#it isn’t really his fault but he wasn’t paying too much attention | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

januaryembrs · 6 months ago

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WHEN YOU KNOW, YOU KNOW | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Description: Sunshine rookie gets a boyfriend, and Spencer can’t help but think he would be so much better for her. But that definitely isn’t the jealousy talking, right?

Length: 8k

Warnings: nothing really, jealousy? talks of sex? embarrassment? Mention briefly of vomit because of allergic reaction.

main masterlist.

author’s note: I want to write for these two until my fingers are two little stubs and even then I’ll learn with my toes. Can be read as a stand alone!

He thought he was going to be sick when he saw her that random Thursday, leaning against her desk, a sweet, bashful smile on her face. Or, more specifically, Spencer thought he was going to need to at least sit down when he saw the man standing next to her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the little daisy earrings Penelope bought her for her birthday almost laughing at his gobsmacked expression.

He liked Agent Taylor Bingley. He respected the fresh faced desk jockey from the third floor that swanned around their bullpen, usually discussing warm up routines with Luke. He was quick on his feet, a pretty decent shot. Never missed a report, never tardy, even offered his parking spot up to Spencer on more than one occasion because he didn’t mind the long walk from the other lot. He flew under the radar, and when he was noticed, it was because he was a particularly kind soul.

Spencer didn’t think he’d ever seen him without those rosy cheeks that made him look almost always sunburnt, or that trademark boyish grin a handsome guy like him had down to a tea. So it really shouldn’t have been such a surprise to see him lingering around his sunshine girl.

Except she wasn’t his, not by a mile. They just spent almost every second of the work day together.

“Check it out, rookie has an admirer,” Tara said, the heels clicking against the floor as she passed the door, where Spencer seemed to have stopped, his eyes narrowing at the happy couple, “Can’t say I blame him. She’s a pretty girl, don’t you think, Spence?”

She didn’t realise she was rubbing salt in a superficial wound, but Spencer felt his jaw feather with annoyance. Because she was beyond a pretty girl, she was honey and all the months of Spring and a hot drink on a rainy day and finishing a good book and the dessert your mom let you have on your tenth birthday. Not that he could admit that. So he just nodded, right as Taylor leaned over to kiss the apple of her cheek.

She shied away, smiling to her lap and playing with her fingertips, not looking up from her little potted plant that sat next to her on her desk, and Spencer knew it was because she floundered when people gave her too much attention.

Like when Garcia had said her blouse and bun combo she’d worn the other day made her look like a sexy teaching assistant, she’d stammered something close to a thankyou and headed to the kitchenette to get herself a glass of water. Or when Rossi had said the bangs she had cut herself two weeks ago looked cute, that his daughter had been desperate to try something similar, she’d spilled her coffee down her front not even two seconds later because she had been so occupied telling the man it was no big deal.

“Morning, Doctor Reid, Doctor Lewis,” Taylor said, his pearly white teeth gleaming with that West Coast, surfer boy tan that made Spencer want to huff. The man was insufferable. Well, correction, he was insufferably nice for someone Spencer was desperate to pick apart with faults the second he’d seen her preening over their sunshine rookie.

“Morning, Agent Bingley,” Tara said civilly, smiling back at the Agent that passed them to head to the elevators. She caught a glimpse of Spencer, and was quick to make herself scarce in the interest of needing to check in with Penelope, because she knew what that stormy look in his eye and the way his lips pressed into a thin line meant, profiler or not.

Spencer didn’t pay much attention to Lewis leaving his side, not that he was trying to be rude, his eyes were zeroed in on the way she fumbled around her desk, looking for imaginary mess to tidy, which included rearranging the pots of glitter pens and highlighters next to her monitor, only to put them back exactly how they were before.

“Agent Bingley, that’s new,” Came a voice over her shoulder, that made her jump in her seat, and her expression was skittish when she swivelled around, Spencer towering over her with calculating eyes. Luke rolled his chair around the divider to lean in on the conversation, having witnessed the whole thing in high definition since her desk was right next to his.

“Oh, Taylor?” She squeaked, and Spencer didn’t need to touch her face to know it had gone hot just by the way she simpered and fiddled with the hem of her knee length skirt, avoiding their gaze, “Yeah, he took me to the aquarium at the weekend and we got lunch. It’s not really serious or anything, I don’t think,”

She seemed unsure, her lips pursed together and a tiny crease between her brow he hated, and it was then Luke’s deep laugh rumbled next to them.

