improper way of playing. He strangely felt her voice didn’t fit violent screams. He flinched as her soft skin met him, fingertips grazing his palm with such a brief contact, taking the mint from his hand. She noticed this, beginning to worry more for him than herself.

“Thank you…”, she weakly unwrapped the plastic which surrounded the sweet, popping the white and red candy into her mouth. It was the more melty kind...almost buttery, feeling so good as it gave her body something to perk up with. She could audibly “mmm” with just how nice it felt to taste something right now.

Saeran reached out to her slowly, taking the empty wrapper back into his pocket before standing.

“You shouldn’t be thanking me when you were just sick because of me.”

He walked his way around to grab the plate of food, silverware and water bottle, before returning to sit with her on her little comfy resting place again.

“But you could’ve left me sick-”

“Hush now and finish that mint so you can move onto real food. I don’t need your sappiness right now, and you don’t need to chat with me either.”

“Are you ok though?” She gave him an expression of gentle concern.

“None of your business. Focus on your health.”

“But-”

“Quiet.”

Dan stayed silent with that as he was right to a degree, she could barely speak to him with how frail she felt. She could fuss over him in a second. She chewed up the sweet before swallowing it, her stomach now feeling revived enough to let out a low rumble. She pressed her lips together out of embarrassment, but Saeran paid it no mind as he removed the tin foil which covered the plate resting in his lap. Picking up a potato with the fork, he held it out to her with one hand underneath it to stop any food from falling.

“Eat.”

And for the first time, Uyu completely obeyed a command of his, feeling saliva pooling in her mouth as she went out for the bite. It was gone in a split second as her need to devour anything and everything grew stronger, spreading like wildfire with that first garlicky taste which lit up her tongue. To hell with composure. Pushing past the lingering nausea and dizziness, she crawled in real close to him, antsy for the next bite he was preparing; a bit of steak.

Saeran seemed shocked for a moment after looking away to see her practically snuggling up to him, almost dropping and dirtying the fork. A rosy pink similar to the ends of his hair dusted across his cheeks as he turned to feed her again with furrowed brows; a color hard to hide with a face so paper white.

Bite after bite seemed to give her more and more life, and...a bit of happiness too? Well...anyone would feel happy being fed after passing out from lack of food. Saeran’s heart did a different kind of squeeze seeing a few awkward smiles from her, the opposite of what he was expecting her to show him; little twinkles instead of grimaces. He felt safer now, hoping she wouldn’t change to resentment upon feeling fuller bellied.

He brushed the napkin underneath her bottom lip, wiping away a small spot of sauce which went unnoticed by her in her gluttony, picking up some of her faded cherry chapstick onto the piece of cloth with it. His sight locked onto the stain, a swipe of coral against the thick white fabric which touched her, face again flushing in fuchsia color as did Dan’s.

“Try to keep your face clean, I’m only ignoring it because you’re so hungry. Does the food taste fine at least?”

She nodded in response to his question before letting out a quiet “yes”. In the stillness of the moment, hushed enough to hear each other’s breathing and swallowing, she monitored him closely. Saeran’s eyelids were not only swollen but droopy and heavy with the need for relaxation, a bit crimson from sobbing, those dark circles even more sunken than usual. He observed her eating, looking as if he wished to black out himself, but also with a strong impression of fret and trouble, locked onto her as if she’d collapse again. Funny enough, he looked like a sleep deprived mother with a hungry toddler who’d leap from the high chair at any moment while being fed, shattering like glass or porcelain as she fell. Despite the uncomfortable atmosphere, Dan piped up.

“I feel ok enough to feed myself now...maybe you should-”

“If you’re asking me to leave, I won’t. Not until that plate is finished entirely.”

Uyu almost wanted to chuckle a little at his new found anxiety, looking like he’d actually panic if made to leave the room.

“Ok then. I was going to say lay down while I eat...not ask you to go.”

Fretting over him, she was sort of ok with Saeran staying, ignoring how unpleasant he’d acted around her previously for now. She just felt at ease knowing he wasn’t in that dismal work room or listening to that damn “saviour’s” awesome lessons about embracing darkness like some freaky weirdo. She held out her shaky hands so he could give her the plate of food, and after shooting her a small glare, he placed it in her hold, the fork resting on top of the vegetables.

The man sat up stiffly before crossing his arms.

“Don’t go making a mess and getting food on the blanket, I’m not in the mood to clean up after you even more-”

“Of course. Now as I said, kick back please.”

“Tch, I don't need to lay down. If anything, you do once you’re done. You still look ten shades too pale and I can see you shaking.”

“Then I guess we should both lay down at some point. Either way, make yourself comfortable for now.”

The tiny woman glanced at his posture before looking back at her plate, stabbing a potato with a timid smirk.

“You know...slouching isn’t illegal here. Or I at least hope it isn’t.”

“If you have the energy to make such a comment, I know that food is working at least. Don’t go testing the waters, princess. I’m still not your friend.”

She swallowed her bite before answering, a sad undertone appearing in her voice more than intended.

“So, should I consider myself lucky the shark took pity on the fish?”

Saeran laughed faintly, an exhausted breathy “ahaha” before finally allowing the tension to realise in his back, slouching forward, his chin resting in his palm.

“Yeah, that exactly. Consider yourself lucky that I can’t let my prey die just yet.”

He sounded less than convincing.

“But you seem so-”, she silenced herself, almost picking out his obvious distress and signs that he wept over her state of illness.

“Seem so what? What is it that I seem to you, hmm? Go on, finish that statement. Keep playing with hell fire!”

“I was going to say tired. You seem tired.”

She held back her true words, cutting the pill into a smaller one for him to let fall down his throat without choking.

“Tired? Of course I am, from dealing with you and your inability to go hungry for one fucking minuet.”

Uyu bit her tongue, trying her all not to start an argument as she felt some anger bubbling in her chest. She took in a deep breath to attempt to cool herself down, normally not allowing anyone to talk to her this way before lashing back to defend herself. It was his fault that this all happened, but she could tell he knew that already from taking one good look at the sorrow painted across his face he tried so hard to hide. She gave herself a second to collect her thoughts before speaking to him more rationally.

“I too wish I didn’t have this problem, but I do. I swallowed my pride to reach out to you for help, and I thank you for actually realizing help is what I needed.”

“Again with the ‘thank you’. I...I should have been feeding you, there’s nothing here to thank me for, weirdo. You also didn’t necessarily have any pride to swallow, you straight up passed out on top of me.”

“But, I called you to come over here, didn’t I? You even made fun of my pleading...”

“Hmph...sure sure, fine. You did beg and plead. I’ll be taking that to memory~”

“Oh really? So that’s what you’re into huh?”

“Are you trying to imply something perverted right now? Seriously? Shut up and eat your damn food before I clunk you out personally.”

“Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“You speak so bravely but I can see the fear I bring to you and your little shuddering shoulders, you impractical joker.”

Saeran was right, his behavior scared her, but she wouldn’t allow it to make her fall.

“Hence why the mood needs lightening. But in all seriousness...I’m already feeling much better. How about you?”

“Heh, that quickly? Funny. And why are you asking about me again? Do I not look fine to you? I’m fine, perfect in fact. Worry about yourself and your own recovery.”

“It was just a question. I hope you’re taking care of yourself is all, with the amount of work and stuff you have to do. You didn’t have time to even shoot me a text all day...”

“That’s because I don’t want to constantly talk to you. Again, worry about yourself! Stop acting so selfless trying to butter me up-”

“Asking about someone I care about is no task or mission as it’s something I just want to do. It's not goal oriented...”

Saeran groaned as he rolled his eyes, picking himself up to lean back against the mountain of poofy pillows aligning the bed’s headboard, kicking up his feet to lay down fully behind her. His right leg crossed over his left as he stretched back, putting both hands behind his head, making himself more relaxed. Dan turned around to give him a small smile and show she was still fully paying attention to him, receiving a scowl as he lifted the corner of his mouth to flash her his pearly teeth in response.

Secretly, Uyu was a bit giddy over the fact that he didn’t deny her last statement, trying to shove her away as he usually did. Instead, he adjusted his position into one of more relaxation. She took another bite before apprehensively commenting on the fact that his shoes were still on, which would dirty the white blanket.

“I’m happy you took my advice on laying down...but maybe...shoes off in the bed..”

“Want them off, take them off yourself, little miss OCD.”

He wiggled his right foot in her direction, grinning.

“Never mind then. I just thought if you’re going to lay down, you should get properly settled.”

“Why does it matter that I’m comfortable in your bed? You want to see my feet that desperately, princess?”

She nervously laughed a bit at his snide comment, Saeran scratching his head and looking away for a second as her tiny giggle met his ears. He turned to lay on his side facing her, one hand on his hip as his head rested in the other, his elbow propping himself up. Her laughter lasted a bit longer than intended seeing him spread out like a sassy underwear model before her.

“Didn’t realize that was so funny to you, trying to hide your thing for feet under all that laughter?”, he teased.

“Oh heck no. I just find your implication funny.”

“Uh huh,” he shifted to finally kick off his shoes, revealing his bare feet before returning back to his old position.

“Wait? You’re not wearing socks? Pfft-”

“So you want to see my feet and then you don’t.”

“No, I’m not desperate to see your feet at all, it’s just...oh never mind hehe.”

“Socks just suck.”

“But wouldn’t your feet get sweaty in your shoes without them?”

“Again with the fussing over my feet, princess? Come on~ now I know what you’re into.”

“Hey, you’re the one who took it wrong. It’s normal to have a no shoes in the bed rule.”

“And a second ago, you took what I said wrong.”

“Ok so, we’ve established that I think you're a sadist and you think I have a foot fetish then.”

They chuckled together, their genuine laughter mingling sweetly in a sing-song as it filled the earlier emptiness, a weight leaving both of their chests as well as some tension. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually laughed and joked with someone.

As they both came down from their little high, Saeran cleared his throat before speaking more seriously again.

“How’s your eating coming along? Finish that plate so I can go.”

Uyu’s expression changed to a more somber one, finally starting to enjoy his company. When he wasn’t shrieking trying to prove himself to stand superior, she could focus on that side of her that wished to grasp at his hand and tell him not to return so soon to the places where she could not be there to see what he was dealing with. Away from her, he was encased in the lies this place spoon fed him, the shadows threatening to devour him. She could not fight for him the way she wanted to locked away, but sadly, she was still too shy and afraid to keep him near.

“I’m almost done…”

“Why the long face? I thought you’d be happy to be rid of me now that you’ve eaten...”

His tone was hushed, voice deep as he trailed off slightly uttering the last word.

“I never, not once said I’d want ‘to be rid of you’. I actually said, or welcomed you to make yourself comfortable...which implies the opposite…”

“Ha... I just don’t understand, but fine then. Let those words come out of your mouth nice and clearly, and ask me for exactly what you want.”

“...I”, she gulped, thinking of a way to properly respond. He seemed to desire some sort of corroboration.

