#So he would have probably died of exhaustion cold or predation from falling to the ground wet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

keravnous · 2 months

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diet mountain dew; john wick/fem!reader (smut, 18+)

dating john wick - the playlist

The Boogeyman is out to get you. Little does he know, that you too are willing to do quite a bunch of things just to stay alive.

warnings: blood, guns, knives, injuries, physical violence/fighting, assassination attempt; dub-con, rough sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), choking, dirty talk, spanking, a lot of manhandling bc for the love of god he doesn't know how to be soft anymore, gun kink, knife kink, size kink, strength kink, squirting, body worship if you blink, is this hate-fucking? idk; john has a horse cock change my mind; john is in his 50s, the reader is in her 20s; set somewhere after the series i guess? (I refuse to accept he's dead); problematic family relationship as a plot device; let's all collectively ignore the fact that he would actually never touch another woman or even dare to catch the smallest of feelings again; john gets off on the violence

word count: 10,6 k

thank you mel for a) listening to my ramblings and b) reading a good chunk of the first third of this dumpster fire and still going nuts about it, kissies and thank you v for listening to my keanu ramblings without losing faith in me

You wonder, if praying will help you. Probably not.

The sound of carnage, screams and gunshots in the hallway abruptly stops. You hear the assailant's heavy footsteps echoing off the floorboards outside of your hotel room mere seconds before the door bursts open, flies out of its hinges and rattles to the ground, wood creaking and breaking, splinters flying everywhere.

There had been a hit out on you for two days and every single soldier in your father's militia was ready to defend your life with their own.

Literally. You can tell by the man entering your suite.

You can tell by just how much he is covered in blood. You can tell by the way it drips down his forehead and how it soaks his white shirt - even the soles of his shoes creak with it. You can tell by the way he is totally and utterly drenched in red red red, and because you are certain it is not his.

They literally gave their life for you. The thought hits you like a blow to the head. People have died because of you. Fathers, brothers, sons. You recall your last conversation with your own father. They want us dead, they put out a contract on us - you had never seen him so nervous, so disheveled. What does that mean - his anxiety had been washing over you in seeping hot waves, sending cold shivers down your spine. It means, I need you out of the house - now.

Nausea bubbles in your stomach as the man now approaches you, casually strolls into the suite with his finger on the trigger of the gun dangling from his hand and you stare back at him - a deer in the headlights, frozen by fear in the eyes of its deadly predator. One of your father's men jumps from his cover, fires a shot and gets hit back with one straight between his eyes. It happens so quickly, that you can't turn your head away. You see the bullet piercing his forehead, blood splattering as soon as it exits the skull on the other side. His head flies back a little, and then his body goes limp, slack, as he falls to the ground with a heavy thud.

You want to scream. You want to vomit. You want to run. But there is nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from him.

There's only one soldier left with you in the suite now and he is hiding around the corner, near the bathroom. The stranger - the assassin, the killer - does not lower the gun again, and does not let his eyes stray from you as he carefully enters the room. You feel terribly exposed, dressed only in your negligée, not daring to move.

Now, that the dim light of the suite's living room strikes his face, you can finally see him, see the man who has come to end you. He is older than you, maybe nearly twice your age, with dark hair and even darker eyes, matching his black suit. Lean and athletic, chest heaving slightly with physical exhaustion. The Boogeyman.

You do not know who or what you had expected, what cruel and dreadful images your brain had conjured up in the past 48 hours - 48 frightful hours of being moved around from hideout to hideout by your father's men, not staying in one place longer than necessary - but it certainly was not that. Not him. He is a lot more handsome than his reputation has led on. Seeing him on the subway around rush hour you would have never suspected him to be in this business. He looks nice. And that is exactly what makes him dangerous.

You have heard his name before. Echoing from the walls. Baba Yaga. Whispered with both: fear and respect. The Boogeyman. Blurted out: like a curse or like a blessing. Mister Wick: like redemption, like damnation. Jonathan, the king's son walking the earth as the devil.

John. The sound of his name is oddly human - disturbingly human - for someone looking as calm and collected, focused and concentrated as he does right now, while being drenched in blood and pointing a gun at you.

You must have said his name out loud, because his eyebrows twitch irritatedly, a movement so quick you barely missed it - must've sound desperate too, then.

Vision zeroing in on the barrel of his gun, your hands clutch the sofa's edge. There is so much adrenaline pumping through your veins right now that it freezes your limbs, has your ears ringing. The only thing responding to your brain fully are your eyes, and they snap away from the gun and over to the remaining soldier. It's a quick look, not even a second, but the hitman seems to recognize it and - with near inhumane speed - flicks his gun, and fires two shots. Blood splatters against the white door as the shots pin the soldier's body against it, and is it finally drops to the ground heavily it leaves a nasty trail, all wet and sticky and red.

Could be you.

You want to scream, but your body does not belong to you anymore, does not respond to your commands. It is a desperate, cruel sound that leaves your throat instead as you flinch with the sound of the gun being fired.

"Let's make this quick" his voice is gravelly and rough, like he has seen a thousand grim things and the pain of it has etched its way into his throat, left a nasty mark on every tone that ever dared to cross after.

That is when your fight or flight suddenly kicks in. Well, more specifically, it kicks in while he is speaking, as he starts to swap the empty clip of his gun.

He underestimates you. Everyone does. Your father, your brother. The countless men lying dead littered across the hotel's 25th floor. It will be his mistake.

You latch forward, grabbing the vase from the coffee table in front of you. The weight of it in your hand drags you down.

With all the strength you can muster, which is quite a lot considering the massive amounts of adrenaline that are currently amping up your body - you throw it at him. It connects with his forehead sharply; a deep, irritated noise bursting from his throat as it crashes, splinters and falls to the floor.

You are braver, braver than you should be as your assault does not end there, your body pushing you forward, leaping over the table and crashing into his broad shoulders.

I will not die today

Body ramming into his, he stumbles, as your fist connects with his chin. You have only been partially trained in hand-to-hand combat, after pleading your brother for months until he eventually gave in. Sadly, he wasn't nearly as thorough and honest with it as he was training his drug dealer and gun runners. But now, it is the only thing you can rely on.

There is nothing else; no one else left alive in that building who might be able to help you. It is up to you. So, you might as well try.

And Oh, does desperation fire up your blood.

I will not die today

The diversion does not last long and he - John John John only human only human only human - grabs you by you waist hard, fingers digging into your flesh and into the expensive silk, before he slams your body into the ground. All air leaves your lungs with a dull sound erupting from your chest, just as pain blooms around your ribs.

You cough and he looks down at you, confusion making his brows twitch, before cold-hearted determination takes over once more. John aims his gun at you once more, pulls back the hammer and you do not even think about it, your leg rising as you kick against his hand. The shot misses, buries itself deep into the expensive carpet a few inches next to your skull. You have no time to do either: panic or sigh in relief; instead, you deliver him a kick to his stomach, fighting yourself back onto your feet, punching him straight in the face.

John grunts and grabs your wrist, but you see it coming and throw yourself into his wide frame, wrapping your other arm around his back and thus hooking it underneath his right shoulder, dislocating his arm and preventing him from aiming his gun at you. You claw onto him as he twists your arm close to his stomach, while you wrap your legs around him, making it harder for John to shake you off.

I will not die today

You kick and dig the heel of your foot into his thighs and the back of his knees and he grunts and buckles a little, but turns wild and relentless quicker than you can blink, throws the two of you into the next wall. You gasp sharply as your back connects with the large mirror, splinters digging into your back - not deep enough to actually cut skin, but it stings nonetheless, the impact making you dizzy.

Sharp pain shoots through your back and your neck, but you are not willing to give up yet, as raw energy and rage and desperation surges through your body - one of your legs coming loose and your knee hitting his stomach repeatedly, making John grunt in pain and you use your momentum to dig your hand deep into his back, holding onto him and then swirling out of the deadlock he has got you in, jumping his back like a monkey.

His gun clatters to the ground and for a split second, the room falls silent. Then, roaring like an animal gone wild, he grabs your calves and slams his back into the nearest wall, has you screaming with the impact. You can feel blood pouring from your nose, feel it trickling down your lips.

I will not die today

John is stronger than you are, so so much stronger - the apex predator: all muscle, unbreakable focus and the sheer will to kill. But you are not only a little quicker; you also really want to stay alive. It is a force he rarely encounters. And quite frankly, it irritates him.

He may be older than you, taller than you and stronger than you but you have something he does not have: you actually still got something to lose.

And you fight like it, too. All scratches and sharp yells, as you punch and scrabble at his shoulders and tear at his tie, trying to strangle him with it. John is struggling against it, gasping for air and winding beneath your assault and then his grip around your claves grows hard like iron, seconds before he pulls - throws you over his head like you weigh nothing. You land on the expensive carpet with a heavy thud - groaning as you crash onto your side with sharp pain shooting through your shoulder, down your ribcage.

I will not die today

John sputters and stumbles forward, looking for his gun but you are quicker, kicking it away with your foot. It clatters back onto and slides over the wooden floorboards.

For a second you consider your choices, fighting yourself back onto your feet but John - a practiced and seasoned fighter - beats you to it and lands a blow to your upper back, sends you back down with him - a mess of sputtering saliva and painful groans. His body topples onto yours and he quickly rolls the two of you over the floor.

John is heavy and warm on top of you, as he keeps you in a tight headlock, your chest pressed to the floor and neck bend in a painful angle. He presses his strong forearm down onto your windpipe and you choke and cough, feet kicking, hands dragging across the wood, clawing at it feebly.

You can feel his breath on your cheek, hot and damp. You can feel his torso pressing against your back as he kneels behind you.

I will not die today

Mustering all your remaining strength, you trash against him, ramming your backside into his stomach. He grunts and for a split second, his grip loosens. It is all you need. Throwing your elbow back, you hit him in the chest and he caves in.

You cough, crawling forward and then scrambling back onto your feet, one of your negligée’s straps falling down your shoulder in the process. You hastily pull it back up, seconds before John launches a cascade of punches onto you.

A few of them hit you as you try to block them; dull pain igniting in your body, blooming in your face and arms. Your breath goes heavy as you stumble backwards. You cannot do this. There is no way. You just physically can't.

He is stronger. Taller. Heavier. Deadlier. Your body and every single muscle, bone, nerve in it aches and you wheeze but he is already onto you again, half-tackles you and grabs your waist, ready to smash you back onto the ground.

You cling onto him with all your remaining strength, struggling against his huge frame, wrapping your hands around his neck in an attempt to get him to stumble.

His hair tingles on your naked arms. Oh wait --

Tearing at his hair - which has him grunting in both, pain, and irritation at the unusual attempt - you clumsily pull yourself up onto his shoulders, cutting his face right above his eyebrow with your nails in the process until you finally wrap one leg around his throat and close it around there tightly, choking him. John tries to pull you off him and succeeds after quite the tussle, only to find your frame clinging to him, legs and arms wrapping around his body, hands scratching and feet kicking.

I will not fucking die today

In an attempt to either get rid of each other or submit the last blow, to finally kill the other, you two swirl through the room - a deadly dance of torn skin, smashed glass panes and mirrors, bruises and cuts. Somewhere in between kicks and punches, he managed to pick up his gun - and right now, you are mustering all of your exhausted strength to prevent the barrel from pressing against your skull.

Eventually, John crashes your bodies through a large wooden door, and is not quick enough - unable to stop his own oxe-like strength - to stop himself from stumbling into the room. The two of you only come a halt as his knees hit something soft and ironically that is what finally topples both of you over, landing onto the mattress of your bedroom with a soft thud and deep, exhausted grunts.

Your ears ring, and you are ready to lash out at him again despite the physical exhaustion, to strike him square across the face, as --

There is something hard pressing against your crotch.

The world falls silent.

No. No, there's no fucking way. It's got to bea hidden weapon. Must be.

But clearly, it is not. There, between your spread legs, his hard cock presses snugly against your panty-clad pussy.

And he just feels so huge - mouth-watering huge - that your body responds in its own way, hips snapping up, stuttering against the hard bulge. John lets go off a shaky, ragged breath, hand still clutching his gun. And you know, that this is your window.

Feeling the warmth that his body and his hard dick are radiating through his expensive suit, you roll your hips once - a languid, slow motion, rubbing your pussy over his bulge.

And he groans. A deep, primal sound that sounds a little coarse. John is looking at you, starring you down, but there is a shadow dancing over his eyes, turning his brown eyes into deep and dark, black pits that gives him away.

He is horny. The Boogeyman is fucking horny. You would laugh, if the realization wasn't knocking all air straight from your lungs. Because it just another reminder, proof of what he actually is: human.

And what a sight he is to see - eyes turning darker every second, his chest heaving with every breath and making it seem like his shirt is going to pop a button or two any second now, his cock prodding against its restraints and your clothed cunt.

It makes you want him. The thought leaves you dizzy, makes you gasp.

Apparently, that is all he needs to roll his hips back into yours. And that - that is just unfair. It's playing dirty. It's, it's -- His dick feels huge as it trails along your folds, has the muscles in your abdomen clenching.

"Fuck", you breathe, a little overwhelmed with and helpless at the sudden surge of lust that ignites your body, the wetness pooling between your legs.

John is not saying anything, just stares you down while he continues to slooowly roll his hips into yours, grinds his cock against your cunt. Your pelvis twitches upward as you start to meet his movements, and then you can hear it. He let's go of a deep breath, and it sounds like the faintest moan.

You need to hear more of that. You need more of him, your cunt aching and hole clenching around nothing already.

"John", and this time you say his name - consciously - it sounds a different way of desperate: your voice reduced to a small whisper, torn at the edges by a wanton whimper ripping from your throat.

If it throws him off-guard he does not show it, does not let you see it. Instead, he grabs your chin hard, gaze locking with yours. Dark pupils blown wide, swallowing the honey-brown of his eyes, and your breath hitches.

"Yeah?", he rasps, and it does not take more than one long look from you for him to lean in, to press his lips onto yours.

The kiss tastes of blood and adrenaline and doom, and you relish in it. Relishing the way his lips move against yours and his beard tickles a little, relishing how his tongue presses into your mouth. It feels like he is eating you whole, licking into your mouth, one hand dancing over your waist - featherlight, like he doesn't know how to touch a body without hurting someone, destroying someone.

I will not die today, motherfucker

Your whole body now sings with it, the security of an impending victory, as you roll your hips into his once more, your tongue now licking back into his mouth. For a second you think about how to strike again, now that he is seemingly distracted, but all will to fight leaves your body as one of his hands brushes over your knee, wanders further and eventually rests on your thigh.

The touch is electrifying and then his hand grows braver, his movements more certain, as he grabs your thigh, feels you up. It happens so suddenly, that you gasp into the kiss.

John parts from you, his lips a little plush already. "Oh God", you whisper as you stare Death Turned Human straight in the face, not a single thought remaining in your skull despite your lust.

He doesn't speak, as he gently let’s go off your leg and straightens back up and for a second you think he is going to hurt you, with the way his brows are furrowed - but he doesn't.

Instead, he moves in, right over your comparably tiny frame - a mountain of a man. John kneels above you, his weight pinning you down while he straddles your thighs and Jesus fucking Christ - what a sight he is to see.

Dark locks falling into his forehead, a little sticky with sweat and the bits of blood from the cut your nails gave him moments ago - right above his left eyebrow, still lazily trickling down into his lashes. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, as he hastily gets rid of his jacket, carelessly drops it to the ground. His black button-down clings to his muscular body underneath his waistcoat and his equally as muscular thighs pin you down to the bed, black fabric nearly tearing at the seams. And then there is his hard cock.

It looks as huge as it felt, with the way it bulges his pants, the outline of it clearly visible as it buckles proudly against its restraints. You are certain, you will not be able to close your hand around it fully - not a chance.

One of his hands - the one lacking a finger, which you only now notice and what sends shivers down your spine - wanders over your body, pulling your negligée down in the process, right tit spilling out of the soft silk. He immediately grabs it, cups it with his large hand and squeezes. You mewl, marveling at just how big his hand is, just as his whole body is in comparison to you. His fucked-up finger digs into the flesh, sending shivers down your spine.

John's hand gropes your tit, before he impatiently pulls the neckline down roughly. You sigh, arousal shooting down your spine and tingling in your lower belly, as two of his fingers nudge your nipple, pinch it.

He watches your face intently, as he continues to grope you, rolls your nipple between his fingers. You mewl, breath accelerating a little but it is just not enough and you buck your hips upwards. John grunts in, what you assume is an approving manner, and let's go off your tit, reaches to his belt at his loins.

Quickly pulling a knife from God-knows-where exactly, a sharp blade enters your vision.

You blink, panic seeping through your lust and your legs twitch a little with fear. If John notices it, he neither shows it nor does he say anything, just moves the knife closer to your body.

The blade shines in the dim light as it dances over your exposed thighs carefully, the metal cooly pressing against your skin, before he flicks it and cuts your negligée open. The thin, soft fabric cleanly cut in half it now lazily slides from your aching body, falls to its sides. Your chest heaves, shivers running down your arms and back.

It happens so quickly that you can only blink. As your brain finally catches up with your eyes, you come to realize that he is holding a real fucking tactical knife. You have thrown one once - they are sharp as hell and deadlier than a bullet. The sound of fabric tearing easily, like paper, proves your point.

And John's movements with the blade are so fast that your breath hitches, a little afraid he might cut you. But he does not, instead, he quickly pulls the torn silk off you and away from under you, carelessly tosses it into the dark of the room.

The edge of the blade dances over your skin and you do not dare to breathe, as he trails it up and down your curves, gently nudges your nipples. "I could kill you", he says calmly and then, in lightning speed, presses the blade into the crook of your neck. Your head sinks back into the mattress, in an instinct to flee the sharp edge.

All it does is to expose your neck further and something gleams in John's eyes, as he presses the sharp tip down slowly, carefully nudging your skin with it. The metal is cold and hard and sharp and your breath hitches. Just a little bit more and it might burst your skin, draw blood.

But, to your own confusion, you do not feel threatened anymore. Oddly enough, your nerves tingle with excitement. You blame it on the already high levels of adrenaline that still pump through your veins, rushing back and forth from your brain and your lungs, but a small voice inside of your head whisper gently, deviously, that you know That's not it. And he knows it, too.

It's in his eyes as well, the sheer excitement of it all, the fucked-up pleasure it evokes in the both of you lays heavy in the air.

It turns you fucking on. It turns you on, that the man who - minutes ago - tried you kill you and did hurt you very fucking badly in the process of it, now decides to let you live.

It turns you on, that you are at his mercy.

It turns you on, that he decided to spare you - just for now.

It turns you on, that these large and strong hands holding the knife have that sort of power over you. And thus, as the blade nudges your head back further, you moan.

"I could cut your throat", John's voice is heavy and thick with arousal and you can feel your heartbeat picking up, breath accelerating. His gaze drops down, watches the rapid rising and falling of your breasts hungrily, while another soft moan escapes from your lips.

"Don't", you breathe softly.

The knife practically burns on your skin, and you can feel arousal flooding your clothed pussy, rubbing your thighs together for any sort of friction. John can feel your squirming underneath him, but he can also see your eyes turning watery and dark with lust, pupils blown and a pretty pink spreading on your cheeks, your breath growing shallow. And he just really needs to fucking taste you right now.

As quickly as it appeared, the blade vanishes from your throat before he twirls the knife like the ruthless, reckless professional that he is, and buries it deep to the hilt in the mattress next to you. The sharp sound as it pierces the thick fabric has the hairs on your body standing up, goosebumps rolling over your skin.

"I'll do it later", he rumbles - casually, like he is talking about doing chores or picking up groceries - before hunching over you, grabbing your chin with his fucked-up hand, and kissing you again. His tongue immediately pushes into your mouth, like he is starving to taste you.

John eats you whole, with the way his lips move against yours. His hand cups your face, tongue licking into your mouth, toying with yours. His kiss steals your breath and you start to get dizzy with it, hips bucking. You can feel his lips curling up and then he parts from you, leaving you a gasping mess, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

"Let me touch you, John", you whisper, voice a little small because you do not know why you feel that way, and if he will even allow it. But you just need to feel him.

For a long moment his gaze dances over your face and something shifts behind his eyes, like a shadow gets lifted and then very quickly returns. Ultimately, he gives a court nod, so small you nearly miss it and gives you a little more room while straightening back up.

Carefully, as if not to spook him, you dart one hand out, place it on his chest. The muscle is firm underneath his suit and you run your hand along the lapel of his jacket, down and then back up, before it slips beneath it.

John's body radiates warmth under the black fabric of his shirt and your other hand comes up, before you shove the jacket off his shoulders and onto the floor next to the bed.

Your breath hitches.

He is wearing a holster, a reminder of his deadliness, of the gun laying somewhere next to you. Maybe, he sees the fear returning in your eyes, but he is quick to shrug the holster off, throws it into the dark where it clatters onto the wooden floor boards. What is left in front of you are broad shoulders and a muscular chest, the fabric nearly tearing at his movements.

As you run your hands over it, you cannot help yourself - you need to fucking feel him for real.

Quickly making work of his waistcoat and tie you toss both to the side carelessly, before your hands roam his broad chest. His button-down clings snugly against his upper body and you can feel the muscles work beneath the black fabric as your hands brush over them. You tug at the shirt, pulling its tails from his pants before hastily opening the first few buttons. The skin underneath is pale, littered by blue - red - black bruises, birthmarks scattered in between like stars. You pop open the rest of the buttons, greedy to touch him. And as the shirt falls to the sides your hands are already onto his chest, roaming over and admiring the muscular, defined canvas of strength, that violence has painted a pretty picture on.

John is watching you intently as you undress him and then explore his body, your pupils blown wide and dark, mouth agape a little. He is a little taken aback by it - by someone not seeing his body as the ultimate tool of death that it is, but as something else, that he cannot really pinpoint because he can't even look in the mirror without seeing destruction and decay. But the way your gaze wanders over his body, the way you touch him, is different from that and he has not felt anything like it in years.

And John wants. Carnal desire tugs at his brain, shoots arousal between his legs, makes his cock twitch and a low growl escaping his throat.

The sound gets you going: pushing yourself up with one hand, the other wrapping around his strong neck for leverage as you sit up, mouth immediately clutching to his throat. He tastes of sweat and after-shave - sharp and musky - and you run your tongue over his skin greedily, licking and sucking at the skin while your naked body presses against his.

It disarms him. The gentle touch that you put his body up to, while everything still aches from plowing through the better half of your father's militia and beating the hell out of you, confuses him. Your touch, your lips on his skin are soft and not aiming to hurt - instead, they grow more and more needy, wanton and hasty, as you lick over his bruised skin, tasting his sweat. Your hands over his abdomen caress his defined muscles, in awe of his utter strength, thumbs brushing through the soft and dark trail of hair leading beneath the waistband of his trousers. And all John can do, is watch, his gaze locking with yours as goosebumps erupt on his skin.

And you - oh you; your head swims with the way you turn this animal into a human again, unlock a different set of animalistic needs within him and hearing John's breath growing heavy really fucking does it for you, feeling his scarred and beaten-up skin underneath your hands, wrapping them around the deadly machine that is his body. It makes you want more.

Shedding his blood-stained shirt off of his shoulders, your hands roam over his upper back - feeling the scars there: of knives, larger and small ones and round ones of bullets that once pierced his skin. There is something else, a burn scar, in the shape of a cross and he hisses as your fingers brush over it, nails digging into the stunted skin.

It pulls John out of his stasis, reminds him of who he is and you can feel the air swinging with it seconds before he moves. His large hands wrap around your shoulders and then he pulls you off him, throws you back onto the mattress. You yelp, eyes growing wide as you watch his face as it turns from lightly dazed back to stern, wild, with his brows furrowed.

"That's enough", he says, voice coarse and it still feels like a small victory, even though he spreads your legs roughly, hands digging deep into your thighs - hard enough to bruise - before he kneels between them. He yanks your body forward at the back of your knees, watches your tits bounce and then leans in, his lips immediately attacking your throat, your neck.

His lips are surprisingly soft against your skin, his beard tickling a little as it brushes over your tits, your stomach, your thighs while his tongue licks fat stripes over your nipples and down down down your upper body, right to your navel. One of his hands creeps up your body once more and roughly cups your tit, squeezes, and gropes it, rolls your hardened nipple between his index and middle finger. His stunted ring-finger digs deep into your tit and you gasp, hips bucking. John's lips suck and nibble at your skin, before eventually ghosting over your pubic bone, teasing you before assaulting your thighs again, teeth biting down gently into the soft flesh. You gasp and moan while he gropes your body, inhales your scent - as you watch how his lips, tongue, and teeth dance over your thighs, moving closer to your cunt.

John finally, finally, puts his mouth onto your pussy, peppers open-mouthed kisses around your clit, before clothing his lips around it and sucking on it hard through your panties. Your hips buck as a high-pitched moan erupts from your throat, hands flying into his greying locks.

"Fuck", you whine, feeling fresh wetness flooding your folds, dampening the thin fabric further. John can see the outlines of your wet pussy pressing against your panties and parts from your clit momentarily, only to lick a fat stripe over your clothed cunt, watching it twitch.

"That's fucking pretty", he rasps, gaze locking with yours and you feel all air leaving your lungs. His eyes are so fucking dark, like gleaming black pits swallowing you whole, his breath a little flat with arousal.

You want him to fuck you. Really fuck you. To plow you open, rail you until you cannot sit nor walk. He is already so so close to you, but too far away at the same time. "Please", is all you manage to utter out. And it seems to be sufficient enough for him; seems to get across what you want, what you need.

John's fingers wrap around the front of your lace slip, tugging at the fabric - that rubs along your cunt at the sudden motion and has you gasping quietly - and then he pulls. The lace tears easily as he rips it apart, and cool air hits your wet and hot pussy, as he practically peels you out of your underwear, throws it to the side. The look on his face is wild and you can hear him taking a deep breath, smelling your arousal, before he spreads your folds apart with his thumbs, gaze wandering over your plump and flushed cunt.

Teasingly brushing over your clit with his thumb, John watches your reaction intently. And fuck, you do not disappoint. Throwing your head back, you moan, drawing in a deep breath through your opened mouth that heaves your chest, your eyelids fluttering.

You are dying for him to touch you and as he does, it feels like your body catches fire - lust washing away the dull pain in your limbs and near your ribs.

"Oh God", you breathe out as his thumb draws another wide and slow circle over your clit, your hands darting out and grabbing the sheets "Please."

And John complies, his thumb rubbing over your clit in a slow but steady rhythm.

Gasping, your hands clutch the sheets, knees darting away from each other, giving him more space. John accepts the invitation, grabs one thigh hard, fucked up ring-finger digging deep into your skin. His fingers move further, abandons your clit and dance over your folds, down to your hole. It flutters as two of his digits tease it, gently circling around it.

"Please", you whine once more, lifting your hips a little, a desperate noise leaving your throat. John smirks to himself, before pushing two of his fingers into you.

The stretch is sudden and bigger than expected and you moan coarsely, as he pushes his digits along your walls deeply and nestles them into your seeping hot cunt up to his knuckles. And Jesus, you feel so full already; your head swimming as you consider how big his cock must feel, then.

Your breath goes quick and shallowly as he starts to move them, and then he leans in. Nudges your clit with the tip of his tongue, licks over it.

You feel like combusting on the spot: your nerves tingling with arousal, your whole body still aching from the beating you gave each other earlier - the pain in your back blooming as you stretch it with your hips desperately shoving themselves near his touch - your pussy squeezing his fingers.

John pumps his thick fingers in and out of you, his tongue rubbing and circling your clit and soft, needy moans fall from your lips. Obscene, wet sounds fill the air, mingle with your moans and heavy breathing. His lips close in around your clit, sucking at it while his fingers rub along your spongy walls and your cunt squeezes them hard as fresh wetness floods your folds, your squirt wetting his beard and dripping down on the sheets below.

You can hear - feel - John humming against your pussy, peppering the wet skin with open mouthed kisses, licking over it, and tasting your slick.

You feel so fucking good - lust pulsating through your veins, loins on fire - and your head falls to the side, body rocking with sharp gasps and your mouth agape, eyelids fluttering as --

There's the gun. And the knife.

You could easily grab either one or the other next to you, pull the blade out of the matress or the hammer back; put a bullet right between his eyes or plow the blade deep deep into his skull. Killing the Boogeyman. Killing Baba Yaga.

That would do wonders to your family's business. It would emancipate you from it, you would be free. Free to rule.

"Thinking 'bout killing me?", John rumbles, tongue licking a fat stripe over your cunt, nudging your clit. Your gaze flickers back to him: hair a mess, eyes gleaming darkly, hands on your thighs to keep your legs spread. He does not look surprised. Neither does he look worried.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head: he is toying with you. Has been the whole fucking time. The wolf hunting the deer, running a few rounds through the woods to weaken it; its breath whistling with exhaustion, long legs buckling before it collapses - an easy kill. An easy kill for an old wolf, one, that can't quite handle a real hunt anymore.

But maybe, just maybe - judging from the look in his eyes - he got lost in his own game. Its reins slipped from his bloody hands, the wolf tumbling to the ground.

Looking back at him, your lips curl into a sweet smile. "Not anymore", your hand darts out, brushing the loose strands of dark hair from his face - the soft gesture leaving him visibly confused -, "John."

Two can play this game. And maybe, just maybe, the deer can tire the wolf out first.

Something gleams in John's eyes, dances over them like a shadow and he seems to accept the challenge - readying to tire you out - tongue licking over your clit once more, making you shiver and mewl, as he pulls his fingers out of your dripping hole. You feel empty and --

"Do you really think, you could kill me?", he rumbles, voice deep and rough around the edges, "Stupid slut."

And then, quicker than your brain can process it, his hand comes down on your dripping wet pussy.

Your breath hitches, topples over and leaves your throat as a raw, needy moan. Softly stinging pain blooms between your folds and sets your nerves on fire. Blame it on the bruises, blame it on the pain you both inflicted on each other moments ago, but: it riles you up. Mingles with your aching bones and aching cunt, has you arching your back.

"Y'really think you could kill me", he doesn't sound offended, not even amused - voice plain, like he is inquiring if you really believed the earth to be flat. Like you really are stupid.

And you start to feel stupid, too. There was never a chance. You never had a chance. Your death was sealed, determined the second John stepped into the hotel.

You were stupid to believe you could outrun or beat him. You are stupid. And John has every right to show you, teach you, punish you for it.

Giving your cunt another firm slap, John watches your hips twitch, hears your pussy squelching and soft moans falling from your lips. "Shit", you sigh and he slaps your wet pussy once more, feels your slick folds wetting the palm of his hand.

"D'you like that, girl?", and as your only response are wanton gasps falling from your mouth John chuckles deeply, gives your pulsating cunt another two firm slaps. Seeing how he is pulling you apart, how good he makes you feel really seems to do it for him, gets him quite talkative.

"Uh-huh", you make dumbly, quite illiterate, watching him stroking your flushed, hot cunt with two of his fingers. Shivers run down your spine.

And then he leans back in, licks a fat stripe over your sensitive, flushed cunt, from the hole up to the clit.

You squirm, mewl as his beard brushes over your overstimulated skin, leaving a slight burn that mingles deliciously with a fresh wave of arousal that floods your body scalp to toes.

The muscles in your abdomen clench as two of his fingers circle your fluttering hole and then push in, rubbing along your plush walls agonizingly slowly and you can feel yourself tightening around it. Your juices squelch from your cunt as you squirt against his tongue and your slick runs down your folds, wets his fingers and palm while his tongue laps at your pussy, tasting your sweetness.

John pushes is fingers deeper as you moan and sigh, hands fisting his hair and hips moving against his tongue, his digits thrusting into you.

"Oh god", you huff as his lips close in around your clit, sucking on it and the tip of his tongue flicking against it occasionally.

Another wave of fresh wetness floods your cunt as you squirt once more, wetting the sheets below, your slick running down John's wrist.

John parts from your clit, nudges it with his tongue, his beard glistening with your juices.

"Yeah, that's fucking it", another one of his thick fingers pumps itself into your tight little hole and his other hand - also slick with your juices - grabs your thigh, "That's a good girl."

You feel so full, your spine feels like it's on fire and your brain tingles with it, sends wave of pleasure down down down your body; muscles in your loins clenching, chest heaving. It becomes all too much as he leans back in, rubs his tongue over your clit, lips sucking and teasing your folds.

The slight burn of John's beard tickling your plush, hot cunt. His fingers working your open and stretching your tight little hole open far and wide, obscene squelching sounds filling the air as he works you open, brushing against your g-spot occasionally and making you see stars.

But it's too little. It's just not enough.

"Fuck", you whine as John's thick fingers brush over your g-spot with quite some force, tongue lapping at your seeping cunt, "Shit, please. Please, just fuck me, please!"