“Does he know that?” Luke asked, and she shot him a look, wide eyed and confused, as he cleared his throat, “I was thinking I could take you out again in that pretty red dress-”

She threw a wad of scrunched up notepaper at him, an embarrassed smile on her face as she shook her head at him, “You have spent way too much time with Penelope, you’re turning into gossiping school children,”

But she seemed happy, like the thought of the conversation she’d had with Agent Bingley made her all the more girlish herself as she giggled lightly, her gaze meeting Spencer’s empty expression. He wished he could hide his jealousy better, perhaps even seem happy for her. She deserved someone soft and saccharine and humane like Bingley, not a rough shell of what once was a brilliant man. He knew he should feel somewhat pleased for her, at least now he had empirical, hard evidence on why he couldn’t have her, but he couldn’t.

“All I’m saying, rookie, is if you got that man bringing you breakfast and sweet talking you after one date, you’ll have him wrapped around your pinky by the time he’s your boyfriend,” Luke chuckled, and Spencer thought he might just burst a vessel with how hard he clenched his jaw at that dreaded b word.

Alvez had no idea just how much he had twisted a knife in Spencer’s gut, which was plunged even further when he saw that sparkle in her eye when she looked up at him.

“Ignore him, he’s a busy body,” She chirped, her teeth peeking from her lips when she hid a grin, “You wanna get coffee later? Taylor brought me tea and I’m dying for the good stuff,”

Spencer nodded with a small smile, because her attitude was infectious, and selfishly thinking that Bingley couldn’t be that perfect for her because she only ever wanted tea when she felt sick, usually towards the start of the month that he guessed was in correlation with her menstrual cycle but would never ask. She wouldn’t want tea for another two weeks, and would likely take an extra shot in her cappuccino today because this was when she felt the most lethargic.

Swivelling back around in her chair to log onto her computer, she remained completely oblivious to his inner turmoil.

For once, Spencer wished he’d been late to work.

–

Two months. They had been dating for two fucking months. As far as Spencer could tell, from Penelope’s need to chatter about their sunshine rookie and her hot, stud muffin of a boyfriend, things had only been official for about five weeks of that time, but it hadn’t stopped Spencer from wanting to swallow glass because that would likely be less inconvenient than seeing the two of them together.

Taylor usually brought her breakfast whenever they would get back from a case, which infuriated Spencer because he always bought her tea. She was a people pleaser, Spencer knew it before he had ever thought of her as anything other than the shiny newbie with too much joy and doe eyes he’d never seen before. But now, knowing her better than anyone else in the office did because she practically shadowed his footsteps, it was blaringly obvious to him that she had either never told him she didn’t like tea first thing in the morning, or he had never bothered to take notice.

Spencer felt an odd puddle of smugness and fury when on more than one occasion he saw her pouring it down the drain, cold after sitting there for hours until it was unbearable and she couldn’t force herself to drink anymore. It was obvious to him, so why wasn’t it obvious to her own boyfriend? Spencer thought bitterly. But then Agent Bingley did leave a sour taste in his mouth these days.

Speaking of which, Spencer felt that pang in his chest the way he always did when the happy couple walked into the office together. Her hand was usually in his, though she seemed to simper under the weight of the team's glances; knowing and teasing as he’d take her to her desk and whip out the to-go pastries that he’d bought them that morning.

“Morning, Spence,” She skipped past his desk, Taylor trailing behind her like a dog, though she seemed not to mind keeping him waiting a moment as she spoke to her friend, “How was Doctor Who?”

He smiled despite his grudge, because she always remembered what he said. He’d told her once that Thursdays were his evening to watch the show, and every time Friday morning rolled around, she’d bound up to lean over his computer and ask.

“It was okay, I’m excited to see what they do with a Female Doctor, even if I’ll miss Capaldi,” He replied earnestly, and her eyes filled with glee.

“Did they give her a new one of the doo-hickies they have?” She asked, his chest butterflying with an aching sort of affection because she seemed to remember everything he ever told her.

“Sonic Screwdriver?” She nodded her head, even though Spencer knew she didn’t quite understand the show entirely, “Yeah, I prefer Sarah Jane’s Sonic Lipstick however,”

“I wish I had one of those, I could reapply and save the world, how cool would that be?” She said, and they laughed together a little, before Taylor popped his head over Spencer’s computer with that dentist white beam and his excitable eyes, bluer than any sea rolling onto shore.