“I want you to be certain. If you’re not, I’ll go.”

“...I am.”

“Ok, but that’s not the sentence I asked for.”

He started shifting as if to get down from the bed before she finally reached out to him, lightly tugging the cuff of his jacket’s sleeve, stopping him from getting off fully.

“You said you wouldn’t leave until my plate was finished, and it’s not.”

“Are you calling me a liar? I hate liars. Naturally, I want you to beg for me to stay longer than that since you’re oh so lonely in here, paranoid that me just moving was me leaving. So, do you want me to stay longer than that? Hmm?”

And there he went again, trying to appear as if this was all a part of his vicious game of power play. Even as he took on a cheeky mien, he still could not hide the fatigue which mingled itself with his sharp words. Saeran, now sitting up straight directly next to her, leaned in till their faces were barely an inch or two away from touching, not respecting personal boundaries. She almost went cross-eyed trying to focus on him as her cheeks warmed in temperature, and she hoped whatever color they showed wouldn’t give her flustered nature away, having him so close.

“You’re lucky I felt ok enough to brush my teeth earlier,” she whispered meekly. “And it seems to me you want confirmation that you can stay..”

He tiredly cackled, his candy scented breath tickling her as he kept the distance between them so slim.

“Still not enough to get rid of your-”, he stopped himself. “Ug, sickly doll. You can’t go a second without making such idiotic accusations-”

“My what? My smell?”

His eyes darted away from her before returning to stare into the large green pools which were her’s, recalling his secret appreciation for it earlier as he held her. His reflection in her pupils frustrated him, looking as if the pressure he felt earlier had indeed crushed him like a ton of bricks.

“Yeah that..”

She raised a brow, “Ok, and what is my smell to you?”

He swallowed thickly, “Gross. It’s just gross. And annoying to recall …”

“I guess you don’t like roses then, because almost everything I use is rose scented. And you seem to like to be in my space a lot for someone who doesn’t like my smell.”

His face twisted in discomfort as if he’d start sweating soon. “Roses are Ray’s thing, not mine. And again with reading too much into what I’m doing.”

“Then what is your thing? And what are you trying to do?”

Saeran paused, finally pulling back away from her, Dan feeling like she could finally respire again.

“You’re trying to get me to turn around from our earlier conversation. Maybe I should take off before you finish your food after all, since you can’t play nice.”

“Hmph.”

End of chapter 7 All chapters

[kookicat]

Control the Storm

Control the Storm

She's seen them all through an injury or two, from the minor to the holy shit life threatening accident that made her heart crawl up into her throat. She knows them, knows Casey gets nausea when he's shocky, knows Severide seems fine right up to the point where he crashes, knows that if the boys are bitching and complaining they're okay. It's when they go quiet that she starts to worry. Which is why something about the way Casey retreats to his quarters after the call set her spidey sense tingling.

She follows, slowly, in case she's wrong and he's fine and just taking a shower. The pinch in her gut is insisting otherwise and she wouldn't be half the paramedic she is without listening to it. They all know the drill but occasionally someone will try to slide an injury past the medics. It's not usually Casey though.

The blinds are drawn in his quarters and the low level anxiety she's been feeling spikes into something sharper. She taps her knuckles sharply on the door and waits, counting impatiently to ten before she eases the door open.

"Casey?" she asks and gets a groan in return. It sends a spike of ice through her and she has to swallow past it before she can speak again. "What's going on?"

He's curled up on the bed, one arm clamped over his eyes, the other gripping the pillow under his head so tightly that his knuckles are white. What skin she can see is pale and clammy, jaw clenched so hard she's surprised that his teeth aren't creaking. His shoes are in a haphazard pile by the bed and one socked foot is digging in the bed.

"Slyvie?" he mumbles.

"Yep," she says and eases down next to him. He looks worse up close, not just pale but exhausted, with shadows etched deep under his eyes. "Migraine?"

"Yeah," he grates out, and swallows hard.

They've been through this before, a couple of times, and they've found a routine that works. This is the worst I've ever seen him with them though, she thinks.

"Okay," she says and rubs his back gently. "Does the chief know? Did you get your meds?"

"Yes and yes," he mumbles and covers his eyes a bit more tightly. Even the dim light in the room feels like it's a blowtorch slicing straight into his brain.

She can tell that talking hurts but she needs to know. He licks his lips and swallows, gulping and she knows he's going to puke. There's a bag lined trash can next to the bed already and he rolls towards it blindly. She gets her knees on the bed behind him, supporting him, and feels his muscles get tighter with every dry heave. Beads of sweat dot his face, clinging to his eyelashes. His hands are fisted in the sheets, hanging on to them like he's in a storm and they're all that's keeping him from being washed away.

She rubs his back, knowing she needs to grab supplies before he gets any worse. But I don't want to leave him alone like this, either. The retching subsides and she reaches for the bottle on the nightstand next to the bed, offering it to him.

"Fuck no," he says faintly and pushes it away. "It'll set me off again."

"Just wet your mouth," she says and offers it again. Dehydration is one of his main triggers and usually he's good at staying hydrated. The fire had been a bad one and they'd all been dripping with sweat before it was under control. She'd pressed a bottle of water on him, even seen him drink it. His electrolytes are probably off, she thinks and stands, leaving Casey curled on his side.

"I'll be right back," she says and hurries to the ambulance, grabbing what she needs. Two banana bags, a dose of Zofran for the nausea, and a couple of ice packs. She fills her pockets with IV supplies and gloves and grabs a dose of Toradol. He normally manages without it but this one is bad, and the meds will help.

Severide is heading into his quarters when she starts back with the supplies. He stops, eying them and the closed blinds on Matt's side, one eyebrow lifting. "What's going on?"

"Migraine," she says and bites her lip. "If this doesn't help, it might be a hospital job."

Worry creases his face. "That bad? What can I do to help?"

"Grab some blankets? And ask the chief to take 61 out of service for a couple of hours?"

Taking Ambo off duty is a lot to ask, and she knows that. She also knows that Casey needs her help and there are plenty of other paramedics to pick up the slack for a bit while she gets him over the worst of the migraine. None of them want him to end up at the ER.

"Sure thing," Severide says and ducks past her, heading towards the laundry room where they keep a stack of freshly laundered supplies.

She opens the door, eyes fixed on the bed. Casey hasn't moved, still curled on his side, breathing a little strained. Just looking at him makes her hurt in sympathy. The lines of pain on his face could have been carved from stone. His shirt is a little damp where he's been sweating and he's shivering a bit in the cool air.

"Hey," she says, pitching her voice low, and kneels by the bed. "If you can roll on your back for me, I've got some stuff that'll help."

He blinks, visibly gathering his strength and eases over onto his back, one hand flexing at his side. His head feels like it's going to explode, and part of him wishes it would, put him out of his misery. Saliva floods his mouth and he knows he's going to throw up again. He's helpless against the wave, can barely turn his head before it swamps him and he's losing what little has remained in his stomach.

Brett turns him just in time, pressing a sick bag to his mouth, rubbing soothing circles on his back. He's chalky pale apart from the bright spots of colour on his cheeks and his pulse is racing with the effort. His stomach convulses one last time and he turns his head, one shaking hand coming up to rub his mouth. There are galaxies stampeding through his brain, tearing him apart and he needs it to stop before there's nothing left of him.

"Here," Sylvie says and activates a cold pack, wrapping it in a drape and presses it into his hand. "See if this helps." She seals the sick bag and drops it in the bin.

He fumbles the ice pack up to his forehead. The cold is instantly soothing and it takes the edge of the pain enough for him to crack his eyes open, watching as she lays out the supplies. Aura makes the room swim in his gaze and he swallows miserably as nausea starts to churn in his stomach again. He's pretty sure there's nothing left to come up.

"This is going to pinch," she warns as she slips some gloves on and opens the IV kit. He needs fluids and she's picked a larger bore than she'd normally use.

"Just do it," he mumbles, tugging the ice pack down so it covers his eyes and blocks out the light. He shivers, suddenly cold, suddenly wishing that he was at home in his own bed. He can't remember a time when he was this miserable.

Sylvie squeezes his arm. "Hang in there, Matt. I got ya." She deftly places the IV in his forearm, wincing when he flinches, then tapes it down and disposes of the needle. She hooks up the first bag and gets it running. "Okay, here comes the good drugs," she says and injects them both through the IV. "Just some Toradol for the pain and Zofran for the nausea."

It's a cocktail he's had before and he knows that it works. Some part of his brain is grateful that she's remembered, because he's in no state to tell anyone anything about his medical history.

The meds wash through him, already blunting the pain. A wave of lethargy follows it and he gives into it gratefully, letting it pull him into a doze. It’ll take real deep sleep to shift the migraine entirely but he’s not there yet, as much as he longs for the oblivion it would provide.

The door to his quarters opens and he fights the urge to open his eyes, sit up, to see who else is seeing him in this state but the pull of the drugs wins out and he lets go, floating somewhere between waking and sleeping.

“Here,” Severide says, keeping his voice low, and passes a couple of blankets to Sylvie. “How’s he doing?” The other man looks like hell and it hurts that he can't do anything more to help.

“Better than he was.” She takes them and shakes one out over Casey. The room is chilly and she knows that if he’s cold, he won’t get the sleep he so desperately needs. The sight makes something catch in her chest and she covers it by unfolding the other blanket and putting it over him too. “He had me worried, this time.”

“He’s got us all worried.” Severide rubs his face, then shakes his head. “Damn man has more lives than a cat.” He sighs, unable to keep his eyes from drifting to his best friend’s face. “Boden has cover for you and Casey for the rest of shift. He says to finish up any outstanding paperwork.”

The ball of tension in her gut eases slightly now she knows she won’t be pulled away from her patient on a call. “Thanks.”

Severide nods. “No problem. Matt makes sure we’re alright. We owe him the same decency.” He pats her shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything.”

"I will," she says and gives him a brief smile as he ducks out of the door, closing it gently behind him.

Matt's eyes are closed and his breathing is slow and regular but she knows that he's not asleep. There's enough tension in his jaw to crack walnuts and she'd put good money on his neck and shoulders being the same. It's where he carries his stress and it isn't helping his migraine to go away.

She rubs her hands together, debating whether a back rub would cross any boundaries.

He shifts on the bed, the movement dragging a pained breath out of his chapped lips and she decides that she doesn't care. She lifts the chair and carries it to the bed, setting it down.

"Hey, Matt," she says and touches his arm.

It takes him a few seconds to open his eyes and when he does, they're slightly dazed as they track to her face.

Whoops, she thinks maybe he was more asleep than I thought.

"Sylvie?" he makes her name a question, voice rough, and she gets that strange pinch in her chest again.

"Everything's okay." She smiles at him. "I just want to try something new and didn't want to spring it on you because it means kinda getting in your face."