You can feel him grinning against your wet cunt, beard a little sticky with your juices, letting go of your pussy with an obscene pop. "Yeah", he licks his lips, tastes you on his tongue, "D'you want my cock?"

And that - that might be what makes you lose your mind. Because yes. Yes, you do.

You have been craving to touch it, to feel it since it had pressed against your clothed pussy earlier. Thus, all dignity leaves your body with one, clean whine that breaks free from your throat.

"Yes, fuck - oh god, John", you brabble, legs falling apart further, inviting him in, his digits sinking deeper into your soaking wet hole, "Shit, please fuck me, John - please, please, please --"

Pleas are still falling from your lips like a chant, as a surprising noise breaks the silence, so strangely beautiful that it has you nearly shuddering: John is laughing. It's a nice baritone sound, and the fine lines around his eyes crinkle with it - it's so beautiful, that it drowns the world out. You watch him in awe, as he shakes his head, avoids your gaze.

"Jesus. Look at you", he huffs, voice dripping thickly with amusement, "If you need it that badly--"

Straightening back up and kneeling between your legs, John slips his fingers from your cunt and makes quick work of his belt, trousers, and boxers. The second he frees is cock, you start to drool like a fucking pavlovian-dog.

His dick is so fucking huge. It is nicely curved and cut, the bulbous pink head glistening with pre-cum and a thick, pumping vein at the bottom that rakes from the base to the tip, as it rests between trimmed, dark pubic hair. His cock bobs against his abdomen as it bounces free, smears the pre-cum along the pale skin, twitches at the sudden contact. And Jesus fucking Christ, you just want to fucking touch it, feel its velvety skin in your palm. But you just know that you won't even be able to wrap your hand around its base fully, it's impossible, it--

"I-it won't fit", you whisper, a little taken aback by his sheer size.

"Oh, I'll make it fit, baby."

John takes his cock in one hand, thumb right beneath its head, and rubs it against your slit. And Jesus fucking Christ. Your hips snap up, meet his movements, and he grunts while he spreads his pre-cum along your cunt, gathers your slick. The thick head of his dick prods against your entrance and you take a deep breath, looking down between your legs. You watch how he slooowly pushes in and you gasp at the sudden intrusion, the delicious stretch making you moan.

His cock feels so fucking big, hot, and heavy, as he nestles the tip in, your hole clenching around it. John's brows furrow, and he doesn't wait long until he pushes his cock in further.

The thick base starts to stretch your slim rings of muscles, a sharp pain shooting through it. He can feel your hole protesting, can see you wincing. "Breathe, baby", he hums, "Let me do the rest."

His coarse voice mingles with his words and the waves of pleasure shooting through your body despite the dull pain, conjures up a pretty pretty image that floods your brain - there's sunlight everywhere, orange rays of it hitting a bed covered in white sheets, sweaty bodies on top of it; limbs entangled, hands intertwined with their golden rings shining brightly in the warm light, heavy breathing and sloppy kisses, and lazy thrusts as his cock fucks you awake. The thought makes you dizzy, your legs falling apart and hole fluttering open, inviting him in.

The slight burn leaves you a gasping, whimpering mess as he pushes himself in deep, nestles his huge cock in between your aching, hot, and tight walls.

And John feels like he is going to pass out. No blow to the head, no bullet to the chest, no knife to the stomach could ever make him feel as dizzy as the feeling of your hot cunt squeezing him does right now. His whole body is vibrating with want and lust and he just really hopes that you don't notice that he has gotten a little rusty. The thought quickly gets drowned-out as he looks down, where his thick cock practically splits you open, vanishes in your hole.

"Shit", he huffs out, places one large hand on your stomach and thrusts. Feeling himself moving inside of you has him moaning, gaze shooting up to you, meeting your eyes, as his hand presses down. "You feel me right here, baby?", he rasps and you nod, mouth agape by the sheer force of his thrust, tip of his cock prodding your cervix.

John can see his cock moving inside of you, the way your stomach bulges a little. He gets a little dizzy with, and then his eyes make the mistake of moving up to your face. And it takes a whole lot of fucking will-power of him to not just thrust and thrust and thrust and fuck you until you cry, bleed.

You are so fucking pretty. Mouth agape you watch how his cock vanishes between your legs, splits your cunt open, with his eyes heavy-lidded and cheeks flushed. Your lips are plush and red from his assault.

Your hands grip the sheets and your breasts heave with your deep breaths, that grow a little more flaccid. Next to you lays his gun, knife still buried into the mattress. His eyes drop to the weapons and his breath hitches. And for a split second, like a flash of light, he wonders what in God's name he's doing here. He is a professional. The Ballerina works like that. He doesn't.

A sweet, sweet noise rips him out of his thoughts. "J-john", you mewl, eyes still trained on his massive dick splitting you open, "I-it, it's --"

"Yeah?", he breathes, the sound all soft and careful around the edges.

"Heavy", you breathe.

"Does it hurt?", he kind of wants it to. Make you pay for what you did to him. He kind of doesn't want it to. Make you enjoy what he's got to give.

John realizes he is fucked.

You nod, head flying back into the cushions, while your brows dart together.

John's free hand flies to your clit, nudges it gently, before slowly rubbing wide circles over it. You gasp, as you feel fresh wetness flooding your cunt and dripping down your folds to where his cock splits your hole open, pools around it. He carefully pulls out a little and then pushes back in, assisted by your slick. The way you moan spurs him on and the circles on your clit grow faster and smaller.

Aching your back, you lean into the touch. "That's a good girl", he whispers, voice raw and coarse, dripping with lust and the exhaustion of holding back. John bottoms out, while continuing to rub your clit and he can feel your walls growing plush, your hole fluttering around his dick, relaxing with your hot, seeping cunt inviting him in. "Feels good?"

"Yeah, fuck", you feel like you are being split open, with his thick cock filling you to the brim and rubbing along your walls with every little movement, the thick head prodding gently against your cervix, "Shit, John."

It feels so fucking good, all thoughts being washed away from your brain as he starts to move carefully, thrusts into you once, twice. You moan, lips slightly parted, before your gaze flies to him.

And Fuck. John's chest is flushed a little, muscles of his abdomen flexing with every thrust while his gaze is trained down to where his cock fucks into you, brows darted together a little and his breathing audible.

"John?", you whisper, and his gaze immediately shoots up to you as your comparably tiny hand wraps around the wrist of his hand that is still rubbing your clit.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck me."

For a long moment, he just looks at you and you think - no, you are convinced - that you can see a glimpse of the human being he once was. Caring, sweet and gentle; as he seems to really take it into consideration if you are ready yet, if you know what you are begging for.

Apparently, he does deem you prepared enough, and the soft gaze gets replaced by a dark gleam as all gentleness vanishes from his face once more. Without a warning, John rolls his hips back only to thrust into you again, deep, and hard, immediately picking up a quick rhythm.

It comes as a genuine surprise to you and you gasp, mewling but it quickly feels just so fucking good, practically lights your body up and leaves every nerve-ending on fire, each thrust has you moaning loudly.

It spurs him on, makes him grunt and for a while, you both just watch him gliding in and out of your tight hole, with him feeling your muscles squeezing him and you feeling his cock stretching your open further and further. Your lips as slightly parted and his brows are furrowed as he rolls his hips into yours and you feel time getting lost on you, the only thing of importance remaining is the feeling of him filling you up. John's hands roam your body, wandering over your thighs and your stomach, your hips before angling your leg, pushing the heel of your foot on his shoulder, and grabbing your ankle with one hand, his dick slips into you even further, balls slapping against your ass heavily with each thrust.

You can tell that John has not fucked in a long, long time. It's not the way he does it - all fluid, languid thrust of his hips, muscles dancing under the soft skin. It's mostly the way he pants and grunts - sounds just as desperate as you feel. And still, he has the stamina of a racehorse.

You can feel that he wants to prove it, too, as his free hand grabs your thigh and hoists your other leg over his hip bone, practically pulling your lower half off the bed in the process. Your pelvis now clings to his, obscene sounds of his cock fucking into your wet pussy filling the air while he huffs with his thrusts, yet does not slow down.

The grip on both, your ankle and your thigh are hard, and you are certain his hands will leave a bruise but you just cannot bring yourself to care. Deep down you know, that someone will see them: your maids, your friends, your family.

But all thoughts, all worries get swapped from your brain as your gaze wanders up from where John's dick hammers into you steadily, rakes over his defined stomach and chest and finally, finally lands on his face.

He looks downright, utterly, and breathtakingly -- pornographic.

John's dark pupils blown wide gleaming with arousal, his cheeks are slightly blushed and a thin layer of sweat makes him glow in the dim light of the living room falling onto the bed. It surrounds him like a halo, a Saint of Death and Decay, with his dark hair falling into his forehead and onto his shoulders. He brushes it out of the way with his stunted hand, a ragged breath making his chest heave. There is still some of your slick wetting his beard.

You can't help your mind from going there, from wondering how different things could have been. What it would be like if you had met me in a bar instead of him entering your suite, leaving the hallway behind him looking like a slaughterhouse. Maybe he would have laughed at your jokes, in the dim light of your favorite bar in the city. Maybe he would have liked the same music as you do. Maybe, just maybe, he would have brought you home only to stay the night and fuck you until you would have lost your goddamn mind.

Your hand wanders down your body, strokes your waist and hip in the process, before it languidly drops between your spread legs, two fingers darting out and rubbing circles over your sensitive clit.

John moves quickly, his usual deadly precision shattering your peaceful fantasy, his hand ditching your thigh and closing in around your waist. "Don't you fuckin' touch yourself", he growls, and it's the first time you hear real, actual emotion dwelling in his throat - not his toneless, cold and mechanical rumble. He sounds pissed. Offended.

And the best part is: it seems to get him fucking going.

John leans in, your calf still resting on his shoulder and the slight pain of the stretch is delicious as he nearly folds your body in half. You can feel his dick sliding in even deeper into your hole and you gasp and whine, one hand coming up to dig into his biceps to just hold on. Hold on, while he pounds into you with perfectly angled, deep and strong thrusts, hitting your g-spot with every single one of them.

You know that the suite's door is in shambles, that anyone could walk in here and see you having your brains fucked out by the man who is here to kill you - but you don't care. Part of it is, because the gun is still resting next to your head on the sheets. You could just grab it and shoot anyone dead in heartbeat, whoever is trying to disturb the pleasure that shoots through your body.

But it is also him.

It's the way John is towering over you, back hunched, looking all wide and powerful and deadly, with the way he shields your body from view and harm as he thrusts into you. As he pushes all his rage, adrenaline, and strength into your tight hole, groans, and pants into your ear.

There is nothing you can do, despite holding onto him, nails digging into his back, clutching his broad shoulders, fingers running over his tattoos desperately. He is fucking the living daylight out of you, your body moving like a ragdoll underneath the mountain of muscles and strength. Your cunt is being split open by his cock, as you feel him hammering into you and you feel like you are going to lose your mind, panting and moaning with each of his thrusts.

"John, fuck", you moan sweetly, eyes rolling into your skull as he pounds into you, "You feel so fucking good, shit --"

"Yeah", he huffs, his forehead slowly sinking onto yours, "You too, baby."

You can see his eyelids fluttering, feel his upper body heaving beneath your hands, smell the blood on his skin, mingling with his musky scent. Blaming it on the sickening cocktail of hormones that is flooding both - your brain and your body - you lean in, your lips desperately smacking against his.

And Jesus Fucking Christ. Does John kiss you.

Kisses you like he is starving for it, licking back into your mouth - his body pressing yours into the mattress with his whole weight and muscle, while still thrusting into you.

Your hands tangle into his hair, tugging at it. John moans against your lips and your stomach flutters at the sound, and you want more. One hand moves to lay at the crook of his neck and your tongue presses against his, licking back into his mouth. Adding some force to his neck you invite John deeper into the kiss, and he follows suite, steals you the last bit of air your lungs were holding. Panting you part from him, thumb brushing over the crook of his neck.

Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself. You feel so alive and you want him to wreck you, to leave something behind that you will remember for every day your heart continues to beat. Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself but to whisper: "Harder."

John blinks, hips stuttering. And then, he grunts. His hand digs into your waist as he grabs you there, hold you in place will his hips rut into you. Picking up a near brutal rhythm, obscene sounds of your slick being pushed in and out and in out of your hole as he jackhammers into your g-spot, the bedframe rattling as John's thrusts pound it into the wall - leaving you a gasping and moaning mess. His belt clinks with his thrusts and you cling onto him, sharp whines escaping your throat.

"John John John", his name leaves your mouth like a mantra, sharp and high-pitched. His head falls forward, dark locks brushing over your cheek as his temple rests against yours and then you hear it.

John moans.

It's a deep, carnal sound. Your stomach flutters and lust shoots through your body at the noise, your tight cunt squeezing his thick cock as you squirt around his cock like a broken fucking hose, wetting his pubic hair. You can feel it rubbing along your wet folds, the sensation making you mewl, leaves your hips shuddering.

"Shit", you breathe, hands cradling his muscular back and then you can feel his dick twitching inside of you, accompanied by yet another one of his sweet, sweet moans, "Fuck, John--"

He raises his head and your gazes connect, before he leans in, presses his lips onto yours once more. The kiss is surprisingly soft and in stark contrast to the way he ruts and pounds into you and then he hits the spot once more and -

Everything goes white as your muscles clench and unclench suddenly, as you nearly scream against his lips; your hole practically milking his cock as you cum, pussy gushing and squirting around him like a broken hose.

John continues to fuck you through your orgasm and his heavy breathing reaches your ears through the cotton candy, that slowly wraps you in as everything turns light and bright. He moans deeply against your cheek as he comes, too - shoots hot ropes of cum into you and paints your walls with it.

His movements still as he buries himself deep into you, cock twitching with each thick rope of his cum and you can feel him fill you up, as his massive frame slowly sinks down onto you.

Your legs grow heavy and the stretch of your left leg is turning painful and you - a little clumsily - pull it away from his shoulder, stretch it out. Your limbs start to shake and you close your eyes, drawing in deep breaths through your nose.

The room is silent, the air heavy with the musky scent of sex.

Your chest still heaves with the remains of your orgasm, bliss still spreading in your brain and your veins, making you feel like you are flying. Your heart is still racing, as you feel him moving again.

Blinking up at him, you can see him grabbing the gun.

"Don't", you say softly, voice coarse from screaming your lungs out in pleasure just moments ago, "Please, don't." You are not ready to scream yet again. Not ready to scream in pain, instead of pleasure.

John does not reply. He pulls the hammer back, checks the chamber - all with one hand.

"Kill him instead, please."

He freezes, eyes locking with yours. "Who?", he sounds just as exhausted as you. The wolf, tired out. The deer, bleeding, limping.

Call it Post Nut Clarity, call it Finally Taking Your Future In Your Own Hands, call it Emancipating Yourself. Call it Having Wrapped A Deadly Assassin Around Your Pinky.

You were not safer here. You never were. Just more isolated. Easier to locate.

Easier to kill.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head, your vision swimming.

See? I will not die today.

"My father. Kill him."

#i'm back girlies #john wick smut #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick imagine #smut #my writing #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves smut

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filonikou · 1 year

Text

I realized that my fic is so short I can put it here

The blob

Tim nearly fell out of the bed because his leg was tangled up in the blanket. He prepared himself to fall but with a weird pose, he managed to stand up. He couldn't help but gasp as he looked up. He was looking at the strangest sight he'd ever seen, and he'd seen a number of bizarre things in his life.

As the third Robin, now known as the Red Robin, he felt that nothing could surprise him. But this thing looked like something out of a cartoon. It only could be described as a floating green blob. It didn’t really have a shape but strangely have something that looked like eyes, if you would call two black orbs eyes.

“Uh,” muttered after starting for a while, “ I should have eaten before I went to bed. Now I hallucinate things.”

Walking to the kitchen and starting the coffee machine he knew that not eating wasn’t the real problem. Even so, he opened the fridge thinking that eating wouldn't make things worse, but of course, there was nothing edible in the fridge.

“I have it bad. My fridge contains more samples obtained from the crime scene than genuine food. Alfred would be so disapproving if he know that this is where I keep the samples.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees the green floating glob. It was indeed floating rather than flying; he had seen people fly previously and this creature was not doing that; rather, it appeared to be in water. The thing swayed gently as it emerged from the bedroom.

Tim began to panic; hallucinations had never lasted this long before. He saw things when he was exhausted, but now he was well rested, which was unusual on its own. But seeing things in this state was the first. He could see the glop right in front of him. Tim reached out cautiously to touch it, but his hand passed through without touching anything.

"So this is really a delusion," he says, shaking his head, "Of course, it's not real. Don't be a moron."

He looked at the phone, which was left on the corner top, considering telling someone, but then just shrugged, "It will go away soon, there is no need bothering anyone,” chuckling softly, “Half of them would just laugh, especially Jason and Bruce would want me to do mental health examination."

He began drinking his coffee and making a shopping list, even though he doubted that he will actually go shopping.

Despite having slept for a few hours, his mind was just not in the right place. Given that the green glob was still there, he was in even worse shape than he had anticipated.

Overall, it wasn't too shocking; he'd had some difficult weeks behind him. Yesterday he finally solved the latest serial killer case, which had been ongoing for several weeks and claimed the lives of 17 people. In his mind, he cursed himself, thinking that if he had realized the motivation sooner, fewer people would have died.

But who would have suspected that the murderer was motivated solely by the victims' red shoes? Because the bodies were discovered naked, everyone assumed it was the work of a sexual predator, even though there was no evidence of rape.

All that remained for him was to write the report, which shouldn't take long. He'll then get some free time. Even then, he'd probably go see some of his friends rather than go grocery shopping. He'll eat the energy bars he got specifically for this kind of occasion. He knows himself enough not to rely on having food at home.

“I'll just go to the mansion to give Bruce my report before eating here, it will be good seeing him and Alfred in my civils not at night as a vigilante. Alfred's food always the best anyway. And even the Damon brat isn’t home for the weekend.”

He tries to ignore the green blob, but it's impossible when it's in his hair; he thinks he feels it, but when he attempts to touch it, he can't. He feels slightly cold but nothing much.

“Ignire, ignore, ignore. It will go away if you ignore it.”

#danny phantom #dp x dc fic #dp x batman #dp x dc fanfic #dc universe #dc x dp #dp x dc

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breynekai-tfc · 3 years

Text

Number One Fan

Summary: Danny is injured during a ghost fight one night. Dash finds him, takes him home, and nurses him back to health.

Length: 7081 words

Part 2

Basically some meandering interactions between Dash and Phantom, with hints toward a one-sided attraction on Dash’s part. This is a two-shot; the second half will be up tomorrow.

Read on FF.net, AO3, or keep reading below.

He sucked up the puddle of arachnid into a Fenton Thermos. Holes littered the lawn around him where its feet had sunk into the spring soil, muddy and loose from three days’ worth of constant drizzle. ‘British weather’, his mom would have called it. Even now a light mist - heavier than fog but not substantial enough to be called rain - floated through the air. It had already coated Danny’s hair, face, and suit in a thin layer of condensation. The water ran over his face like sweat.

He was exhausted. If he had needed to breathe, he would have been panting. If he’d had a pulse, it would have been racing. Instead, his core ached dully, complaining of the expenditure of energy. His aura was not as bright as it should have been on this dark, misty, overcast night. Normally he would have been a beacon; right now he probably blended into his surroundings, giving off no more light than a will-o-the-wisp in a murky swamp.

And still, it wasn’t over.

After defeating a ghost and containing it in a Thermos, any ectoplasmic waste or byproducts it left behind should disintegrate and vanish. The Thermos completely sealed ectoenergy, thereby cutting off the core from any parts remaining in the world. But the Amity Park Public Library was still covered in a purple, pulsing tent of ghostly webbing.

Geez, he hoped there wasn’t another one.

Danny eyed the building. He wasn’t sure how long it had been sequestered like this. Presumably not much longer than it had taken for his ghost sense to explode out of his cold core, jolting him awake, and for him to race in the direction it pointed him. Five minutes later, he had discovered the library and the Godzilla-scale spider crouching on top of it.

He had no idea what time it was. He hadn’t checked the clock before flying off into the night.

It had been about eleven when he wrapped up his patrol earlier - a patrol which, ironically, had been entirely quiet. Goes to show what happens when you skimp on security duties because of bad weather, some mild discomfort from having to fly through a neverending curtain of damp. He wondered if he had stayed out a little longer if he could have intercepted the spider before it nested. Ghosts often tended to get a lot stronger when they were allowed to accomplish their objectives, drawing energy from the sheer satisfaction of fulfilling an obsession. Who knew how long it had been working before its sudden power boost triggered Danny’s ghost sense?

Danny squinted through the drizzle at the cloud cover, barely making out the position of the moon. Maybe three o’clock or after? He wasn’t sure how long it had taken him to beat the hairy, eight-legged behemoth. The fight had been tedious and drained his strength, but in all likelihood was shorter than it had felt.

He wasn’t sure he had actually defeated it.

His core twinging, he forced himself back into the air and drifted across the ruined lawn, across the parking lot, and to the side of the building. A feeling of unease filled him as he drew closer, the product of psychological wards woven into the strands of spider silk to scare away predators. Ignoring the way his core clenched and his skin crawled, Danny grit his teeth, turned intangible, and phased through the protective layer of webbing.

Inside, the dread atmosphere was even more overwhelming, hanging in the air like a miasma. Webbing draped over every surface and hung from the ceiling in loops and clumps, glowing a sickly shade of violet. It provided the only light in the building, and Danny’s own silver aura barely reflected back to him.

After nearly three years of being dead and fighting ghosts on a daily basis, Danny was rarely unnerved by the things he saw. But this was spooky, even to him. He shrugged and shook out his shoulders and arms, chalking up his feelings of trepidation to basic survival instincts, which were good things. He was tired, and his body knew it, and it was just sending signals to his brain to be careful. This was not actually all that frightening. Nope. Not frightening at all.

Danny floated further into the building, senses on high alert. The webbing stretched on and on, but nowhere did Danny see a creature who could have spun it. This was surely the work of the larger arachnid he had fought outside… right?

Danny reached the central help desk. It was a small unit of furniture - a U-shaped table, return bin, filing cabinets, and several computers with the library catalog system, all sitting in the middle of a wide and open space of carpet at the hub of the fiction and reference shelves. As Danny drifted towards it, he was so focused on looking and listening for an enemy on all sides that he floated straight into a web. Unlike the thick, goopy strands coating the rest of the building, this was a delicately woven oval suspended between the floor and ceiling. The kind of webs spiders built for catching prey.

He yelped and flung himself backwards, but the web followed him, snared him, snapped back into place with Danny still firmly attached to it. The webbing clung to his face, filling his eyes with violet light, inciting panic. He pulled at his arms, frantic to wipe the strands from his face, get them off of his body, but nothing was moving, he couldn’t budge, he was stuck, like a fly, and what did spiders do to flies…?

The realization of his own stupidity struck him like a slap in the face, and a split second later, he was intangible and shooting backwards, arms pinwheeling as he forced himself to a mid-air stop - before he blindly landed himself in a similar trap, or before he decided to phase through the roof of the building, call it a night, let another ghost hunter deal with this.

He wasn’t allowed to do that.

The leaden weights of responsibility wrapped around his body, draining the blind panic and replacing it with lucid determination. If Valerie or his parents were hurt because of some mess he failed to resolve, if one of them died, he would never be able to forgive himself, would never be able to claim the mantle of hero for the rest of his half-life. That reality was much more frightening than anything a ghost could throw at him.

As he centered himself, Danny noticed that the web he had just extracted himself from was vibrating, humming tautly, shivering from floor to ceiling. His eyes followed the anchoring strands of the web upwards. He groaned, and everything suddenly made sense.

On the ceiling, stretching from one wall to another and looking like a scene out of Femalien, were eggs, a hundred of them, violent purple and struck through by glowing green fissures like ichor. The spider he had faced outside of the library must have been their mother, and her objective had been finding a safe place to nest and lay her eggs. Having accomplished that, she was at her most ferocious when a certain human-ghost hybrid had shown up to threaten her children.

Danny had vaguely known that ghosts could reproduce - how else could he explain Box Lunch? But if this was seeing the miracle of ghost life in action, it was nothing he ever wished to see again.

The trembles from the web rippled through the eggs on the high ceiling of the library. First in the middle, expanding outwards in waves, the eggs began to wobble, began to crack with sharp snaps of verdant light. As he watched the first legs begin to poke through purple membranes, Danny realized why the oval-shaped web had been created. It would trap prey, and in thrashing for escape, whatever unfortunate creature (or person) was snared in the web would be ringing a dinner bell, telling the babies that it was time to wake up and have some breakfast.

The first of the brood had breached their cells and were dropping onto the floor. Deep black in color, struck through by ectoplasmic green striations, they were the size of large dogs, and they were fast. As soon as their myriad eyes found Danny, they began to leap at him.

Crying out, Danny flung up an ectoplasmic energy shield. The newborn spiders slammed into it, causing the shield to flare and for Danny’s core to tighten painfully. The shield broke within seconds, and the rush of arachnids slammed into him, knocking him to the floor.

Danny saw legs, flashes of black eyes with verdance burning deep within, and then pain like acid burst against his right shoulder, his stomach, his left leg. He screamed, feeling the bright acidic energy flowing into him, burning him from the inside as it bloomed across and underneath his skin. Distantly, he felt something soft drifting over him, light as snowfall but as firm as steel cables. It crossed his bleary vision, sickly purple.

The weights on his chest, his arms, his legs, were abruptly flung off of him. He was left staring at the ceiling, where spiders continued to crack their eggs and fall to the ground, but he could hear their hissing voices, impacts, sounds of tearing, squeals of pain, splashes of ectoplasm on carpet. The spider brood was fighting. Apparently there wasn’t enough of him to go around.

Danny could not move. His thoughts were blasted with hot green pain, eating through his limbs and leaving cold numbness in its wake. He knew he had been bitten, repeatedly. This was poison. His enemies were fighting for the chance to devour him. And he could not move.

The deadly, acidic pain trickled down from his shoulder and up from his stomach and danced around his core, which stubbornly burned it away. If not his body, at least his essence was refusing to go down without a fight.

The realization that he was going to die, really die, eaten alive and entirely helpless to do anything about it, galvanized him. He grunted, a strangled sound from deep in his chest. Then Danny pushed at his core. He had no confidence that he would be able to move his limbs to do a damned thing, but if his core was fighting, he would use it as his best asset. He concentrated on it with a singular intensity, blocking out the squall of the hungry spiders, blocking out his pain, willing his core to expand, explode if it needed to.

A different but familiar type of cold rushed through him. A split-second later, a blizzard burst from his awakened cold core, howling through the room and freezing everything in its path. It hit the walls and ceiling and windows, shrieking, and died away. In its wake - silence, like a winter’s night under a blanket of snow.

Icy energy crackled over his skin, momentarily halting the spread of the venom. Danny wanted nothing more than to close his eyes, succumb to the cold numbness of poison and frost. But the spiders weren’t gone, and the next prey they sought would be outside of the library with no weapons to defend themselves. This was a horde that could kill a town. Danny had to protect them.

With a Herculean effort, Danny sat up. The webbing laced over his body crackled and splintered to pieces. The room around him had been transformed into a glimpse of a modern-day Ice Age. Thick, supernaturally blue ice coated the library’s every surface, the spiders and their webs only barely visible in its bright but murky depths. Danny concentrated on moving his right hand, but it was entirely numb and dead to him. He switched to his left, fumbling for the Thermos that hung on his right side. He pulled the strap across his chest until the Thermos was sitting in his lap, wedged between his thighs for support. He unscrewed the lid, lifted it with one hand, braced it against his chest, and hit the button.

Blue light swirled from the softly whirring device, but with no target in its path, it simply dissipated into the air. Frowning, Danny channeled some of his own depleted power into the Thermos to influence its behavior. The light began to do what he wanted. It condensed above the checkout desk in a bright orb. Like a black hole, it began to absorb the ectoplasmic energy around it. Ice, webbing, spiders, everything ghostly in the room began cracking apart and flying into the focal point of the power, which in turn compacted and channeled the energy into the containment device. Danny felt it tugging on even him, but because of the nature of the energy fueling it, he was not swept up in the maelstrom of deconstruction.

No more than a minute later, the room was cleared. Danny snapped the lid back on the Thermos, and everything went dark. Without the ice or webbing, there was little to illuminate the library. After a few seconds, as his eyes adjusted, the room clarified under the soft orange glow of the street lamps outside.

Danny’s core felt like stretched taffy, or a threadbare cloth. It felt like if he were to exert any more pressure on it, it would snap or implode in on itself. Danny was surprised he hadn’t reverted to his human form yet.

He glanced down at himself. He couldn’t see the bite on his shoulder, but he could see the ones on his abdomen and his left leg. Four punctures, holes left in his jumpsuit, roughly the size of nickels. They oozed something green, which Danny might have mistaken for his own ectoplasm if not for the fetid feeling the ooze gave off. Danny wasn’t sure what the poison would do to him, if it was meant to paralyze him or kill him or turn his insides into goo. Already it was fighting his cold core to continue its inextricable path through his body.

A certainty settled over Danny, based on no evidence but his own gut feelings: if he returned to human form, with this poison coursing through him, it would be the end of him.

Sick with dread, Danny fell forward, planting his left arm against the floor, dragging his right leg underneath him, pushing to standing. He nearly toppled over again. His left leg from the knee down was numb, and it barely supported his weight. Danny only managed to walk by rocking onto it and back to his right leg before his knee had the chance to buckle. He did not dare fly.

Danny reached the door and opened it by hand. The webbing that had covered the building earlier was gone, destroyed with the capture of the spider brood. Dazed, Danny hobbled into the parking lot and across the lawn.

He had to get home to Fentonworks. His parents would have something in their lab that could get him through this, preserve his ghost half long enough for it to fight off the poison. Maybe, if he gave himself an injection of purified ectoplasm it would bolster the energy in his core, or maybe he could just toss himself into the Ghost Zone and absorb the atmospheric ectoenergy there.

He had to get home.

He had to walk there.

How many miles was it?

Danny stumbled down the sidewalk in a haze of existential terror and pain. The poison had begun to sludge through him again, climbing his thigh, spreading across his back, filling his chest. He began to feel light-headed, and the edges of his vision were filling with shadows. His feet jerked him forward numbly, but he had no perception of actually moving.

His left knee buckled, and Danny fell to the ground. He tried to catch himself with his hands, but they didn’t respond to the commands from his brain. His chin throbbed dully where it hit concrete.

Danny lay with his chest against the ground, arms limp at his sides, face turned toward the grass. Moisture pooled in his eyes and trickled out of the corners. If he’d had the energy for it, he might have been sobbing. But his upper body was numb, and so was most of the rest of him. Cotton wrapped around his head.

He was dimly aware of sounds: the crunch of tires over asphalt, the slamming of a car door, a shout. His body was turned over, presumably by a person. Danny’s vision was too full of shadows to see who it was.

After that, there was nothing.

---------

Dash had woken to the sound of his PhanClub Ghost Spotters app shouting, “I am the Box Ghost! Beware!”

Blearily, he grabbed his phone off the bedside table and swiped to unlock it. His eyes scanned the notification, picking out key words: public library, giant spider, literally it’s as big as a house, level 5 apparition or higher. It was 2:36 a.m.

Dash groaned, letting the hand holding his phone drop onto the mattress next to his pillow. He was too tired to deal with a fucking ghost spider halfway across town. He had school tomorrow, and besides that, it was a fucking ghost spider. He had no plans of being eaten.

He was nearly back to sleep when his phone nagged him again. “I am the Box Ghost! Beware!” Against his better judgement, Dash brought the screen back up.

2:41 - Phantom is engaging the spider. #IRememberEmber58

And like that, he was wide awake, sitting up in bed and staring at the notification.

It was a long shot. It would take him about fifteen minutes to get to the library, not including the time it took for him to get dressed, sneak downstairs to his car, and actually hit the road. There was a chance Phantom would be long gone by the time he got there.

But…

He was already moving, pulling on sweats and a hoodie, cramming his feet into sneakers that already had the laces tied.

But a level 5 apparition was tough, and a spider the size of a house was a new enemy. It might put up a real fight. If Dash got there in time, he would not only be able to catch a glimpse of his hero in action, but he would also be able to get some new material for his scrapbook. Grabbing his Fenton Camera (the only camera on the market with film and lenses specifically designed to capture ectoplasmic radiation), Dash crept out of his room.

His parents were heavy sleepers. Besides, he was seventeen, and the probability of him getting in trouble for going out at night was extremely low, even if he was caught. As long as he was on track for his scholarship, his parents hardly cared what he did. But Dash was still careful to move quietly through the house. Encountering his folks would waste precious time.