“Morning, Doctor Reid,” Agent Bingley said, and the smile withered from Spencer’s face, morphing into a civil nod, his expression unreadable.

“Morning, Agent,” He said, his eyes tracking back to his screen as he suddenly found Emily’s group email about staff room fridge etiquette invigorating.

Taylor must have taken it as a sign the Doctor Reid was busy and finally let him have a minutes peace, that is until she took a seat at her desk and he leaned next to her, handing her a warm bagel.

Spencer heard them chatting for about ten minutes, of which he was trying anything to tune them out, including roping Luke into their own conversation. It wasn’t until there was a lapse in the chatter that Spencer’s ears pricked up, and he heard her stand up from her desk, eyes wide as she spat a mouthful out into a tissue.

“Does this have coconut in it?” She asked somewhat fearfully, Spencer’s head whipping around to her little corner of the bullpen. Her little self help stickers dotted around her desktop stared back at him, her reminder to ‘drink water’ almost horribly ironic the second he’d heard her question.

His stomach dropped when Taylor frowned, “Yeah, it’s coconut and raspberry, is-is that not okay?”

Spencer was quick to stand up out of his own seat, rifling through his satchel to dig out his water bottle, making it to her desk in just two long paces and handing it to her without another word as she looked up at him worriedly.

“If you need to puke, it’ll probably be for the best so that you can get the traces out of your stomach. You can’t have the steroids before you hurl or it won’t work,” He soothed, and she nodded, sipping on his water with shaky hands, and Spencer was quick to catch the way her skin had a slight sheen to it that hadn’t been there before. He put a hand on her shoulder, trying to gage if she was well enough to make it to the bathroom on her own or if he would need to drive her to the ER. Either way her expression worried him.

“I-I thought it was white chocolate,” She peeped, looking extremely sorry for herself as she dumped the chewed up brownie in her bin, and Taylor almost appeared at her side, looking entirely lost as he stroked a hand down her hair.

“Talk to me, what’s wrong?” He asked, seafoam hues trailing down her sweating face in terror.

“She’s allergic to coconut,” Spencer cut in, his tone a little harsher than needed, and her boyfriend’s expression wilted like a kicked puppy.

“Shit! You never mentioned, I’m so- I’m so sorry, honey,” Taylor went pale, and she didn’t look much better as she pushed past the two of them, heading for the bathroom, Spencer a single pace behind her.

“I got her, don’t worry,” He called over his shoulder to Agent Bingley standing there like a gaping fish, his hand running through his blonde sweep as he watched her all but running out of the office, Spencer’s long legs keeping up with her.

“Is your skin getting prickly yet?” Spencer asked. Swouldn't go into anaphylaxis, at least not as far as they knew, but the large hives that would appear on her chest and neck and the vomiting was not ideal. She kept a tray of steroids in her desk incase an accidental cross contamination happened (and because Spencer had forced her to have some on hand), but seeing her panicked eyes as she tasted the chalky fruit had made him fawn over her like she was marked for the plague.

“Neck is getting itchy,” She replied, tugging at her collar and pushing the door to the unisex bathrooms open, heading for the nearest stall, “You don’t have to stay for this bit, it’s not-”

He cut her off by sweeping her hair into a ponytail, as if to tell her to stop worrying about him, and he stroked a hand over her arm to let her know he was right there, because he knew she really hated anything gory and gross like that.

He hushed her when she’d try to apologise, hand her his bottle of water in between moments where her whole body seized.

And for a minute, she thought that Spencer might be the only person who she’d ever let see her like this. Not Luke, or Garcia and certainly not Taylor.

The thought of it kept her quiet for the rest of the morning.

They seemed to move past the whole debacle quickly. Luke said Taylor had taken her to a fancy restaurant uptown to apologise, making a huge point to avoid the coconut banoffee pudding like it was an explosive.

“You guys are so cute, you’re like Jane and he’s literally your Bingley. I swear your kids are going to be sweet enough I could drizzle them right next to ice cream,” Penelope said over the SUV console speaker, Spencer in the driving seat and her in the passenger, flicking through her files as they approached the victim’s house.

The rookie blanched, “Woah, woah, kids?” She protested, and even Spencer felt himself nearly swerve the minute the bubbly IT geek said it. She looked shaken, awkwardly chuckling and reaching to tuck hair behind her ear, “Slow down, Garcia, we’ve not even- you know what, I think we’re talking about the wrong thing here-“

“You’ve not even what?” Penelope burst out, her need for the lastest gossip overwhelming the reading of the room. She swallowed heavily, shifting in her seat to face out of the window, her knees touching the door with a thud, “Have you guys not had sex yet?”