It takes him two tries but he eventually manages to pat her arm with his free hand. "I trust you," he says, eyes meeting hers, open and startlingly honest.

It dries her mouth in a wave of emotion that she can't quite manage to name. It fills her in a rush of warmth, bringing a lump to her throat. It's affection, more, much much more than she feels for any of her other colleagues and the implications behind it terrify and intrigue her in equal measure.

"Okay, here goes," she says, reaching towards his face with both hands. Stubble scrapes under her fingers, rasping against her skin and she suddenly wonders how it would feel against other parts of her body. The thought shocks her, brings a rush of heat to her cheeks.

"You're blushing," he mummers, sounding faintly puzzled, but his eyes are heavy lidded and he blinks, then just lets them close, too exhausted to even try to figure it out. Her fingers move in small circles on the big muscles in his jaw and he yawns, the aching tension there suddenly releasing.

Her hands move to the back of his neck, working on the long muscles there. She's leaning over him, close enough for him to pick up the subtle scent of her perfume, something soft and sweet and a little musky.

He's never noticed it before and now he has, he likes it. The tension is draining from him and he's on the edge of sleep, head still throbbing but in a distant, disconnected way that's much more bearable.

"How are you doing?" she asks, fingers working away at a knot at the base of his skull.

Between the migraine and the drugs and the fact that if she keeps the massage going he's going to be asleep in about ten seconds, he can't find words so just hums in approval.

The stubborn knot finally gives under her hands and she moves on to his shoulders, feeling his breathing change as he finally gives into sleep. She eases back, not wanting to disturb him, and checks the IV bag, slowing the rate now that most of it is in him.

His body is relaxed in sleep and she knows he's likely to be that way for a while. It's been a long shift so she toes her shoes off and props her feet on the bed next to his hip, tipping her head back to rest against the chair back, intending just to rest for a moment before she gets up and finds her paperwork. Sleep steals over her before she knows it.

Minutes or hours later, Severide eases the door open, having been sent by Boden. They're both still asleep and he backs out, retrieving another blanket before returning to throw it over Sylvie.

The sight of them napping is precious and he takes a quick pic on his phone before leaving them to it.

Shift change rouses Matt and he blinks, spreading a moment catching his bearings, mouth quirking into a smile at the sight of the sleeping woman.

"Hey," he says, and tweaks her foot, waiting until her eyes open. "Thank you."

She smiles, still sleepy, and it's the cutest thing he's seen in a while. "You're welcome."

[putas-in-suffering]

Bruh i neeed 65 on those prompts with Bishop

“You better shut that pretty little mouth before I put it to work, doll.”

You look up at Bishop from your spot on the bed, your arms crossed and face contorted into a scowl. He’d just gotten home, but you could see he was in a foul mood, bringing home whatever had been heavy on his mind at Templo.

You’d tried to talk to him and ease him back into your life together, like you normally did. But he snapped at you. And you don’t take kindly to being treated like that...even from your old man.

“Fuck off, Obispo.” You retort with a roll of your eyes, no longer feeling as understanding as you’d once been. You’re tired from waiting up for him, tired from constantly worrying. 

“What the fuck did you say?” He growls as he steps to the bed, shirt already half-unbuttoned and hanging from his shoulders. 

You go to get up and walk away, not willing to do this back and forth with him. He grabs you and pulls you to him swiftly, almost knocking you off your feet.

“I told you to fuck off. And I mean it.” You say between a clenched jaw, his hand tight around your upper arm. You struggle to release yourself from his hold, but his strength has you trapped. 

He grabs your chin and angles you to meet his thunderous gaze. He’s itching for a fight, itching to take it out on you in the best way possible. And even though you hadn’t wanted to do this with him, your body is reacting quite differently.

“Fix the attitude, querida. Or I’ll fix it for you.” He orders gruffly, his touch a stark contrast to the power behind his voice. 

His hand caresses your cheek, daring you to disobey him, expecting you to. His eyes shift down to the thin lace top you wore to bed, your nipples showing through the fabric in an act of pure disobedience and desire. 

Bishop smirks wickedly at the sight.

“Get on your knees.” 

You glare at him. He responds by pulling at the roots of your hair and leading you to his lips. 

“Get. on. your. knees.” He repeats tensely, hand tightening against you scalp. 

You wince against his oppressive hold and lick your lips, already feeling the moisture collecting between your thighs. 

You do as he demands, already moving to undo his belt buckle and button on his dark jeans. You make sure to look up at him as you do, knowing how much he gets off on seeing you with a mouth full of cock. He’s half-hard and growing when you pull him out. You collect saliva in your mouth and begin gently sucking the head. The torturous pace will drive him crazy, a small price to pay for having to endure his shitty attitude.

“Don’t fucking tease.” He snaps, grabbing his cock and shoving it down your throat. You gag at the unexpected intrusion, but quickly loosen your throat around him. You can hear him chuckling above you and the dampness centered at your crotch grows. 

You deep throat him like he likes, letting his sounds of satisfaction encourage you. He tilts his head back when you lick and suck at his balls, your hand still working around his stiff cock.

“Fuck, that mouth is good for something.” He groans as you take him all the way back, your nose meeting his pelvis. 

Saliva flows down your chin while tears muddle your vision. You take in rapid breaths through your nose as he places a hand to the back of your head, his hips now fucking your throat.

“Shit, that feels good.” 

You feel yourself warm at his praise, your pussy now pulsing in time with his cock. You need to be filled with him, but you aren’t going to beg. Instead, you keep moving your mouth and hands over his cock, the head now leaking that delicious essence you love. 

He suddenly urges you to slow down, his cock now barely grazing along your throat as he halfheartedly thrusts.

“Bet that pussy is wet, isn’t she?” He asks, his own hands now pumping himself against your lips. 

You refuse to answer, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“I want you to show me. Show me how wet you are.” 

You move from your knees onto the bed, letting your elbows prop you up as you spread your legs. You’re still wearing your pajama shorts, but you push them down your hips and thighs quickly, baring your aching slit to his hungry gaze.

You catch the way he licks his lips and pumps himself faster. A corner of your mouth lifts, always taking enjoyment out of the fact that you effect him as much as he does you.

“Open her up. Lemme see, querida.” 

Your fingers trail along you slit, smearing the liquid that had pooled there. You spread your lips for him, moaning and gyrating against the bed for friction. Bishop steps closer, eyes zeroed in on the place he loves to worship. 

“Bishop,” You whimper when he nudges your clit with his cock. He doesn’t enter you. 

You notice his fist moving faster, his cock rubbing against your opening and coating himself in you. You try to move with him, but he won't allow it. He focuses just on him as he pleasures himself. You see the way his shoulders tense and the the veins in his neck bulge. He’s close.

You attempt to close your legs, but he stops you.

“Keep them fucking open.”

You try hard to keep your protests at bay as he begins to cum on you, covering your pussy with thick ropes of him. You catch every drop as he chants your name, his eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy. 

When he’s done, he’s breathing rapidly and his forehead glistens with a light sheen of sweat. You’d kept your fingers on your pussy, but now you spread his spendings both inside and out. Bishop’s eyes darken even more so, if possible. 

“Don’t cum.” He commands as he pulls you roughly to the end of the bed. You yelp at the sudden movement, your heart beating faster as he gets down on his knees, his face even with your needy cunt.

“You cum and I fuck your throat again.” He threatens. 

At his words you feel your walls clench, your arousal ready to combust from within. And as he begins his assault on your pussy, you have every intention of not listening to a damn word he says.

[christianserver]

Spelunking

Another g/t vore, this time with an actual giant, from the pred’s perspective.

Kansha shifted in her clearing as she saw Isaac enter it, a smile lighting up her face as she bent down to his level, tilting her head to the side in curiosity as she noticed he was holding a large bundle of rope. “Hellu,” she chirped, laying down on the ground. She winced as one of her legs slammed into a tree and knocked it down, scattering any birds that were nearby as it crashed into the ground. She was always so clumsy. Good thing she stayed in the forest, where she wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“Hey, Kan,” Isaac said, shifting the arm that was holding the rope. “How are you doing?”

“Lonely without you,” she replied. “So, what’s the rope for?” Isaac spluttered slightly, trying to come up with words to answer with.

“I... um... want to go explore a cave,” he said, making Kansha suspicious. He’d explored plenty of caves without being embarrassed. “A certain... type of cave.”

“No need to be nervous,” Kansha chuckled, poking him in the chest gently, causing Isaac to stumble backwards a foot. “Just tell me.”

“I want to explore your stomach,” he said suddenly, looking at the ground in an embarrassed manner.

Kansha paused in thought. “But that’s for people I don’t like,” she said, feeling like this was wrong. She ate jerks, not friends.

“I have rope, I’ll tie it around a tree or something so I won’t fall, and you’ll be able to pull me out,” Isaac protested, holding up the rope. Kansha frowned.

“But it’s... not right,” she replied, swallowing thickly.

“It’ll be okay,” Isaac reassured her, putting a tiny hand on her massive one. “How about we try it out, and if you really don’t like it, you can just pull me out?” he suggested.

Kansha hesitantly nodded. “Kay.” She settled down on the ground, watching Isaac tie the rope around his waist, then around on of the larger trees on the edge of the clearing, walking up to her face.

“Say ahh,” Isaac joked, and Kansha chuckled before opening her mouth as wide as she could. Isaac ducked and crawled inside, using her teeth as firm handholds to help him in before he started to crawl along her tongue. He tasted like plants and herbs, and Kansha shifted her tongue slightly, accidentally pressing him against the roof of her mouth.

“Howwy,” she apologized, lowering it again. She heard a click, probably Isaac turning on his flashlight.

“It’s okay, don’t worry,” Isaac said, patting her tongue like it was a pet or something. He crawled to the back of her throat, and she could feel him poking around at the edge of it. It tickled, and Kansha felt the urge to sneeze or retch him out, pushing it down. She felt more weight in her throat, and instinctively swallowed, her muscles pulling Isaac down towards her stomach. But then it stopped right at the edge, causing the urge to sneeze or retch to rise up again. “Can you sit up a bit, so I don’t hit the stomach acid right away?” Isaac’s muffled voice came from in her chest. She obeyed, sitting up and straining the rope until she scooched closer to the tree, leaving a shallow ditch in the dirt behind her. Then she swallowed again, pulling Isaac fully into her stomach. She felt the rope pressing against her throat and tongue, barely resisting the urge to chew on it where it touched her teeth. She could feel Isaac at the top of her stomach, probably dangling from the rope, one hand pressed into the side of her stomach. “Wow, this isn’t as big as I thought it would be,” Isaac’s muffled voice said from her belly.

“It stretches,” Kansha replied, struggling a bit to speak without closing her mouth. She didn’t want to accidentally sever the rope.