Shortly, he was out the front door, crossing the driveway to the curb, and climbing into his black convertible - top up, because of the absolute crap weather lately. He turned the key in the ignition, put it into gear, and sped out into the silent streets of Amity Park.

In the two and a half years since the PhanClub had been founded, many members had joined, and many of them had since become inactive. Everyone in town - except the Fentons and a few other diehards - had accepted that Phantom was a bona fide hero. No one had abandoned him in that sense. But after two and a half years of seeing Phantom kick ghost butt around town, the ghostly hero had lost his novelty for a lot of people, who then moved onto other things. There were very few members left who, like Dash, were willing to hop out of bed in the middle of the night to drive to ghost fights and take pictures. Most members had either muted their nighttime notifications or gotten rid of the Ghost Spotters app entirely.

Dash considered himself Phantom’s number one fan. He wore the badge with pride and contested it with anyone who tried to claim it (though very few bothered anymore). Sure, there were others on the Ghost Spotters app, like IRememberEmber58, who posted every ghostly encounter they came across, but these guys were “ghostakus” - they were in it for the ghosts, all ghosts, any ghosts. Some Ghost Spotters even supported the local bad guys. Ghosts like Ember, Technus, even the freaking Box Ghost had fans, and many Ghost Spotters would take bets on ghost fights, not over who would win - that was always Phantom - but how long their favorite ghost could escape the Fenton Thermos.

There was even a trading card game… okay, Dash collected those, too. They were pretty cool.

But for Dash, there was only one reason to be in the Ghost Spotters, and that was to be alerted of every appearance of Danny Phantom possible. Watching Phantom in action, risking his life to selflessly protect the people of Amity Park, displaying awesome feats of power, and doing it all with a good sense of humor - it never got old, and Dash didn’t think it ever would.

Dash drove to the library at however many miles over the speed limit he could get away with. Every few minutes, the Ghost Spotters app would light up with a new notification. Dash grabbed his phone and glanced at them:

2:50 - Spider is down. I repeat, spider is down. #IRememberEmber58

2:51 - Vestigial ghost matter on library not disappearing. Phantom looks wary. #IRememberEmber58

2:52 - Phantom entering library. Ghost fight part deux? #IRememberEmber58

2:58 - Webbing on library vanished. May be over people. #IRememberEmber58

Dash growled. He was so close, but it looked like this was going to be a waste of time after all.

At last, the public library rose in Dash’s sight down the road. Like IRememberEmber58 had indicated, everything seemed quiet. Dash figured he ought to drive by anyway, see the damage, maybe catch a glimpse of Phantom flying away, make sure this wasn’t a complete fucking waste of time.

As he pulled up along the eastern side of the library, Dash’s phone went off one more time.

3:01 - Phantom emerging from library - on foot? Probability of injury high. #IRememberEmber58

Dash blinked at the notification. He took his foot off of the pedals, letting his car cruise slowly down the road, all while he squinted through the damp on his windshield towards the front of the library.

There. At the end of the parking lot, cutting across the grass toward the sidewalk a few hundred feet down the road from Dash’s car. Phantom’s aura was so weak that he barely stood out from his misty surroundings. He was limping, on the ground - the actual ground. Dash could see that his right arm was hanging at his side like dead weight and that his head was down, like all of his attention was on putting one foot in front of the other.

This was not good.

Fear wound its cold fingers around Dash’s heart and squeezed. Dash had never seen his hero in such bad shape; even when he lost battles, it was because the other ghost would get away, not because they actually defeated him in combat. Nervous, unsure of what he should be doing, Dash let his car keep coasting down the road so that he could follow Phantom, make sure he got to where he was going okay.

Phantom reached the sidewalk, Dash following a few yards behind. The ghost’s steps were slowing, and he was not walking in a straight line.

All of a sudden, one of Phantom’s knees gave out and he fell over face-first onto the ground.

He did not get up again.

“Shit!” said Dash. His foot slammed down on the accelerator, and his car leaped forward before he managed to slam his foot on the brake. He was out of his car a second later, running around the front of it, falling onto his knees by Phantom’s head.

“Phantom!” he cried out. “Hey man, are you okay?”

Phantom did not respond, did not move. He lay on the wet sidewalk in front of Dash completely inert, damp hair hanging over the half of his face that was turned upward. A Fenton Thermos, strapped over his left shoulder, lay in the small of his back, its indicator pulsing red.

Dash brought up his hands, and they hung in the air over Phantom’s back, shaking. He was hesitant to reach out and touch his idol. He had not been this close to Phantom since the time at Fentonworks back in his freshman year, when they had both been shrunk by some loony Fenton invention and had to fight Skulker to get back to their normal sizes. A true team-up, and Phantom hadn’t spoken to him since. Instead, Phantom had gone on to become even more powerful, defeating huge and impossible foes, rising to a place Dash could never hope to be, probably forgetting all about Dash in the process. Dash didn’t deserve to be this close to Phantom, not anymore.

But Phantom was in trouble, and Dash was all the help he had. It looked like, after two whole years, it was time for another team-up.

As Dash grabbed Phantom’s rain-slick, icy-cold shoulders to turn him over, he did not feel excited about the prospect at all; rather, he felt sick to his stomach.

Phantom weighed basically nothing. It was the easiest thing in the world to roll him onto his back, and Dash half-expected the ghost to dissolve into nothing in his fingers. Once he was on his back, Phantom’s head lolled against Dash’s knees. His eyes were open, dull green rather than the bright, vivid neon they should have been, staring blankly ahead at nothing. Dash saw trails of some silvery moisture coming out of the corners of his eyes, mingling with the rain, and he realized that they were ectoplasmic tears.

“Phantom…?” he whispered. Phantom did nothing to indicate he had heard Dash. The muscles in his face hung slack, and he wasn’t breathing - shit, he wasn’t breathing! But did ghosts even need to breathe? Did they even have lungs?

Could they die?

“Calm the fuck down, Baxter,” he told himself. “He’s not dead. He can’t be. He’s just hurt bad, real bad.” He glanced over Phantom’s body, looking for the injury that had put his hero in such a terrible state. What he saw were six small holes in his jumpsuit, in pairs, two on his right shoulder, two on his stomach, two on his lower left leg, all oozing a sickly green substance. Now that he looked more closely, Dash noticed veins of the same color, branching under the skin on Phantom’s neck where it rose out of the collar of his jumpsuit, curling over his jawline towards his cheeks like emerald lightning bolts.

“What the…” Dash murmured. Then it hit him. Phantom had been fighting a spider. These were spider bites.

Without thinking, Dash reached out his right hand and touched the green stuff oozing from Phantom’s shoulder, just above his collarbone. Immediately he recoiled - it felt like it had stung him! And it kept stinging him, burning him as if he had stuck his fingers into a vat of acid. Dash stared at his fingers in horror. His forefinger and middle finger had two small drops of venom on their tips, and even as he watched, it absorbed into his skin, snaking down through his fingers in bright green lightning bolts of poison.

Dash screamed, kicking away from Phantom, staring at his burning hand. The venom crept down his fingers, into his palm, where finally the green veins tapered to nothing. The sensation of burning sunk into a deep cold, and then into complete numbness. Dash tried to move his fingers; his thumb, ring finger, and pinkie only twitched, and the two that had touched the poison would not respond at all. The muscles in his wrist and at the base of his thumb ached dully. Turning his hand over, Dash saw more lightning bolts pulsing on the back of his hand.

“Fuckfuckfuck.” What had just happened? What was he supposed to do with this?

His eyes were back on Phantom. Whatever had just gotten on Dash’s fingertips, Phantom was full of it. No wonder he wasn’t moving. The dude needed help.

Dash clambered back to his feet, careful of his right hand. He opened the back door of his car, then turned around and, with extreme caution to avoid touching the spider venom again, lifted Phantom into his arms. One arm under the ghost’s knees, one under his back, Dash carried Phantom to his car and gently laid him in the backseat. The weakness of Phantom’s aura was even more apparent in the darkness inside the car.

Dash slammed the door shut and climbed back into the driver’s seat. His Ghost Spotter’s app went off again. Thinking that there might be another ghost around, Dash checked the message and scowled.

3:08 - Phantom abducted by strange black vehicle. Probably the feds. Good luck, ghost boy. #IRememberEmber58

Dash had no clue where IRememberEmber58 was watching the library from. Regardless, he rolled down the window, stuck his hand out, and flipped the dweeb off.

Dash put his right hand over the gearshift but could not clutch it to put the car in drive. Awkwardly, he used his left hand to shift gears. Driving home, his right hand was hooked in the steering wheel at the wrist to help in steering as much as possible. He sure hoped the numbness wasn’t permanent. That was his throwing hand.

On the way back to his house - and was that really the best place to take Phantom but he couldn’t go to a hospital and the Fentons wanted to gut him so screw it Dash’s house was as good a place as any - Dash kept an eye on Phantom in the back seat. There was no outward change in his condition, which could have been good or bad for all Dash knew. The green venom leaking from the bites and glowing under his skin was the brightest thing about the ghost, who could almost be mistaken for human at this point.

Dash speeded all the way home, and it still took too long. As soon as his car was on the curb, Dash cut the engine, leapt out of the vehicle, and got Phantom out of the backseat. He ran with the ghost, who couldn’t have weighed more than twenty pounds, up the driveway to the front door. Dash had to shift Phantom, drape him on his stomach over Dash’s shoulder, so that he could get his key out and get the door open. Once they were inside, Dash carried Phantom up the stairs, praying to God that his parents didn’t choose now to wake up.

At the top of the stairs, Dash began to feel a biting pain in his right shoulder, underneath where Phantom was laying on top of him. Clenching his teeth against an expletive, Dash hurried down the hall, into his bedroom, to the bathroom attachment. He shut the door, turned on the light, and hurriedly deposited Phantom in the bathtub. Stepping back to the counter, Dash looked in the mirror and was horrified to see that some of the venom from Phantom’s stomach had seeped into his hoodie. Crying out, he frantically yanked the hoodie off and threw it into the corner.

Turning back to the mirror, Dash watched three small fireworks of ectoplasmic venom sparking across his right shoulder. The bitter cold sensation sank deep into his muscles, and by the time the numbness set in, Dash was not surprised to find that he couldn’t lift his arm. With his hand already out of commission, the only thing he could do was bend his arm, weakly, at the elbow.

Dash gripped the countertop with his left hand and leaned forward until his forehead was resting on the cool surface of the mirror. Things were fucked, and he knew it. His hero was laying in his bathtub, possibly dead. Dash himself had been poisoned by a giant ectoplasmic spider he hadn’t even seen, and who knew what kind of messed up shit this was going to do to him?

He had no idea how to help either of them. He was just Dash Baxter, high school quarterback. He wasn’t smart enough to be useful to anyone in an emergency, not even himself.

He forced himself to take several deep breaths. He reminded himself that he might not have been the best help for Phantom, but he was the only help the hero had. Dash had to do something. For all the times Phantom had saved his life and the lives of everyone in Amity Park, he had to do something.

Not looking at Phantom - not yet - Dash went back into his bedroom. He dug around in his closet until he found the lime green raincoat his grandma had bought for him on his last birthday, which was so ugly that he had never worn it. Awkwardly, he shrugged it on, using his left hand to grab his right and drag the right arm into a sleeve. Then he went back downstairs into the kitchen, where he grabbed a pair of rubber gloves from under the sink that his mom used to wash dishes. He hoped that this would be enough.

Back upstairs in the bathroom, wearing the raincoat and rubber gloves, Dash finally looked at Phantom in the tub. The ghost looked even worse under the bright LED lighting. His glow was essentially nonexistent, his normally tanned complexion was sallow, and his dulled green eyes continued to stare into nothingness. Phantom’s white hair was plastered to his head with the moisture from outside, and his suit was wet with water and smears of toxic venom.

Dash had to get the venom out of Phantom. The question was - how?

Dash sat down cautiously on the edge of the tub. With his left hand, he pushed Phantom into a more comfortable position, sitting propped against one end of the basin. He grabbed the strap of the Fenton Thermos and pulled it over Phantom’s head before setting the surprisingly heavy contraption on the floor behind the toilet; Dash knew what was inside, and he wasn’t about to unleash a house-sized spider monster because he accidentally kicked the thing.

Turning back to Phantom, he experimentally touched some of the venom on Phantom’s leg with his glove, half expecting the ectoplasm to eat through the material. It didn’t, and Dash heaved a sigh of relief.

Using his left hand, Dash tried pinching the skin and muscles of Phantom’s shoulder to squeeze some of the poison out, but between the rubber of his glove and the slick material of Phantom’s jumpsuit, it was impossible to get a hold. Really, the jumpsuit needed to go.

Dash flushed red at the thought. Was he really sitting here, thinking about undressing his hero…? His eyes found the little zipper at the top of the neck, and Dash gulped. A second later, he was berating himself. “You’re being an idiot. Just take the damn suit off so you can help him.” He reached out, grabbed the zipper, and pulled.

Dash soon discovered it was a chore and a half to use one hand to undress another guy who was completely limp, and any excitement he might have felt at the task quickly evaporated. It was several minutes before Dash had Phantom out of his gloves, boots, and jumpsuit, which he piled in a heap on the floor next to the tub, leaving Phantom in nothing but his white undies.

Like the patterning on Phantom’s neck, the rest of his body was covered in zigzagging bolts of pulsing emerald poison, especially concentrated around the three weeping bite wounds. Dash felt sick looking at it, and he hoped Phantom wasn’t conscious underneath that blank expression.

Dash turned on the bathtub faucet and ran the water until it was lukewarm. Phantom showed no reaction to the liquid sloshing around his legs, but Dash had not expected him to. Dash figured room temperature was the best bet - he didn’t want to burn the ghost, but he didn’t think cold water would be good for someone with spider bites, even if ghosts were naturally cold. Thinking about that, Dash rinsed his left glove in the faucet and then used his teeth to tug it off of his hand. He then laid the back of his hand against Phantom’s forehead.

It was warm. Human warm. Dash had been grabbed by enough ghosts in his life to know that Phantom should have felt as cool as the inside of a freezer. Phantom’s heat now must have been the ghostly equivalent of a fever.

On second thought, Dash cut the heat to the faucet entirely.

He used his teeth to pull his glove back on, grabbed a clean towel from under the sink, took down the showerhead, and turned the hose on. Dash used the showerhead to rinse the globs of venom from Phantom’s wounds. Then he set the hose down near the drain and began pinching the punctures, starting with the ones on Phantom’s shoulder. Venom ran from them freely, running in viscous rivulets over Phantom’s chest. Dash stopped every few seconds to hose Phantom off, sending the toxic - probably radioactive - ectoplasm down the drain to be carried far away from the Baxter home.

Dash pushed against the wound until he was sure Phantom would have bruises, and it kept offering him venom. It was not until several minutes later when the green liquid oozing from the wound lost its visceral feeling of venom and turned into a much more neutral shade of green. It was the strangest thing. The two types of ectoplasm - the spider venom and Phantom’s ‘blood’ - were almost identical to the naked eye. Dash only knew that the venom had turned to ectoplasmic lifeblood when his gut stopped screaming at him about the wrongness of the liquid he was seeing.

Dash repeated this process on the other two punctures. By the time he finished, Dash noticed that some of the bolts of venom across Phantom’s skin had begun to lose their intensity. That was good. Dash had actually been able to do something.

He rinsed Phantom off one last time from head to feet and then turned off the water. Dash patted Phantom dry the best he could considering the ghost was sitting in a damp tub in soaked underwear. Tossing aside the towel with the rest of the discarded clothing, Dash bent down, slid his left arm under Phantom’s back, managed to hook his right arm under the ghost’s legs, and lifted him out of the tub. He was thankful that Phantom weighed next to nothing, otherwise his mostly paralyzed right arm would not have been able to support his weight.

Dash carried Phantom back to his bedroom and laid Phantom in his bed. The covers were already thrown back from when Dash had gotten his Ghost Spotters alert an hour earlier. Complexion drained, eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling, hair damp, veins etched in poison - Dash’s hero looked so small and helpless. It made Dash want to hold him. Either that, or cry.

He did neither. Instead, he stripped off his gloves and raincoat, which he put in the bathroom with the rest of the contaminated articles of clothing. He went back to his closet and pulled out a pair of pajamas from the bottom of a bin. They were his favorite pair from when he was in junior high but had no longer fit him once he got taller and bulked up in high school. Warm red flannel, patterned with brown teddy bears wearing cozy-looking scarves - the only person outside of his family who had seen these was Kwan, who was sworn to secrecy. But they had been the best, especially during the winter or when Dash had been sick, the times when it was important to feel comfortable. They would probably fit Phantom.

Averting his eyes, feeling his face burning, Dash peeled Phantom’s soaked underwear off, dropped them on the carpet, and immediately put the ghost boy’s legs in his red flannel pajama pants. The hero’s modesty preserved, Dash pinched the underwear between two of his fingers, took them to the bathroom, and hung them over the shower curtain rail to dry. They hung there innocuously, glowing faintly - ghost undies.

Back in his bedroom, Dash wrestled Phantom’s upper half into the pajama top. His estimate had been mostly right - Phantom was a little too tall and his arms too long for the pajamas, by about an inch, but otherwise the pjs fit him. Phantom was pretty small.

The veins of venom on the ghost boy’s face had retreated past his jawline and were not glowing so fiercely. Now that the rest of the ones on his body were hidden from sight, he looked a lot better, although it was strange to see the hero wearing Dash’s favorite childhood pajamas, laying in his bed. A strange flutter tickled in Dash’s stomach and flitted into his heart. He was blushing again.

Gingerly, Dash pulled the blankets over Phantom up to his chin and tucked them around him. Even more gingerly, trying not to draw comparisons between this paralyzed ghost and a dead body, Dash touched two fingers to Phantom’s eyelids and closed them. If - no, when Phantom recovered from the spider poison, it wouldn’t hurt him to get a few hours of sleep… assuming ghosts slept.

Dash preemptively texted his parents, letting them know that he was sick and would be staying home from school that day. He hadn’t had a sick day since last school year, so he knew they would take him at his word. To be safe, he locked his bedroom door.

He pulled his computer chair over to the side of the bed and slumped into it. His numb right arm lay in his lap, paralyzed, the green lightning bolts on his hand as harsh and virulent as when they first appeared. He tried not to think about it. Instead, he sat up, determined to watch over his hero through the rest of the night.

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Part 2 -->

#tfc writes #danny phantom #dash baxter #pre-swagger-bishie #protective!dash #injured danny #here be spiders

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vampiregirl1797 · 4 years

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You’re My Eternal Love

Edward Cullen x Reader

GIF Not Mine.

Warnings: Self-depreciation, pining, minor angst, major fluff. Bella isn’t nice in this one guys.

Word count: 14,843—super long so be sure to grab yourself some snacks and a cuppa tea!

Click Here For My Masterlist.

Summary: Bella and Y/N go to Italy to stop Edward from committing suicide. It’s going to be a difficult excursion for more reasons than Y/N can possibly imagine. For starters, she doesn’t possess the same mind defences as her sister, meaning she’s much more vulnerable to the gifts of Aro and Jane. But that isn’t going to stop her from helping to save the man she’s secretly in love with. She’s done a very good job at keeping it quiet so far, especially with Edward’s ability to read her thoughts. Y/N is well aware that she’s risking her life, but as long as Edward’s is saved, her own existence is of little consequence to her. The danger, she’s prepared for, but to have more revealed than she’s ready to reveal is going to be the hardest part. Everything has the potential to fall to pieces, but will it? Also let’s pretend that Bella is a year younger, putting her in junior year and Y/N in senior year.

I took a deep breath as I processed everything that I’d just been told. Edward had gone to the Volturi—Vampire royalty who created and enforced rules that everyone belonging to that species must follow—in order to end his own life. I internally cursed my sister’s recklessness.

‘Let’s just jump off the cliff, Y/N. What’s the worst that could happen?’

She’d dragged me along to keep her company on LA Push beach as she waited for Jake—her new love interest—to finish his wolf patrol and meet her. The werewolf had forewarned her that he’d probably be late, so I was a means to avoid boredom. If she hadn’t played the sister card, I wouldn’t have gone. If I’d just ignored her insistence at trying another reckless activity, this wouldn’t be happening. Edward would be living his immortal life danger free in… wherever the hell he had been. But no, Bella had insisted that it would be a rush, something Jake had got her hooked onto after she’d bought him some bikes to fix up as an excuse to spend some time with him. She’d gone first, even though I’d still been trying to talk her out of it, and I’d waited anxiously on the cliff edge for her face to break the surface of the angry blue sea so that my nerves would fade. But that hadn’t happened. She didn’t come up, and stupidly, I’d gone after her. If I’d stopped to think logically I would have realized that I was human, too. If Bella hadn’t been able to fight the waves to escape the ocean, why would I have a chance? I should have screamed for help, perhaps loud enough for some of the resident werewolves to hear if they were nearby.

Unfortunately, logic and reasoning goes out of the window when someone you love, when your sister, is in danger. So without thought, only glaring panic echoing throughout my veins, I’d jumped in, the ice-cold water encasing me like a predator caging its prey. Again, if I’d been calm enough to be rational, I wouldn’t have wasted the precious energy I’d had frantically searching, my arms slashing as fast as they could through the dark abyss of water. Any attempts to locate my sister had failed and in a moment of sheer stupidity, I’d opened my mouth, as if to call out her name. The water rushing into my mouth and down into my lungs had been the last thing I remembered as I closed my eyes and allowed death to claim me.

When I’d woken up on the beach, my lungs burning and throat raw, with Sam Uley standing over me I’d been disorientated. But the wave of realization washed over me with more ferocity than the waves had, and I was soon frantically looking around for Bella. She had been fine, sat over on a fallen log about twenty feet away on Jacob’s lap. He was holding her close and I’d remembered the shot of betrayal that shot through my heart like an arrow at her lack of concern. It burned like I’d been branded with a constant reminder of how little my sister appeared to care for me. When I looked back to the alpha werewolf, to thank him for saving my life, he’d told me I was welcome without taking his disapproving eyes off Bella. That had been the first time my defensive hackles hadn’t rose at the sight of someone criticizing my family—I was always in her corner, but in that moment, I couldn’t bring myself to even muster up an insincere effort. Sam had taken me home, not addressing the elephant in the car, and I waited until I was in the security of my bedroom to let the tears fall.

I had been starting to wonder if anyone—other than Charlie and Renée even cared about me. I thought the Cullen’s had loved me like family, I knew I had loved, still loved, them in that manner. All but one. I banished that thought from my head and returned to my original thought. If my own sister didn’t care if I lived or died, then how could I be sure that any of the Cullen’s had loved me like I loved them? That particular thought had me wallowing in self-pity for most of the day and after I’d showered, I’d basically collapsed into my bed and allowed exhaustion to claim me. Apparently almost dying really took it out of you.

I’d woken to my shoulder being shaken by something very cold and as if my depressing thoughts had conjured them—well one of them—Alice Cullen had been stood there with a relieved and confused expression on her face. I’d told her everything that happened and she filled me in on some of the things the Cullen’s had been up to, though her details on Edward were minimal. I assumed that was because she didn’t want me to potentially pass on information that would hurt my sister, so I didn’t comment, though I myself was secretly relieved. Information on the boy who’d never known—would never know—that I loved him was just too much for me to handle. Bella had joined us well past dark and had a much more resigned reunion with the pixie haired Cullen. I’d been confused at her lack of enthusiasm, but she was polite enough and agreed with my insistence that Alice should stay with us for at least a few days before she left again. But she didn’t seem to care either way, and I found myself irked by that before a thought entered my mind: what if the presence of Edward’s sister was bringing up memories that were simply too difficult for her to bear? I softened marginally after considering that, but not much.

But apparently, that hadn’t been the reason for her indifference at all, as while Alice stood in front of where Bella and I were sat on the small couch in our home, my sister couldn’t appear less interested in what the psychic vampire was saying to us. I felt my first spark of anger then, but I pushed it down knowing that I needed to convince her to come with us, otherwise we’d have no hope of saving him, and the possibility of that hurt too much for me to consider it for more than half a second.

‘Bella, we have to go. This is Edward we’re talking about, you owe it to him to let him know you��re alive at the very least.’ I insisted, I knew my eyes were most likely burning with panic that she wouldn’t go and anger that she looked between the vampire and me as if we were discussing the weather forecast.

Something in my expression must have convinced her, or maybe she realized that if Alice wanted to get her to Italy, she would be able to very easily whether she wanted to go or not. Either way, I ran to my room and frantically packed two backpacks, one for each of us, full of essentials before I returned to the living room where Alice was already waiting. Bella pulled on her jacket and took her designated backpack without complaint or haste while I retrieved our passports from the drawer in the kitchen. I scribbled out a note to Charlie explaining that Alice, Bella and I were taking an impromptu trip to Seattle to spend some quality girl time together before Alice left again. I apologized for the timing but promised that we’d be in touch. I scribbled down Alice’s cell number and signed our names. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too mad, or worried, but I knew those hopes were fruitless because of course he would be. But I didn’t let that concern me as I slid into Alice’s car, at least not while I had bigger concerns on my mind. I ignored the screeching of the tires as she gunned the accelerator and sat back in my seat, eyes closing as I tried to pacify myself with imagining Edward happy and most importantly… alive.

This had better work.

When we finally arrived in Volterra, the heart of the Volturi city, Bella had been sent off to the clock tower while Alice and I made our way to them through the shadows. I had lost sight of her in all the pedestrians wearing read from head to toe, and I found anxiety swirling in my stomach as I hoped she moved with more urgency than she’d been showing all day. If Edward exposed himself and died because Bella didn’t move with enough haste… I wasn’t sure I’d be able to forgive her.

We located them in the alley underneath the clock tower, but neither looked happy to be in one another’s presence. In fact, Bella looked down right pissed and Edward wasn’t far off, either. The only difference in his behaviour was that his eyes held relief alongside the anger. Despite what I was sure would turn into a lover’s reunion that would wound me irreparably, I couldn’t find it within myself to care because Edward was okay. I leaped into his arms as soon as I’d saw him, not giving it a second thought as my own relief overpowered me and controlled my actions without permission.

Before any words could be spoken between the four of us, two vampires joined us in the shadows. Their names were revealed to be Demetri and Felix and I felt myself tense as they revealed that the Volturi wanted to see all of us. My eyes flitted to my sister and away again before I gave away any weakness. She might not have cared for my well being, but I certainly cared for hers. I didn’t try to fight the sheer panic and anxiety that formed in my gut as we were herded underground by the two male vampires and the other female, Jane, that had joined us moments after. What was going to happen? They couldn’t have wanted to see Bella and I out of mere curiosity. I felt myself shiver as I realized the implication of our presence—we were going to die. I wondered if there would be any way that I could barter my life to save Bella’s, but why would they even consider that as an option, when they could easily kill us both anyway? It wasn’t like I had something to offer them that they would be interested in. It hit me then; Bella had a better chance of getting out of this than I did, regardless. Her mind defenses made her interesting, and I could only hope that Aro and the others would see potential and allow her to leave if she became immortal. That was what she wanted, anyway. And seeing as she didn’t care if I lived or died, it shouldn’t be too difficult for her to leave me behind to feed the hungry vampires. I fought back a shudder at the thought but felt myself relax with the knowledge that Edward, Alice and Bella had a very good chance of leaving here alive.

I jolted when a cold hand enveloped mine and looked into the black eyes of Edward, gazing at me with a mixture of concern and fury. I wondered what I had done to receive such a reception but I realized that he’d probably been hearing my inner monologue and I felt my lips tilt up into a sheepish smile. I also felt my heart squeeze in hope—if he was angry with me discussing my death with myself so calmly and clinically, maybe he did care for me? Maybe all of the Cullen’s did? Or perhaps his selflessness wouldn’t allow the thought of another sacrificing their own life for his immortal one. I sighed at that thought; it was more likely after all.

It didn’t seem to take long for us to reach the room we were expected in, or maybe it did. I’d been so lost in my own thoughts I hadn’t really been paying attention. If Edward hadn’t taken it upon himself to guide me, I probably would have ended up walking into the back of Jane, not realizing we’d stopped. I definitely would have been dinner then. I blinked myself out of my self inflicted daze and glanced around, noting the medieval structure of the small, circular room. I felt like I’d travelled back in time to the sixteenth century as the interior felt so much like a castle. The grey cobble stones made up the walls from floor to ceiling and I felt myself shiver as the coolness of the room caught up with me. The three vampires we were here to see sat in front of us on three identical wooden thrones. Aro I recognized from the painting I’d been shown once; he sat in the middle. Another dark haired vampire sat in the throne to his right, while a blonde male sat in the seat to his right. Aro looked positively delighted at our appearance, as if we were old friends who’d simply popped in for a friendly visit. I shuddered at the over familiarity and wondered if the recognition in his eyes were because of a gift similar to Alice’s. Did he know we were coming?

He stepped down from his throne, stopping a few feet away from the four of us, clapping his hands together in delight just once before they dropped to his sides. Bella stiffened as his eyes trailed over her with moderate interest, but when they fell on me he positively beamed, much to my confusion. Edward stiffened and gripped my hand tighter, pulling me half a step behind him. I wondered what Aro had thought for him to do that, but I didn’t comment on it, trusting his judgment.

‘No need to fret, Edward. I simply wished to introduce myself to your… friend.’ I frowned at his emphasis on that word, his tone implied that he knew something I didn’t, which didn’t make any sense.

‘I understand Bella is immune to your abilities, but Y/N is not. After seeing her from your mind, your point of view, I am more than curious to see inside this particular humans head.’ He practically purred and I wondered if I would lose my head if I told him to fuck off. Probably.

‘What are your abilities exactly?’ I asked, my voice no more than a murmur, but that wasn’t a problem for my present company.

‘Aro can read every thought your mind has ever had with just one touch.’ Edward told me, his eyes remaining on the ancient vampire stood before us but his head tilted in my direction to avoid miscommunication.

I felt my eyes widen in horror and I spoke without thinking, ‘absolutely not.’

That only seemed to pique his interest more, if that were possible. His dark iris’s positively gleamed and he took half a step forward, pausing at the growl that left Edward’s throat. I felt my heart skip a beat at the sound, not out of fear, but surprise.

‘It’s nothing to fear, child. Just one touch, it’s completely painless and I must say, your reluctance has me wondering what you’re so eager to hide.’ He grinned and I wanted to scream.

‘I’m not worried about pain; I’m more worried about invasion of privacy. Edward I’m used to, at least with him I only have to worry about what he hears when he’s around, but for you to hear everything, things that are supposed to be private… well I can’t say I like the idea.’ I ran my free hand through my hair, stressed because I knew that Aro seeing all of my thoughts would mean that Edward would be able to read them at the same time.

Everything I’d worked so hard to hide would be laid out on a silver platter. A wave of nausea washed over me and Edward held me tighter to his side, I felt myself relax as the cold chased away the sudden bought of sickness but my fear remained. But as I met Aro’s eyes again, I could see his patience wavering. Him “asking” had never really been him offering a choice, it had been him attempting to allude to a sense of security that I knew he wouldn’t deliver. I had no options in this. Not really. I sighed and stepped forward so that I was now half a step in front of the vampire who still had a hold on me, in more ways than one. I held out my free hand, palm up and tried not to wince when the black haired vampire was suddenly stood right in front of me, taking my thoughts greedily. His eyes glazed over as if he were suddenly somewhere else and I tried to hold back the sheer terror attempting to break free by distracting myself at how different each vampire’s skin felt. Edward’s was as cool as marble but some how soft—Aro’s felt like sandpaper that had been pulled from the freezer. I longed to release his hand but I knew it would be pointless to even try; I’d probably cause myself more harm. So I stood there for what felt like hours as Aro sifted through every thought I’d ever had with the look of a reader flicking through their favourite book. When he did release me, his eyes not quite yet returning to reality, Edward scooped me up and put a three-foot gap between me and Aro before I’d fully registered that I was even freed from the sand paper touch. I avoided Edward’s expression, afraid of what I would see now that he knew what I’d been keeping to myself for so long. Despite the panic that my feelings were most definitely going to complicate everything, I couldn’t help the small echo of relief at him, at someone, finally knowing the secret I’d buried deep inside myself. Even if one of those people was a member of the deadliest coven in the world.

‘So… fascinating!’ He yelled with childlike glee, his eyes flickering between Edward and I, ‘to see how much you pine for one another, how much pain could have been avoided by simple communication!’

I frowned, confused and despite my head telling me not to, I looked up to the vampire still holding me to see his expression completely blank and void of emotion. I sighed in annoyance, wishing I could read his mind like he could so easily read mine. Aro must have misunderstood. There is simply no way that the godlike perfection of Edward Cullen would pine after me when he was so enraptured with my sister.