“Penelope!” The woman screeched, her face hot and gobsmacked that she’d even said it out loud.

But it was telling enough, and Spencer’s face whirled over the console to her, guilt written on her features.

“I just assumed you guys had done it seeing as both of you are the hottest couple I know, I mean I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you if I was a guy-“ Penelope tried to save herself in the only way she knew how, by digging herself a deeper hole.

Spencer’s hand shot out for the centre screen, “We’re losing you, Garcia, you’re breaking up, bye,” He pressed the end call button, and he didn’t need to look at the girl’s face to know she was the epitome of mortified.

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, the awkward silence of the car killing him as much as he knew it was her, but he thought better of it and clamped his mouth shut. It took him a minute before he opened his mouth to speak again, if not to ask her if she wanted to stop at a drive thru for breakfast, but she beat him to it.

“I was going to say we’ve not even said I love you yet,” She murmured, keeping her body entirely swivelled away from him, her arms crossed over her chest in an attempt to make herself smaller, as if she could just smush herself into the seat so he wouldn’t say anything. She cleared her throat, scratching her wrist nervously, “But I guess that’s also true too,”

“Why not?” Her eyes snapped onto Spencer when he braved those two words, and he sensed he’d overstepped some sort of boundary before he realised it sounded like he’d been speaking about the latter, “Why haven’t you said it?” He clarified.

She went quiet, her shoulders shrugging being the only sign that she’d heard him, gaze trailing back out her window.

“He’s not said it yet either, and I don’t think I want him to. Not yet at least,” Her voice was soft, heavy as if every single one of them was coming from her heart, “Love is such a big emotion I think if he did say it, I wouldn’t know how to respond. Like, if I’m going to say it back to someone, I want to be sure I feel it otherwise it’s like I’m betraying everyone else’s version of love, you know?”

He thought she might just be an angel bottled up and thrown into his life, and he sometimes wished he could take a look inside that head of hers because how she had protected her beautiful look on the world after seeing so much hurt staggered him. He had become cruel and cold and heavy where she looked at the lecherous shithole heading for disaster they called Earth and saw right to its soul, gave it a hug, told it she would care even when no one else would.

He tore his eyes from the road, and took in the outline of her face, mindlessly watching the pedestrians on their daily commute to grab lunch, a dog peeing against a lamp post, a motorcyclist bobbing and weaving in between the midday traffic, her doe eyes never missing a trick.

Forcing his gaping expression back on the road, because he might just swerve and hit the damn rider off his bike if he let himself get lost in his little dreamscape that consisted of nothing but her and her face and her thoughts and her words, he cleared his throat, not sure how to add to the poetic, rose tint she seemed to see the world in.

“That’s good, that you’re taking things at your own pace, atleast,” He said, not particularly profound but at least it was something, “You shouldn’t do things just because someone else wants you to, even if you think it would make them happy,”

“But I like making people happy,” She countered, her expression troubled as she looked over at him with a quirked brow, “I like making you happy especially,”

“What makes you think I’m not happy?” Spencer asked, his mouth drying up, his stomach flipping in cartwheels when she giggled to herself like for once she was the smart one snd he was the one who needed teaching.

“It took you three and a half weeks to crack a smile when we first started working together,” His jaw clenched, because he was the one who counted the statistics. Perhaps he was rubbing off on her. “Honestly, I thought you hated me. I thought a seasoned agent like yourself probably would get frustrated teaching the dumb newbie the ABC’s, even ones that admire him. But then I thought, instead of getting so butt hurt about it all, I could just give you a reason to smile and you’d see that I’m not just a useless rookie learning to roll over for treats.”

Spencer’s throat bobbed. He’d hate himself forever for being so cruel to her those first few weeks, the clipped tones when she’d add something in a particularly chirpy voice, the way he would forget his manners sometimes when she’d bring him a coffee, because his head had been so deep in survival mode that being nice didn’t matter. Being nice had got him nowhere in Mexico, in fact it had shown his soft underbelly and drawn a target on it.

“I never hated you,” His voice croaked out, weak and pathetic, and it's times like that he remembered ten years ago talking to her would have made him blush, pop a boner, and lose half his IQ all in one go. Coughing, his knuckles turned white at the wheel, and he avoids her gaze that feels like a pitfall trap, “It’s difficult to go back to how you used to be when you’ve got a thousand eyes on your back waiting for you to lower your guard,”

“I know, I know that now, I jus-” She floundered, worried she’d touched a nerve, but he stopped her by leaning over the console and putting a gentle hand on her kneecap.