“Cool. Huh, there’s a half-digested bush in here... Ack!” she heard Isaac exclaim, and felt a splash in her belly. Kansha inwardly panicked and grabbed the rope, pulling at it to get Isaac out before something happened to him. He pressed against her throat, barely fitting and bringing the urge to swallow again. She fought against it and pulled him out roughly, her heart racing in panic and breathing a little heavily. She had been holding her breath when she pulled him up. She looked over Isaac worriedly, but he seemed okay. Soaked in her saliva, but fine. She let out a sigh of relief.

“Sorry, I dropped my flashlight,” Isaac said, scratching at the back of his head.

“Oh good, I thought something had happened to you,” Kansha said, holding him close to her chest and feeling his heartbeat and breathing against her skin.

“Did you dislike that? Should we never do that again?” Isaac asked, squirming slightly from her tight grip. She eased it up slightly.

“It was weird, but was kinda enjoyable. Maybe we can do it again in the future,” she said, using her nails to easily break the rope and roll onto her side, still holding Isaac close. “What did you think of it?”

“It was fun, like exploring a wet and living cave,” he replied. “Was a little scary when you were hauling me back out, little rough.” He shivered slightly, the air, Kansha’s chilly hands, and his damp clothes conspiring together to freeze him. He wriggled out of her grasp and searched through his bag, grabbing a towel and drying himself off slightly, then wrapping the towel around himself like a blanket to help shield him from the air.

“Yeah, sorry,” Kansha said. “Do you want a lift home?” she asked as she watched him shiver slightly, wishing her hands were warm.

“Yes, please, thank you,” Isaac nodded. She held out her hand, and he climbed on. Kansha cupped him in her hands and stood up, her shoulders just above the treeline as she started walking him home. She tried to cause as little collateral damage as possible, but there was only so much she could do when she was 5 stories tall. She tucked Isaac away inside her cleavage to help protect him from the branches she was breaking through with every step, and also figured it’d help keep him warm.

She came within a mile of the small town he lived in, and crouched down underneath the treeline, accidentally hip-checking a tree and causing it to tilt to the side before she grabbed it to stop. Then she used her free hand to pull Isaac out, setting him on the ground. Isaac looked at the tree she was holding upright, and chuckled.

“Looks like the Leaning Tower of Pisa,” he joked. Kansha blinked with a blank expression, not having any idea what he was talking about.

“Okay, now shoo,” she chuckled, waving a hand towards his town. “Before someone spots me.”

Isaac smiled at her warmly. “Fine, bye!” he said, waving goodbye as he walked through the forest back towards his town.

“Buh-bye,” Kansha called back, smiling a little sadly. She always disliked it when he left, but he had a life to live, a job, a family. Stuff she couldn’t have. She stood back up to her full height, reaching up and pulling broken branches from her hair in annoyance. Nothing like a tree’s worth of branches to ruin your hair. She headed back home, leaving a bunch of broken branches and half-fallen trees in her wake.

[hoodoo12]

Familial Ties (Epilogue) 14/14

SFW ~

Rigel’s End

Damp and angry, Rigel pushed passed the moaning dead simpletons waiting in line at Mother’s office, and tapped his foot. His shoe squished unpleasantly on the floor while he waited first in line at the reception desk. The noise was distracting, so with increasing annoyance he switched to tapping his finger on the glass partition until Miss Argentina deigned to return to her vacated chair.

She gave him a blank eyed stare, unimpressed.

He muzzled his irritation.

“Mi tesoro. Mi amor!” he praised. “¿Por qué no vienes conmigo? Te trataré bien . . .”

“Vete a la mierda,” she spit back..

He winced and grabbed his chest over his heart, as if her rejection hurt.

“So rude!”

Her expression didn’t change. “Ve a la mierda con tu madre, gilipollas.”

That did wipe the smile from his face.

“Just buzz me in, bitch.”

Rolling her eyes, she did. Rigel marched through the door like he owned the place and didn’t currently look a mess: disheveled, slimy wet, and pissed off. As he passed Miss Argentina, he hissed,

“You wish you were lucky enough to fuck me.”

She rolled her eyes again, gave him the universal one fingered gesture of contempt, and swivelling her chair away back to the window, made it very clear she was ignoring him.

Rigel stomped through the maze of desks to his mother’s office. Every lowly office worker pointedly ignored him as well, but he didn’t care; this scum and their opinions meant nothing to him. They were simply jealous of him and his status, any of them would give anything to have the pull he did, he was Cecil Rigel Venandi, The Hunter Also Named Torment, and he could do what he wanted--

“Rigel, comb your damn hair! You look like you’ve been bum-rushed through a paper shredder!”

“Yes Mother,” he agreed meekly, trying to smooth his mussed hair back into place as he opened the door to her office.

As always, dear old mom sat at her desk behind towers of paperwork, smoking. Her eyes were bright, taking in more of him than he ever wanted to show, and he felt less like a demon in full command of his infernal power, and more like a child about to be scolded.

“You smell like a garbage chute. What the fuck have you been doing?”

“I’ve been trying to contain Lawrence, Mother! He’s topside again!” Rigel exclaimed, pulling at the hem of his jacket to straighten it so he looked more presentable; his hand came away sticky from hellmouth saliva. He tried wiping his hand on his trousers, and only managed to get tiny bits of something unpleasant stuck to his palm. “He shacked up with another dimwitted breather, and wormed his way into her pants--she managed to call him up and--”

“How? How’d she call that waste of space?”

“She had a copy of Ens entium collectio infernalia.”

At hearing the title, Juno perked up, even as her son continued.

“Lawrence must have shoved one of his stupid flyers in there and the breather was even more stupid enough to summon him--”

“Of course she did. I don’t know what kind of influence he manages to embed into those fucking flyers. Might be something to look into.”

Rigel pinched his lips together at the second interruption, but didn’t say anything about it.

After giving her a moment to think about her observation, he continued. He was proud to relay this part to his mother. “Because she’d opened the book, I was able to influence her and she called me up too. Big brother was there, of course, already imprinted and attached to her like a goddamn puppy. We fought and I got half the book--”

“You did?”

He didn’t let her derail him this time. “--and I used it to call Dziban to assist so I could get the second half of Fuch’s book--”

“Dziban? That thing? Couldn’t you have gotten something a little more powerful?” she said disapprovingly.

Rigel ducked, a little.

“I only had half the book,” he whined. “Fuchs wasn’t the best about keeping things organized in his little notebook. You know that, Mother!”

Juno raised her eyebrows and looked over the tops of her glasses at that little outburst, and instantly Rigel reeled it back in.

“I’m sorry, Mother! I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

Placated but still frowning, Juno waved the cigarette held between her fingers to indicate he should continue.

“So Dziban attacked the two of them and injured Lawrence. The woman knew when they were beaten, though, and agreed to give me the other half of the book if I, quote, ‘left them alone’.” He grinned, showing too many teeth. “Breathers never think about everything, and she never thought to include that other family members--such as you, Mother dearest!--would continue to have access to her.

“They thought they’d trick me,” he continued. “They called up a hellmouth--remember those old things? She gave me the book, as promised. I was having a civil conversation with Lawrence--” Juno snorted her disbelieving response to that, “--and that bitch pushed me into the ‘mouth. Joke’s on her though; I grabbed her too and we went down together. Ended up in the lowest level, surrounded by the bones of deceased hellmouths.”

Purposefully he stopped there, not relishing relaying the rest of the story. Omissions were lies, but sometimes necessary. He smiled triumphantly. His mother stared blankly back at him.

“And?” she prompted.

He blinked. “And what?”

“And did you get the second half of the book, you imbecile?!” she spat.

He ducked again. “Oh! Yes! Yes I did!”

With a flourish, he dug into his jacket’s inner pocket and extracted it. He dropped it on her desk right in front of her.

“Rigel, what in the fuck is this?”

Her hissed question was not the pleased or excited response he’d expected. He’d expected accolades and praise, and his mother’s hiss of disapproval stung.

“The book . . .?” he replied, wincing that it sounded like a question instead of a firm answer.

“The book?! This is a soggy, ruined mass of nothing!” his mother screeched.

In horror, Rigel took a real look at the half of the book he’d procured. She was right; it was gummy from the hellmouth’s saliva and the fucking holy water Pate had used and fucking stupid Dziban--the old parchment had been damp too long. Panicked, he grabbed it back and tried to open the pages. They stuck together enmass and tore in his hands. Ink rubbed off and stained him as well. It was useless. He almost sobbed.

“What about the other half of the book?” Juno asked in a dangerously low voice.

Almost frightened to present it but unable to disobey, he reached into the opposite inner pocket of his jacket and extracted it. It was in the same unusable condition. The fighting and wetness had been too much for the ancient book.

Rigel risked a glance back up to his mother. She was sitting back in her chair, staring at him like she wasn’t quite sure what she was looking at.

“Tell me the rest of it,” she demanded.

In a slow, shaky voice, he told her how he and Lawrence fought, how Pate used holy water against Dziban, how Pate had sacrificed herself and pushed him into the hellmouth’s throat--but he took her along with him!

Juno was still unimpressed. “And where is she now, Rigel?”

He was forced to admit that she’d escaped, with the help of Lawrence and you knew about his clones but did you know he had tentacles, Mother, did you know that he--

“Shut up about your brother!” she shouted over his whining.

His mouth shut with a snap.

Juno pinched the bridge of her nose. “You colossal fuck up. You not only couldn’t retrieve and keep safe a book we’ve been trying to locate for centuries, you were beaten by some breather and Lawrence?! I can’t believe how much you’ve fucked this.”

At her words, Rigel shrank a bit. “But Mother, I tried--I wanted to--”

“Shut up!” Juno interrupted. “I don’t want your shitty excuses! You’ve been traipsing around up there, royally fucking things up, and neglecting all the work you have to do down here! This! This is just a bit of the shit I’ve had to deal with since you took it on yourself to get summoned, acting all high and mighty and living large up there!”

She stood up, grabbed a one tower of paperwork from her desk, and shoved it at him. Automatically Rigel took it, juggling to keep it together and not spill out of his hands.  

With her hands on the limited clear area before her, Juno shouted, “Now get back to your fucking desk and get back to fucking work!”

Ducking, he nodded, apologizing and agreeing all at once.

“And take this shit with you!” she finished, chucking the damp ruined books at him.

Burdened with paperwork, he couldn’t catch them, but turned so they hit his shoulder instead of his chest before they bounced to the floor.

“I’ll be back to clean that up, Mother,” he whimpered, and scurried out of her office.

Juno scowled after him. She always knew Lawrence was a screw up, but Rigel? She was deeply disappointed. She went back to her own paperwork. Muttering profanities to herself, she didn’t watch her useless spawn hurry away.

 fin!