‘You don’t believe me, do you child?’ Aro’s voice caused me to look back over to him and I felt unnerved at the smug, knowing expression he wore.

‘You believe his heart lies with her.’ His eyes left mine to look over to the only other human in the room, his eyes narrowing in what appeared to be distaste before his dark gaze was once again back on me, ‘you believe he came here to end his own life because Bella jumped into the water.’

I felt a flash of irritation through the confusion that was swirling through my belly. I wanted an explanation over what the hell was going on, but I didn’t want it from him. I wanted it from the vampire standing next to me, the vampire who hadn’t yet relaxed his tense and protective stance beside me. I looked past Alice, who was stood next to Edward, to my sister and wondered why she didn’t seem as confused as I did. But there was no emotion on her face. She wasn’t angry at me potentially being in love with her ex-boyfriend. If anything she looked uninterested and I briefly wondered if she loved the werewolf more than I’d realized. I’d thought he was just a rebound, after all how could anyone truly replace the incredible person she had lost due to his desire to keep her safe? Evidently, I was wrong. Bella was over Edward, perhaps more than I’d realized, and I wondered for the first time if she’d ever even missed him. If the haze she’d briefly slipped into upon his departure hadn’t been depression as I’d originally thought, but rather indifference. The answer hit me like a slap in the face.

She’d never loved him.

That was why it had been so easy for her to carry on as if nothing had happened. That was why she didn’t care about Edward potentially killing himself. I wondered then if I’d simply been deluding myself for the months they were together, if I’d merely been projecting the way I’d felt about the vampire onto my sister, because I couldn’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t love him with every fiber of their being.

But if that was the case, why had they dated for so long? Why had Edward left to protect her, if there had been no love between them to begin with?

I sighed, looking back up to Edward again, appraising his expression carefully, but it was no use. He was a master of control—he simply looked calm, emotionless and I felt like I wanted to scream in frustration. I wanted an explanation from him. I wanted to know what was going on, definitely, but I didn’t want to hear Edwards’s thoughts edited by Aro. I wanted to hear them directly, from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. But it didn’t look like I had a choice because Aro was only too delighted to relay what he’d seen like he was re-accounting his favorite TV show for those who’d missed it, and Edward was frozen still.

‘The most interesting part about it all is your unwillingness to admit your feelings for her, Edward, despite the fact you feel so… broken without her around.’ He tusked as he thought, most likely flicking through all he had seen, ‘you—.’

I blinked in surprise when Edward finally unfroze, his eyes turning to me for the first time in what felt like years. I was taken aback by the emotion swirling in his dark, thirsty eyes and found myself unable to look away as he spoke, his soft voice wrapping around me like velvet.

‘You’re right, I do owe you an explanation and I will give it to you.’ He took an unnecessary breath, ‘your sister’s blood isn’t the blood that is irresistible to me, yours is. I dated Bella as a way of having an excuse to be near you, without being too close. I didn’t trust myself, you see, and when your sister got hurt all I saw was how easy it would be for you to be fatally injured because of me. I couldn’t bear it. That’s why I left; I figured it would be what was best for you. You didn’t know how I felt, how much I love you—your life would be untouched by me, and you’d be able to live the normal, happy life you deserved.’

I could feel the surprise on my face, but my thoughts were spinning too fast for me to worry about my expression in that moment. Could he care about me enough to fake a relationship in order to assure I was protected from himself? I couldn’t believe it, and yet I could. I’d have be stupid to ignore the love shining in his eyes as he looked at me, to disregard the gentle and tender way that he held me. Edward loved me. My heart like it was going to expand out of my chest as I thought I love you, Edward. I always have and I always will. His eyes softened, and before him I never would have believed that black eyes could be gentle, but they were and I felt myself melting into his touch, not caring about our audience.

There was still so much we needed to talk about, like why Bella had gone along with the relationship—she would have known that Edward’s love wasn’t genuine, that I was sure of, my sister was anything but unobservant—so why hadn’t she said anything first? I’d also needed to lecture Edward on keeping his feelings from me, on coming to Italy to end his—God, I couldn’t even finish the thought—but I was aware that there was a possibility that I wasn’t going to leave here alive. And strangely, I couldn’t bring myself to muster up too much panic over that. Knowing Edward loved me as I loved him? That was all I needed to die happy. Maybe that sounded crazy, but it was the truth. I noticed Edward’s eyes harden at the turn my thoughts had taken and he held me tighter against his side, his body once again becoming very still. His change in behaviour seemed to heighten the tension in the air, tension that I’d been blind to as we’d been lost in our own bubble for who knows how long, but I was very aware of it now.

‘Right, well obviously we have a matter to discuss and a verdict to come to.’ Aro smiled, his face suddenly malicious as he thought over what he could accuse us of to justify our deaths.

I only hoped Bella, Alice and Edward would leave here alive. After all, the two vampires hadn’t broken any laws after all and Bella had the excuse of already knowing about vampires because of her werewolf boyfriend.

‘I don’t see how any punishments should be administered, Aro.’ Edward spoke up, his voice full of confidence and assertiveness, though his expression remained as expressionless as stone, ‘no rules were broken.’

The blonde vampire in one of the three thrones spoke up for the first time, his long, bony finger pointing at me and then Bella as he spoke, ‘that is not true. You’ve exposed our secrets to humans. They know too much, they must either be turned or destroyed.’

‘Yes, Caius I would agree with you, when it comes to Y/N, but Bella is a little more complicated, I’m afraid.’ Aro pursed his lips, placing his hands to his face in a prayer potion that I was too on edge to find irony in, ‘she cohorts with werewolves, our natural enemies, and therefore her knowledge of our existence can be justified.’

I breathed a sigh of relief at that and tried to ignore the smug smile that formed on my sister’s lips. Aro’s dark eyes turned to me next and I felt a shiver slither down my spine.

‘Y/N, with you my brother is correct. Humans are merely forbidden to know of our existence, except for unique circumstances, of course,’ his eyes flickered to Bella and back to me so quickly that I wondered if I’d imagined it, ‘unless Edward is willing for you to become immortal and prove it, then unfortunately you’ll die here today.’

A growl rumbled in Edward’s chest at the threat behind the ancient vampire’s words and he held me tighter. I knew what I wanted. It was something I’d dreamed of more than once, to be with him forever. Of course the happy feeling my dream inspired was often chased away with guilt when I regained consciousness, but the desire still remained, no matter how wrong I believed it to be at the time. But now, it was possible. I could be with Edward for eternity, if he would have me. I wouldn’t want to force myself on him forever if he didn’t really want me, after all what was to say he wouldn’t lose interest within a few months of us actually being in a relationship? He could easily grow bored with me, and soon realize that I wasn’t interesting, or funny or beautiful. He would realize he didn’t love me after all, and the thought of that was so painful that the thought of dying by the hands of the Volturi didn’t seem so bad. I’d rather die now than expect an eternity with the man I loved, only for him to discard of me when he realized I wasn’t good enough for him. Because I wasn’t, was I? My heart sank with the realization and a sigh fell past my lips. I opened my mouth to tell them to kill me, because I loved Edward too much to force him into an eternity with me that he’d probably never considered, or wanted. But Alice’s voice, soft as wind chimes, injected into the conversation for the first time. I noticed Aro’s delight as the younger Cullen spoke up.

‘She will be one of us. I’ve seen it. I can show you, if you’d like.’ She held out her hand, the same way I had, but somehow with much more grace. Aro stepped forward and took it eagerly, his eyes un-focusing and a look of sheer enjoyment freezing on his face.

I took his distraction as an opportunity to look up to Edward, my eyes pausing on the dark circles underneath his orbs and wondering just how long he’d gone without feeding. He looked incredibly thirsty and I felt my heart twist in concern. His eyes met mine, soft as melted licorice and smiled a small, gentle smile that had my heart stuttering in my chest. I thought he might grin at the reaction, but Aro’s gasp of wonder drew our attention and I looked over to see him taking me in with an appreciative gleam in his eyes.

‘I can see that there are no issues at all.’ He grinned, but it didn’t offer any comfort, ‘you are free to go, we ask only that you do not linger in the city.’

‘That won’t be a problem.’ Edward’s voice was polite, but the hostility behind his speech was still present, even if it was only the slightest hint.

I looked over to Aro, managing a glimpse before Edward steered me away, and I wondered if he’d been able to sense he anger behind his words. It didn’t seem like it—he was smiling like a cat that ate the cream, no trace of offence on his expression at all. I leaned further into Edward’s hold as we escaped back through the way we came, Alice and Bella trailing behind us. It didn’t take us long to reach the streets and after the younger Cullen had retrieved our bags from wherever she’d stashed them earlier, we climbed into the new car she’d managed to steal. Bella sat in the passenger seat while Edward and I took the back. I marveled at how natural it felt to be in the vampire’s arms, it was if I belonged there and I tentatively wondered if it felt the same for him.

‘Are you okay?’ my fingers carefully traced the dark circles underneath his eyes that hinted at the discomfort he was probably feeling.

He took my fingers in his free hand and bought them to his lips, kissing them before entwining our hands together. My heart stuttered in my chest and he smiled, ‘I’m perfectly fine, better than fine actually.’ His face went to my hair and I could hear him inhale my scent, a contented noise falling from his lips.

‘I know what you mean.’ I murmured, turning my face into the crook of his neck and inhaling his sweet, addictive scent. I’d never been this close before—in the past I’d only ever caught a whiff as he walked past me, or reached over me to grab something, but now I was surrounded by his wonderful smell and I found myself pleasantly overwhelmed.

‘By the way, we will talk about those absurd thoughts you were having earlier. Don’t think I’ll forget.’ His voice was low as he murmured in my ear, the promise behind his words made me shiver and I wondered what thoughts he was talking about.

‘Okay,’ I agreed, knowing he’d have to be near me to have that conversation, and I still wasn’t completely convinced that he wasn’t going to change his mind on a whim.

A small rumble sounded in his chest, but it wasn’t threatening, it was more a sound of frustration and I wondered if his thirst was bothering him more than he wanted me to know. I was just thinking about moving off his lap—honestly I couldn’t even remember how I’d got there—but he was holding me tighter before I could even complete the thought. I didn’t fight him, trusting that he knew his own thirst and restrictions better than I did, and it wasn’t like I was uncomfortable, so I decided to appreciate his closeness, not knowing when I’d get the chance again. My eyes fluttered shut as I worked to commit the moment to memory—the way he felt against me, hard, cold and comforting, the way he smelled, sweet, wonderful and soothing. I was so dedicated to my attempt at committing that moment to memory, that unconsciousness fell over me without warning, but in the arms of the man I loved I couldn’t help but feel anything other than content.

Waking up was a disorientating experience. I was still in a car, but it was different somehow, and I wasn’t conscious enough to figure out why that was or how I’d been moved without being woken. I was still in Edward’s cold, comforting hold and I found myself wanting to fall back into unconsciousness, more tired than I realized, but I heard voices that I wasn’t expecting. My eyes fluttered open and I glanced around, shying away from the brightness outside of the car window and hiding my face into Edward’s neck for a moment to give my eyes time to adjust. I couldn’t resist a discrete inhale while I was there and I felt myself relax further into his arms before I lifted my head again, looking to the driver. I frowned in confusion when I saw a bulky, brawny frame instead of Alice; I was even more confused to see blonde hair over the passenger headrest instead of my sister’s brunette head.

‘How long have I been out?’ My voice sounded scratchy and I found myself wishing I had a bottle of water to soothe it. I settled for clearing my throat and swallowing a few times instead.

‘Just over ten hours.’ Edward’s musical voice answered, soft and soothing as his lips found my hair. My heart sped up and he chuckled quietly, his eyes fluttering shut as if he were savoring the sound.

‘Where’s Bella?’

‘She’s in the other car with Alice, Jasper, Carlisle and Esme. Rosalie wanted to ride with us to try and apologise, of course your unconsciousness didn’t really help her there.’ He chuckled again, a mixture of amused and angry.

I frowned, ‘I’m clearly missing something here.’

‘Alice didn’t tell you how I heard about her vision?’ he looked down to me, continuing when he found the answer in my head, his voice bleak, ‘Rosalie tracked me down to tell me what Alice saw. I called to see if it was true and a boy… Jacob? Answered the phone and told me Charlie was planning the funeral.’

That was news to me, I hadn’t even known there had been a phone call, or that Jacob had even been over that day. I’d come down stairs to find Alice stood in the middle of the living room, frozen with horror and Bella sat on the couch, confused and a little annoyed. All I’d known was that Edward had gone to Italy to— I shuddered, unable to finish the thought—that was all I needed to know. The why or how didn’t matter to me, I just knew I’d needed to stop him. My hold on his shoulders tightened as relief overcame me—we’d succeeded, he was fine, safe.

‘Y/N?’ Rosalie’s voice bought me out of my thoughts and I looked over to her, my eyes softening at the remorse I saw in her honey colored eyes, ‘I’m so terribly sorry that my rashness resulted in you having to risk your life, but I will never be able to thank you adequately for being brave enough to save my brother. I certainly don’t deserve it, but I hope you can forgive me.’

‘Of course I forgive you, Rosalie. How or why doesn’t mean anything to me, all I cared about was making sure Edward left Italy alive. That’s all that matters.’ I gripped him tighter to prove my point and my eyes fluttered shut when his cool lips kissed me behind my ear.

‘Thank you, Y/N.’ Rosalie said, sounding much less troubled, but I suspected that she was going to beat herself up over this for a long time. I offered her what I hoped was a comforting smile.

I wished she wouldn’t, I meant what I said about the how or why not mattering, but if we really considered it, wasn’t this really my fault? I was the one who jumped off that cliff after Bella. I flinched as I remembered waking up on the beach to the alpha being the only one who seemed to care for my wellbeing. Edward’s arms tightened around my waist and a growl rumbled in his chest, clearly not pleased with my sister’s lack of interest in my life. I melted further into him, grateful for how safe his arms made me feel and I found myself selfishly hoping that I wouldn’t lose that. That I wouldn’t lose this feeling… that I wouldn’t lose him. But as I started to recognize the familiar sights that told me were entering Forks, I realized that wouldn’t be possible.

‘I’m not leaving.’ His lips were at my ear, his cool breath making me shiver and feel warm all at once, ‘I promise, I’ll never leave you again, Y/N. Not unless you order me away.’

I turned, looking into his dark eyes and I felt my heart pound at the sincerity that I saw in there, but still doubt crept in. Was he promising me this because he felt indebted to me for saving his life? Not that I thought that was entirely my doing, it had certainly been a group effort, but still… could that be a possibility? His eyes flashed and darkened, something that I wouldn’t have thought achievable as his orbs were already unbelievably black, but the anger dragged them further into the abyss.

‘Like I said, we’ll talk about your thoughts later, when you have time. But for now, you’ve got to go home and check in with Charlie. You’re excuse was a good one so he hasn’t sent out a search party for you… yet.’ His eyes had softened, but the hardness still lingered around the edges.

I blinked, processing his words, ‘I said Alice, Bella and I had gone to Seattle for a few days before she left… won’t he find it odd that I’m being dropped off by you three?’

Edward smiled, ‘you’re not. We’re going back to our house first and Alice will drive the both of you back in the same car she arrived in.’

I nodded—that made sense after all and so there wasn’t anything more to say. I sighed as I thought about being able to have a shower, and brush my teeth. My clothes hadn’t even changed in the days we’d been gone, despite the backpack of essentials I’d packed. It just hadn’t seemed important. All I’d been able to think about, to worry about, was Edward. Showering and changing hadn’t been a priority, at least not for me. I sighed again, this time dejected as I wished the vampire holding me didn’t have to leave, even if it would only be for a few hours.

‘We’ll be back together before you know it. After I’ve changed, hunted and showered—not in that order—I’ll be climbing through your window, I promise.’ His words wrapped around me like a warm blanket on a cool winters night.

‘I believe you.’ I murmured, falling silent again, hoping Charlie didn’t give us too much of an inquisition.

Edward and I had to talk.

Charlie hadn’t had much of a reaction when Bella and I walked through the door. In fact, he didn’t seem perturbed by our arrival at all; he spared us a glance and a mumbled greeting before returning to the game he was watching on TV. I sighed in relief and made my way upstairs while Bella called out that she was heading over to see Jake. Charlie replied with an affirmative and I heard the sound of my sister’s truck starting as I climbed the stairs and headed straight for the bathroom.

The first thing I did was brush my teeth, scrubbing until I was sure all of the grime had been removed and the horrible taste in my mouth had been replaced with mint. Then I’d stripped off my clothes and spent longer than what was probably necessary in the shower. I couldn’t help it—it felt so good to be clean again, and I couldn’t help but revel in the feeling for longer than I usually did. But I eventually washed the last of the suds off my body and the conditioner out of my hair. Satisfied, I wrapped my hair and body in separate towels before heading to my bedroom. After making sure Edward wasn’t already waiting in my room, I dried myself off and quickly dressed in some cotton shorts and an oversized sweater I’d stolen from Charlie a few summers ago. I left my hair down to dry and tossed the damp towels into my laundry hamper along with the clothes I’d worn for who knows how long. I moisturized my face and applied deodorant but didn’t bother with perfume.

Once I was decent I decided to head downstairs to get myself something to eat once I realized that I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d ate something. That might have been a contributing factor to my exhaustion I thought as I pulled out a few slices of left over pizza that Charlie must have ordered while we were gone. I placed them on a plate and then put them in the microwave, pouring myself a glass of milk and sipping on it as I waited. Half of the beverage was gone when the microwave beeped. I pulled the plate out and sat down, chewing quickly but carefully, not wanting to burn myself on the reheated food. It didn’t take long and soon enough my dishes were washed and put away and I was heading back upstairs after calling out a goodnight to my dad.

The smile that formed on my face was wide and involuntary when I saw Edward sat in the centre of my bed, eyes closed and still as a statue. I felt my heart speed up at the sight of him; he looked serene, the dark circles under his eyes now gone, his clothes fresh, and she small smile on his lips hinting at knowledge of my reaction. I stepped into the room, barely registering the door closing behind me and the lock clicking in place. Before I could even blink he was in front of me, taking his hands in mine, the cold temperature of his skin quickly chased away by the warmth his touch bought me. I wondered if it would always be that way, and I found myself hoping it would as he led me to my bed, sitting down next to me and burying his face in my hair.

‘Hmm I will never get used to how wonderfully sweet you smell to me, Y/N.’ His voice was a purr against my neck as he placed a kiss to the hollow of my throat. My eyes closed, the pleasure his touch bought too potent to fight.

‘Before we get too carried away and lost in the moment, there are some things we need to discuss,’ he said, his voice light but I could detect the importance behind his words.

I turned my head to look him in the eyes; the butterscotch color that greeted me was so smooth I felt my heart melting in my chest, as I got lost in his hypnotic gaze. He chuckled, his fingers gently caressing my cheek before his hands found mine as if he were restraining us both in his iron clad grip.

‘There are some thoughts I heard in Volterra and again on the way home that have me concerned.’ His eyes conveyed his worry, ‘the idea that I could ever be bored of you, Y/N, is so ludicrous that I cannot quite put it into words. I have tried to pin point the moment I fell in love with you hundreds, if not thousands of times, but I remain unsuccessful because I cannot remember a time that I didn’t love you with every fiber of my being. I’ve never loved someone like this before, so I have nothing to compare it to, but I’m certain that it isn’t the type of love that you ever grow bored of.’ His disbelief at the notion simply couldn’t be faked, not that well, even by Edward, ‘my reluctance to turn you into a vampire has more to do with me not wanting to risk your soul. I believe that we as creatures are cursed to eternal damnation, that our souls are condemned the moment we are bitten, and to doom you to that same fate… I couldn’t do that to you, Y/N, no matter how wonderful the idea of forever with you is.’

‘You really love me?’ I asked, my voice not holding as much disbelief a once had over the topic, ‘you would have me forever? You’re not saying this because you feel indebted to me?’

He chuckled, his honey eyes dancing with mirth as he lifted a hand to ruffle my hair before dropping it to rest on top of mine again, ‘of course not, silly girl. I wouldn’t pretend to be in love with someone because they saved my life, perhaps I would offer the ability to call in a favour, but that’s it. And as for forever, the idea of it doesn’t sound so daunting if you were there to share it with me, but I wouldn’t, couldn’t do that to you.’

I was silent for a long moment as I took in the sincerity of his words, and the epiphany hit me so quickly and unexpectedly that I felt like I’d been punched in the ribs. I remembered all the times almost eight months ago now, before he left, when I’d swear Edward was staring at me, only to look up and see him looking in the complete opposite direction, with a smile on his face and a soft look in his beautiful golden eyes. I remembered the times that I’d been having a horrible day at school and something small but significant to me had happened to improve my mood—the red velvet cupcake in my locker after I’d got my period in gym—the offer to write me a copy of his notes after I’d been close to tears of frustration at being unable to keep up with the teacher—those were only a few examples, of course. All things he’d done to make my day better, to help me in any way he could. How had I not seen it sooner? Why had I let my own insecurities convince me that I’d never been worthy of his love? Because it was clear to me now, the epiphany cleared my vision and allowed me to see the truth, uncorrupted by my self-destructive thoughts: Edward loved me as much as I loved him. The love in his warm eyes and his dazzling smile confirmed it.

After that topic was discussed we somehow found ourselves lying in my bed. I was underneath the blue sheets while Edward lay on top, the thin cotton providing a little resistance to the cold emanating from the vampire, not that I minded. My head rested against his chest and my right hand was entwined with his left, as we both seemed to delight in playing with each other’s fingers.

‘There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.’ I murmured, keeping my eyes on his hand in mine.

He sighed, already knowing what I was going to ask, I wanted to hear his explanation, to know why he had done what he had done, ‘when Rosalie told me that Alice had a vision of you drowning and I called Charlie and that boy seemed to confirm it, I was beside myself with grief. I’d already been in bad shape, trying to keep away from you, but learning that you were dead… I couldn’t bear it. It may seem an overreaction seeing as you didn’t even know of my feelings for you, but I’ve loved you for so long, and taking myself away from you for your own safety was like losing a part of my heart. It was a constant ache that I couldn’t soothe, but that was nothing to how it felt when I thought you were gone. My heart felt completely and utterly… void, as if you’d taken it with you to whatever afterlife you’d gone. A part of me liked the idea of that, that you had my core with you, wherever you were. But the majority of me was smothered with an emptiness that burned from the inside out, and I knew I couldn’t possibly face an eternity of that feeling. That was why I decided to go to Italy, to end my own life, because I selfishly couldn’t bear the thought of the pain, but also because a small secret part of me hoped we would be reunited in another life. I do believe that our souls are cursed to damnation from the first bite, but that didn’t stop me from wishing that I could see you again, to reveal my feelings…’ he paused, tilting my chin up with a cool, long and gentle finger. He wiped away the tears that had fallen, ‘I’m incredibly grateful that I have had the opportunity to be honest with you and to show you how loved, adored and cherished you are, so long as you want me.’

‘I’ll always want you, Edward.’ I said, my voice ringing with a finality that made his eyes soften with awe, ‘that will never change.’

He didn’t say anything, because nothing needed to be said. After a while, I felt myself fighting sleep, not wanting to miss a moment of the perfect serenity I felt in his company, especially now I was sure it was real. But Edward knew, of course, and he picked up one of the books I had piled on my bedside table and started to quietly read to me, his voice wrapping around the words like velvet, the softness impossible to resist. I found myself idly wondering how he knew that his voice relaxed me to the point of contentedness, but I was too far-gone to voice it as sleep claimed me.

‘This is ridiculous! Who cares about a play Shakespeare wrote two hundred years ago?’ I groaned, my head hitting the desk in front of me with more force than necessary, but I hardly noticed the pain—Othello had already given me a headache, what was a little more?

Edward chuckled, his cool, soft touch moving up and down my spine in a comforting gesture. It had been a few weeks since Italy and we were both back in school, him falling into the curriculum with ease while I was struggling even though I hadn’t missed any classes.

‘He’s not so bad, love.’ His cheek rested against mine as I lifted my head, and I had to take a moment to get used to the sweet, comforting scent that was encircled around me.

I sighed, feeling my body meld to his as he wrapped his arm around my waist, I turned my head and rested it against his shoulder, wondering how long I could get away with avoiding the literature in front of me. I much preferred being in Edward’s arms to trying to decipher the old English in front of me. The vampire chuckled at my actions, and my thoughts too knowing him, and held me tighter. I felt him kiss my hair and take a deep inhale. The contented sound, too low for others to hear, made my heart skip a beat—I could’ve sworn I felt him smile against my scalp when he heard it.

All too soon Edward leaned me away from him and I straightened with a reluctant sigh, knowing he wouldn’t be releasing me unless it was necessary. And sure enough, the teacher was returning to the classroom, photocopies for his next lecture in hand. The kiss Edward placed on my forehead lessened my frustration a little, and when he pulled away we shared a genuine, happy smile before we returned to the essay question we’d been given.

‘Seriously is this even English?’ I rubbed at my temples, knowing I was going to have one hell of a headache before this class was even over.

‘Just focus on the key words in the question, and put together what they want you to say from that.’ At my confused look he elaborated, managing to explain it in a way I understood. I could have kissed him, but I didn’t, instead I looked back down to my paper, hoping he didn’t notice the blush on my cheeks.

We hadn’t actually kissed yet, not properly anyway. I didn’t know why, because in every other way each movement was natural in a way that felt like we’d been together for years rather than weeks. It might have been my fault—I’d never been in a relationship before, and I’d certainly never kissed anyone. So I might have been subconsciously avoiding it out of fear of doing it wrong, of being awful at it. But that was crazy, right? I mean, everyone had to have their first kiss sometime and as long as it was with the right person, someone who cared about you as much as you did them, then a little potential awkwardness was nothing to be afraid of. Logically, I knew that, but I was a coward and inexperienced, so I didn’t want to be the one to make the first move—especially not at school. People were still staring, partly because the Cullen’s were back—well Alice and Edward were, the rest had “graduated” almost a year ago—and partly because I was the Swan Edward was holding hands with in the halls now. I hadn’t actually heard anyone talking about it, nor had I had anyone directly ask me anything, but I knew they were talking about it. I didn’t want to know what they were saying, because I couldn’t imagine any of them were nice things, but I felt more like an animal in a zoo than I did human these days. So first kiss at school was completely out of the question, even if being around Edward was like being in our own specially designed indestructible bubble. I didn’t want them to have any more ammunition than they already had.

The bell rang as I was finishing up my last sentence and Edward waited patiently for me to pack up before taking my backpack and my hand. On our way to the cafeteria my sister passed us, heading in the direction of the exit, I frowned and was about to call out to her when my vampire whispered an explanation in my ear.

‘Jacob’s come to meet her for lunch, don’t worry she’s not ditching.’ He placed a kiss behind my ear before pulling back and any trace of concern I’d had was replaced by a pleasant tingle where his lips had touched my skin.

‘I still don’t understand what happened there, you know.’ I murmured too low for other eavesdropping students to hear, but Edward wasn’t any other student.

‘Bella knew that our relationship wasn’t genuine, she went along with it because she hated the other male attention she was getting from students she wasn’t interested in. She noticed the other human’s reluctance to be near us and figured I’d be good at keeping any unwanted admirers at bay.’ He whispered into my ear, placing random food items on the tray I was carrying for the “both” of us.

‘Okay… it just seems a little extreme, especially after what happened last spring.’ He knew what I was referring to, and his eyes tightened slightly as he remembered James, Laurent and Victoria. His response was low as we took our seats at our usual table, Alice was already there, her eyes lighting up at our approach.

‘That was an unforeseen circumstance, those vampires weren’t supposed to pass through our territory and changed their mind at the last second.’ He said, his words coated with guilt even though nothing had actually happened, ‘we dealt with them, anyway, there and then. I’m just relieved you weren’t there. If James, the tracker had smelt your blood and seen my protectiveness over you… it could have turned into a game for him.’

I nodded, smiling as he slid my seat closer to him so the left side of my body was in line with his right. His arm settled over my shoulders and I reached forward to grab a banana from the tray of food that settled on the table in between us.

‘Can I ask you something? And will you be completely honest with me, even if you think it’ll hurt my feelings?’ I asked, my voice quiet as I looked in between both Alice and Edward.

It was about Bella. My sister’s dismissal and lack of interest in my life had been playing on my mind a lot lately. Had she always had this attitude towards me, and I’d just been too lost in being the protective older sister that I hadn’t noticed? Edward of course heard the question before I voiced it out loud and the sadness that swirled in his honey colored eyes told me the answer before his musical voice could deliver it. He kissed my forehead and caressed my cheek, before Alice’s soft; wind chime bell voice broke the moment.

‘Bella has never shown any kind of interest in your well-being, Y/N, in the moments I’ve seen between the two of you now and in the future.’ I could hear the sadness in her voice as well and I bit my lip in an attempt to keep the tears at bay.

How could it be? Had I done something wrong? Something she couldn’t forgive me for? I racked my brains, but I couldn’t think of anything, except Edward, but I knew they’d never loved each other that way, and she was definitely in love with the werewolf so what was it?

‘It was nothing you did, love.’ He kissed my hair again, his soft voice murmuring into the dark strands, ‘you’re not responsible for her decisions or her feelings, do you understand? It’s her loss and you have plenty of others who love you like a sister, some a daughter and one who loves you with every fiber of his existence.’

A wave of pure happiness washed over me as I looked in between the two Cullen’s. They were right, what was one person’s lack of love in the face of a whole family who cared for me as their own? I decided then and there that Bella’s decision to treat me as a stranger rather than a sister would never bother me again, because I had all the family I could ever need, and the love of a man who was more perfect than I deserved. I was the luckiest human in the world.

The rest of the day flew by and I was so relieved—we only had a few more weeks left until graduation and I could have a break from the headaches the exams were bringing me. As Edward and I drove to his house—my request as I knew Charlie would be at work and Bella would probably be at the reservation—I wondered if I’d have another chance to graduate school. As a vampire. I wondered if I’d have the chance to graduate enough times to the point where I’d be able to face the curriculum, exams, with the same casual confidence that Edward and the rest of the Cullen’s could.

It wasn’t as if I’d never considered it before, and despite Edward’s assurance that the Volturi wouldn’t come to check my mortality any time soon; I found myself picturing it more than I ever had. It used to be that I would dream of it, dream of being with Edward forever, to have him look at me like he loved me, and I would wake up and reality would shine down on me as the sun rose behind the clouds. At that point I’d force the secret desire down, ashamed to feel such a way about my sister’s boyfriend. But now I knew my feelings were returned, it was hard not to think about my future with the vampire, and no matter how many times I thought about it, my desire to join him as an immortal didn’t change.

I knew he didn’t want that, because of my soul, but I also knew that this didn’t just involve him anymore, it involved all of the Cullen’s. All of the ones I’d considered as family when I’d first met them over a year ago. They all—except for Rosalie—had accepted me a lot faster than my sister. At the time I hadn’t understood why, but I’d come to learn it was because Alice’s visions assured that I was going to be a member of the family soon, while Bella was not. And now I worried about when the Volturi would come, would Edward’s inherent desire to keep me human result in the destruction of the family I’d barely had the time to get to know?

We arrived at the white mansion in the woods and Edward was opening my door for me before I had even unclipped my seatbelt. I offered him a thankful smile as I climbed from the car and took his hand. He returned it, but I didn’t reach his eyes—I knew that meant he’d been listening to my thoughts and he wasn’t fond of what he had heard. I kissed his cheek, and tugged him lightly; he released a breath and led me into the house. It was quiet when we entered and he revealed that Emmett, Jasper, Alice and Rosalie were on a hunting trip in Mount Rainer, while Esme and Carlisle had gone away to visit friends in Alaska for the weekend.

‘Do you need to hunt?’ I asked, my fingers tracing the barely noticeable circles that were starting to form underneath his eyes—his orbs were still golden, but were darker like honeycomb rather than the butterscotch shade that meant his thirst was satiated. It wasn’t something you’d notice unless you knew what you were looking for.

‘I’m fine, they’ve only gone for a chance to hunt something other than deer and elk.’ He smirked, kissing the palm of the hand that still lingered on his perfect face, ‘if I get thirsty I’ll be out and back within an hour.’

I smiled, my eyes falling to his lips and my earlier thoughts popped back into my head. My heart picked up and my breath got caught in my throat, before I could shake my head to clear it of my errant thoughts, Edward’s cool hands placed mine on his shoulders. I gripped him there and shivered in pleasure when his touch glided down the exposed skin of my arms, to my waist, where he pulled me closer. I didn’t know what was happening, but I didn’t have the concentration power to ponder it, as the warmth his touch left behind was distracting me. My eyes fluttered shut when his forehead fell against my own. I could feel the coolness of his body, the sweetness of his breath, and his scent surrounded me to the point of my mind being overwhelmed with him.