“Relax, I know I wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around,” Spencer said, his timbre quiet but honest, “You were one of the few things I looked forward to, if I’m honest.”

“Really?” She said, agog, like she was waiting for him to turn around and say it had been a joke, “You didn’t think I’m too loud or, like, too much?”

“How can there be too much of you? If your body wasn’t in correct proportion, your organs wouldn't function-”

“Spencer,” She said, though he knew she was smiling even without having to look, “You know that’s not what I meant,”

“I know,” He replied, a smug little smile quirking on his own lips because he loved making her happy too, “No, I could never find you too much.”

She simpered under his words, his hand a stoked flame on her skin as she brought her fingers over the top of them to squeeze them together, before she changed the subject because she knew her cheeks might just explode if they heated anymore.

–

They were back from a long case, one that had made everyone tired and grumpy, especially because they needed to swing by the office for an hour of admin even Emily couldn’t wriggle them out of.

And ofcourse, as he always was when Spencer was feeling like he was already about to strangle someone out of annoyance, Agent Bingley was right there when they entered the lobby.

She hadn’t slept well on the jet, despite Spence loaning her his jumper to use as a pillow, and she was in desperate need of coffee, the kind that Spencer and Penelope forced her to try instead of the cold caramel thing she liked. She’d even go for one of Luke’s zero sugar, zero milk atrocities right now.

“Hey guys, how was the flight?” Taylor jumped in to ask, and everyone gave some sort of variation of a groan because that was exactly how it had felt. His attention turned to her, as she pulled up the rear with Spencer attached her her hip because she had been practically sleepwalking the entire way there, “Hi honey,”

“Taylor, hi,” She said, her eyes perking up when he held out a hot take away cup for her, “You really didn’t have to,”

“Nonsense, herbal tea is supposed to alleviate headaches and help get you to sleep,” He replied, his other hand behind his back quickly whipping out to produce a bunch of flowers in front of her face.

She barely had time to flash him a grin to hide the disappointment that it was nowhere near as caffeinated as she’d like, nor that she didn’t even liked herbal tea, before a bunch of lilies were thrust her way.

“Lillies,” She said, her hand covering her chest at the touching sentiment, “Taylor, you shouldn’t have,”

“I know they’re your favourites,” The blonde replied, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and effectively putting a wall between her and Spencer, whether he meant to or not. Her expression wavered, and Spencer's eyes went straight to her, waiting for her to correct him. Because they weren’t her favourites, not even in her top five. Hyacinths were. Or Foxglove. Or Delphiniums. Not Lillies.

She nodded wordlessly, and the three of them headed for the lift, where the rest of the team held the door for them, her expression tiptoeing between guilty and smiling, Taylor’s almost ecstatic to see her after her long few days away, and Spencer’s entirely pissed off that the sun kissed jerk couldn’t see every sign blaring in his face.

“I might have to cut off the stamen when Ace comes over,” She queried, her eyes roving over the beautiful white petals opening towards her like a book.

“Ace? Who’s Ace?” He said, and Spencer and JJ exchanged a glance, because the whole elevator was now privy to their conversation as David pressed the six button. Taylor reached forward to push the three for himself.

“The dog I foster sometimes, the one I told you about. He helps me when I need to talk through some things. He’s a very good listener,,” She said with a dopey smile on her face, her eyes casting over her boyfriends face with a willing expression, because she knew for a fact she’d told him at lengths about the bouncy Spaniel that adored her, “He comes over for playdates, but the pollen inside lilies are poisonous to dogs,”

Taylor scrunched his nose up, “Ugh, I hate dogs, they’re so slobbery and the always seem to smell awful,” He commented, her face dropping the slightest in a way that made Spencer’s hand curl into a fist, because how dare Agent Bingley take that away from her, “I thought you were a cat person?”

“I like them both equally, but Ace is sweet. He curls up on my legs after we’ve gone for a walk,” Taylor still didn’t seem convinced, and she felt stupid for even mentioning it, well aware that the rest of her team were listening in on her childish description of the old dog that wanted nothing but love.