[venusxxlangdon]

Michael Langdon x reader x Tom Riddle extended blurb

pairing: Michael Langdon x reader x Tom Riddle words: 2.3k warnings: smut, dirty talk, virgin!reader (this is not a sugar-coated first time sex smut where reader doesn’t feel any pain and cums instantly, so, please, keep it in mind. You might not want to read it if you are sensitive), blood, oral (female receiving)

A/N: shoutout to @avesatanormalpeoplescareme  who got even more excited about this concept than I did and encouraged me to write for it

“You can’t start off with doggy, Tom,” Michael rolled his eyes, crossing his arms against his naked chest. “The deep cervical penetration can be too much for...,” he took a pause and shoot a sidelong glance at you, “a beginner. At least, lay her down.”

Riddle looked deeply concerned as if he was trying to solve the worlds greatest problem aka to decide what position to fuck you in. His big palm landed on your exposed ass and he lightly petted the smooth skin, making you squirm under his touch.

“Who cares? She’s gonna bleed anyway,” he scoffed, his fingers dancing along the crack between your cheeks teasingly. Tom smirked at the way you tried to shy away from him and used the same hand to part the two globes of flesh and circle the tight ring of muscles with his thumb. “Or we can use the back door. Whatcha think, sweetheart?” He slowly massaged your hole, and it clenched around nothing, causing you to press your head into the pillow in order to hide your burning face from the eyes of Tom and Michael.

You whined in response and shook your head. Riddle chuckled.

“Don’t worry, we will claim your ass too. It’s just the matter of time” his fingertips traveled down to your pussy, kissing the wet folds with featherlight touches. He slid the pads up and down, smearing the gathering arousal all over your labia, and then spread the glistening folds out to take a closer look at your virgin hole. He poked it with his index finger, sliding just the first knuckle inside and laughed at the way your body jolted up underneath him.

Michael kneeled before you on the bed and used both of his hands to lift your head from the pillow and look you in the eye. For a second his detached beauty took your breath away, and you just stared in awe at his angelic face, lost in the storm of his blue eyes. At first, you did not even hear what he had said to you, being too fascinated with the way his cherry lips moved.

“Sorry, what?” You mumbled and looked down at his hands that were gripping at the pillow underneath you. He pulled it towards himself, releasing it from your grasp.

“We need this pillow to put it under your pelvis,” Langdon mused, and the next moment he took it from your hands, letting your head fall onto the mattress.

You looked across your shoulder and watched Tom lifting your hips a bit higher and placing the pillow under them. He arched his brow at Michael.

“Happy?”

Michael nodded. He bent over and leaned closer to you until his lips reached your ear and whispered:

“Try to relax as much as you can,” he ran his fingers through your hair, and your stomach dropped at his words. What if it was gonna hurt? Your heart race escalated immediately as soon as you saw Riddle undoing his pants and taking a massive cock out of his black slacks. You gulped heavily, thinking if your body was able to take such length. As if Michael was your lifeline, you turned your head at him and asked:

“I-...I don’t think I can...ohh!”

A loud “smack!” cut you off mid-sentence, and you whined at the stinging pain in your bottoms, a blood red imprint blooming on the tender skin.

“Oh, you can, sugar” Tom grinned devilishly, squeezing the abused flesh in his hands just to prolong the sensation with the sadistic satisfaction he felt about the way you were thrashing under him. “We will show you what this pussy is capable of.” He took a grip of his hard cock and guided it towards your throbbing cunt, bringing the flushed, precum-stained tip to your clenching entrance.

“Gonna take our cocks so nice and deep,” Michael cooed, brushing off your messy hair out of your sight, “We can’t wait to have you all to ourselves, baby,” he nibbles on your earlobe, brushing his lips against your damp temple and moving them down to your exposed neck.

You tensed at the itching sensation around your hole when Tom rubbed the head of his cock against it, massaging the welcoming tightness in a circular motion. The muscles of your lower abdomen tightened in anticipation and thrill of the new feeling. He parted your legs a bit more and used his free head to cup you pussy, positioning it at the right angle.

Your mouth fell open when the first two inches of his cock penetrated you. A muffled gasp escaped your throat, and you dropped your head lowly, knuckles holding onto the sheets with a steel grip.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Michael ordered, and you looked at him with wide, doe-like eyes. He bit his spit-slicked lips, and his own shaft, that was laying heavily in the crease of his thigh, twitched at the sight of you taking his best friend’s cock for the first time in your life.

Tom pushed his length forward, but soon he had to stop because you were clenching so tightly, that he could not go deeper. Not only the length was impossible to take, but his girth was also stretching you beyond comprehension. Tears spilled from the corners of your eyes and you shifted on the pillow uncomfortably, trying to show Tom that you were hurt. Michael was watching your face attentively.

“Relax, baby,” he told you. Tom cursed behind your back and pulled his dick out. He spat on his fingers and smeared his saliva all over the tip, pushing it deeper inside of you. This time he managed to go a little further but had to freeze in the middle of the process because of the loud cry of pain that tore out from your chest. A sharp impulse of pain intruded your body, and it was so intense that you could not hold it back. Shaking with every inch of your being, you thought that you should not have agreed to this venture in the first place. You had heard that the first time could be painful, but you never imagined that it would hurt like hell.

“It hurts! Please, stop!” You pleaded. Sweat beaded on Tom’s forehead; he took a deep breath and made the last attempt to bottom out.

“You need to relax for fuck's sake,” he barked, and the demanding tone of his voice brought another wave of tears to your eyes. You truly tried to do what you had been told, but you were too worried and scared to fuck everything up. When another animalistic cry fell from your bruised lips, Tom gave up. Even his hard-on started to get softer. He retrieved his cock out of your pussy and it sprang free with some blood on the tip. Riddle reached out for your panties that were tossed aside not far from him to wipe off the stains.

“Okay, you were right,” he stroke his dick with his hand and nodded at Michael. “I can’t do this, so you go ahead and fuck her open for me.”

A lazy, Cheshire-cat smile contorted Michael’s lips as he celebrated his little victory over Tom. He gently touched your wet cheek with his thumb and cooed:

“Looks like baby is too tight for Tom’s cock, isn’t she?” he leaned forward and darted his velvet tongue out to lick a silvery tear off your cheek. You bobbed your head up and down in agreement. “Let Daddy take care of that pretty virgin pussy then.”

He pressed a quick kiss on your lips and switched positions with Tom who was trying his best not to look too pissed off. You closed your legs and lay them on the bed, turning around to face Michael. With the waving motion of his index and middle fingers, he ordered you to part your legs for him. You obeyed, spreading your thighs apart and wincing at the burning stretch between them. A bright blush, bloomed all over your cheeks and neck when you noticed some blood on your labia and thighs. You tried to cover your private parts with your palm, but Langdon slapped your hand away.

“Don’t you dare,” he warned you. He positioned himself comfortable between your legs and brushed his fingers against your folds. You moaned at the tingling sensation that was mixing up with the still present feeling of Tom’s cock. Before you realized what Michael was about to do, his moist tongue licked a wide stripe over your core, making you cry out in disbelief. He pinned you down to the mattress, swirled his tongue swiftly, and then pushed the tip right into your aching center.

“Oh, my God, Michael,” you moaned, arching your back, the sweet juices of your arousal spilling out of you and covering his plump, sinful lips. He hummed approvingly, lapping up your saccharine nectar, gathering every drop of it, and soothing the burning pain of Tom’s abuse. He placed his tongue flatly against your clit and moved it from side to side, giving the sensitive bud just enough pressure to drive you wild. Your toes curled and you threaded your fingers in his hair, pulling on the honey strands of it.

He made sure to lick all the mess that Tom had made off of your pussy. The unknown build-up feeling started coiling in the pit of your stomach and you were sure that if Michael had proceeded his caresses, you would have cum. But instead, he pulled away right at that moment when you started clenching around him, a sinister smile dancing across his lips.

“Such a sweet girl,” he praised. “You wanna taste her, Tom?”

Riddle nodded and leaned forward to press his mouth against Michael’s. The butterflies in your stomach nearly ripped your insides out at the sight of the two most handsome men kissing in front of you, sharing the taste of you with each other. Their tongues kept fighting for dominance when Michael pushed onto the mattress; blonde and raven black hair spilling on the linen sheets. Tom was the first one to break the kiss.

“Exquisite,” he winked at you, breathing heavily and making a show out of licking his lips clean.

Michael wiped his mouth with the back of his palm and towered over you, straddling your waist; a delicious shiver of anticipation, caused by the presence of the weight of his body above you, ran down your spine.

“Did you enjoy the show?” He whispered in your ear, and you leaned to his chest, wanting, needing to be closer. Your thin hands wrapped around his neck, holding tightly. Langdon chuckled and unclamped your grip, pinning your slender wrists above your head.

Tom was too eager to stay away from the fun. He attached his lips to your left breast, sucking on the hardening bud, working his tongue around your sensitive flesh. His velvet kitten licks felt wet and warm against your skin, making it hard for you to keep your hands in place.

Michael licked his palm and wrapped it around his cock, coating his length with the fluid. Having aligned himself with your entrance, he pushed forward, just the tip of it. Remembering your recent experience, you tensed up a bit, biting on the inside of your neck, waiting for another painful spark. Langdon felt your resistance and with a deep sigh hovered over you, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Hold on tight,” Michael said, and you squeezed his hands tightly as he thrust his cock deep inside of you, splitting you wide open on the throbbing length. Your scream was muffled with Tom’s lips that crashed against yours in a passionate kiss. Langdon moaned brokenly, enjoying the delicious tightness of your cunt wrapped around him.

“Such a good girl,” he breathed out mostly to himself, working his hips slowly. You were trembling underneath Michael, when Tom broke your kiss, leaving you dazed and wide-eyed. You felt so, so full.

He let you adjust to his size, even though his mind was clouded with lust and the only thing he desired at that moment was to mercilessly fuck you into the mattress. His nostrils flared as he dropped his head into the crease of your neck, breathing in your sweet scent. His muscular thighs flexed when he brought his hips up to thrust back into you, but this time taking you deeper, reaching some spot within you that you had had no idea about before. The sparks of pain started slowly turning into something, oh, so foreign. It was a sweet tingling session that intertwined in the pit of your stomach every time he hit that one particular spot. You cried out in surprise, when Michael sank his teeth into your neck, biting the velvet skin harshly, claiming you.

“What does she feel like?” Tom asked him, pumping his cock at a hectic pace and not being able to take his eyes off of you. You looked like a siren: hair spilled on the crumpled sheets, plush lips swollen from constant biting, and that wiled, completely fucked-out look in your eyes.

“The tightest,” a deep thrust that skewered you on Michael’s cock made you squirm beneath the man, “cunt I’ve ever,” another sharp sway of his hips, “fucked.”

You moaned at the filth that was dripping from his mouth, digging your nails into his hands, crescent marks bleeding on his skin. By that time, he no longer felt any sort of resistance from you, fucking you raw, his swollen balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. Michael let go off of your hands, rising above you like a stately atlas. He looked absolutely surreal with his blonde hair clinging to his perfectly structured face, blue eyes obscured with lechery.