When his lips met mine, soft, icy and tentative I swear I was incapable of coherent thought. All I could think about was how wonderful and right his mouth felt moving against mine. As the kiss progressed, his tentativeness melted away and turned into something more sure, more passionate and fiery. A sound echoed in the high ceilinged room, but I was too lost to wonder if that sound came from me. My hands moved of their own accord and slid into his soft bronze hair, attempting to pull him closer than he already was. I was aware of my lungs burning in my chest, but having Edward so close was beyond intoxicating, and so I was incapable of pondering what that meant. My vampire’s hands moved to mine in his hair and gently but firmly broke my hold. After another moment, his lips stopped in their movement and he pulled an inch away from me, allowing the opportunity to breathe. It was then that I realized how much I needed oxygen as my lungs pulled the air in as quickly as possible. My forehead fell to his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around my waist as he too caught his breath. He recovered before I did and lifted me up to sit on the couch in the living room with me on his lap. It felt like it took longer than it did, but eventually my breathing returned to normal and I leaned back, staring into his eyes as an unstoppable thought echoed through my mind.

That was my first kiss ever and my first last kiss.

‘That was…wow.’ I blushed at my incapability to adequately put the kiss into words, but I wasn’t going to try when I knew it was fruitless.

‘I couldn’t agree with you more, love.’ His smile was dazzling and I felt myself beam in response to his happiness.

I slid to his side so that we could watch the TV together, ignoring the desire to press my lips to his; I needed to be good. I knew how difficult it was for him to touch me in the simplest of ways, and I know if I’d been the vampire in that interaction, I would have had great difficulty concentrating on not hurting him while my thoughts were overwhelmed with desire. That was why I rarely initiated any touches between us; I didn’t want to take him by surprise, I wanted him to be in complete control when he touched me, because it was him who had the most difficulty. I smiled when his lips kissed my hair, and snuggled closer into his side, sighing contentedly when he held me a little tighter. At around dinnertime I called Charlie and asked permission to sleep over at Alice’s. I lied and told him the rest of the family was camping this weekend and I wanted to keep her company. He bought it and I hung up as Edward rejoined me in the living room. My brows rose in pleasant surprise when I saw that he was carrying a bowl of cheesy pasta and a glass of water.

‘You cooked?’ I grinned at the bashful, proud expression on his face, ‘how?’

‘Learned from the cooking channel.’ He winked and I ignored the fact my heart skipped a beat as I accepted the meal from him. He settled next to me again, his arm around my shoulders as I ate.

‘There’s something I want to run by you.’ I admitted, placing my now empty bowl onto the coffee table next to my half empty glass of water, ‘I want to put up a vote. For me becoming a vampire.’

I felt him stiffen and after stealing myself, I looked up at his expression. It was frozen in surprise, but I could see the horror and rage burning in his honeycomb eyes.

‘I know how you feel on the subject, and I know what your answer will be, but this is more than just me and you now, Edward. It involves everyone, and I will not put everyone in danger because of me.’ My voice was firm and sure; it was something I’d been thinking about for weeks now; whenever Edward wasn’t around to distract my thoughts. I knew what I wanted, I’d never been more sure of anything, and I wanted to start living that life. Not because I felt the pressure of the Volturi potentially popping by for a visit, but because I wanted an eternity with him. Call it irrational, call it too fast, but I didn’t care.

He was silent for a long moment, his eyes observing my expression and listening to the thoughts in my mind. Eventually the hardness around his eyes thawed and he nodded once, clearly not happy, but he respected my decision. I smiled, more than grateful for his attitude and kissed the palm of the hand that was resting over my shoulders. I knew he’d argue the opposing side, and I was fine with that, because I knew either way, vampire or not, he would be by my side loving me as I love him. And that’s all that mattered.

Epilogue: ten years later.

After the Cullen’s had voted in favour of me becoming immortal 5-2, I’d been turned at the end of July. Between graduation and then, quite a few things had happened. Edward had presented me with a proposition. He’d asked me to marry him in exchange for him turning me into a vampire instead of Carlisle. What had surprised him was my willingness to do that—despite my Mom and Dad’s failed marriage, I’d always dreamed of finding my own husband one day. Of finding the perfect man for me to spend the rest of my life with, and after joking with Edward that I’d expected a proper proposal rather than a business deal from an old-fashioned gentleman, he’d grinned and promised to make it up to me.

Not two days later he took me to a meadow he’d discovered in the forest. The moon was high enough in the sky to brighten the field for us, and it created a perfectly romantic ambiance. We’d had a picnic in the moonlight, a few battery operated candles also placed in the grass to allow my less sensitive eyes better sight. When I’d finished the delicious sandwiches that he’d once again prepared, he pulled me to my feet before he himself dropped to one knee. I’ll never forget the way he looked at me that night—his eyes had been softer than honey and shone with so much love and adoration that my knees felt weak. He promised to love me forever and asked me to marry him. I’d of course said yes, jumping into his arms and kissing him passionately. He’d chuckled and placed a finger to my lips as I’d been about to apologise for hurdling myself at him when I knew how careful he tried to be. All thoughts of apologies melted from my mind as I watched him slide the ring onto my finger—it was a white gold emerald cut ring, the centre stone was topaz in colour and there were white diamonds on either side. The yellow stone reminded me of his eyes and he’d sheepishly chuckled and admitted that was why he’d chosen it, because he wanted me to have a reminder of him with me always.

We’d officially tied the knot in July at the Cullen property. It had been a very small, intimate wedding, despite Alice’s desire to expand the guest list. There weren’t more than fifty people in attendance, and it couldn’t have been more perfect. Alice of course organized everything—I hadn’t trusted anyone else to pull together a wedding in such a short space of time, and I certainly had no idea where to start. Other than asking Alice to be my maid of honour and Rosalie to be a bridesmaid, seeing as she was more of a sister than Bella was, even if she didn’t like me very much, I’d given up the reins completely to the psychic vampire. Charlie and Renée had been in attendance, but Bella hadn’t been invited. Edward and Alice had asked me numerous times if I was sure of that decision, but I knew I was. She wasn’t my family and she hadn’t been for a long time, she had made that decision and I was simply respecting her wishes. And as I’d realized all those weeks ago— your family didn’t have to be the ones you were biologically related to.

My dress had been magnificent; it was form fitting and yet not so tight that I couldn’t walk properly. It was overlaid with lace and held a mixture of vintage and modern; a perfect representation of Edward and I. Alice and Rosalie both wore baby pink floor length dresses, the silk material being simple and yet elegant. Jasper and Emmett had led their respective partners down the isle, with the curly haired vampire being Edward’s best man. Charlie walked me down the isle and Carlisle officiated the wedding—I’d suggested to my vampire that having someone we both loved officiate the ceremony would make it that much more meaningful, and he’d agreed. There had been no question over whom we would ask, and the emotion that had overcome the eldest Cullen’s face when we’d asked would be something I’d never forget.

After Edward and I had officially been joined in holy matrimony, we’d left the very same night to enjoy our honeymoon. Edward had insisted on surprising me with the location and I’d been happy to let him have the responsibility—all of the ideas I had were places that were known for rain. I figured that would be best with my husband being a vampire; I didn’t want him to spend the three weeks confined to the indoors, only to come out at night. However, I didn’t need to worry about that as he had taken me to Isle Esme, a gift from Carlisle just off the coast of Brazil. The privacy meant we could be out in the sunlight as often as we wanted and I was grateful for that as we spent most of our days hiking, swimming in the ocean or lying on the beach.

Despite the traditions of a “honeymoon” we didn’t take that step during our three-week blissful vacation. I knew how difficult it would be for him and I told him I had none of those expectations because of that reason. I didn’t want him to wonder if my lack of interest had anything other underlying reasons behind it. Because it wasn’t that I was uninterested— in fact, I was very much looking forward to being able to be with him in that way, but I didn’t want to push it. Though I trusted him completely, I knew he’d never forgive himself if he slipped even for a second and accidentally hurt me. But I didn’t need sex to feel close to him. For the entire vacation we were attached at the hip, whether it was holding hands, or me sitting in his lap with his arms wrapped around me, we were never not touching. It was wonderful.

Unfortunately, it couldn’t last forever and when we returned back to Forks Edward and I took some time to visit Charlie before we went to Alaska for “collage”. It was nice to see him again and remind him I would always love him as I said goodbye at the doorstep of the home I’d grown up in. Bella hadn’t been there and when I’d asked Charlie told me she was on a trip with Jacob, but that suited me just fine; her absence meant our farewell wasn’t tainted by disdainful glances.

Upon arriving in Alaska, I realized the house we moved into was of the same interior style to the one in Washington and it was hard not to find the familiar decoration comforting. The whole family was reunited upon the move as a new state meant the opportunity to start over, though it was believed I wouldn’t be able to leave the house for a few years as I mastered my thirst and ability to resist human blood. Edward had changed me on the last day of July—the last thing I saw, before the pain became so unbearable that focusing on something else was impossible, was the honeycomb eyes of my husband, full of love, adoration and remorse. The pain burned consistently for what felt like longer than the three days I was promised, but I knew Edward never left my side as screams passed through my lips despite my attempts to hold them in.

He held my hand through it all, and when I woke up to face my new life, his face was the first thing I saw. I remember being completely amazed by his magnificent beauty as I looked at him through my new eyes—it had been like seeing him for the first time. The hand that wasn’t being held in his reached up and traced over his cheek gently, mindful of the extra strength I’d been warned about, and a gasp had left my lips at the feel of his skin against mine. It felt smoother somehow, and warmer. He’d smiled and reminded me that we were the same temperature now and I returned the gesture, reaching up and pulling his mouth down to mine. We kissed passionately for a moment and when we parted I told him I loved him. He had beamed with happiness and hugged me to his chest, inhaling my scent and relaxing for what I was sure had been the first time in three days.

Carlisle, Esme and Jasper had joined us then. The former couple welcoming me to the family while the latter eyed me warily. I’d frowned in confusion, and a little offense, until I’d realized what had caused his behaviour—I was the newborn, he was expecting me to be bloodthirsty and irrational. As that thought crossed my mind I became aware of the burning in my throat—I felt like I hadn’t had a drink in weeks and I knew what I needed. Edward smiled comfortingly and I relaxed at once as he announced that we were going hunting. That had been incredible. Running through the forests in my new home had been thrilling, my enhanced senses making it more beautiful than I’d thought possible. Hunting didn’t take as long as I’d thought, and after drinking a few bears and a moose, I felt full and the burning in my throat was none existent. As we’d returned to the house, racing with Edward, I was overjoyed at how happy and content I felt—this was the life I was destined to live. I was certain of it.

I blinked out of my trip down memory lane as someone gently but firmly kicked my leg under the table. I looked up to see Jasper cocking his brow at me in question—he’d probably felt the thirst I’d been remembering as I woke up as a newborn. I shook my head in answer to his silent inquiry and went back to picking apart the cookie on my plate that I of course had no desire to eat. Edward and Emmett hadn’t joined us at the table yet—their class had been on the other side of campus and they had to move at a human pace to get here, so the four of us usually beat them. My lips pursed as my gaze flickered out of the window and when I saw the snow that was falling in thick flakes to the ground, my lips twitched as I fought a smile.

‘Your doing?’ Alice asked, her lips not even moving as she followed my gaze.

‘Maybe.’ I grinned.

That was something I’d discovered in my first few years—I could influence the elements, including being able to change the weather whenever I wanted. I didn’t do it often, as Carlisle had pointed out that constant and unpredictable changes in weather were bound to draw attention and obviously, that wasn’t okay. So I only ever gave into the desire once every few months, otherwise I restricted my influence behind closed doors where no one else was aware. It was fun, but beyond anything else it relaxed me and provided a healthy outlet for any emotions I couldn’t express otherwise. Of course Jasper would have helped if I asked, but I wanted to feel my grief, not have it taken away.

‘The first snowfall of the year. It’s pretty, too bad it’s going to be washed away by rain tomorrow,’ Alice commented, her eyes lingering on the scenery outside before she looked over to me, worry shining in her black eyes. We were all thirsty today, which was why Jasper in particular was on edge. Thirst was actually something I handled quite will and within I few months of being newborn, I’d enrolled in high school as a freshman as soon as my eyes darkened to gold.

‘I’m okay, Alice.’ I murmured, knowing if any humans were looking in our direction they wouldn’t even be able to see my lips moving.

‘No you’re not. You don’t have to lie to us, Y/N.’ Jasper replied, his foot finding mine underneath the table again and giving me a playful nudge.

‘I know, I’m sorry,’ I bit my lip, grateful crying wasn’t possible, ‘I just didn’t think it would happen this soon.’

‘I’m sorry, Y/N.’ Rosalie said, placing a hand over one of mine. I smiled gratefully, happy that the blonde had warmed up to me over the years. It would have sucked spending an eternity with her hating me.

‘Thank you, Rose.’ My head rested on her shoulder for a moment as I hugged her from the side. I sat up afterwards, being sure to move at a human pace—it was simply too easy to move at vampire speed.

‘How do you feel about shopping tomorrow after school?’ Alice asked and I bit back a groan.

‘I have homework.’ I said, it was a poor excuse and she knew it—I had plenty of time to finish any homework I might be assigned, so realistically I was free as a bird.

‘Nice try. You need new clothes, the trends are changing and you’ll start sticking out soon.’ She grinned in victory when my shoulders slumped in defeat.

‘Fine.’ I threw a cookie crumb at her, laughing when she caught it without an issue.

I didn’t notice the small smiles that formed on the faces of my family at the sound—I’d been down ever since I’d found out that Charlie had passed away. It had been a total shock, healthy one day and the next he’d had a fatal heart attack. Edward had held me for four hours straight when I found out, not once did he complain, he gave me all the time I needed as my body shook with sobs. It had been a few months since I’d got the news now and I was starting to come out from underneath the dark cloud of grief, much to the relief of my family. They hated seeing me so forlorn.

My head snapped up almost too quickly as I caught Edward’s scent as he entered the Cafeteria, our brother trailing behind him and laughing his booming laugh at something the bronze haired vampire had said. Seeing them joking around together made me smile and when Edward winked in my direction my head ducked bashfully. I heard Emmett making a joke at my expense, amused I could still be modest after ten years, and I bit back a grin when I heard the curly haired brother masking a sound of pain, indicating my vampire had taken a jab at him. I felt myself relax down to my bones when Edward slid into the empty seat to my left, his right arm automatically wrapping around my shoulders.

‘How was class?’ I asked, entwining my fingers with his where they rested on my shoulder. His free hand was idly pushing food around on his tray as Emmett answered on his behalf.

‘Actually interesting. The new girl was snuggling up awful close to your husband there, sister.’ He winked, his grin growing at my frown of annoyance.

‘What new girl?’ I was surprised I’d missed the news, it was rare for new students to enroll here—not many people willingly wanted to go to school where it was freezing more often than it was warm.

‘Jody Hendricks.’ Edward murmured, the corners of his mouth falling in distaste, ‘I didn’t speak a word to her but she wouldn’t shut up for the whole class.’

‘I see,’ my eyes darted around the room as my irritation grew—I wasn’t usually the jealous type, but I blamed my short fuse on my grief.

It wasn’t hard to find her for two reasons: first, almost everyone was staring at her. Second she was staring at my husband. A growl formed at the back of my throat, too low for any humans to hear, but definitely loud enough for my family to pick up on. Emmett and Jasper snorted in amusement, but I didn’t pay them any mind as Edward’s hand came up to caress the side of my cheek, effortlessly earning my attention. His gentle touch erased the death stare that had been present on my expression meer moments before, and melt into something much softer. When I saw the amusement in his dark eyes I felt embarrassment wash through me like a tidal wave: what had I been doing? Of course I knew I had nothing to be worried about, but emotions were irrational and I’d been overcome with the jealous feeling before I’d been able to consider the ludicrousness behind it.

My thoughts were silenced as Edward’s lips moved against mine suddenly. The kids was deliberate, allowing anticipation to build between us like a slow building fire, and just when I was starting to forget where we were he pulled away, placing a kiss to my forehead. My smile was genuine and soft as I looked up into his eyes, that mirrored the same gentleness. The onyx orbs shimmered with adoration as he stared back, meeting my gaze head on. Immortality had been everything I’d hoped it would be and more, which I hadn’t thought would be possible, but it was. My love for Edward had only grown and flourished, as had the love I held for the rest of my family. Without a doubt I had been born to be a vampire, this is where I belonged, surrounded by my adopted family and in my husband’s arms. Here, I was home. And I couldn’t imagine that would ever change, even if I lived for an eternity.

#edward cullen x reader #edward cullen #twilight imagine #olympic coven #new moon #Jasper Hale x platonic reader #Alice Cullen x platonic reader #Carlisle Cullen x platonic reader #Esme Cullen x platonic reader #Emmett Cullen x platonic reader #Rosalie Hale x platonic Reader

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plutoismydaddy · 3 years

Text

I can read you like a book 5

Jimin x reader Gangster au

In the midst of a gang war Jimin finds himself in his own war. A war between himself and the feelings he was developing for the girl with the fuzzy pink scarf.

CH1 CH2 CH3 CH4 CH5

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The gravel crunched under your shoes as you stepped off the bus, the cold air wasting no time to bite against your exposed skin "I need to get a fucking driving licence." you muttered under your breath pulling your jacket closer. Rounding the corner you listened as the sound of chatter and footsteps faded behind you. Eventually, only silence remained making its presence clear as it rang in your ears. The lack of noise made you uncomfortably aware of your heartbeat, reality seemed to set in at this moment as you realised you would be completely alone with Jimin, in the middle of nowhere. You didn't know whether to walk quicker or slower.

Slowly a black car came into view, its metal shining under the moon's light, your eyes scanned over the open area spotting nothing but the small glimmering lights from houses in the distance. You were truly alone, maybe he was actually going to kill you? You chuckled as your gaze returned to the car, with each step it came closer, and closer. You flinched slightly when the driver's side door flew open, and Jimin stepped out, the both of you stopped staring at each other. His black dress shirt was slightly unbuttoned giving you a peek of his collarbones and smooth skin. Tearing your gaze away, you hoped that your face hadn't gone red, what's with him wearing all black? Your eyes fell to the ground below you, the grey concrete radiated coldness with its dull colour, was he already dressed for my funeral? Faint footsteps ripped through the silence as Jimin walked around the car to the passenger side, eyes following the man you watched silently, "Get in". It was simple, and to the point yet you stood frozen in place only blinking at the man "Why?". Jimin's eyebrows twitch upwards for a second, he most likely expected you to skip right up and take a seat in the car. Despite how nice he had been in the past your common sense still functioned and getting into the car of a well known, and angry, gangster you had only known for a couple months didn't sound like fun. His shock didn't last long as his body seemed to lean more forward, body tensing up, eyebrows now knitted his eyes staring daggers into yours. Ah if he wasn't going to kill you before he surely is now. "Soomin. Get. In. The. Car" Jimin's voice was strained as he spoke through gritted teeth, you gulped before taking your first step towards the car, used to the cheerful and easy-going Jimin you didn't expect him to be this serious.

Closing the door behind you Jimin walked to the other side of the vehicle, following the man with your eyes you couldn't help but notice how his thighs moved against the fabric of his dark pants. With each, his muscles would push against the textile flaunting their shape. Tearing your eyes, you faced the window beside you, hoping he wouldn't notice the readiness taking over your face as he took his place beside you. You had thought it was silent before, but this... God. The car doors isolated the tiny noises that existed outside, making the quiet so much more unbearable. You stared down onto your hands, out of the corner of your eye you could see Jimin turning, eyes peering at you before leaning his head back onto the headrest with a sigh. I can't take this anymore you thought as you opened your mouth to speak, but you were interrupted before you could say anything. "Care to explain?" his eyes had once again returned to your face, but this time you mirrored him glaring at him "I'm sorry?". Your voice came out in a harsh jab. You felt offended, the audacity he had to ask you to explain when he was the one acting weird "You want me to explain? Why don't you explain why you've been sneaking around?". "What the hell are you talking about? If any of us is sneaking around, it's you, running ar-" cutting him off you leaned forward anger clouding your mind. "You said and I fucking quote it's useless, we should stop coming to the roof, yet there you were, car parked in the same place at the same time." you felt your nose twitch with irritation "That's what I'm talking about.". Your breathing was heavy as you glared at the man that stared back at you in slight surprise, his mouth slightly agape before he returned the angry look. "Let me guess you were with Seokjin then too-" you opened your mouth ready to interrupt again, all manners forgotten in the moment of anger, but you didn't have time to speak as Jimin grabbed you collar pulling you forward, your noses almost touching. Your hands flew instinctively up, clutching his wrists in shock. Jimin's face held pure rage, his jaw was clenched and eyebrows slightly twitching as they hooded his glaring eyes. "Why THE FUCK! Were you with Seokjin" he hissed, hot breath hitting against your quivering lips, if it wasn't for the fear you'd probably be blushing like crazy. You felt like a prey caught in the jaws of a predator, you tried to take a deep breath, but it only got caught in your throat "Because," gaze falling you tried to pull away from the man, you can't show you're afraid, but his hands didn't budge. "You said you didn't want to go back there so..." your voice died out into silence, you felt the pressure from his eyes bearing down on you. Not hearing a response you continued "I needed to see something, that's why I went back. And I didn't have any way to get there alone…". "So you called him:" your eyes flickered back to his face, your eyes grew in shock. All the anger, rage, had washed away and replaced with something softer, more valuable. You peered into his eyes, unable to figure out what was swirling around in his dark pupils... Why did he look so sad? You ignored the slight pang in your heart as your gaze shifted away from his face again, "And after we saw you there-" "You lost trust in me.". Jimin's eyes flickered between your eyes for a moment before his head fell with a sigh, slowly he let go of you, the pressure releasing from around your neck. You rubbed your neck slightly, the ghost of his knuckles and rings pressed against your throat still there. "I'll drive you home.", you only nodded in response.

The atmosphere in the car was heavy, almost unbearable as he scenes from before replayed in your head. The way he had looked at you with pure rage, you felt your heart quicken just thinking about it. God who could have imagined a guy like him could be that scary you thought as you glanced at him from the corner of your eye. A chill ran up your back.

Slowly the car stopped in front of your apartment, the street lights casting their yellow hue over the car and both of your still bodies. You wanted to say something, get answers for all the answers that flew around in your head, turning to Jimin you hoped to get an ounce of confidence, but your mind only went emptier as your eyes made contact. You were still shaky from the earlier conversation. Turning away, you let a sigh out before opening the car door and stepping out, leaving Jimin behind you.

Hands pressed onto your face you groaned the exhaustion of the night weighing on your body, your hands slowly slipped off your face and bounced against your mattress. You had met Jimin today thinking you'd get some answers, hell maybe even getting beat up, but that didn't happen. You rolled onto your side clutching your pillow as you furrowed in thought, In fact, you got more questions now, another groan fell from your lips as you buried your face into the pillow. You let your emotions take over, and in the end nothing got accomplished, so annoying you thought. Closing your eyes, you basked in the stillness as you stared into the black void of your eyelids, between the odd shapes and lights you a face appeared. Soft skin creased between the two worried eyebrows, your gaze onto Jimin's eyes, they had grown bigger the black pools gazing into yours. You hugged the pillow closer, body subconsciously curling into itself, the way he had looked at you was so intense, almost like he was trying to stare into your soul, like a mad man. A pang gripped your heart, your chest tightening slightly, but why did he look so sad?

#bts #bts jimin #jimin x reader #gangster au #jimin gang au #bts gang au #gang au #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic

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allie-writes · 3 years

Text

on ghosts

Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: Gen, M/M Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Dedue Molinaro Additional relevant tags: Character Study, Pre-Slash, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, (Minor) Animal Death, Post-Timeskip, Blue Lions Route Word count: 4753 Language: English Read on: AO3 | Fanfiction.net

Perhaps he might be the most bloodthirsty spirit Faerghus has ever brought forth, really. He roams the chapel to the sound of rattling metal and the smell of death and rot surrounding him. His face is gaunt, pale, and contorted in a pitiful sort of rage. His whispers and mutters well into the night, as though he never sleeps. As if his fellow ghosts won’t let him rest.

And it’s weird. He might as well be a face-snatcher, too, because Sylvain could swear that he looks a lot like a boy he used to know.

Sylvain thinks about ghosts.

Content warnings: Mental health issues, a rat getting killed, mentions of blood, dead bodies, death imagery. Please read at your own discretion and stay safe!

With the Pegasus Moon comes a cold icy enough to blanket even Garreg Mach with a thin layer of snow.

It’s nothing compared to northern Faerghus, where winter draws on endlessly and spring is unkind. Here, the snow falls in tiny flakes that cover the grass like powdered sugar. It glitters in the dying lamplight, silently settling on the ground as the night draws on.

It’s painfully quiet.

Any soldier would know to not to trust the quiet after five years of war. Murderers can hide well under the cover of the night. Ambushes may lie in the wait where you can’t see them yet. Better sleep with a knife under your pillow and listen to the silence as though it were your favourite song. Goddess forbid you may find an offbeat.

War begets sleepless nights and fitful sleep. Tonight seems to be a night of little sleep, if any at all. The courtyard in front of the officers’ academy gathers more and more dusted snow as Sylvain stands and watches it fall. His sleepwear and the thin blanket thrown over his shoulders do a poor job of keeping him properly warm, but he is used to the cold. And he’s survived even worse things, besides.

Maybe, were he younger, he would have found someone to keep him company for the night by now—to warm his bed, to thoroughly exhaust him, and to chase the sleeplessness away. But he isn’t twenty anymore, and he doubts he’d find any genuine comfort in it with things as they are. He can’t recall if there ever was a time where it was about comfort at all.

It’s not comfortable, standing in the cold with his sleep pants tucked into his unlaced boots and his bare feet surrounded by coarse lining. Nothing is comfortable. War isn’t comfortable.

Sylvain is tired.

He steps out onto the grass. The snow is so thin it doesn’t even crunch under his feet. The sky is a perfect, pitch black—the kind of colour that folktales from back home would use as the backdrop for fantastical stories about spirits that come for you in the night.

An eternity ago, when things had been easier, Mercedes would occasionally recount some of those tales. She would scare the fainter of heart, like Annette or Ashe, and entertain everyone else with a good story for the night. She hasn’t told any tales ever since everyone reconvened a few months ago, though. It isn’t the time or place to speak of ghosts. They all have their own ghosts now, and the most terrifying of all of them haunts their thoughts and the monastery day in and day out.

And it’s weird. He might as well be a face-snatcher, too, because Sylvain could swear that he looks a lot like a boy he used to know.

But it’s still painfully quiet. And Sylvain is still tired. And no iron clatters, and no mutters are to be heard, and it almost doesn’t smell like the blood of enemy soldiers, either.

The snow catches in his hair, and his breath fogs up in the air. Everyone has their own ghosts now, and Sylvain has been cultivating an entire army of them since long before the war. They were born somewhere between a village girl’s thighs and the give of his brother’s flesh when he drove his lance between his ribs. It’s almost funny how cathartic the horror of it all sometimes feels.

Maybe Sylvain is long since gone, too. Maybe he died at the bottom of a well, or froze in the wilderness, or bled to death on the inside. Something within him definitely did die. He’s no less of a ghost than what lurks in the shadows of the cathedral.

But his haunting grounds are much colder, and quiet as death. Sylvain wipes the molten snow from his lashes and pulls his blanket tighter around his shoulders. He probably won’t catch any sleep, but he still steps back from the grass, and into the corridor leading to the great hall, and eventually, back into his room. By then, he’s almost dry.

ii.

There is a sense of abject horror to watching his prince crush a rat in his hands. The poor thing’s bones snap and crack, and there’s no mercy to the grip around its limp little body until its guts come spilling out. Its blood drips onto the floor in slow droplets, looking like liquid tar in the moonlight.

“Nuisance,” booms the vengeful ghost wearing an old friend’s face.

Sylvain sits in one of the pews towards the back of the cathedral, silently watching. The sun had set only about two hours ago. The altar at the very front is covered in snow, glowing a strange blue colour where the moon shines through the broken roof.

The ghost slowly skulks towards it. His movements are sluggish and tired like a dying animal’s, and he ever so carefully places the rat’s carcass atop the altar as though it were a sacrifice to the Goddess. He mumbles something, so quietly that Sylvain has no hope of making out a single word.

It almost looks like he is praying.

But that can’t be it. Rather than the Goddess, he must be trying to appease his ghosts—his father, his mother, an entire army and Glenn Fraldarius. Dedue. Everyone is familiar with what haunts him by now.

Sylvain carefully studies the hunched over form at the altar. The moonlight makes the patches of ratty white fur draped around his shoulders shine like the snow surrounding him. Not a hair moves. He is entirely still, and hopefully unlikely to turn around.

So Sylvain stands up, as slowly and quietly as possible. He hasn’t yet taken off his armour from the day’s routine scouting mission, and the plates of it scrape softly in the cathedral’s silence. It’s barely noise, but it’s apparently loud enough for a wounded, paranoid beast to hear.

“Who’s there?” he snarls, turning, and his bared teeth and icy, singular eye glint silver. He scours the darkness before him like a predator. Then, he steps forward. His boots clink against the floor with every heavy footfall.

Sylvain stands rooted to the spot. There is no point in running—if he did, surely, the prince would be onto him in an instant. So he slowly forces his legs to move, one after the other. He steps out into the corridor between the pews, hands raised, palms open.

“It’s just me,” says Sylvain, not daring to make eye-contact.

The clinking of armoured boots against the floor’s tiling continues, grows ever closer. Sylvain breathes evenly, staring at his feet, until the steps come to a halt. The overpowering smells of filth, sweat, blood, death and decay surround him and he almost wants to gag.

“Why are you here?”

Sylvain feels a smile strain his lips, out of habit.

“I don’t know, honestly. I just wandered in here. Guess I’m a bit restless.”

He raises his eyes as if to prove his honesty. Usually, he makes sure not to look directly into the face before him. He doesn’t like having to acknowledge—beyond a doubt, beyond plausible deniability—that this is Dimitri. But at the same time, this wounded animal, this little boy from his childhood, deserves to be looked at, and be it only to set his frail mind at ease.

“Restless,” echoes Dimitri. “What do you know about restlessness.”

Sylvain swallows and holds Dimitri’s eye. “Nothing at all, Your Highness,” he says, exaggeratedly blithe. He begins to lower his still raised hands. “I was just about to leave, anyways.”

In a blink, Dimitri seizes his right wrist. He holds it up with a grip that could crush Sylvain’s gauntlet and bones alike were it just an iota tighter. His rank breath fans across Sylvain’s face. “Do you take me for a fool?” he snarls.

“Never, Your Highness.”

Dimitri glowers at him. “Then do you really think I would let you reach for whatever weapon you’re carrying?” He indicates towards Sylvain’s lower body with a tilt of his head. “Should I just sit patiently and wait for you to stab me in the back?”

“I’m not carrying any weapons,” replies Sylvain. The hand around his wrist tightens threateningly. “I swear I am not. I fight for you every day. I have no reason to hurt you.”

“Let us pretend you weren’t a filthy liar,” Dimitri jeers. “So what if you have no reason to hurt me? Do you think people need a reason to kill?”

Sylvain can’t help but remember the rat, squeezed to death in the same iron grip that is currently holding his hand up. His eyes flicker towards the altar. “Maybe not.”

That seems to satisfy Dimitri. He grins, and the shadows passing over his face bring out the monster quite well. “So you admit as much,” he says. “But let me tell you something. I won’t let you kill me, yet. Not before I get to hold that woman’s head in my own two hands. The dead are helpless. They cannot act upon their thirst for revenge. So I must not join them before then.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Sylvain replies. The smell around him is slowly making him nauseous. He still takes a deep breath. “But I need you to understand that I’m not here to kill you. Or harm you in any way for that matter. I don’t have as much as a butter knife on me.”

“And isn’t that a shame.” The fingers around Sylvain’s wrist tighten just a bit more. Even through the padding below his armour, it hurts.

“Please let me go, Your Highness.”

Dimitri stares, but looks right through him. “You couldn’t kill me if you wanted to,” he says. “But know that I could crush you like vermin. That I will crush you like vermin, if you ever scutter back in here and hide in the darkness like this.”

“And do you really think you would you enjoy killing me like that?” Sylvain asks. He would bet that there’s no way he would—in a moment of clarity, he would realise what he’s done. He would have to live with the knowledge that he had murdered someone close to him, for no good reason. That he’d become what he despises most. That Sylvain’s ghost would come for Dimitri’s head, and Dimitri’s head alone.

The hand around his wrist goes slack. Then it drops away.

Dimitri averts his eye, looks towards the grand portal at the back of the cathedral. His shoulders and jaw tense up. “Leave,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Don’t come back.”

Sylvain nods, and cradles his right hand close to his chest. Wordlessly, he walks past his prince, and doesn’t turn to look back even once. He pulls the portal open only far enough to just slip through, and only once he has an inch of solid wood between himself and Dimitri does he dare release a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

The night is cold, and the snow on the bridge is frozen over where it’s been pushed aside in heaps. Sylvain shivers and breathes shakily. Funny. Almost as if he’d seen a ghost.

He looks down at his wrist—properly examines it in the moonlight. There are four finger-shaped indents in his gauntlet, spanning three individual plates. The dents in the metal almost feel like Dimitri’s grip is still there.

It’s smeared with blood and rat-guts.

iii.

The world seems to run on quid pro quo these days. Perhaps it is a byproduct of war. If you keep on taking and taking from one party, you can eventually begin to give back to another in equal parts.

Ferdinand von Aegir and his trusty steed cheerfully bleed out on a stiflingly warm spring afternoon. In turn, Dedue comes back from the dead.

And he must have brought back some part of Dimitri from the underworld along with him, because in a moment of clarity, with shaking hands clasped around his most trusted vassal’s forearms, the tremor in the prince’s voice sounds almost human. One ghost has returned—a living, breathing thing, instead of a bloodthirsty facsimile that lurks in the darkness of Dimitri’s mind.

By the time they regroup at Garreg Mach, the spell is broken.

Nothing truly changes, except that the spectre haunting the monastery grounds now has a shadow following it around. At least the nights are milder now, so Dedue’s stalwart vigils are not bitten by frost nor covered in snow.

Sylvain sits with him, one night, in the third row of pews from the front. A few candles around them remain lit. Sylvain’s gauntlet has long since been fixed and Dimitri pays neither of them any mind, either way.

“It’s good to know that you’re watching over him,” Sylvain says, lowly. “None of us really managed to.”

Dedue gives him a curious sideways glance, but doesn’t ask him to elaborate. He just straightens in his seat and sighs. “I would never mind looking out for His Highness,” he says, “especially when I am, arguably, to blame for his current state.”

“Are you, though?”

“The dead have always had a firm grip on his conscience. And I left him to think that I had died. That yet another life had been laid down for him. It was the cruellest thing I could have done.”

Sylvain purses his lips, stalls by glancing around the empty cathedral. “Maybe you’re right,” he says. Dedue nods grimly. It’s funny. He’s younger than Sylvain, and so severe. “But I still think you did the right thing. Goddess knows what all of us would be doing by now, were His Highness gone for good.”

Dimitri mutters something to himself, almost loud enough to be intelligible from where they’re sitting, and starts to pick at a heap of debris. Dedue watches him like a hawk, and maybe one day, his efforts will be rewarded. Sylvain wonders how that would even work.

Silence stretches on between them, only filled with vague muttering and the scraping of stones and plate mail. “Well,” says Sylvain eventually, “and then, there’s still that sliver of a hope that he’ll actually come around. Take the throne, become the king we need. Keep Faerghus from falling apart.”

Dedue’s lips press into a firm line. He slowly tears his gaze away from Dimitri and meets Sylvain’s eye. “Is that really what you think?”

“I want to, at least. Don’t you?”

He pauses. “Of course. There is not a doubt in my mind,” Dedue settles on. “Though I do not think there is a magical cure for what ails His Highness.”

It almost makes Sylvain laugh. “No,” he says instead, “there really isn’t.” And it’s understandable, and relatable—all of them are messes in their own right. War does that to a person. Sylvain has no trouble admitting that he might be the biggest mess of them all, has been for a long time. But unlike him, Dimitri used to be kind. He had no time to properly get used to all the vitriol being pumped into his system, had no time to build up a resistance to the poison, and was promptly killed from the inside out for it.

Dedue shifts in his seat, looks back towards their prince. He has stopped his aimless digging by now, instead staring off into space.

“At the very least, he is alive,” says Dedue, very quietly. It sounds as though he were only now beginning to reconcile his guilt with his own conscience. Sylvain almost laughs. Dedue, too, is kind.

“Alive might be overstating it,” he says.

iv.

And then Rodrigue Fraldarius dies so Dimitri can actually come alive again.

It’s almost unsurprising, that the toll for their prince’s soul has to be paid in blood. The sun slowly sets on them, dyeing the sky a similar shade of red, and by nightfall, Duke Fraldarius has gone well and truly cold.

It rains throughout the night, as though the heavens themselves were weeping for their loss. They leave their march back to Garreg Mach for the morning, and lay out Rodrigue in the most dignified manner possible, given their circumstances. Mercedes softly offers a prayer, Felix runs, Dimitri runs farther, and the Professor gives chase.

The rest of them remain at camp, and sometime during the night, as the rain eases off to a drizzle, Sylvain and Dedue set out to dispose of the body of a murderous girl left unaccounted for. Gilbert surmised she might have been a Bergliez—the younger sister to a general who had preceded her in death.

It ultimately doesn’t matter. The rain rolls off her cold, pale skin the same as any other corpse. She is limp and heavy between them as they heft her towards a ravine. And hard as carrying her might be, she falls easily.

This close to Gronder, the Bergliez girl finds her resting place on familiar soil at least. It still strikes Sylvain as somewhat cruel. Somewhat terrifying.

“Taking her back to the monastery,” Dedue begins, quiet and even, rumbling like subtle thunder, “would not have made anyone happier. I do not imagine the Empire would have claimed her.”

Sylvain’s mouth is bone dry amidst the rain. “We didn’t have to leave her dead in a ditch to be eaten by wolves, though,” he says, lightly, like it’s a joke.

Dedue’s voice is firm when he replies, “After making an attempt on His Highness’ life, this is a greater mercy than she is deserving of.” The raindrops plink on his armour. “I have no pity for her.”

There’s something terrifying about Dedue, too.

Sylvain purses his lips. “Do you think...” he begins, and trails off. It’s hard to see much in the darkness, but Dedue seems to be listening intently, back straight. Do you think vengefulness finally came to bite Dimitri in the ass? he desperately wants to ask. Do you think the Empire would be tossing him down there instead, had things gone just a bit differently? Where would that leave us?

But these are not questions to ask Dedue, of all people. Maybe he will bring them up with Felix, when it stops being the insensitive thing to do.

The rain falls on, and Sylvain doesn’t finish his question. Instead, he stares down the dark ravine as if he was waiting for something. He half expects the Bergliez girl to come crawling back up. Perhaps all the spite stored in her small body is enough to miraculously revive her. Make her into one of Dimitri’s heartless, murderous ghosts. If she grabbed at Sylvain’s ankles, could she pull him back down with her? Would he even think to fight her?

“We should head back to camp, Sylvain,” says Dedue, eventually. The rain is getting heavier again, and he’s right. He’s right, and yet.

And yet.

There’s something genuinely human about Dimitri again, after that.

Sylvain feels like his insides have been freshly scraped out, but their prince finally dares to stand before his people again—one-eyed, filthy, and with tears streaming down his face. And he’s hopeful. Goddess, he’s hopeful, because the people looking up to him remind him how hope looks.

And to them, hope looks an awful lot like Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.

It is hope that has him struggle to rekindle his humanity, bit by bit. He spends days tracking down the people close to him around the monastery, always keeping his head bowed and voice low as he apologises and, eventually, tentatively speaks to them as one would with old friends. It’s as amusing as it is sad to watch.

Eventually, he seeks out Sylvain in one of the many courtyards. Someone has chopped off some of his hair since Sylvain last saw him, and he doesn’t reek anymore, either. It seems like a miracle, after all these months.

“Sylvain, may I have a moment of your time?” he asks, shoulders curled inward, in a clear attempt to make himself look small.

Sylvain almost laughs. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Dimitri smiles—a small, wobbly little thing. “Thank you,” he says. His tone is close to the regal cadence from their childhood. It feels almost nostalgic.

“Well, how can I help you?”

The prince sighs. He is pale—not in the way a ghost is. Not in the way a corpse is. Goddess knows Sylvain has seen his fill of jaundiced, bruised bodies lately. By comparison, Dimitri only looks exhausted, and isn’t that a good look on him for a change?

“Sylvain, I must apologise to you,” he says. “As must I to everyone else, of course. You understand my meaning.”

“I do, but... I’m the last one who needs your apologies, Your Highness,” Sylvain replies. It comes out a little dry, almost enough to make him want to cough. Dimitri frowns, looks agonised at hearing Sylvain dismiss him so.

He straightens up, squares his shoulders. Emphatically, he says, “I disagree.” Whether his bearing is animalistic or kingly in nature, Sylvain can’t tell. “Words cannot make up for everything I’ve done, or for what I’ve put all of you through. Believe me, I am more than aware of this. But even if this is mere lip service, I want to think of it as a starting point.”

And then, curiously, Dimitri reaches for Sylvain’s bare wrist. He slowly curls his fingers around it with a measured, deliberate gentleness. “Whether you need it or not, I still think you deserve an apology. If only as much as everyone else.”

“I got the gauntlet fixed,” Sylvain replies.

“So you did.”

Sylvain sighs. He wants to run a hand through his hair, but finds one of them inconveniently held down. “Listen, Your Highness, let’s just focus on winning the war, first thing. Everything else can come later.”

“But—“

“Did you apologise to Felix, yet?”

Dimitri starts, then looks away, studying the caps of his boots and the grass. He dips his head in a nod. “I’ve lost count how often, quite frankly. And I still feel like it will never be enough.”

“Maybe it won’t,” Sylvain agrees. Dimitri’s gaze snaps back to him, the hand around his wrist clenching. His eye is wide, with something wretched and hungry boiling beneath the surface. A gluttony for punishment. “But you know how he is—actions mean more to him than words do. So show him that you mean it.”

Dimitri suddenly drops—slaps away—his wrist as if it had burned him. “And then what, Sylvain?” he asks. “Is that what you’re asking of me as well? How would I even go about that? How does one show repentance?”

“That’s not—listen,” Sylvain says, holding back a groan. “No one is asking you to spend the rest of your days between self-flagellation and martyrdom. Just... win this war. Show everyone who sided with you that they didn’t fight for nothing. That’s all you have to do, really.”

“And the throne?”

There’s not a doubt in Sylvain’s mind that Dimitri will ascend it. Out of a sense of duty, or because people push him into it, he doesn’t know, but—he will. “You’ll cross that bridge when you get to it,” is what he says, though.

Dimitri seems to relish in the ambiguity. His eye slips shut. “Very well, then,” he replies. Hums. Sylvain thinks that’s the end of that, but his price proves him wrong. “Rodrigue would have liked to see me coronated, certainly.”

“I’m sure he would have. And maybe Felix would agree, though he’d never admit it.”

Dimitri laughs, soft and rumbling. The ghost of Duke Fraldarius seems to hang about him much more lightly than the rest.

When Dimitri’s blinks his eye open and he looks at Sylvain, it’s with a level of fondness that almost catches him off guard. “I think we went quite of track, Sylvain,” he says. “I came here to apologise to you, and yet...”

“It doesn’t matter, Your Highness. Really.” And because Dimitri looks almost sceptical, he adds, “I mean it. You might not realise it, but I think I’m more willing to forgive you after this than I would have been after nothing but an apology.”

“Very well, then,” concedes Dimitri. He straightens up, rolls back his shoulders. He stands about as tall as Sylvain these days, but wears the height much more imposingly. Kingly. “I suppose I will have to lead our troops to victory, then. Just to be assured your forgiveness.”

That sounds suspiciously like a joke, albeit a bad one. Sylvain still laughs at it. “I wouldn’t forgive you if you didn’t, that much is true.”

Dimitri smiles. “Thank you, in any case,” he says. Then, looking around, pretending—endearingly badly—to be busy, all of a sudden, he adds, “I unfortunately have a lot to catch up on, so if you’ll excuse me.”

Sylvain waves a hand, dismissive. “Off you go,” he says.

And the prince bows to him, just by a few angles, before he turns on his heel.

vi.

Pegasus Moon in Fhirdiad is freezing, but it feels like spring compared to Gautier.

Rime covers even sunny days until nightfall, and nights are almost endless in Fódlan’s North, even though the city’s lights make a valiant effort to stain the pitch blackness of the sky a bruised orange. A few lamps and torches around the castle remain lit until morning, still. By their humble light, guardsmen and knights brave the cold without as much as a complaint.

Sylvain is not nearly as brave—a mere political visitor, who only stays at the capital to play nice with court and king when negotiations with Sreng slow, who only visits when his father wants him out of his hair.

He walks about the courtyards in the dark, where snow is piled as high as his calves. But he’s wearing his sturdy travel boots, laced up almost all the way to his knees, and the crunching of the snow below his feet feels like home.

That’s how the ever busy king of the united Fódlan finds him—standing knee-deep in the snow, bundled up in furs over his relatively humble travel gear. Sylvain doesn’t expect him, but then, in a way, he does. Dimitri is awfully used to haunting ancient halls.

“I see you couldn’t be bothered to announce your arrival personally.”

Sylvain grins. He turns to face his king. “I had a lot of excess energy after being on the road for so long, Your Majesty.”

If they hadn’t know each other for the better part of their lives, perhaps Dimitri would reply with something other than a shake of his head and a vague huff of laughter. But as it is, he only steps into the snow—briefly, disdainfully looking at his feet as though he were surprised it is wet—and then proceeds to step into the holes of Sylvain’s tracks.

A twin set of torches tries to illuminate the entire courtyard, but their soft yellow glow is not nearly enough to drive off the darkness of the night. Dimitri comes to stand before Sylvain, looking disgruntled in soaked shoes and dishevelled regalia.

Perhaps the faint light hides some of his tiredness, but he looks good. Healthy. Alive. Sylvain smiles at him, tilting his head. “Are you without Dedue tonight?”

Dimitri nods. “I promised him I would look for you, then turn in for the night,” he says. “I wish he would stop his constant fretting, one of these days.”

“To be fair, I’m sure lots of people are out for your life,” Sylvain replies.

Dimitri laughs, like it’s a joke, and well. Enough of that.

Sylvain roughly yanks his king into a crushing hug, because he can do that, what with them having known each other for the better part of their lives. Dimitri goes stiff against him, as he always does, before returning the embrace even more ferociously.

“I’d like to announce that I have arrived healthy and whole, Your Majesty,” he says into the fur trim of Dimitri’s collar, and Dimitri laughs again.

#fanfiction #Fire Emblem Three Houses #fe3h #sylvain jose gautier #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #dimivain #dedue molinaro #word count: 4k+#cw: blood #cw: death mention #cw: dead body #cw: mental health #cw: dead animals #cw: violence

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jay-and-dean · 5 years

Text

Captive Chapter 3 : “Breathe angel”

gif by @justjensenanddean

_Dean x Reader_

Summary :

Dean Winchester is an enemy.

Every man of letters and hunters are enemies.

During the Great Purge in Europe, when every european Men of Letters allied to eradicate monsters once and for all, using hunters as their cold-blooded hounds, long before the BMOL took an interest in USA, they killed my mother, and made me go through hell. I killed so many of them I lost count, and lived a life on the run. Until one day I heard about American Men of Letters extinction, and decided to try and find peace there.

That was without counting on the exile of some BMOL, and the existence of the two best hunters of the world.The fisrt time I saw Sam Winchester, I almost killed him, and Dean has me now…

He is going to kill me, right ?

***CAPTIVE MASTERLIST***

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Future warnings : Violence and captivity, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, Smut.

Chapter Warnings : Anxiety Attack, Angst, Fluff, Smut.

Words : 8k

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“Breathe angel”

Dean's Pov

"Alright Sammy" I say on the phone, putting Baby's keys on the table. "I'll ask Jody if she can check if Ketch had rent somewhere. Yeah. Be safe."

I hung up and smile. We won this round, now she have to tell me if she knows something about some tapes. According to my brother, they might be the key to understanding who Y/n is and why they want her back so bad -beside the fact that she'll kill them all-. But my brother just knows tapes exist, not what they have in.

Lazily walking in the bunker, I sigh when I realize I look forward seeing her more than take a fresh beer, as I usually do coming home.

Something's wrong, the door is opened. My heart racing, I take my gun and enter the dungeon, pushing the doors slowly.

The cuffs she had on her feet are open. She left, or were taken.

Reader's Pov

Ignore the pain, Y/n. Just ignore it like you did a thousand times.

I feel like I'm falling endlessly. I'm fast, always have. I run almost twice faster than an average girl my age would. But my body is so painful I'd rather die now.

Run, Y/n. This is the last chance. Last chance to be free, and come back to your former life... Let the rain fall on your eyes and let the night hide you... Be the beast they say you are. Be stealth and deadly. Just run further, faster.

I feel the stitches break and my wounds open but I keep running as fast as I can.

I feel my bones hurt and the thorns cut my bare feet but I keep throwing my legs forward.

I feel exhaustion beating my muscles but I keep fleeing like a predator was after me.

I feel my lungs scream but I still run faster.

I think about Dean and the radiant smile I'll never see on his face...

I feel my heart shatter and I fall and my knees.

Putting my hands on my mouth I try not to make a sound when my soul is suddenly aching so bad, I have trouble breathing. A simple idea made me fail and fall : Being far from him. My body just doesn't want to run from him... Torn between lonely freedom and captivity with him, I can't move anymore. The world is crashing down and nothing means anything anymore. No certainty. No goal.

I can't breathe.

I can't breathe at all.

Dean's pov

The main door was open and I just ran outside, thinking she would probably go through the forest to hide, if she ran away by herself... I run not knowing where I'm going, getting lost in the forest, following the track of an unknown monster, but not to hunt her down this time, to save her if she needs it.

Please be alive Y/n, please be alone. Please let me get you. Don't be dead I'm begging you. I hurt you so bad Y/n, more than you probably deserve, I weaken you so much, now you're defenseless and if they got you it will be because of me.

Suddenly I hear a sound. A strange painful sound, like a wounded animal and I run toward it. As I come closer, I recognize the voice of someone fighting to breathe, like something were strangling their throat. I run even faster.

When I see her, on the floor, kneeling and holding her chest, her breathing screaming loudly in each inhale, I don't think and let my knees fall on the floor beside her.

"Hey, Y/n, look at me, what's wrong ?" I take her head in my hands and see she has nothing around her neck. "Breathe. Y/n..." I half panic but she abruptly clings to my arms.

She's breathing like she had the fear of her life or worse, her throat whistle, her lips are turning blue.

"Hey, hey. Y/n ! Calm down, breathe. Please. Please look at my mouth" I take a slow inhale and breathe out making a "o" with my lips.

She tries, she really does. Staring at my face she concentrates, but her lungs seem crushed. Her big terrified eyes are blue now, her face close to mine and she looks so vulnerable. It's like she was begging me, calling for me with her wet, trembling eyes.

I don't know what to do, she needs to breathe. Her nails are digging my skin through my flannel. Her eyes never leaving mine, so close to me.

I kiss her and she stops panicking.

I just put my lips on hers like I wanted to give her my hair... and it just works.

The instant her throat stops whistling, I take my lips away from hers to check on her face. She lets her head fall on my chest and breathe heavily. I don't move, panting myself from the myriad of emotions I just went through.

She wraps her arms around me and I take her head in my hands, sitting on my ankles. When the rain makes me shiver I take her closer, like I wanted to keep her warm.

"What happened ?" I ask low.

But she doesn't answer, she just squeezes me a little more.

She doesn't talk. During the long walk to the bunker, she doesn't say a word, and doesn't try to run. Her eyes are lost, she's thinking, wondering maybe. I keep my arm around her back and guide her because she doesn't even look at where she's going. Her eyes are still blue, searching an invisible answer in the night.

She doesn't talk when I guide her mechanically to the dungeon. I put her cuffs back and I notice my hands are shaking. Her dripping hair are sticking to her face and her eyes keep their blue tint but they're staring at me now, like the answer is written on my face.

"Y/n... You can't run away" I say with doubt mix with bitterness in my unsure voice. "You ca..."

She looks down and I notice a bit of blood on that flannel she wears.

"Don't move" I say sadly.

But as turn to go to my room to take a new flannel, emotions overflow me and a tsunami of rage makes my blood run cold. She could have died.

"Why would you do this... I mean we're trying to help you here, Sam, he... I-I thought they caught you..." I mumble gritting my teeth.

I turn around and she's still looking down, with those blue eyes I hate so much... Because they remind me of Michael, or because they remind me she's not a human being.

"I should put that collar back on you" I say coldly. "I was out trying to defend you... I was... I should put that FUCKING COLLAR BACK ON YOUR NECK !" I finally lose my temper.

"I'm a..." she whispers.

"WHAT ?" I keep yelling. "WHAT ARE YOU ? TELL ME !"

"I'm a prisoner..." she winces. "We try to run away."

"YOU'RE A MONSTER !" I yell pointing at her.

A unique big tear falls from her eye and her lips tremble. I can't take it, I can't stand being close to her and leave the room.

My hands on my face, I lean against the wall. I hate the mess I'm feeling. Shit. After a few minutes, I sigh and go to my bedroom, then to the bathroom.

When I come back she didn't move, sitting on that mattress like a fucking slave. My heart sinks. I just can't think straight. I hate her and hate hating her, but I hate treating her like an animal… I’m so confused inside my head.

I kneel in front of her and try not to think about that strand of her hair sticking to her cleavage. I undo one more button to see the cuts on her chest : they faded a lot, but the deeper part is bleeding a bit. I see her heart beating strongly, and feel it when I put the cotton wool on her skin. She's still looking down, her eyes slowly losing their unnatural blue shade.

As I brush her skin, my hand accidentally opens another button and reveals more than it should. I can see the beautiful curve of her naked breasts almost to her nipples... I should look away. I just can't. My eyes roam to her wet throat and my hand linger too long on her skin.

She takes a shaky breath but I don't dare looking up at her face. When I notice a scar next to her heart, I brush it with my index finger, letting the cotton wool fall. Her heart beats my hand with force. Before I can think, I flatten my hand to feel it. My fingers star moving by themselves, shyly caressing her skin, pushing the fabric. Her sweet nipple appears and I can't hold back a strangled sigh, she's just something else. With a trembling fingers, I brush it and she squeezes her thighs.

Shit.

I bend and half bite half kiss the soaked skin at the base of her throat. Having my mouth tasting her makes me dizzy, and for an moment I don’t care what she is or that she could kill me now, just break my neck like I saw her do… She stays silent but her breathing fasten. My hand takes her breast fully and I moan against her skin.

Only then I dare to look at her face, she's flushed and her eyes are on me, piercing me. I kiss her throat again, letting my tongue surreptitiously taste her skin. My other hand comes up to push her hair away and let me access to the skin below her ear, she lets her head fall backward and rubs her knees one against the other.

I'm hard as steel but it's not my own body that has my attention right now. I'm lost on her. I crash my lips on hers and immediately claims entrance. She opens her mouth and my tongue feasts on her.

She doesn’t move, maybe she doesn’t dare, her hands on her knees she lets me kiss her like I had wanted to for years, and she lets my hand knead her soft breast and tease her nipples.

I come closer, opening her legs to have them on each side of me, and my hand opens her flannel completely to roam her body. She moans in my mouth and I start panting. Everything is so intense I don’t realize what I’m doing, until my knee bangs on the chain… then my brain starts to scream.

What if she lets me do this because she is afraid ? Or because she thinks she doesn’t have a choice ? What am I doing ? This is rape, I mean she is chained against her will. Shit. Have I lost my damn mind ? This is twisted and sick…

I break the kiss and take my hands away, panting because of arousal as much as panic. She looks at me and still doesn’t dare to move, she must be terrified.

“I’m so…” I can’t finish my sentence, I hate my own voice right now. “There.”

I give her the clean flannel, one of mine this time. Then I get up trying not to look at her.

In the kitchen, I stay straight, my two hands on the counter, eyes closed. I came here to bring her something to eat but the tent on my pants is very embarrassing and painful. I have to think about anything else, try to calm down, but nothing seems to work and her moan is playing on repeat in my head.

My heart pounding with guilt, I slip my hand in my pants and rub my cock with a strong will to think about the last porn I watched or the last girl I slept with. But as my right hand grabs my cock, I think about how it was on her breast minutes ago, how her nipple harden noticeably between my fingers. When I start to stroke it, I try to think about that time Jenny or what-was-her-name-again invited her roommate to join us, but my sick brain create a scene where she is the one slipping her hand in my boxers and I forget about the roommates and porn or trying to be quiet.

Reader’s Pov

Curled up on the mattress, my nose on the collar of the flannel, I smell his scent. What is happening to me ? I met strong beautiful men before, had sex with some of them, but it never had that effect on me. It’s like he was crack or heroin and I just can’t stay away from him. That guy, Chris, from that bar in New York, he was handsome, maybe even more than Dean, certainly more than Dean, a true work of art ; but he never made me become a confused teenager like that, captivated and obsessed…

Maybe it is boredom. Maybe not seeing other people is making me crazy and when I finally go back to my former life I find a hundred Deans. And then maybe I forget about his lips on mine…

It is strange to have wetness between my legs right now. I mean I’m still a prisoner… Rubbing my thighs together I try to ease the need, but his smell is covering me and the delicious sound of his moan comes back constantly like an echo.

When he finally comes back, I take my nose out of the flannel but don’t dare moving more. He barely looks at me, putting a plate in front of me with a homemade burger. It smells really good.

“Hope you like it” he says like he was shy. “Do you want water, a coke or a beer ?”

I smile thinking about a joke that would compare him to a fast-food employee, but I keep it to myself and stare at him like I needed to have my fix.

“I wouldn’t say no to a beer…”

“Okay. Do you need anything else ?” he says still avoiding my face.

“Did you already eat ?” I ask, casting my eyes down.

“No. My plate is in the library” he says and I think of what I saw when I left the dungeon : the beautiful library and those huge rooms…

“Could you… Forget it” I give up.

“Tell me” he insists, looking back at me for the first time.

“I’m just tired of being alone all the time…”

He doesn’t answer and leaves. Just when my heart drops at the idea of not seeing him for hours and hours, he comes back, his plate in one hand and two fresh beers in the other. He seats in front of me, handing me a bottle.

“This is uncomfortable, you need a table” he grunts when he can’t place his plate on his knees with enough stability.

Then silence falls again. I play with my beer, not daring to take a sip before he does. He takes a big bite of the burger, I watch him chew, his jaw moving, his lips greasy.

“You don’t like burgers ?” he says as I don’t touch mine, engrossed in looking at him.

“Yeah, yeah… Thank you” I say taking the plate. “Thank you” I repeat, thinking about what happened in the forest.

The burger is delicious, he really made it good, with fried onions and bacon. When a drop of sauce falls on his flannel I’m wearing I wince and mutter apologies.

“It’s okay” he says. “You just don’t know how to eat properly I see.”

Saying that he takes another huge bite and a piece of bacon falls on his pants. He looks at me with an amused look, almost childish and I can’t hold a soft shy laugh.

“Y/n…” he says and for an unknown reason my heart races. “Do you know anything about tapes ?”

“Tapes ?”

He nods.

“No… Why ?”

“Sammy thinks we have to find tapes…” he states. “Are you sure you never heard of tapes ? This could be really helpful to understand why the Men of Letters are ready to die to catch you.”

I look down and put my burger on the plate.

“I’m a monster, they’re monster hunters. That’s it, Dean…”

“No. There’s more I know it…”

The next day Dean comes back after his shower, hair still wet and the delicious smell of his soap all over him. He checks on my wounds and smile when he sees they’re almost healed.

“I’m going to the grocery store, do you need something ? Girl thing ?Anything ?” he asks tiredly.

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll run away ? If you tell me when you’re gone ?”

“No, I know you won’t go anywhere” he says and I can’t look at him while he searches my face.

Twenty-seven. It’s the number of opportunities I had to run away since that time I did, a few days ago. Dean is more and more imprudent, leaving the room when I shower and not closing the donjon door when he went out to bring a little table. But almost all of these opportunities would have involve hurting him, and I can’t resolve to that.

The cuffs on my feet are hurting me but I never tell him, because I can see the guilt he can’t digest for beating me so bad. And I realized his feelings are important to me…

He’s not as stupid or violent as I thought. He even seems to live up to his reputation. I learned a lot about him these days : Dean is worried all the time, for everything and everyone ; he feels guilty easily and he is loyal. He likes comfort and cleanliness. He's shy when he hears something nice... Maybe not all hunters are the same…

Each time he opens those doors my heart races, and each time he goes it’s like everything went dark and freezing. I still wash with his soap and I use his shampoo too, to have at least his smell on me when he leaves me alone.

Maybe he’ll kill me when Sam comes back, but I don’t really care. I was ready to die and now if it could be by his hand, at least he would be the last person I see…

“Here” he says handing me a beer and sitting next to me on the mattress. “Sam is coming back soon. He has the tapes.”

I look at him in disbelief mixed with pure fear. What does it mean ? Will Dean abandon me from now on ? What is on those damn tapes ?

“Ketch had hidden them in Great Britain. Sam can’t fly from London to here because they’re watching airports since he robbed those tapes. He’ll take several trains to lose them before he can take a plane…” he says looking at you.

He’s so close now, I can feel heat radiate from him, and I’m very aware of how my hand could touch his thigh if it moved just a little bit.

“How did you escaped from them all those years ?” he asks and the secret answer escape from my mouth.

“Boats” I say. “In holds, between goods most of the time” I simply say ignoring the fact that now I couldn’t run from him that easily if I had to.

“Must have been hell…” he says for himself taking a sip of his beer. “You really don’t know what you are ?”

I shake my head and my eyes land on the freckles around his nose.

“But you know what you can do or not… Like, do you have powers like telekinesis or things like that ?”

I shake my head again. Then he doesn’t dare to ask another question, even if I know he has a thousand. I look at his profile while he lets his head on the wall, his Adam’s apple catching my eyes. If his plan was to seduce the truth out of me, he’s succeeding.

“I’m resistant and tough. I need to eat less, to sleep less. I can bear really high and low temperatures. I’m faster and my reflexes are better." As I speak he looks at me with kindness and a ounce of gratitude. "I learn faster too, I can read a book in an hour and keep it in mind almost entirely for days. I’m immune against every virus but I can get sick if I’m infected by bacteria. I heal not only faster but better, most of my scars finally disappear entirely. My heart can slow until almost stopping for hours when my body needs it and my heartbeats can go up to 280 beats per minutes. I don’t have period, or cramps or sore muscle. My blood gives some of those abilities to whom drinks it for a few days… And I see in the dark” I say, my eyes in his.

I never told this to anyone, this is the guide to kill or control me. This is dangerous. I just gave Dean everything that could end me.

“Maybe they want your blood, to be stronger” he thinks out loud.

“No, they don’t know that. I kept as much as I could from them…”

“So they trained you to make you even stronger ?” he says turning a bit to face me.

“Yep…”

There is something in his eyes. Kindness or something else. An expression I’ve never seen in my life… Something beautifully soothing, warm and definitely rare.

When he bends to catch my lips, my heart stops for a second, astonished.

He gently caresses my skin with his, very slowly, like he was afraid of something or extremely shy. And I stay perfectly still, terrified that he could just run away like he did last time. I don’t breathe, I don’t talk, I just focus on him.

The plumb flesh of his lips kisses mine hesitantly once and twice. But doubt creeps on his face once again and he doesn’t allow his mouth to meet mine a third time. I’m craving, I’m dying to touch him and hear him moan again…

So I do the only thing I know when it comes to intimacy : give people what I think they want to keep them from leaving me…

I put my hand on his knee and start stroking it slowly. He looks at me with a new expression on his perfect face : surprise ; and I bite my lower lip, craving for his breath against my skin. I go up his leg and I can see his face flush a bit.

When my hand lands on his crotch, he puts his on it.

“Y/n…” he says, searching my eyes.

But I bend and nibble at his jaw, teeth and tongue, my hand moving lightly on his crotch. He half sighs half moans, closing his eyes tight like he was trying to concentrate, to resist maybe.

“Y/n, don’t” he tries in a whisper.

I take his hand on mine with my free one and put it on my breast, making him squeeze it a bit while I keep nibbling at the skin below his ear.

I know I’m making him crazy, this is what I want. I want him to need me. I need him to stay with me, to touch me. I need that third kiss and to see that warm thing in his eyes that makes me believe in life.

I let go his hand to open his belt and he lets me do it despite a muttered “shit” falling from his mouth. His palm never leave my chest, exploring it, shyly opening another button to reach my skin.