“Such a pretty little thing,” he whispered, running his thumb across your bottom lip and then pushing the first knuckle into your mouth and pressing it on your tongue. “And you know what they say about perfect sluts like you?” He cocked his eyebrow at you, and you shook your head from side to side, still sucking on his finger messily.

“They need to be shared.”

Tagging a few who might like it: @ccodyfern @icylangdon @divinelangdon @isoldedax @sammythankyou @micheallangdons @langdonsdemon @hecohansen31 @little-lily-w @ms-mead @ringpop-poppy @littledemondani

A/A/N: let me know if you want to be tagged in my Michael x Tom x reader blurbs because the dynamics among them is pretty abusive and I understand that it might be not everybody’s cup of tea. My tag list for Michael fics is still the same tho!

[ethereousdelirious]

Okay, here’s that thing I wrote. Since it’s an original thing, I will also put some context under the cut haha

This was originally supposed to be classic whump but my brain was like “no. fevers and puking.” and who am I to deny whatever impulse crosses my tiny little mind

Context: I was possessed by a writing demon and wrote fanfic/a potential ending for my (unfinished) NaNoWriMo 2019 story. (I still have no idea if it counts as fanfic if I’m the creator of the source material haha)

Setting: A fictional steampunk universe. 2 neighboring nations are locked in an intense cold war. Our story takes place in Agria, one of the countries. The Agrian government has just sent agents to covertly steal a design for the first-ever aeroplane, which they will then develop into a weapon, allowing them to conquer much of the surrounding area and start a war.

Cast:

Gilles: Mid-twenties, Black man. Dark skin, dark hair kept in dreadlocks. As this fic begins, Gilles has just stolen the only aeroplane the government has managed to design and crashed it into a lake to prevent them from manufacturing more and starting a war.

Whitney: 60s, Black woman. Dark skin, white hair kept in an afro. She is Gilles’ mentor and the person who invented aeroplanes (in this universe). She has been waiting at her home to see if he survives.

Sterling: Mid-twenties, mixed race man. Medium brown skin, black hair grown out long into a ponytail. He helped Gilles break into the facility and destroyed the government’s blueprints so they couldn’t build more aeroplanes.

Hewitt: Mid-twenties, white man. Pale skin, blond hair kept in wild, unruly curls. He helped Gilles break into the facility and destroyed the government’s blueprints so they couldn’t build more aeroplanes. 

One Final Note: I wrote this on my phone and did not have time to proof read it. I am not looking for a beta reader at the moment. Please excuse any minor typos.

The Story, finally:

Soaking wet, aching all over, and with blood dripping down his forehead, Gilles walked. Pain became the frame by which he viewed the universe as the moon rose and he continued to stagger down the hiking trail, forcing himself to pick up his feet so he didn't stumble over the uneven ground.

He dried slowly, his fingers and toes aching with the cold. Eventually, he wrapped his arms around himself and shoved his hands into his armpits. Wind rustled the leaves on the trees and made him shiver, but he kept walking, his breath loud in his ears.

Dimly, he knew he needed to make some sort of plan, but the inside of his head was radio static and impulses, little fragments of imperative.

Get to Whitney. Don't get caught. Don't pass out. Keep walking.

A sigh of relief passed his lips when the trail evened out and he emerged into the park. It was abandoned but for the fowl asleep on the edges of the pond. They barely stirred as Gilles staggered past.

He made sure no one got a good look at him when he hit the main street. The only people out at this hour were drunkards and the people serving them. Gilles resisted the urge to hail a carriage and continued to stagger down the road. The last thing he wanted was to walk the 8 miles to Whitney's house, but she was his alibi and walking was better than imprisonment.

So he walked.

At this point, every part of his body hurt so uniformly that he could almost tune it out, just keeping himself anchored on his final destination.

The lights were on at Whitney's house and the driveway was empty of vehicles. Gilles accepted this with relief, though he did try to keep an eye out for other potential signs that anything was amiss. Surely if the government suspected her of the crime, her estate would be in uproar. This had to be a good sign.

He reached the door and knocked, leaning heavily against the porch railing.

To his surprise, it was Sterling who answered, looking haggard and slightly ill.

"Gilles!" he said, and all the tension seemed to go out of his body with that one simple word. "You're alive!"

"I'm…" Gilles rasped. His head was spinning too badly to think straight. "I need…"

"Come in, come in, we'll take care of you." Sterling steered him inside, locking the door behind him, and sat him down on the couch.

Whitney and Hewitt were seated in overstuffed armchairs and leapt to their feet with joyous exclamations that Gilles was too exhausted to acknowledge. He slumped back against the couch cushions breathing shallowly, his eyes only half open.

Moments later, a glass of water was pressed into his hand. Gilles leaned forward and drank it down gratefully, only to immediately be presented with another. He took a few more cautious swallows, not wanting to make himself sick. Too tired to hold himself up, he leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees.

"Where are you hurt?" Whitney asked, sitting down beside him. 

"I don't know," Gilles said. For the sake of cooperating, he tried to think. Dimly, he noticed he was shaking badly enough that he was sloshing water out of his glass.

Almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Hewitt appeared at his other side with a throw blanket. "Here," he said, wrapping it carefully around Gilles' shoulders. "Sterling is making tea."

"Thanks." Gilles took another sip of water and tried to assess himself. "I don't think I'm hurt much. I landed in the water and there wasn't really anything to crash into. I hit my head on the dashboard and I think I have whiplash, but other than that…" He shrugged and winced at the pain that shot up his neck.

"You're going to be sore tomorrow," Whitney said. She rubbed a hand over his knee. "Did anyone see you?"

Sterling entered with the tea and Gilles gratefully accepted a cup. "Nobody saw me," he said. "Not up close, anyway. I was in the air before the housekeeper was even halfway across the lawn." He drank some of the tea, a light chamomile. Warmth flooded his body and rushed into his cheeks like a blush. He shrugged the blanket off his shoulders and shifted in sudden, added discomfort at the heat.

"What about you? How did you get out?"

Sterling and Hewitt exchanged a glance before Hewitt decided to take up the burden of explaining.

"Well, you were a pretty good distraction once the plane was in the air. We were going to run for it, but Sterling wanted to go back in the house. We were able to go straight in the front door."

"Why did you go back in?" Gilles demanded. His temples throbbed and there was an odd tickling sensation crawling up his chest and down his stomach. He gave a shallow sigh.

"I cut their main phone line," Sterling said with just a hint of a smile. "To delay their ability to call the authorities and hopefully give you an opening to get back into town if you, um. Survived."

"Oh," Gilles said. His whole body was hot now and his breath was shallow, frantic. Reality was graying at the edges.

"Are you okay?" Hewitt asked. "You don't look--"

Almost before he realized what was happening, Gilles bent double and vomited straight onto the hardwood floor. Tea poured out of the teacup and spattered across the toe of his shoe, but he was too distracted to do anything about it. His abdominal muscles contracted violently and he vomited up another thin stream of water and bile. Someone took the teacup from his hands and he tried to swipe his locs out of his face but his hands shook too badly and his body refused to stop dry heaving even though there was nothing left to vomit up. Tears were streaming from his eyes now as he continued to gag helplessly between his legs.

At the edges of his consciousness, he was aware of panicked voices and a gentle hand on his back.

"Shit, he's burning up."

"Gilles, honey, can you try to relax?"

Gilles took a deep, shaky breath and sat back. He was still hopelessly nauseated, wary of opening his mouth or putting his abdomen under too much strain, and he wrapped his arms around his middle like a shield. 

"Do you want some water?" Hewitt asked.

Gilles shook his head. "S-sorry. I can clean that up."

"I'm taking care of it." Sterling reappeared from the doorway to the kitchen, arms full of rags. "You just lay back and try to relax. We need to take a look at that head injury."

"A concussion wouldn't cause a fever," Hewitt argued, his voice a touch more shrill than usual.

"It doesn't hurt to be thorough."

Whitney's return to the room was preceded by the sound of her footfalls on the stairs. She shooed Hewitt out of the way and sat down next to Gilles, placing a stained, industrial-grade plastic bucket in his lap. "Can I take your temperature?"

Gilles nodded and opened his mouth to accept the thermometer. The mercury began to climb up the glass and Gilles' stomach did an unsteady flip.

He tried to swallow back the sharp salt tang in his mouth and only succeeded in jostling the thermometer a bit.

"Try to sit still," Whitney said gently.

Gilles nodded his understanding, clenching his hand in the damp fabric of his shirt, trying to will his stomach to settle down.

The mercury continued to rise and Gilles went cross eyed trying to watch it, hoping it would finish before the mounting pressure in his stomach became too much to bear. The cold weight of inevitability weighed down on his belly and made him shudder.

At his feet, Sterling gave his leg an affectionate stroke and straightened up, carrying away the dirtied rags and water basin with him. Another wave of nausea lapped at the back of Gilles' throat and he swallowed with difficulty, again jostling the thermometer in his mouth.

He caught Whitney's eye and tapped the waterlogged watch on his wrist.

"2 minutes to go," she said, catching his meaning.

Gilles nodded his thanks and went back to staring at the opposing wall, willing the nausea down. It wasn't working. The illusion of control was rapidly slipping away and it was Gilles could do to hold on. He was shaking all over now and his mouth was starting to flood with saliva that he couldn't swallow down around the thermometer under his tongue.

It reached a point where Gilles couldn't take it any more. He tore the thermometer from his mouth and pitched forward, retching.

He spat stomach acid into the bucket and let his head hang. His stomach was starting to cramp up, his abs protesting the work.

When he resurfaced, Whitney was there to slip the thermometer back between his lips.

"I'm sorry," she said, smoothing a few errant locs out of his face.

Gilles just nodded and accepted the thermometer, letting his head rest on Whitney's shoulder. Hewitt came over and sat by his other side So he could hold Gilles' hand.

"You're pretty sick, huh?" 

"Mmph," was all Gilles could manage.

"What happened?"

"His system was probably already fighting off a bug." Sterling's voice came from the other side of the room. "Crash landing in a lake and walking all the way here was probably enough of a stress on his body to let the virus get the upper hand."

"Oh." Hewitt gave Gilles' hand a light squeeze. "Don't worry; we'll take care of you."

Unable to say anything, Gilles squeezed Hewitt's hand back.

They sat in silence until Whitney leaned over to pull the thermometer out of Gilles' mouth.

"103," she announced to the room.

Gilles, half asleep against her shoulder, barely stirred. That did explain how awful he felt.

"Bed?" he managed, his voice barely more than a piteous whine.

"One last thing," Sterling said. "Can you open your eyes for me?"

Gilles did, though it made pain drum fiercely behind his forehead. Sterling shined a light in his eyes and disinfected the cut on his forehead.

"Alright," he said once he'd finished his examination. "Let's get you to bed."

"I have a room in the back," Whitney said. "I'll show you."

"Up we go." Sterling draped one of Gilles' arms over his shoulders and helped him stand. Every muscle in Gilles' body screamed in protest, but he let Sterling help him to his feet and down the hall.