He’s hard. My hand seems small on his boxers covered length and a burning desire makes my hand work in synchrony with my mouth : The more my hand rubs him, the more my mouth is wet and greedy. It's like I could never have enough of him, of his manly smell, of the muscle moving in his jaw, of what he is and especially who he is : simply Dean Winchester.

His eyes are still closed and he pants, mouth agape, when I decide to rob that third kiss.

“Y/n” he says against my lips, tickling me with his breath. “Don’t do that… I won’t be able to stop. I can’t…”

He cuts his sentence with a low moan when I takes the head of his cock through the fabric and rub my thumb on it where I know it’s good.

He opens his eyes and their expression is mixed with a new one, a one I already seen : Lust. It suits him so well I feel those sweatpants I wear becoming damp under me.

He looks right in my eyes now and I see a light threatening smirk appear on the side of his mouth. He abruptly pushes me on the mattress and I gasp when I fall on it.

His strong hand takes my knees and open them widely but he doesn’t come between them like I thought, and hoped, he would. Instead he keeps my upper body down with a strong hand and slips the other inside the grey, wet sweatpants.

This is happening so fast, I don’t have time to think about how I want him to take me here and now, or about that sweet unknown expression on his face. I don’t have time to realize I’m overwhelmed by my feelings as much as desire.

He reaches my pussy and rubs his index and middle fingers on it, soaking them. I moan loudly, incapable of holding back the intense pleasure.

“You’re soaked” he whispers bending on me to kiss my throat and bite it.

I can’t answer anything as his fingers slip inside me without any warning. This time my back arches and a low scream escapes. I’m already squeezing his fingers like crazy, on the edge like he had prepared me for hours when he is so fast.

“D-Dean…” I beg.

But he starts thrusting his fingers deep and tough and my voice gets lost.

I want to catch his face to kiss him but my fists are closed, one around his arm, moving with every thrust of his large hand, one around the fabric of my pants, like I could cling to it.

Without my consent, my hips lift, pushed upward by my legs, and allow a new angle. He goes so deep I can feel him in my belly... and my own body comes down to my fucking belly right now.

“Shit” he grunts, biting my throat eagerly. “Touch me… Please...”

I let go of his arm and slip my hand in his pants again, not able to do much more, to go inside his boxers or to have a comfortable angle. I clumsily stroke him through the fabric but the roughness of his ministration send me to an unfocused blur ecstasy.

I can't focus on anything but his fingers inside of me, touching places only some dicks brushed occasionally. My feet are digging in the mattress, keeping my hips high, my thighs sweaty and contracted. I'm dizzy and I feel the most powerful orgasm I ever had coil in each of my cells. Yet I'm still fully clothed...

Dean doesn't move, only his strong arms is shaken by the powerful thrusts he inflicts me. I can't touch him anymore, and yet I would love nothing more than to take care of him, to make him scream and come. But I'm shaken by a pleasure so intense it is almost painful.

"D-D-Dean..." I exhale more than I call, my hand still rubbing his cock absent-mindedly.

"Shit..." he groans. "Look at you... Fuck !" he pants.

When he moves his wrist to reach impossibly deeper inside me, I come hard. My heart stops for a second as my soul seems to leave my body, then he starts beating like crazy, and my pussy throbs so hard around his fingers it almost hurts how strong and hard they are.

My sweat seems suddenly so cold, and my own wetness is tickling my ass cheeks, still up to meet him.

"Fuck..." he pants and I finally manage to look at him.

He's far away, lost in his own trance, visibly on the verge of coming. He's beautiful. In fact, he is the most beautiful thing I ever seen, his tongue between his teeth, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead, those green eyes...

For a second he keeps his fingers inside me, and when he takes them out, he looks at them for a second, like he was hesitating. He's lost, burning and craving for release, it's my time to take care of him...

I sit, even if I still can feel him inside, and take the belt of his jeans in my two hands. I want to taste him, I need to. I take his pants and underwear down just enough free his cock and wrap my hand around it, my mouth watering. Before I taste him, I need to kiss him. I suddenly feel like I can't breathe if it is not inside his mouth. So I do.

But when our body meet, and his chest comes close to mine, he takes my jaw in his hand, not crushing it painfully like he once did, but still roughly to keep kissing me.

I know he still hates me, it must be hard to want me... So he bites me more than he kisses me, and scratches me more than he caresses me, but it doesn't matter as long as he touches me.

He takes a handful of my hair and pulls my head back to bite my neck.

"Please Dean, let me taste you..." I beg, not even realizing how submissive that sounds, it's just the truth.

"Shit..." he says like my sentence was stroking his cock already. "Why do you do this to me ?" he blames me angrily.

"I... Dean"

He's biting hard and I can feel burning marks appearing on my neck and throat. I can't move, his hand is still holding me by the hair ; so I take his cock in my hand. It twitches instantly.

"What are you..." he almost pleads, letting his head fall on my shoulder.

After only a few movements of my hand, he takes it away and puts it under my back, taking the other as well. He pushes me again and I fall on the mattress, this time with his strong hand holding my wrist behind my back. I moan.

Not letting go of my arms he pulls brutally on his sweatpants I'm wearing and throws it through the room, he takes my thigh and lift it, immediately lining with my entrance.

"Yes..." I moan when I feel the tip of him.

My back hurts for laying on my hands and one of his but I don't care.

His first thrust is curt and makes me arch in a silent scream. His knees on the floor, he starts fucking me into the mattress and my eyes roll inside my head.

"Yes, yes !" I half scream half beg when he bends to continue marking my neck.

I want to touch him so bad, to hold him close but his powerful and angry hand won't let me, so I take what he gives me.

It doesn't last. After only a few thrusts he starts shaking and my toes curl. I try to keep my cool, to see and feel him come. But once again my all senses are on his hips banging on me, his cock inside of me, my walls stretching to welcome him the best I can. I try to wrap my legs around him but his thrusts are too sharp and my body is too lost.

"Y/n..." he moans in my ear and my heart flutters because he's still with me, not far away in some fantasy.

Then he comes, groaning on my neck, filling me up like no one ever did ; and finally feeling him letting go triggers another orgasm in me. The last thing I can hear are his whines when my walls clench him really hard.

Dean's Pov

I look in the mirror and hate what I see. My fingers still smell like her and I want to keep them that way. I would if I wasn't feeling so bad, if I wasn't so disgusted with myself. I wash my hands and they're shaking.

I wanted her, I took what I wanted. This is sick. Maybe I hurt her again, even if I didn't... This is... Sam has to come home or I'm going mad.

I can't sleep. Turning in my bed I think of her on that mattress and that suddenly sounds like sex slavery and rape. I hate myself. Her back arching is haunting me, her mouth opening to scream when her red throat doesn't allow any sound to come out... She's alone in the dark, she even refused to take a shower tonight... She's alone in the dark, my cum still dripping from... Shit !

I get up and start running, like it could change anything. When I open the doors with a heavy noise, she slightly jumps.

"Y/n..." I'm suddenly shy. "I..."

She straighten and smile warmly.

"I didn't use protection... And I know for sure you're not on pill..." I pant without really realizing it, a stifling fear in my chest.

"Don't worry" she shrugs. "As I told you : No period, no ovulation. So no pregnancy."

"Oh..." I breathe, even more angry at myself.

Should I believe her ?

"Believe me" she says as she could read my thoughts. "I'm a monster, remember ?"

Her smile is sad for a second.

"You can go back to sleep, Dean..."

"I'm sorry" I say like it meant something.

She doesn't say anything and I have trouble leaving now, looking at her beautiful face, her messy hair I pulled, the love bites I marked on her neck...

"Do you want a blanket ? Are you sure about that shower ?"

"Nah, I'm okay. Go to sleep, don't worry about me. Tomorrow you offer me breakfast and that shower" she smiles.

I want to kiss her right now. I want to sleep here on this mattress and I also want to yell at her. But I go back to my room and try to think about anything else but her. After an hour, I get up and pick a full bottle of whiskey, take it to bed, and drink it until I pass out.

I'm still a little drunk when I get up and I think it helps a bit. I bring her breakfast, with coffee and eggs and stay to eat with her because she asked.

"Why do you eat so slowly ?" I ask when I see her play with her food.

"I'm sorry Dean, I really don't like eggs" she smiles kindly.

"Who doesn't like eggs ?" I fake shock.

"Maybe monsters..." she sighs looking down.

Each time she gets out of the dungeon she seems enthralled, this time is no exception. When she enters the bathroom she dares talking.

"Where am I ?" she tries.

I shouldn't answer but she trusted me with so much secrets.

"You wouldn't like the answer" I say turning my back on her to let her take her clothes off.

I can see her flannel on the chair in my peripheral vision and I think about her body and...

"Why ?" she cuts my thoughts.

"This is the American Men of Letters bunker... Sammy and I... We are legacy."

Silence. She doesn't move or talk.

"Y/n ?"

"Is this..." her voice is shaking and she seems terrified all of a sudden. "Is all this an plan ?"

"What ?" I frown.

"Are you manipulating me from the start, Dean ?" I can hear tears on her throat.

"What ? No, no... We are legacy but we don't..."

"Shit ! Were they watching when you were fucking me ? Where they recording ? Are they here right now ?" she cries now.

I turn around and she's naked and crying, her beautiful body covered with marks I left there, love bites and light bruises.

"No, no Y/n. I'm not..." I try to reach her but she flinches.

"Don't touch me !" she yells with tears rolling down her cheeks. "I knew they would use everything against me ! I should have known you where too kind to be true !"

"Too kind ? Y/n I broke your face and your ribs ! Shit what did they do to you..."

I come closer even if she seems so frightened, when the wall is behind her, she can't go back more and I wrap my arms around her trembling body. She really think I could have seduced her and have had sex with her for them ? In front of a camera of whatever ? Shit what did they do for her to think somebody could go that far.

"Don't touch me, I trusted you..." she sobs.

"Listen, Y/n. Listen to me" I take her face in my two hands. "I'm not a Man of Letters. I don't work with them. My grandfather was but you already know every one of them died a long time ago. Sammy and I just inherited this place... We had no home... This..."

Hearing this she clings to me, taking me in her arms, flattening her sweet breasts on my chest.

“Do you swear you’re not working with them ?”

"I can be brutal and stupid and unfair, but I'm not sly or wicked. I would never abuse you. You hear me ?"

As I kiss her forehead she relaxes a bit.

"We are alone" I whisper stroking her hair. "Nobody's watching or manipulating you. Sammy will be back soon, he will have answers. I'll protect you okay ?"

She nods and nuzzles on my chest.

"Will you let me protect you ?"

She nods again.

"No one will ever do whatever they did to you again" I whisper smelling her hair.

Then she lifts her head to search my face and, keeping her in my arms, I bend to kiss her.

She returns the kiss and my heart races again. Stroking her back I savor her naked skin under my fingers. Her hands go up to my shoulders then she brushes the skin of my neck, trying to have a little more access to my skin.

I take my flannel off, eager to feel her hands on me, and my t-shirt right away. She looks at me and I suddenly feel a little insecure. Her fingers draw the contours of my tattoo and linger on my chest. What does she thinks of me ? She looks at all my scars, taking her time, biting her lips from time to time, and when she brushed the freckles on my shoulder, she smiles and then bends to leave a soft, shy, sensual kiss on my chest.

I kiss her again, nice and slow. Crushing my body on hers to feel her as much as I can, my hands roaming her body, discovering the curve of her lower back.

She wraps her legs around me and her chest is suddenly closer to my face. I kiss her breasts and she lets her hands through my hair, scratching my scalp slightly with her nails.

When I take a nipple in my mouth she moans and keeps my face on her skin with both hands. She taste so good and she's so soft, still trembling a little. Big tears rolling on her throat from her sobs a few minutes ago.

“I want you…” I whisper kissing her chest. “But you can say no anytime.”

“I want you” she states with a velvety voice.

Keeping her against me with one arm, I open my belt and she makes it difficult by keeping kissing me, her hungry hands scratching my neck so softly.

My pants falls on my thighs, stuck by my slightly spread legs, and I push my boxers down hastily. I can’t wait to be inside her.

I rub the tip of my cock at her entrance, wondering if I need to prepare her, but she is so wet… With her strong thighs she pushes down, surprising me. I moan while her tight pussy slowly swallows me little by little, as her juice progressively soak me.

I’m sweating already, keeping my head straight to kiss her fervidly. But when I bottom out, staying still for a moment, she can’t kiss me back. Her mouth open, she lets her head rest on my forehead, breathing heavily.

“You okay ?” I pant and she nods with her eyes closed.

After less than a minute she opens her eyes and looks at me intensely.

“Take me, Dean” she commands.

My two hands come to her ass and I start thrusting, slowly at first. She mewls, clinging to my neck, making noises that could make me come alone ; no screams or exaggerated sounds, just desperate, low moans and whimpers.

My hunger grows with her beautiful reactions so I start to thrust harder. Her ass bangs on the wall and she tries to kiss me, lazily caressing my tongue with hers.

Maybe it is pleasure, maybe it is another emotion that makes her eyes turn blue again. She must feel it because she closes them.

“Look at me, Y/n. Don’t close your eyes…”

She shakes her head but I let go of her right thigh to cup her face.

“Look at me…” I insist and she opens her eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

A small tear falls from the corner of her eye while she stares at me like I had changed her life. She lets her head fall back on the wall and moans.

“Dean…”

This is ruining me for every other girls. I bend and kiss every inch of skin I can, her mouth, her jaw, her nose, her cheeks.

Then it all becomes blurry again, my cock twitches inside her, her thighs keep me deep, can barely move in and out anymore, so I roll my hips and grab her side, my thumb under her breast;

“Y/n…” I groan when my orgasm hits my without warning, triggered by the violent spasms of her body and walls.

I cum deep inside her, her legs not allowing me to withdraw at all, her arms squeezing me like I could disappear any moment.

I pant in her neck while she whispers my name between kisses.

Reader’s Pov

Coming out of the shower I feel a punch of disappointment hit me in the guts : He’s not here. I know he is not far, I’m just so addicted it hurts when he’s not where I thought he would be.

“Here” he appears with a fresh towel. “This one is warm, it just came out of dryer.”

While I wrap it around me, he quickly kisses my shoulder. I’m in heaven now.

“Y/n, I need you to promise me something angel” I can see the nickname just slip from his mouth, surprising him as much as me. “Tell me you won’t run away.”

I look at him with hesitation, not that I would, but what does he mean ?

“Y/n please give me your word. I need it.”

“I won’t” I say. “I’m staying to know what Sam found, and you say you would protect me.”

He smiles and puts a soft kiss on my lips.

“I have to stop kissing you eventually” he smiles.

I think I am in love with him…

When he took me by the hand to lead me to the kitchen, I was shaking like crazy. I mean, this is so new to me, thrusting someone. This place is so huge it made me dizzy, I only knew cells and tiny hovel, I could get lost in this palace.

When he asked me what I wanted to eat, and made me look in the fridge, I was still shaking, I really didn’t know, no one ever asked me to help myself in their home. We ate pastas because that’s what I like the most, and he let me cook a sauce because he didn’t know anything else than mac and cheese. He talked about his encounter with the Men of Letters and about how they found this place, I listened in awe.

But it is when he took me to a bedroom, telling me I could sleep here, that I almost cried. He asked me what I wanted to do and I just answered that I didn’t want to be alone, so he took his laptop, a two beers, and laid on the bed, with his laptop on his legs.

“I’m sorry, I have researches to do before Sammy comes back. Do you want a book ?”

I shook my head and lay beside him, trying not to look at him too much, focusing on his smell and his presence.

Here I am now, my head on the pillow, watching him look for locations and read the newspapers, smiling for myself in the half-light, high on him, confident enough to drift in sleep.

I wake up alone, but Dean’s smell is everywhere around. I get up and notice clothes on a chair that wasn’t there yesterday. My clean jeans and panties next to a new flannel of his, a red one. I put them on and decide to leave to look for him, hesitating a brief moment before I pass the door, is it allowed ?

I almost get lost in the hallway, but I finally find my way to the library. Everything is empty. The high room is vertiginous, and the ceiling is like a sky to me.

The front door opens in a loud creaking. I can hear footsteps going down the stairs and Sam appears in the library. He doesn’t see me at first, as I am perfectly still. He put a large suitcase down and sighs.

When his eyes fall on me he immediately takes his gun out to target me.

“DEAN ?” he calls and I lift my hands. “DEAN ?”

Dean comes running and stops next to me.

“No, no, no… It’s okay Sammy” he says coming in front of me.

Sam seems so surprised, he lower his gun but bent his head looking at me.

“What…” he says not really aiming anyone.

“I trust her” Dean just says.

My heart is beating fast.

“You got the tapes ?” he asks casually but Sam can’t take his eyes off of me.

“What happened ?” Sam stares at me.

“She won’t run away… She needs our protection Sam” he says not looking at me.

“So you became besties ?” his brother half joke.

“Depends on what you have” he insists still not looking at me.

Sam clear his voice and point at the suitcase.

“According to the number of tapes, I say there is like two hundred hours of film…”

“Shit longer than Game of Thrones” Dean jokes but I can see he is getting nervous.

“There is more than tapes, a whole file about Y/n” Sam states. “I didn’t read it yet, I was busy running, they weren’t happy with me stealing this…”

“Okay, let’s do this” Dean says, taking a tapes player with a projector. “Anyone want popcorn ?”

I start to shake. If this comes from the Men of Letters it can’t be good…

“You okay Y/n ?” Sam asks.

I didn’t realize I was shaking so hard, my blue eyes reacting to pure fear. When his brother speaks, Dean, who was installing the projector, turns toward me.

“Do you know what is on those tapes ?” Sam asks kindly.

I shake my head and my breathing slightly starts to whistle.

“Hey, hey Y/n, look at me” Dean says coming close.

He wraps his arms around me protectively, his nose on my hair.

“I’m here. Remember ?”

As I take him by the waist under his opened flannel, I see Sam’s eyes widen.

“Breathe angel… Just breathe.”

***FEEDBACK IS EVERYTHING <3***

@tftumblin @deans-baby-momma @roonyxx @animegirlgeeky

#spn #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x y/n #supernatural fanfiction #smut #angst #fluff

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the-reader-to-my-hero · 5 years

Text

Of Motorcycles and Mothmen

A/N: this was inspired by @ichor-and-symbiosis ‘s cute Mothman Tomura headcannons but with my own twist. Since yall are thirsty for the mothman here ya go this is a Modern!AU no quirks.

It had been an ordinary evening. Well. As ordinary as it got in this creepy ass part of the woods. But the young mechanic honestly preferred the unseen eyes of whatever-the-hell-was-watching-her over the hundreds of people commuting via the subway.

Olive Jones was not very good with people.

She was just never really able to break out of her socially awkward “phase”. She had a really rough time in high school, so bad that it lead to violent anger issues that ultimately got her suspended on assault charges of other classmates. After that, with a strained relationship with her family, she moved from Australia to Japan to study at a technical school.

Being a foreigner and not knowing anyone really didn’t help Olive’s case but it didn’t exactly hurt it either. She was good at her job, running a small shop for both electronics and motorbikes. Her income was steady so she spent her extra money on videogames and subscription fees.

She preferred to travel to a game store outside the city, using an older road that cut through one of Japan’s large forests. It was a weekly trip. Part of the decision was Olive had scopophobia, which is essentially the fear of being watched or stared at. Her pale freckled skin, short dusty blonde hair, and the eyepatch over her right eye definitely made her something to ogle at. Isn’t like she blamed people.

But the woods...well… that was different. At first it was just a certain part of the woods, especially around dusk, near a creek she could see flowing during the summer months. It was spooky, but being a foreign blonde woman in her early-mid 20’s, Olive wasn’t about to stop and check it out. That’s how you die folks.

Then it all changed when one fateful night, ye ole faithful moped broke down...in the woods… near that one creepy place. Olive kept a heavy metal wrench in one hand the whole time, jumping at every sound, eyes darting around as the hairs on her neck stood up. She cursed up a loud Aussie storm, yelling at her moped like she was cussing someone out, hoping maybe, it would keep away any lurking predators. That and she actually...did that a lot.

She didn’t consider that any would find her act entertaining, especially when the act dropped when her moped tipped over.

“Aw! Bloody fucking hell! You blasted No good, piss-poor broken-backed camel!” that was the most PG one of the insults. The wind had then suddenly picked up, branches rustling as if laughing at her misfortune.

Luckily, she got her ride working, but something had changed. No everytime she went through that forest, she felt like she was being watched the entire time. She told herself it was paranoia cause she broke down, that she's just overthinking it, but that of course, didn't make it go away.

Then finally… Something happened…

It was a dark stormy night, as cliche as it sounds. For the record, the storm came out of nowhere, a sunny day switching to a stormy night in the time Olive was browsing new releases.

It was raining like fucking cats and dogs. Jones was really wishing she had itty bitty windshield wipers on her helmet visor as she whisked through the tunnel of light her moped lamp gave her. The rain sparkled in the light, refracting it, like little gem stones. It would be kind of pretty if the mechanic wasn’t drenched to the bone and trying to ignore the shiver that went down her back.

The wind whistled through the trees, and Olive could glimpse the branches above her swaying in the wind. That feeling got stronger. She swore she heard a flapping sound, a loud one amongst the chaos, like wings.

She isn’t entirely sure what made her look in her rearview mirror, but it would change the course of Olive Jone’s life. In her circular rearview mirror, illuminated by the refracted light off the rain droplets, were two big, glowing red eyes, a mere 10 yards behind her moped.

Olive’s head flew to look behind her as she shouted “WHAT THE FU—“

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

The moped hydroplaned across a big puddle from the flooding creek. Olive lost control, attempting to turn around the sharp bend in the road but she only succeeded in losing balance and sailing off the road toward the steep hill into the ditch. She flew off her moped mid-air, the wheels on the bike still moving, headlight shining up on an approaching figure in the night sky.

Olive could only close her eyes and brace herself.

She landed on her left shoulder, and she swore she heard a rather unpleasant pop! Sound off, but she was already tumbling down the steep incline as her Moped did the same with a bunch of crashes and thuds.

Somehow, her moped’s headlight still worked, shining like a beacon in the rain as it lied on its side. Olive Jones however, was caked in mud and grass and leaves, sprawled out lying on her stomach, in shock. Somewhere along the way, she lost her helmet, which was wedged between two rocks higher up the incline.

Everything hurt. Olive wondered if this was the end for her, and how long it would take people to notice. She was a nobody. Some aussie shut in with a work permit. Was she gonna die out here? How long until her moped’s headlamp died?

There was a sound, a familiar one, like the beating of wings. Olive spotted movement, her single eye scanning the skyline.

And then….

There he was.

He blocked out the moped’s headlamp, a humanoid silhouette. Immediately something was off, mainly the huge pair of paper thin wings folding behind their back.

Olive couldn't move underneath their red eyed gaze, even though she was unable to see it. She laid there, frozen, trying to blink out the cold rain that seeped through her eyelashes. She was dreaming right? She hit her head too hard? This giant...moth….man…. was just a hallucination right?

But the squelch of the mud beneath their strange alien feet as they took a slow step forward couldn’t have been more real. With an overwhelming terror, Olive’s body flew into action, shoving her upper body upright. All at once her left shoulder clenched with a searing pain that she sucked in through her teeth. She nearly fell face first back into the mud, but she forced herself to sit up, falling backward against a stump.

Maybe it was the pain. Making her see loony things Olive bared her teeth like some snarling injured animal, clasping at the shoulder with her good arm, while planting her feet in front of her.

The thing cocked its head to the side abruptly, before leering closer.

“s-S-Stop!!” Olive yelped in English, voice cracking. It blinked its red eyes rapidly, as if it were confused. Oh right. Japan. But did it even understand Japanese? Did it talk? It was uncanny valley how human it looked and how extremely not.

The pain in Ol’s shoulder was nearly unbearable from her own iron grip. She buried her converse hightops into the mud, shrinking away as he came ever closer. With a hard swallow she switched languages. “D-don’t hurt me please. Don't come any closer! I-I-I’ll batter ya!” That was awfully convincing considering she was soaked to the bone from the downpour, covered in mud, and could feel bruises and cuts forming all over her body.

Another step. Olive couldn't press herself any further into the tree.

It crouched, wings draped on either side. It chirped as if in curiosity. Red eyes burned into her, glared at her, and—probably all this time huh? All that time she felt like she was being watched out here in the woods. Had it been watching? Waiting to make the kill?

Olive found herself shrinking beneath its gaze, trying to hide her shivering form.

Something grabbed her jaw. It was hard and smooth like plastic, but solid, not flesh, as it forcefully pulled her forward. She choked on air, unable to look away from those red eyes.

Ol wasn’t quite sure what happened next. She just…kinda went limp, her body folding under her. Maybe it was the shock, the fear, the stress, but she never hit the muddy ground. No, she was caught by what she can only assume are hands, which slowly maneuvered and manipulated her body with surprising care. Whatever it was, it was mindful of her shoulder when she whimpered in pain. She realized she was shivering. Violently. God she'll probably catch one helluva cold.

Warmth.

Olive was pressed up against something warm and soft, like some sort of blanket and if that didn’t take her out instantly, the exhaustion sure did.

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fubukimori · 5 years

Text

Guardian and Ghost

Yeah, it’s December 14, what a time to post #destcember2018 Day 1 prompt? cries

The wind is howling. Cold, hostile, dark blizzard is roaring between ancient pines, swinging and lashing them with full force. There, in countless snow vortexes and freezing air is no place for those who is lost, who is weak, yet there is something small and barely bright. A small firefly valiantly, yet pointlessly, is fighting against furious wind, struggling his way forward, scanning, searching, calling. Something, or someone must have brought him here, in the thickest forest, deep in vast expanses of Siberia, suffering abnormally cold and snowy weather for the middle of autumn. There is no “normal” weather here on Earth anymore though, especially here. Was it ever?

‘...Guardian?’

A tiny weakened voice drowns in the howling wind.

‘Guardian!’

No one can hear you, Little Light.

‘Guar…’

Sudden gust almost crashes tiny firefly against a trunk of a pine. He managed to dodge it, but ends up falling into crumbly snow, unable to sustain the weather. There is no movement for a moment. The snow is sharply cold, but the wind can’t get him here. He have a moment to catch his breath. Metaphorically.

‘Where are you?’ Little Light quietly whispers into nowhere, to no one. ‘My Guardian… where are you…’

He is tired, lost, almost hopeless. He have been searching for his Guardian for years, decades, ages. Ages of unsuccessful scanning every dead body he found, every part of it. He saw other Ghosts finding their Guardians, he saw other Ghosts losing their Guardians and dying, he saw so much, yet never saw what he was looking for.

This is it. The short break is over. The Little Light slowly flies up from the snow. Cold wind blows it off from freezing modules, roughly pushing him forward. He can’t give up, he has the purpose. He will find his Guardian, no matter what.

However, finding a shelter for the rest of the night seems wise.

The Little Light tries to illuminate his way forward, but the wind is swirling hard and the blizzard is blinding, so he is barely able to see anything. Suddenly, there is something in the snow. He isn’t sure, but it looks like a piece of some metal, a panelling to be sure, stuck in the snow and the frozen ground for some decades, no less. A few “steps” forward there are more.

“A ship?”

It is one, indeed. There, deep in the forest, almost fully covered by snow, lies an enormous ship, probably crushed many centuries ago. The Little Light would have mistaken it with a hill or a large pile of snow if there weren’t those pieces of the named ship, sticking out around.

Looks like a good place to hide from this terrible weather for a while.

Time had no mercy on the remaining interior of the ship as well, rust and moss everywhere. His sensors say it’s chilly and moisty here, but he doesn’t mind. At least wind and snow can’t get him here. Besides, a crashed ship means dead bodies, and judging by the size, there should be many. Plenty of work to be done.

The first scan. This one used to be a man, about 40-45 years old, not older. Died from a heavy hit at the back of his head. Failure.

The second scan. This body was a male Exo, very rusty. Got crushed by a big crate, filled with medical supplies. What a cruel irony… Failure.

The third scan. A woman about the same age as the first man. An Earth Awoken judging by the remaining clothes. A crack at the skull. Failure.

The fourth one, another Exo. Failure.

A human female. Failure.

A male Exo, probably a mechanic. Failure.

Another body. Failure.

Failure.

Failure…

After several unsuccessful scanning, the Little Light decides to stop for now. He need to rest, actually have to. The blizzard outside is still howling, still got plenty of time. He landed carefully on the floor, avoiding to place himself on another dead body. This place is safe for a bit of rest. Neither predators nor the Fallen can get him here, there’s nothing useful for both of them left.

The Little Light takes the last look around before a complete shot down. Nothing catches an eye, all the bodies around are already scanned. If only… “Oh, I missed this one” he turns his optics on the right. This body… not much still remain. A dark robe, dirty red bond on the left arm. “A medic than? Poor soul…”. Their legs are buried under several metal parts of the ship, scratch marks on the floor. They were still alive when they got stuck, trying to free themselves, but it’s unlikely that they have died from the crash. There is a hole at the back of their skull. I gunshot, no doubt. Too big to be left with sidearms the crew was supplied with, more like it was a Fallen pistol. Did they kill them out of mercy when they had arrived to pillage the remaining of the supply ship? It isn’t like this poor buddy was a threat for them anyway…

Never mind, actually. The Little Light starts scanning, prepared for another failure, but… it isn’t one! He doesn’t believe his scanner. Finally, this body, this female Awoken, as the scanner told him, is his Guardian! The one he was looking for for decades! All the tiredness lefts him, he finally found her! Not willing to wait a second more, he concentrates his Light and releases it. A bright Light inflates the aria, and when it’s gone, his Guardian is finally alive. He can hear her breathing, she isn’t conscious yet. The Little Light is literally twitching of excitement. Here she is, all flesh and bones. He still can’t see her face as she lies flat on the floor.

“Oh no!” Her legs are still stuck under those metal parts, he can see blood dripping down on the floor. “I need to move her” Happily the transmission went without any accidents, since the girl was lying still.

“Mmm…”

The Little Light immediately flies close to his Guardian, watching her slowly recovering consciousness.

“Guardian?” He carefully calls, trying not to spook her. She raises her head at the voice, a silent incomprehension in her bright green eyes as she squinting at him. “H-hello! I’m your Ghost! You can call me whatever you like, but frankly I prefer…”

“...Wait”. Her voice is hoarse, very quiet “Where… where are we? What hap…”

“Stop!” He suddenly interrupts, making her twitch. “Please, don’t move, I forgot about your legs!”

“What is with my...AAGHh!” The sharp pain makes her scream as she tries to look back. The Little Light was so excited he forgot about the deep bruises metal pieces had left on his Guardian’s ankles. “I’ve told you not to move, for the name of the Traveler! Please, stay still, I’ll help you!”. Before the girl moves and hurts herself again, he manages to use his Light on those bruises, making them disappear in a split second. “I’m sorry, Guardian” he tells as she is finally getting up on her knees “I should have done it before you wake up, but… well, you don’t meet your Guardian everyday, you know?”

The girl turns and finally gives him all the attention. The Little Light stares back at her. She is a young female Awoken, with blue skin and bright green eyes. A popular Earth Awoken tattoo on her face is slightly glowing in the dark with her eyes. “You are cute” she suddenly says not turning her sight away for a single moment, than shivers “Whoa, it is… chilly out here. Who are you, once again, please?”

“I’m your Ghost, and you’re my Guardian” He make a little pause for her to process the new information. He was practicing this very moment countless times, but now all all the needed words have left him. “We… we have a purpose. I was created by the one people call the Traveler. Not only me, I mean, all of us. All the Ghosts, yes. Ahem… I was looking for you for a long time, a very long time, and now we must begin our duty. We will guard the Humanity and the Traveler itself, we must…”

“Wait. Hold on for a while, little one, por favor” She grabs him and takes closer to her. It seems she has a problem with seeing properly.

“Hey, don’t grab me like that, I’m not a toy!” He rebels but immediately changes his mind and nuzzles closer to her. “Traveler above, your hands are so warm”

“Not for long. It is really cold here, I will freeze soon”

“No, you won’t” the Little Light finally fully relaxes in his Guardian’s hands. “I sense Solar Light in you. Than means, aside of everything else, you’re constantly very warm”

“I see. What is “Solar Light”, by the way? And the Traveler too?”

“I’m exhausted, Guardian. Can we sleep here for a while? I promise, I’ll tell you everything about the Light, the elements, Guardians, the Traveler, I’ll tell you everything. I just really need to rest”

The girl watches her Ghost, whatever it means, resting in her hands, she carefully places him on her laps. This little white creature with a strange form and glowing lens at the middle gave her many food for thoughts, actually too many. She barely understood a half of what he was saying. She covers him with her hands and looks around. Nothing seems familiar, neither the place, nor the clothes she is wearing. Not even herself.

“Um, Ghost?”

“Yes?”

“Do you, by any chance, know, who I am? Or maybe my name? I… I do not remember… anything” She takes her time to form the proper questions.

“You are a Guardian, as I already told you. A Warlock, if I’m not mistaken. If you are asking me about your past and your real name, I’m sorry, but I know nothing more than you. Don’t worry, it’s a common thing for Guardians. A very few are lucky enough to regain their past. Now, please, let me rest, this blizzard washed me out”

“A blizzard, huh?” There is a moment of silence. The girl is quietly stroking her Ghost’s modules without noticing it. “Fubuki. Seems like a fine name. What do you think?”

“Mm-hm”

“And you I will call… Ori. It suits you”

“Whatever you like, Guardian” The little one sounds like he is almost sleeping. The girl decides to quit talking, at once.

So they are finally together, hiding here from snow and wind. A young Guardian is still stroking her Ghost’s modules, which isn’t disturbing his sleep. So many questions are buzzing in her mind, but she can’t find answers. She’ll ask Ori everything once he is awaken. It is going to be a very long day for both of them.

#destiny 2 #oc: fubuki #destcember day 1 #destcember2018 #Ghost #female guardian #prompt #i’m so embarrassed #spent two weeks on this #ugh

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lejojotrash · 7 years

Note

How would la squadra chill with their s/o on a Saturday night? Lets say she gets along with the group for the most part.

Omg. I freaking love La Squadra. Thank you Anon for requesting this. La Squadra chilling with s/o on a Saturday night:

Ghiaccio:

- He doesn’t. I repeat. Ghiaccio (even though ironically he’s an ice stand user) does not chill.

- He rants and rants a lot about his team and other unimportant things like a bitchy teenage girl, but you don’t really listen. You’ve grown used to his rants ever since you realized you had to deal with him until you died or he died. (You hoped that wouldn’t happen soon. You liked him a lot).

- Instead you just stare at the TV, chewing on some popcorn, humming occasionally to let your boyfriend know that you were kinda listening.

- Ghiaccio knew you weren’t paying attention to him, and that pissed him off even more. He stops his rant, a cold glare in his eye towards you.

- “Are you even listening to me?”

- You note the serious tone in your beloved angry boy’s voice and you knew you were probably in deep shit.how's - “Yeah! Of course I am! Somethin’ about Melone being a shit head…”

- Um. No S/o. He was talking about how Formaggio being a shit head and how shitty his stand was. Close but no cigar.

- “Ugh! I can’t believe you aren’t listening to me!” And he storms off little a bitchy teenage girl, and you had to ditch your show and popcorn to follow him.

- You cling on to his knees while he’s walking, and beg for forgiveness. You wonder how long until he forgives you.

- This was a regular sight at the base of La Squadra: Ghiaccio getting angry and you being dragged by him and getting first degree rug burns. It’s still an amusing site for all of them.

Pesci:

- That poor fish is gonna be dragged by you everywhere (much to Prosciutto’s distaste).

- You two were the newer members of La Squadra, but you were the more rambunctious one and Pesci decides it’s easier to stick by a new member like you (or just Prosciutto in general) .

- You wanted to go out of the base and just mess around outside with a whole arsenal of ideas to do in Italy with your’s and Pesci’s stand.

- Pesci (and Prosciutto) thinks this is a terrible idea, but you just looked so happy, and being the weak willed guy that he is, he goes along with it.

- From fishing by the pond to sitting on top of the building with Beach Boy taking wallets and giving people wedgies, you and Pesci have a lot of fun.

- “Beach Boy is such a cool stand. I wish I had it.”

- Pesci blushes and stutters, defending your own stand and saying how it’s better at combat than his and praising it.

- You blush too and grin sheepishly, and you took Pesci’s hand and stand up.

- “Come on, Pesci. Let’s go home and show everybody your profits.”

- He really likes the feeling of your hand in his.Risotto (No. 1 Rice Dad):

- Risotto works a lot, and he barely gets any sleep. So you two spend your Saturday nights in bed.

- You were the one that spoke for the both of you, with you just telling him about work and other trivial things that makes him amused. He sometimes adds to the conversation, but that was occasionally.

- You could tell by his groggy tone that he was just tired, but he tried to stay awake for you, despite all the exhaustion he’s had throughout the week.

- Risotto may be a serious and deadly assassin but when he’s near you, he’s a bit softer. The team notices but they don’t want to point it out.

- Eventually your weird ramblings, and the sound of your voice put him to sleep, as evident by the soft snores that come out of his mouth.

- Awww. He looks so peaceful, but too bad you couldn’t see it in the dark.

- “I love you, Risotto.” It was a quiet dedication in the dark, a vow that you’ll stay by him no matter what.

-However, he hears the confession, he’s not that deep of a sleeper, years of being an assassin and fighting for your life can make you into a light sleeper, alert at any time. He feels warm inside, and a smile threatens to appear on his face.

- And then the two of you sleep, both listening to the sound of each other’s breaths.Formaggio:

- Formaggio and you do what every other couple does on a Saturday night and just go on a date.

- The two of you hold hands and you laugh at Formaggio’s terrible jokes because they’re so bad it’s funny.

- The both of you normally go to the theaters and watch whatever movie they’re playing and make fun of it.

- It’s incredibly disruptive because of Formaggio and your teasing, it’s really worse if you two watch a Rom-Com. During a horror film, you two try to predict the jump scares that would happen, and just make fun of the protagonists in the horror flick.

- “Seriously? He trips again? What the hell is wrong with him?” “That guy seriously needs to learn how to run, babe.”

- Eventually you two are threatened by some employee who works at the theater, but Formaggio gives him a glare and uses Little Feet to shrink him, and squishes him like an ant.

- Nobody messes with him and his date while they’re out. Nobody.Melone:

- Melone is a 100% romantic, would probably take you on a date like Formaggio, but the two of you just wander aimlessly around the city, people watching.

- You’d probably eat gelato with him or something cheap (He’d probably ask you to feed him tbh).

- Melone makes the conversation, asking you a lot of questions and telling you a lot of things about the habits of people around you two while people watching, showing off his knowledge and how smart he is. (You were impressed).

- However, Melone eyes a woman not so far away, screaming curses and throwing a hissy fit. Hm…

- You notice her too, and you know about Melone’s creepy as hell stand, Baby Face. You sigh softly.

- “Go ahead. Just don’t cheat on me, Melone.”

- He looks happy, like a child who got their Christmas gift early, but he’s scandalized by the comment of him cheating on you. He would never!

- He gives you a reassuring, deep kiss (you could still taste the gelato) that made you really weak in the knees.

- “That woman over there may be the perfect mother for Baby Face, but you are the perfect mother for my own child, amore mio.” Well hot damn…

- And so you sigh dreamily at Melone who is currently harassing that lady about children.Illusio:

- On your Saturday nights with Illusio, you two are the base, reading books on the couch, with your head situated on Illusio’s lap, holding the book in the air, and Illusio leaning on the arm rest, book in one hand, and the other hand playing with your hair.

- Sometimes you two would read to each other.

- Occasionally the two of you would fall asleep like this, with Illusio dropping his book on the side of the couch, and then you dropping your book on your face, making you shoot upwards and throwing the book somewhere, and Illusio would wake up too.

- “W-What’s wrong?” He’s slightly startled from waking up so suddenly.

- “I dropped my book on my face… Shit, I can’t remember what page I’m on!” He laughs at your situation, but then he remembers that he too dropped his book… What part was he on again? Shit.

- Eventually the two of you give up, trying to find out what page you left off since both of you accidentally spoil the book for yourselves by looking for the page.Prosciutto (No. 1 Mom):

- There is no relaxing for Mom. There is only paperwork and looking after Pesci

- You, being the attention starved person that you were, tried to get Prosciutto’s attention in many ways, he just gets more irritated and tired each time though.

- He’s tired and you know it, he can’t hide shit from you because you know him.

- “You need a break, babe.”

- He doesn’t listen to your comment, nor cast a glance at you, and so no desperate calls come desperate measures.

- Did you know seduction was the most powerful weapon a person can have? It doesn’t matter if they can stop time or create fire or see into the future and erase time.

- You run your hands from your boyfriend’s shoulders to his chest and you were close to his ear and in a low, sultry tone, “Babe, you need a break.”

- Formaggio looks at you and really looks at you from your half-lidded eyes to your parted, soft lips. He’s conflicted between choosing paperwork for La Squadra and you. Seriously?

- “It seems that I’ve been neglecting you, tesoro mio,” He states. No shit, Sherlock. “I do need to release some stress from all of this paperwork.” He stands from his desk, his eyes staring you down like a predator. “Shall we take this into the bedroom?”

- Well at least you got him to take a break.This is the longest thing I’ve ever written and I love it. I love La Squadra and anything La Squadra. Please request more of this fabulous group!

#la squadra #la squadra di esecuzione #Jjba #jjba headcannon #Risotto Nero #Formaggio #proscuitto #Pesci #Illusio #ghiaccio #Melone

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slowcrazydeath-blog · 7 years

Text

A Little Solangelo Valentines Angst

This is my present for @patroklosandachilles for the @pjodiscordserverchronicles Valentine’s Day gift exchange. It’s a bit long, and it’s just a Solangelo angst titled A Twisted Kind of Valentine. The whole thing is under the cut. 5255 words

Happy Valentine’s Day!

It was snowing. It rarely snowed in camp, but nobody stopped it from falling. The flakes danced around solemn faces, melting on warm skin, collecting on a chilled face. A gloved hand reached out and brushed the white from the body’s lips and eyes, which were slightly blue from the cold. The face belonging to the hand bent down and placed his forehead to the other boy’s, dark hair intertwining with gold. Then he lifted up and backed away. Chiron stepped forward slowly, his hooves making light tracks in the snow, and lit the casket to a bonfire. The snowflakes melted as they approached and evaporated, covering the campers in steam, warming their red noses. Eyes were filled with tears, and they began to fall.

“Oh come on, you can’t mean that,” Will pouted.

“Yes, I do. I do not want to see you at all today,” Nico said back, not giving his boyfriend a glance.

“C’mon Neeks, can you at least tell me why?” Will was a bit hurt, and grabbed Nico’s shoulder from behind.

“Nope,” he said curtley, and walked away, leaving his boyfriend at the infirmary alone.

He walked past the camp and into the strawberry fields. He stopped, and turned around to make sure that nobody had followed him. When he saw that the coast was clear, the bent down to the nearest bush and picked some of the fresh berries from their stems, and collected them in a satchel he had at his waist. When he had picked enough, he got up and walked back to the Hades cabin.

Will had helped Nico redecorate the interior so it felt more homey and not nearly as dark and gloomy as it had before. He had windows that allowed sunlight to stream in. He had a couch and a bookshelf, even though he barely had any books. His bed had two comforters, and three pillows, and he had a desk with some basic books on modern life and school subjects, though he only opened them when Will wanted to help him learn more.

Nico went over to the coffee table in front of the couch, and put the bag down. He went to the bathroom that now looked like a normal bathroom with a cream-colored shower curtain rather than completely black (which wasn’t good when he wanted to take a shower and couldn’t see anything), and he reached under the sink where he’d hid a bowl and chocolate mix. He poured water in the bowl and grabbed a spoon he’d also hidden. He took the items out to the coffee table and mixed the chocolate until it was smooth. He dipped the strawberries in one at a time, then placed them onto the center-plate in a circle starting from the center and making rings outward to dry.

Once they were all coated, he licked the bowl clean, and grabbed a pencil and paper from his desk. He drew the shape of a heart, filling most of the paper, and then cut it out with a pair of red scissors. There was a pink highlighter amid the stationary that Nico had never dared to touch, but he uncapped it and colored in the heart. Some of the ink spilled onto the desk, which he was worried about, but after scrubbing it with a damp towel, the pink lifted off of the varnished wood. After he dried the table, he wrote on the dreadfully pink heart in black ink,

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

I will never love somebody

The way I love you

He signed it; Love, Nico, and drew a mini heart to the side of the poem. He stopped and smiled a moment, then folded it and stuck the valentine in his pocket. The chocolate was done drying, and Nico carefully lifted each strawberry and placed them into the now-clean bowl. He left them there for the time being, and went out for lunch.

Will was left saddened and dejected in front of the infirmary, but it wasn’t long before a camper had hurt themselves and seeking out Will’s help. It was merely a scratch, but Will went a little extra in wrapping it up because he had nothing better to do. The camper was slightly annoyed, but could tell that Will was upset, so they let him do as he pleased.

After that, Will went over to the window and placed his arms on the windowsill, then lowered his head into them, watching the campers fool around outside. They reminded him of his old siblings who would run around and play tag when it was warm out, and he would join them. But then his mother died and his father kicked him out. Will didn’t know it at the time, but his mother had cheated on her husband with Apollo while he was gone on a business trip. When she told him that she was pregnant, it didn’t take long for him to figure out what she had done. He’d only been supporting them because she was his kids’ mother, and Will was her son. But he never acknowledged Will as his son, so it was to the streets after she lost the fight to cancer.

A satyr had found him and brought him to camp quickly. He was one of the lucky ones. He couldn’t help knowing that they would all die young in the back of his mind, so he enjoyed watching the campers live their lives to the fullest, especially the year-rounders. Some had been kicked out like him, some ran away like Annabeth, and some didn’t have any family to go home to. But they were all here, able to live safely in Camp Half-blood, and he was thankful for that every day.

He picked his head up and walked over to one of the beds, and flopped down onto it, facing the ceiling. He’d met Nico before the battle, but he only really got to know him when he came back after the confrontation with the Romans. It only took a little while for Will’s feelings to be reciprocated in the infirmary. It was sudden, and Will blushed so much he could barely hear anything and his face felt like it was on fire. He wasn’t expecting his crush to feel the same way, and he supposed that Nico didn’t think that either, but one day it just slipped out of his mouth after he got hurt in a camp activity.

“Maybe I wouldn’t get hurt so often if you face wasn’t so stupidly handsome,” he’d said, then his eyes went wide when he’d realized what he’d said and his face turned as bright as a cherry.

Will found it cute, but he was just so overjoyed that he didn’t remember what had happened next, but after Nico left, Kayla said, “So when’s the wedding?”

“Oh shut up,” he’d said, but he knew that he must have done something stupid, and avoided Nico as much as possible until Nico had confronted him about it. Then they started “dating” and they were boyfriends.

Will still didn’t know what had happened, but clearly it wasn’t something extreme. Now he felt that he’d done something stupid again, but now Nico was avoiding him. He didn’t like being avoided, and he wanted to know what he did wrong, so he resolved to find Nico and ask him.

Nico had said that he didn’t want to see Will at all that day, but he didn’t expect Will to not even show up for meals. He went over to the Apollo table and asked them if they’d seen Will at all.

“Sorry, man, haven’t seen him. Should we go search?” Austin asked, though clearly nobody was overly concerned. It wasn’t very unusual for a camper to not show up for lunch as it was more of an optional meal.

“No, thanks. He’s probably busy researching or something,” though Nico knew that it wasn’t the likely case. He sighed and sauntered back over to his table, though he was no longer hungry.

He walked away after a minute or two of not eating and went to the infirmary, but there was a sign on the door that read “Out to Lunch” which was just a phrase to say that there wasn’t anybody there, but he sighed “No you aren’t” regardless. He checked the Apollo cabin quickly, though he knew that Will wouldn’t be there. He wandered the whole camp looking for him, then found himself back in the strawberry fields, the last place to search. He walked forward, and was startled to see that the plants were slightly wilted when they had been healthy that morning.

His hand grabbed the sword in its hilt out of reflex, and he carefully made his way around the bushes. He found nobody around, and accidentally stepped outside of the magic shield. It turned cold, and he felt like he had just walked out of a sauna with the temperature difference. His boots sunk in the snow, and goosebumps covered his arms. His breath came out in clouds, and he stumbled completely out of the protective field. When he looked back, he only saw more forest and snow, the camp nowhere in sight.

He walked forward, expecting to find himself back in the warm camp, but he just made more footprints in the snow. His nerves went on red-alert, and he scanned the area for predators. All was silent, a silence that made the world feel empty and lifeless. He couldn’t even hear his own existence. He reached up to his ears, and felt the warmth of his own blood. He was deaf, and alone in a forest where monsters could be lurking. He was also freezing.

A dark figure passed in his vision, and he turned to try and track it, but he lost it. He kept his eyes peeled and stayed in a fighting stance with his sword drawn, ready for anything to come at him. A gust of wind blew his dark hair in front of his eyes, but the darkness didn’t go away. He was blind. He reached out with his powers to try and find a life force somewhere, but came up with nothing. He shadow-travelled out of the forest, picturing Camp Half-blood, but he was unconscious before he could find where he’d landed

Will returned to the infirmary exhausted, having scoured the whole camp. He took down his sign, and realized that he’d forgotten lunch. It was too late for him to do anything about it now, so he grabbed one of his reserve snacks for late nights. He sighed and sat back in a chair and munched on his granola bar, then he looked up and spotted Nico lying on a cot. He shot up from his chair and ran over to him. He was unconscious and his ears were bleeding. He got the blood out and inspected Nico’s ears, and found that they were completely broken inside. He turned Nico from a sideways position into being seated upright, and grabbed a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge.

He tried shaking Nico awake, and he groaned a bit as his head tipped to one side. “Neeks, Neeks, can you hear me?” When he didn’t get a reply, he patted Nico’s face until he was attentive, and he shot forward and grabbed Will’s arm tightly, making Will yelp. “Neeks, it’s me, Will. Open your eyes,” he pleaded. He grabbed Nico’s hand with his free arm, and Nico seemed to back off a little.

Nico opened his mouth and made a small noise, then closed it again. He still hadn’t opened his eyes, but Nico reached up and grabbed his own face and began to shove his index fingers in his ears until Will pulled them out. Then he went for his eyes, but he still didn’t open them. Will grabbed his hands before he pressed his eyelids, and let Nico’s arms gently fall to his lap. Will very carefully touched Nico’s cheeks, then gently placed his thumbs on Nico’s eyelids, and when Nico didn’t respond, he slowly began to lift the skin on one of his eyes.

His iris was still a dark chocolatey color, but it seemed glossed over and didn’t reflect light, but rather seemed to absorb it in a haze. When Will let go, the skin drooped right back over his pupil. Nico still seemed tense, so Will thought of the only way that he could let Nico know that he was with Will, and pecked his cheek gently. Nico instantly relaxed, and reached up to where Will’s lips had landed. He then tried to speak again, and he said “Will,” though it was slurred so that it was barely understandable.

Will grabbed Nico’s hand and started making circles on the back of it, then lifted Nico’s hand to his forehead. Nico then moved his wrist so Will would let go, then brushed his cheek and kept his hand there, his palm cupping Will’s heating cheek. He leaned forward and kissed Will where his thumb lie. When he gently moved back, Will could see that his eyes were watering. Will brushed the tears from his eyelashes, then moved forward and hugged him.

They remained there for a few moments, holding each other, tears falling down their faces. Nico was howling, but Will just let him and rubbed his back, knowing that he probably didn’t even know how loud he was being. Kayla came in to see what was going on, but when she saw Nico crying, she just sat down at the cot closest to the entrance. Will kindly pushed Nico away, and reached for the gatorade on the table next to them. Feeling the movement that Will was getting off the bed, Nico grabbed his arm, then was relieved when he sat back down. Will opened the bottle, then grabbed Nico’s hand and put the bottle in his palm so Nico would clasp it.

Nico brought the bottle to his lips, dribbled a little, but began drinking it. He had to stop frequently because his throat was caught from crying, but he slowly made his way through. Kayla brought Will a towel to clean up the spilled drink, and was slightly offset when Will spoke to her, “Please bring Chiron here,” because nobody had said a word for so long, and Nico didn’t seem to react in the slightest. She nodded and did as he asked.

Will helped Nico move so he was sitting with his legs over the side of the bed, and remained next to him. Chiron came in shortly after they were situated.

“What happened?” He asked, full of concern.

“I don’t know. He was here when I walked in, and he had lost his sight and hearing,” Will responded wearily. He was almost spent having wandered the camp and then having Nico suddenly appear blind and deaf and them both crying.

Chiron moved to grab Nico’s hand, but Nico flinched away. Will slid his hand under Nico’s then brought it up as though offering it to Chiron to show that it was okay. Chiron bent down and let Nico touch his beard, showing who it was because Chiron was the only one at camp with a beard. He shook Nico’s hand firmly to show that things were under control and they would find a way to fix this.

Chiron said, “I’m afraid if we don’t know the circumstances I cannot do anything. Whatever happens next is up to you.”

Will nodded and said, “I understand.”

Chiron left the infirmary and Kayla walked forward from her place by the entrance. “Will you be okay?” She asked.

“You know he can’t hear you, right?” Will responded.

“I wasn’t talking to him,” she said, then sat down next to Will. Nico fidgeted a little, then sat still, holding Will’s hand.

Will turned over to Kayla. “No,” he confessed. He started to cry again, but took breaths to stop himself.

“Hey, it’s okay to cry. It’s a frustrating situation, I know.”

“Yeah, except crying does nothing to fix the situation, no matter how frustrating. I don’t even know what did this to him, let alone how to fix it.”

Suddenly Leo and Calypso bursted through the door. “What’s going on? What happened? Is he okay? What can I do?” Leo spat, practically running over to them.

“Well, for starters, you could stop asking so many questions,” Kayla responded, then said, “We don’t know how this happened, but he’s deaf and blind, but otherwise he’s fine.”

Calypso stood awkwardly behind Leo, clearly uncomfortable. It was understandable, since she was still just getting used to being around other people again. She always seemed to be putting on a performance, but when she clearly wasn’t the main character, she didn’t seem to know what to do.

Nico reached out, aware of their presence, and Calypso grabbed Nico’s wrist before Leo, and bent in so Nico could feel her face and braid. She then let Leo do the same. These characteristics seemed unique enough that Nico would be able to tell who it was, though what was the real indicator was the feeling of soot covering the both of them. They spent so much time building in Bunker 9 that it was always on them.

“So what are you gonna do?” Leo asked after Nico’s hand receded.

“I guess we’re just going to have to work around this, look for solutions, things like that,” Will responded.

Kayla directed her speech at Will, “You’re going to have to lead him around everywhere and help him through everything. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to let go anytime soon.”

Nico’s hand had crept up to Will’s upper arm, and was gripping under his tricep. Will barely noticed, but let Nico be. Whatever was comforting for him was what was best.

The dinner horn blew, and the group stood up to head over to dinner. Will patted Nico’s leg and began to stand, Nico following suit. They made their way over to the tables, and Will sat between Kayla and Nico, with Nico closer in on the bench. Kayla and Austin were attempting to make casual conversation, but it eventually died because Will was too busy helping Nico with his food to talk, plus they were always the ones to cause the banter. Campers at other tables stole glances at Nico having heard rumors of his condition.

It was fairly quiet at the pavilion, and only the Stolls were really talking. “Hey, did you see the strawberry fields today? They were completely wilted!”

“Wonder why. Maybe the weather barrier is slipping.”

“Nah, wouldn’t be that. Weather wouldn’t wilt them that fast. Besides, it was warm over there too.”

“Yeah, there’s gotta be something going on.”

Will, along with the other campers, without choice, overheard this conversation. Will immediately thought of going there, but he didn’t want to bring Nico with him in his condition.

Chiron walked over to the Apollo table after finishing his meal. “I expect that Nico will stay in your cabin tonight, or in the infirmary with somebody with him. There are enough beds in both places. I can trust you with taking care of him?”

“Of course, he can stay in our cabin,” Austin said.

“As long as Will thinks it’s a good idea,” Kayla added.

Will looked up from his plate and said, “Yeah, the Apollo cabin would be best. Closer and comfier beds than the infirmary, and we can have more than one person to help.”

“Then he is in your hands. We will look into the strawberry fields the Stolls were talking about in the morning. For now, I’m sure you could use some rest. I will not advise you to go to the campfire tonight. You may simply sleep in your cabin if you wish. There will be no ill will against you for doing so,” Chiron said, and the three nodded.

The four went back to their cabin following dinner, while the rest went to the campfire. Chiron was planning on informing the campers of what had happened and what they would do the next day. They slowly worked their way along the paths, avoiding as many obstacles as possible. Nico and Will seemed joined at the hip as they walked, and Austin would run ahead to clear anything such as doors and clothes on their cabin floor. Kayla stayed behind and talked to Will.

“Did it look healable?”

“No.”

“How will he survive?”

“I’ll stay with him.”

“What if something happens to you?”

“It won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I won’t let it.”

“There are some things you can’t control.”

“Obviously. If I could control everything, then this wouldn’t have happened. Then Michael wouldn’t have died. Then Lee wouldn’t have died. Then nobody would have died. Then my mom wouldn’t have died…”

Kayla grabbed Will’s hand, which had clenched from frustration. Nico had leaned his head on Will’s shoulder, which rather than calming Will as it normally did, only seemed to make him more frustrated.

They approached the cabin, and Austin stood at the door, holding it open for the group. Will led Nico to an empty bed, and sat him down. He patted Nico’s thigh, and moved to get up. He continued pressing on Nico’s leg as he stood up, but Nico gripped onto Will tighter, and made a squeaking noise. Will sat back down.

“What were you getting up for?” Austin asked, having witnessed the little scenario.

Will let out a small sigh, then said, “I was going to get him some more comfortable sleeping clothes. We don’t have much, so I was going to check his cabin for something.”

“Austin and I can go get them for you. C’mon,” Kayla piped. She grabbed Austin’s wrist and pulled him out the door before he could object. She closed the door behind them, and they disappeared.

Will sat for a few moments, tapping his leg in a nervous pattern. Then he looked over to Nico, and grabbed his face, shoving their lips together. It was a desperate kiss, but Will was upset, tired, and he really just wanted Nico fully back with him. When he pulled away, they were both out of breath, and Nico blushed, a silly smile spreading over his face. Will began laughing and crying, wiping Nico’s bangs back. Then Nico shuffled a bit, and reached into his front pocket. It was a wrinkled piece of paper.

He pressed it into Will’s hand, and Will opened it. “Roses are red, violets are blue, I will never love someone… Oh Neeks. I love you too. So much.” Will caressed Nico’s cheek, rubbing his thumb over his reddened skin. He leaned forward and encased him in a hug, which is what his siblings found when they walked back in.

“Should we come back later or…” Austin trailed off.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Will said, wiping back tears and tucking the valentine under the covers. He took the pajamas they brought back and helped Nico get changed into them while Austin and Kayla went to brush their teeth and shower before bed.

Nico let go for Will to sleep in his own bed. They wouldn’t have minded being together, but Kayla and Austin had boundaries, and it would have been inappropriate even if it was simply sharing a bed. Besides, Will had other plans.

Once everyone in the cabin was asleep, and it was long after hours so nobody else would still be awake, Will got out of bed and carefully went outside. It was completely dark, but Will knew the camp well enough to get around until his eyes adjusted. He walked to the one place that he could tell that someone had been to when he was looking for Nico earlier; the strawberry fields. There, he could see that the plants were all withered.

He stepped cautiously over to the farthest part of the field, and saw the snow that had built up outside the camp’s protective barrier. He also saw footprints going out, and back in, but nothing was showed that the foot went back into the barrier. The print simply cut off, with no decline into the grassy area.

Will swallowed the build-up of spit, which dried out his throat. He reached his hand through the barrier, then found himself in the snow, the camp nowhere to be found. He first felt the cold, which was a slap in the face from the warmth of the camp, even at night. His sandals provided no protection from the snow, and his barren legs were covered in goosebumps. He wrapped his arms around him, and stood shivering, scanning his surroundings. It was very quiet all of a sudden, and his ears warmed.

He reached up to his ears, and when he brought his hand back in eyesight, his fingertips were covered in blood.

No, he thought, Not me too.

He looked around frantically, and a dark figure passed in front quickly, so Will’s eyes couldn’t follow. He turned around, and a large gust of wind blew in at him, forcing him to close his eyes. They immediately felt heavy, like he hadn’t closed them in days. He tried to look around, but he saw nothing. He started to panic, his blood pumping through his body at rapid speeds.

He felt the snow attacking his nerves in his feet, becoming numb with the cold. He collapsed into the snow, and tried to warm them by rubbing them with his hands, but he was too cold. His efforts were in vain, then his chin was lifted upwards. He felt claws digging into his skin, drawing blood that poured into his mouth, filling it with the taste of iron, until he was simply aware of a liquid in his mouth. He could no longer taste or smell the blood pouring out.

Shit. No, it can’t be like this. Nico needs me. The campers need me. I can’t abandon them. These thoughts rumbled around in his head, overwhelming him. He snapped and whistled.

He couldn’t hear it, but he knew that it worked because the claws were no longer lifting him up. He doubled over and spit out the blood that was collecting in his mouth. He crawled on hands and knees in some direction, until he ran into a tree. He tried to move around it, but it never seemed to end, as though it was infinitely ginormous. He felt the roughness of the bark, and then a sharp pain right through his back. He breathed, and collapsed.

His blood spilled out, staining the snow around him. A monster turned to dust next to him, and blew through the wind. Will’s body grew numb as the cold wind blew crisp, white snow over his lifeless face.

When Kayla woke up the next morning, the first thing she noticed was Will’s absence. She was normally the first one up, and she didn’t imagine that Will would leave Nico alone on purpose. She wandered the cabin in search of her missing brother, but didn’t find him anywhere.

“Austin, wake up! Will isn’t here! Austin!” She was shaking Austin awake , but he just ignored her and rolled onto his other side. She tore off his blankets, which was the best way to get him up.

“Ugh, what is it? Isn’t it too early for your antics?”

“Will is missing! He’s nowhere in the cabin!”

“Probably just went for a piss. Can I have my blankets back now?”

Kayla doubted that Will would go out at the crack of dawn to use the bathroom, but she supposed that Austin wouldn’t help for at least another five minutes. She went over to Nico and lightly shook him. He woke with a jolt, clearly having just been woken from a nightmare, though she couldn’t imagine what could be worse than what he had already and was currently experiencing.

Nico’s abilities had heightened to compensate for his lost senses, and Kayla was surprised when he got up and shadowtraveled away. He’d sensed death close to camp, and went to where it was. When he appeared in his new location he sunk in the snow, and the pajamas weren’t of much help against the biting cold. He did manage to come very close to Will, so it only took some reaching in the direction of death to find his body, stiff from the effects of rigor mortis. His skin was frozen, and Nico felt a small frost across his arms.

He moved his fingertips very slowly across Will’s body, until he reached his face. He cupped Will’s jaw line and brushed his thumb over Will’s cheek. He leaned down and kissed where his thumb was, feeling the frozen dew that replaced the warmth Will usually gave off. He moved his hand upwards and ran his fingers through his wavy, soft hair. He remembered the golden locks that he would stare at for hours, mesmerized. He remembered his blue eyes, the small freckles that dotted his face. His sunny demeanor that lit up Nico’s life.

He’d tried this Valentine’s Day. Last year he was too full of resentment toward Eros to get into the spirit, but Will had tried. This year he tried. He’d gotten over his grudge against Eros for Will, and this was what he got.

He doubled over and cried, howling more than he had before, so much so that he lost his voice and was silent as he hung over his boyfriend’s body, trembling. He summoned the shadows to take him to the infirmary, scooping up Will and taking him with him. He lay Will on a bed, and searched for a chair. When he found one, he sat down and succumbed to his exhaustion.

It began to snow in camp, and Kayla and Austin found Nico and Will in the infirmary. Chiron sent a satyr to inform their friends at Camp Jupiter, and they came over that afternoon to comfort Nico and for Will’s funeral that evening.

Nico sat between Hazel and Reyna, who helped him with his meal, of the little they could get him to swallow.

Will’s body sat upon a pile of wood, organized rectangularly to perform a proper ritual. Hazel stayed by Nico’s side, and guided him toward the casket, where he thought his final goodbye.

You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

You make me happy

When skies are gray

You’ll never know dear

How much I love you

Please don’t take

My sunshine away

The song seemed cruel, but he couldn’t help but accept the inevitable. That’s what Will did every day, with every death and every battle. He’d hated it, but he continued anyways. He was so strong, even knowing that they would probably die before they could amount to anything. He had faced so many challenges, but he still shone so bright. Nico couldn’t imagine that light extinguished, so he was glad he couldn’t see that. Will’s hair was still golden, his eyes still blue, his freckles still adorably placed.

Nico went to stay with Reyna in Camp Jupiter, where he was cared for and learned to communicate even with his disabilities. Will was on his mind every day, and was all he could see. Back in Camp Half-Blood, the Hades cabin was empty, void of life. A bowl remained on the table, where the strawberries wilted in their chocolate casings, the color slowly leaving them.

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