They were almost to the bedroom when Gilles' vision started to tunnel. His knees started to buckle and he swayed into Sterling.

"Easy, easy." Sterling started to lower him to the ground. Gilles' awareness faded out.

"You're sure we shouldn't call an ambulance?" Sterling again.

"I don't know. I'm worried about calling too much attention to us."

Gilles stirred, not bothering to open his eyes. He was in bed now and felt marginally better. Evidently someone had stripped him down to his underwear, because he could feel the soft cotton on his chest. He gave a sigh of not-quite-contentment and shifted slightly.

"Just wanna sleep," he begged.

"We'll let you rest," Whitney said. "Hewitt can keep first watch."

It took a while for the meaning of the words to permeate  the fever heat boiling Gilles' brain. He was in darkness now but if he listened closely, he could hear Hewitt's light breathing.

He lay there a bit longer. The night's events kept playing back through his mind in fragments. He was quite sure no one had seen him, which was a relief. But the plane… He hadn't flown to very far; he'd been able to make the journey on foot before the night was over.

Was it enough? At the time, crash-landing in a lake had seemed like the surest guarantee, but what if they were able to dredge it up? Or drain the lake? It wasn't enough. He had to go back. If he dived down enough times, he could dismantle it piece by piece, steal parts of it, make it completely unsalvageable.

Gilles sat up and tore the covers off. He had to go.

"Whoa!" Hewitt was by his side in an instant, hands on his chest. "What's wrong? Are you going to be sick again? There's a bucket over--"

"No, no." Gilles was frantic, he didn't have time. "I have to go back, it wasn't enough--" He tried to get up, but Hewitt was still holding him fast by the shoulders.

"What are you talking about?"

"The plane! I didn't, it's not-- Hewitt, please let go of me!"

"Lie back," Hewitt pleaded. "Your fever isn't going to get any better if you don't rest."

"I can't rest yet, I'm not done."

"You're done." Hewitt's voice was surprisingly forceful. "I'm going to get something to cool you down. Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Then stay here. Okay?"

"Okay."

Hewitt left and clouds formed just below the ceiling. Gilles watched them float by, forming shapes of animals and objects. It must have been another ingenious invention of Whitney's, a little machine to make clouds appear indoors. They took on the shape of a train and the engine puffed out even smaller steam clouds that took on still more shapes.

Then Hewitt was back and it all disappeared.

"Thank you for staying put," he said, leaning over so he could drape a damp cloth over Gilles' forehead. "Sterling would have killed me if I'd let anything bad happen to you." He adjusted the cloth a little and fussed over the placement of the covers on Gilles' chest. "Will you sleep now?"

"Yes," Gilles said. He closed his eyes, his brain still whirring with frantic activity.

[team-free-will-oneshots]

Reckless

Title: Reckless  Request: Hi, can I request a Dean x reader, where he makes her angry so she decides to leave him while on a hunt... (there’s more to the request, but that’s spoilers!) Summary: Dean thinks you can’t handle a hunt - you decide to prove how wrong he is. Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader Warnings: Swearing, fighting (physical and verbal), some angst, blood, violence Word Count: 1,600ish

note; thanks to the anon for sending this in! sorry it’s taken so long to get to it. i’ve taken some creative liberties, hope that’s okay! once i started writing i got alooot of inspiration, so i’ve made it into a series! this is part one, keep an eye out for part two!

“Dean, you’re being ridiculous! I’m not sitting this one out!”

“Y/N, it’s too dangerous!” your boyfriend snapped. “You’re too new to all this - you’re too reckless, you’ll get yourself killed or Sam and I will get hurt trying to protect you!”

“Then why did you even let me come, if you think I’m such a liability?” you demanded, blinking back angry tears and refusing to show how much his comments hurt you.

“I had no idea it would be this dangerous, okay? I thought it’d be a run-of-the-mill salt and burn, not a goddamn witch! You’re not ready for that!” he said. You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

“Right - so you don’t trust me to handle myself on a hunt? Gee, thanks, Dean!” Your voice was sharp and clear, your hardened mask betraying no hint of the pain his distrust sparked.

“Not after last time,” he hissed.

You rolled your eyes again. Right - he was still hanging on to that. It was one of your first hunts and you, Sam and Dean had been tackling a particularly nasty werewolf. Dean was overpowered - the wolf was about to deliver the final blow when you threw yourself between your boyfriend and the monster, earning a nasty injury for yourself, but saving his life. He still hadn’t forgiven you, it seemed, and was insistent on keeping you out of any and all danger, no matter the cost. Apparently, a witch was “too risky”.

Sam walked into the motel room, fresh from a shower and running his fingers through his damp hair. You and Dean fell silent, looking tersely away from one another. Sam looked between the two of you, somewhat puzzled.

“Everything okay?” he asked slowly, and you scoffed as Dean rolled his eyes.

“Ask him,” you spat, at the same time Dean muttered;

“Ask her!”

You cast him a dirty look, and Sam raised his eyebrows. “Uh. Okay. How about we get back to researching so we can get home and sort this out then, yeah?” he said. You clenched your jaw before nodding slowly, and Dean sighed before doing the same. That was the power of Sam - the perfect mediator, always armed with irritating logic.

Once you cast your grievances aside, the three of you managed to determine the witch’s location and began loading up your guns with witch-killing bullets. “Okay, let’s talk strategy,” Sam said. “How do we want to do this?”

“I can cause a distraction over here,” you said, pointing out a spot on the map spread over the bed. “Then you guys-”

“No, absolutely not,” Dean said sternly. “I meant what I said, Y/N. You’re not going on this hunt.” You and Sam both gaped at him.

“Dude, are you insane?” Sam asked. “This witch is crazy powerful, we need as much help as we can get,” he said. You nodded fervently, but Dean shook his head.

“We’ve handled worse, Sammy. She’s not coming,” he said, shooting you a pointed look. Your mouth dropped open in outrage.

“What the fuck, Dean?!” you yelled. “You’re being ridiculous, you need me on this hunt, you can’t handle her alone-”

“We’ve. Handled. Worse,” he forced out through clenched teeth. You snarled.

“You really think I can’t handle this? Jeez, I’m sorry for saving your fucking life, Dean, as if you wouldn’t do the same for me! What, do you just want me to leave you for dead next time?” you challenged, positively furious.

“Yes!” Dean shouted. “You don’t put yourself in that kind of danger, not for me, Y/N! You think I could live with myself if you died saving me? You’re deluding yourself!”

“Dean,” Sam interjected calmly.

“Stay out of this, Sam!” Dean shot back, turning his attention back to you. You felt a growl building in your throat.

“Okay, you think you can handle this without me? Fine! Don’t blame me if one of you ends up dead!” you shouted through the tears welling in your eyes. “I’ll see you back at the bunker!”

Without another word, you spun on your heel and stormed from the motel room, still clutching your gun so tightly your knuckles were strained white. You threw yourself into your car, grateful you’d decided to drive separately this time, and slammed the door behind you as you tossed the gun onto the passenger seat. You gripped the steering wheel, closing your eyes as you slowly breathed in, out, in, out…

When you opened your eyes again, your jaw was set and your gaze was stone. You knew you could handle this - you’d prove it to him. Make him sorry he ever doubted you.

You cranked the engine and slammed the car into gear, the wheels churning up gravel as you sped towards the witch’s hideout.

---

It was nearing one in the morning when you pulled in to the curb. You could see the witch’s driveway a hundred metres or so ahead, snaking up into the mountains and shrouded with trees. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you readied your gun and began to climb.

You kept off the gravel, sticking to the leave littered ground at its edge, decaying flora muffling your footsteps as you proceeded. After a few minutes of walking, you caught glimpse of a small, nondescript house nestled into a clearing at the top of the hill. The lights were off but soft light still glowed from within, flickering orange and yellow and throwing long shadows across the walls. Candlelight. What was she up to?

Holding your breath you began to walk over to the house, wincing when the gravel crunched under your first step. You deliberated for a moment before tugging off your boots, skipping quickly and quietly over the ground with bare feet. Rocks dug into your tender skin, but the pain was erased by the adrenaline pumping like blood through your veins. You heard what sounded like a twig snap behind you and shot around, eyes raking the darkness for the source of the sound - you found nothing, and dismissed it from your mind as you crept forward.

You crouched below the window and dared a glimpse into the room. The witch had her back to you, standing in the middle of a circle of candles and holding a bowl of dry, crushed herbs and a dark liquid up to the roof. Short, thick words in a language you didn’t recognise fled her lips, and you bit back a cry as you saw the dead body by her feet - another victim. Maybe if you and Dean hadn’t argued so much, you could have saved them.

Anger fuelled you as you raised your gun, lungs burning as you held your breath. All you needed was one clean shot, and she’d be done. Easy peasy, back to the motel before the boys had even left. You flicked off the safety just as the witch’s chanting fell silent. She froze at the sound, spinning around and raising her hand swiftly upwards. You were flung into the air and tossed inside the room, where you crashed against a chinaware cabinet and collapsed to the ground. Your shoulder had taken the brunt of the force and was burning with pain, but you had no chance to examine your injuries as you raised the gun again, struggling to hold it steady in your shaking hands. You aimed, took a deep breath, and squeezed the trigger...

You missed.

The witch cackled, throwing you to the corner of the room with her magic. The gun fell from your grip, clattering on the blood splattered hardwood, and the witch tossed her dark hair over her shoulder as she began to speak.

“That was very rude of you,” she chastised, tutting and shaking her head. Something seemed to occur to her, and she glanced around furtively. “You. You were one of the hunters who came by earlier, weren’t you? Where are your friends now?” she sneered, though she shot wary glances to the door. You stayed stubbornly silent, sparing only a low groan as she kicked the side of your face with her heavy boot. You could taste blood, and gathered it in your mouth before spitting at her face. You missed again, but watched with a satisfied smile as the rust coloured saliva splattered on her white shirt. She scowled, kicking you in the torso. You doubled over, moaning at the sharp pain in your ribs.

“Nevermind, I need to be quick,” she muttered to herself, continuing the spell you had interrupted. The foreign words fled her lips quicker this time, and you caught sight of your gun a few metres away, glinting dully in the candlelight - your last hope. You glanced back up at the witch, who grinned as the open window was covered with a pearlescent sheen.

You inched towards the gun, managing to grab it just as she began to speak.

“There - your friends won’t be able to catch me now, not with the head start I’ll have,” she said breathlessly, turning to grin at you. Her face fell as she saw the gun aimed at her chest. Your hands were steady this time - you wouldn’t miss.

The gun kicked back in your hand as the bullet flew free. It lodged just above her heart, her white blouse blooming with red as she staggered back, cursing and screaming as she began to bleed out.

“You little bitch,” she hissed, using the last of her magic to pick you up and fling you towards the window. The gun fell from your grasp as you were flung through the shimmering veil, but before the room entirely disappeared, you saw the witch collapse to the ground, hands clutching futilely at her wound, face growing pale as blood pooled on the floor. 

You managed a smile. You’d done your job. Dean would be proud.

You welcomed the darkness.

Read part two here!

[naromoreau]

From the writing prompts. ‘ sit still and let me take a look! ’ For your choice!

Thank you so much for this! This one is my first John Seed/ F!Dep ficlet that turned out into idk what seriously. lol 

Thank you so much to @seedsplease for allow me to use her OC, Levi the peggie in this fic! ____________________________________________

It’d been a bad idea now that she ran her train of thoughts backwards. Attacking Seed Ranch under the moonlight, half-wasted and maybe a bit bliss-highed, under the blurry daydream that everything was just an extension of her Metal Gear Solid campaign was stupid. And it wasn’t even a pivotal stratagem because as far as she knew, the younger Seedling was still tucked away in his harrowing dungeon at the Bunker.

But she needed to prove a point. To herself. She needed to know she wasn’t afraid of coming back and jump head first into the free-for-all clusterfuck in Hope County. She unconsciously dragged her fingertips over her scarred chest while memories of her close encounter with the self proclaimed Baptist harred through her mind. No, she wasn’t afraid of John. But fuck, the injury still hurt her pride. And she’ll well damn return the favor, snatching his own house from under his very nose.

In a haze, her hand closed around the trigger of her sniper rifle and aimed. If only her targets would stop wobbling. Really, drinking while working. These peggies had no shame. She took the shot, but the bullet collided against a flammable cylinder next to the porch, exploding in a magnificent fire Sharky would definitely have approved.

“Oops.”

The flames licked the balustrade, now spreading to the stairs and she revelled with a devilish grin in the bewilderment and panic painted in the faces of the peggies.

“Put that fire down, and someone explain to me how this happened!” A man in a leather trench coat, probably the one in charge, moved hurriedly among the crowd that had gone haywire. “Brother John is going to be furious!”

She stifled a laugh biting the flap of her flannel, and adjusted her scope, drawing a bead on yet another red cylinder. Unfortunately the alcohol had damped her reflexes significantly and she tripped with the root of a nearby tree.

“You hear that?” A nearby man, dressed in the unfashionable peggie-mayonnaise craned his neck to where she was hiding, and slowly trod in her direction.

Oh fuck. She drew her pistol and turnt up as she was her shots missed the peggie’s head by good five inches hitting him in the shoulder. Mayhem unleashed at the first blast throwing to the trash bin her stealthy maneuvers.

“Sinners!”

The outside of the house crawled within seconds with a heavily armed crew, as bullets snickered in the air, rippling the silence around her. She rolled to a side, as her previous spot was soon overrun by overzealous goons looking for her blindly. She took one, two, three guards down, before dodging enemy gazes behind a bush at the very front of the house, choking with the smell of gunsmoke.

“There! Behind those bushes!”

Shit was getting problematic. Her attention snapped at the shouted words, her ears ringing by the bullets landing closer and closer to her, and before she could veer off course, two projectiles shredded the skin of her arm and abdomen.

She yelped loudly. It hurt like a motherfucker.

“Stop the fire!”

She paled to her lips. Damn. She knew that voice; that cloying tone still sending shivers down her spine. Fighting through the agonizing pain, she lifted her eyes and her ragged breath caught in her throat. Apparently her intel was wrong. Fucking Dutch. John Seed stood at the threshold, slowly descending the partly charred stairs with that smug walk of his that she found equally magnetizing and loathsome.

Everyone froze in place as he closed the distance to where she was hunched down, soaked in her own blood, drawing breath after breath to quell her…fear?

“Take her inside,” he said signaling to a burly man that stood with his head bowed next to him. The darkness and the loss of blood made everything seem bleary, so she wasn’t sure if his words really carried streaks of concern or was just her heart thundering in her ears. His blue eyes could’ve carved her soul, etching deeper than his needle.

“Fuck off John. I rather take a bullet to the head than spent a minute with you alone, again.” She hawked blood and saliva at his feet, glaring at him. She knew it was futile, like the pathetic little roars of a kitten trapped in a dark alley.

A gamut of emotions flickered on his face and she could’ve sworn pain waved back at her for a fleeting second, before disappearing behind a self-satisfied grin.

“Don’t tempt me my dear.”

She huffed and kicked hopelessly when his subordinate carried her bridal style into the house but her legs felt shaky and weak, and the effort puffed all the air out of her lungs. She shot a final glance behind her where another peggie picked up her forgotten rifle and pistol, dragging them away from her. She grunted.

Once they were inside, she chewed down a malicious comment. So much for humbleness. John Seed’s Ranch was lush and elegant, looking more like a luxurious lodge than a battle post.

“Put her in the couch,” John said standing at the center of the living room.

She untangled her arms of the unfairly broad shoulders of the peggie as he placed her down carefully. He gave her a final mistrustful gaze, and stood next to the door.

“Should I post guards at the door, Brother John?”

John fidgeted with a pocket knife before closing it, placing it on the coffee table, a lopsided grin tugging his lips. “No, Levi. She’s barely a threat at this point.”

His comment lit the fire in her blood. “Maybe you should listen to Levi, John.” She cocked an eyebrow, stomping down a wince, as her side and arm throbbed in pain.

“Leave us,” John said to the peggie, ignoring her completely.

Her heart was thumping so hard, she could feel it under every inch of her skin, whatever amount of blood left in her system pooling in her cheeks.

“Relax my dear,” he said sauntering towards her, his boots tapping against the wooden floor as the tickle of a doomsday clock, drawing closer and closer. “I’m not going to hurt you, trust me.” He sat at the edge of the couch, face relaxed and attentive.

“Ah- kinda hard to believe man,” she said, brows furrowed, trying to scoot backwards and away from him, “last time you were very determined to do some very hard damage.”

John drew a hand forward, as if he intended to touch her and she shivered. He heaved a sigh, pulling back. “I think you need medical attention first, Deputy.”

“Yeah, so ah- could you let me go?” she asked as he stood up, fumbling between the things of a near cabinet.

“So you can bleed out on your way to wherever is you’re going?” His voice came muffled as he was half stuck into the mahogany furniture.

Sweat beads fell down her forehead, flyaway strands of hair sticking to her temples. “You said so yourself, I need medical attention,” she bit back, fighting back a grimace.

He made his way back to her, holding a first aid kit. Oh great.

“And that’s what you’re getting,” he said sitting again next to her. “Now sit still and let me take a look.”

He took gauze and clean cloth along with a peroxide bottle and some antiseptic gel out of the box. She bit her lower lip. There wasn’t much she could do in her position, and who was she to look the gift horse in the mouth. If he was offering his help, she could well accept it to ebb away the ache in her body. After all, she didn’t want to see wrath flooding him as she’d seen in the bunker.

So she held her arm in front of him.

“This is just a scrap, you’ll be fine,” he said brushing gently the red burned flesh, grabbing her wrist with a merciful grip, almost kind. Almost tender.

What the hell was going on?

“That’s a relief.” The irreality of the situation was kicking her in the gut. Only three weeks ago this same man had thrown her into hell, alive and breathing, searing in her mind memories too gruesome to forget.

“Now, darling, where is the other?” he said, throwing the bloodied cloth on a trash bin and preparing a new one.

She flushed beet red. Modesty wasn’t something she particularly enforced, especially not under duress but there was something about John that rattled her walls, whether she wanted to admit it or not. “Ah…”

“We don’t have all day my dear Deputy.” He looked at her with a tinge of exasperation.

Her breath was shallow but she managed to control it. “Okay, fine, fine, hold on.” She pulled off her torn shirt, placing it in the floor and twisted her upper body so he could see the wound at the side of her abdomen.

There was a slight delay in his answer she didn’t fail to notice. “It looks- uh, it looks nastier than the other one,” John said, flicking out his tongue in an unconscious gesture, barely grazing her skin with shaky fingers in a place Rook didn’t feel any pain at all.

“Uh, John?” she side eyed him, watching him struggle to keep his charming, nonchalant facade.

He inhaled deeply and the air let out his lungs in a short blow. “I’m sorry my dear, I’ll clean this right away.”

He started working on her skin with the precision of a surgeon, shushing her when the pain of the chemics burned her skin and she cried out.

“Can I ask you something?” She said with a low moan as the pain began to subside, her head buried in her arms, as he kept working.

“I doubt a ‘no’ would deter you of doing so, darling.” He shot her a sincere smile and something tumbled in her stomach.

Pathetic.

“Am I leaving your Ranch in a coffin?” she spluttered, brushing aside the flurry of emotions galloping inside her.

“Don’t be absurd. If I wanted you dead I would’ve done so before you torched half my property and killed half my guards,” he said casually, as he spread the gauze, dressing her wound. “No, Deputy. I don’t want you dead. I want  you saved.”

And there he was again. The John she knew, but severely toned down, the maniacal edges that flickered to life during their last encounter, subdued.

“Thanks?” She offered. “I don’t understand, last time was so-”

“Rough?” He cut her off, chuckling. “I know, and I should apologize.”

Her face shifted from curiosity to certified wariness. “Excuse me?”

He finished his handiwork and leveled his gaze with hers. Christ in Heaven, those blue eyes. Sometimes cold as lakes in the winter, yet other times filled with warm, sparkling life as it was the case right now.

“After you left, Joseph spoke to me, and he, eh, he showed me my ways were wrong, that I wouldn’t get what I–,” he stopped and cleared his throat, “what the Project wants from you out of fear.”

“And what’s that?”

“That you truly accept us in your heart.”

A clear laughter rang in her ears. Her own laughter. The sound so unfamiliar, it cracked a shudder on her body.

“And how do you intend to do that?,” she asked, certainly curious.

He stood up and placed the first aid kit away and her body complained silently and unwittingly for his absence. “I want to show you that pain is not the only thing I–,” he sighed, shaking his head, “that we can offer you. I want to show you that is love what opens the Gates, and you should embrace it.”

Her mouth had gone dry, and she was barely able to resist as John came back and effortlessly swooped her in his arms. Solid, muscular arms, that lifted her as if she was light as a feather. The minty spice of his scent flared up her nose, eliciting a sigh she was determined to attribute to her dog-tired state. This wasn’t happening. Maybe she was stuck in one of Faith’s fucking Bliss crops, dozing off and any minute now Sharky was going to wake her up setting her on fire by accident. As a hundred times before.

He carried her up the stairs to an empty room with a full size bed, and placed her on top.

“This will be your home for a while,” he said sitting next to her and tucking auburn strands of hair behind her ears and everything she could do was look at him, astonished and rattled. “Don’t think about leaving, my darling, because everything you need is here.”

He placed a chaste kiss on her forehead and walked away. As she saw him disappearing from her sight the thought that haunted her the most was that to her dismay, leaving, was the last thing on her mind.