“Why do you need a dog to talk anyway, babe? You have me,” Taylor said, in a way that was supposed to sound comforting but made Spencer want to shake him and tell him to listen to a damn word she was saying. Her eyes dimmed, and she looked at the lilies again, feeling entirely ungrateful for wishing they were something else, and the elevator doors opened onto the third floor. Taylor kissed her cheek and waltzed out of the lift with a quick goodbye to her team that was returned in murmurs. Turning to look at her, his body already in the anteroom of his own floor, he smiled sweetly at her, “I love you,”

JJ and Emily whipped their heads to her face, expecting to see some kind of puppy love blossom there, only to find wide-eyed panic, her smile slowly slipping. Rossi cleared his throat when she said nothing, the air turning stale as the team waited for her response, Taylor looking at her expectantly, and she wished the ground would open up then and there to swallow her whole, because that would probably be better than whatever this was.

Tara nudged her shoulder, waking her out of her daze, Luke scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, and it was then after a beat more of silence that Taylor opened his mouth again, “Babe, did you hear what I-”

She leaned forward to press the close door button, her doe hues in full flight mode, her fingers only picking up the pace when her boyfriend took a step closer towards the elevator, and Emily brought a hand over her mouth in muffled laughter when the doors slammed shut in front of him, their sunshine rookie entirely spooked and needing a quick exit.

The tiny metal box went silent, Spencer watching her face meld from alarm to horror, to sheer embarrassment.

“I mean, I’ll give it to you kid, that’s one way to do it,” Rossi said, patting her on the back and she shoved her face in her hands, the stems of the dove white flowers brushing against her cheek roughly.

“Please tell me that didn’t just happen,” She groaned through her fingers, JJ chuckling as the doors to their own floor opened up.

“Oh honey,” She said, rubbing the girl’s back gently, leading her out onto the BAU carpet that felt harsher against the souls of her shoes than it ever had before, “I think what you need is a coffee and a long talk with someone who isn’t a dog,”

Spencer watched her shuffle to slump down behind her desk, her expression still rattled and lost, JJ’s eyes flicking to him every now and then in a way that urged him to be the one to do just that because it was obvious by now who she talked the most openly to in the office.

But by the time he’d braved walking over to her desk, she’d already rushed through her report, excusing herself home for the day, and he knew her well enough to know she needed some breathing room before he could approach the subject, otherwise she would shut the doors on him too.

He hated the spiteful part of him that revelled in Taylor’s expression when that metal screen had slammed in his face.

—

It was three days later, and she had enforced a strict ban on talking about that day in the office. For once she didn’t look like she was going to break her resolve either, since every time someone tried to weasel information of her she would either pretend she hadn’t heard, or would excuse herself to make her fifth coffee of the day, or even had thrown her paperwork on the floor when Luke had pushed her for an answer just for an excuse to avoid the topic.

In fact, Spencer himself had been tempted to get her alone because he knew she would crack without much pressure from him, though the thought of using her trusting nature against her seemed wicked, and so he stopped himself and settled for curiosity.

It wasn’t until they were away on a case and they were shoved in a room together that the subject of Taylor was even brought up, and even then it was entirely out of his control.

“I’ll take the couch,” Spencer said, his eyes falling on the double bed in the centre of the room, striding over the other side of the room to throw his to go bag down on the two seater sofa that would wreck his back.

“Don’t be silly, we can just share the bed.” She said, as if it was the most obvious solution, which it was, “I sleep talk a little, but just give me a shove and I’ll shut up,”

Spencer paused, watching her fumbling around her bag for her toothbrush and paste.

“Won’t your boyfriend mind?” He asked, his palms clammy because he worried for a moment it was wrong to bring it up, and his chest butterflied when she froze, “Sorry, I know you didn’t want to talk about it, I just thought I wouldn’t like my girlfriend sharing a bed-”

“We broke up,” She said, taking pulling a large pink shirt out her bag and some strawberry printed shorts, her toiletries stuffed in her pockets, “So don’t worry about any of that stuff, we can share,”

And she waltzed into the bathroom without any more explanation, the lock clicking behind her and leaving Spencer alone with his thoughts.

They had broken up? Was it because of what happened in the elevator? Was it because of what Penelope said in the car? Was she the one to break up with him or the other way around?

Spencer felt like a gossip, even though his thoughts had gone no further than his cranium, and by the time she emerged from the bathroom, fresh faced and in her pyjamas, he had already changed himself, tucked himself under the cover in the hope she understood they didn’t need to talk about it if she didn’t want to.

She smiled at him, tucking her dirty clothes back in her bag and heading for the bed, slipping under the plush duvet with a soft ooft.

“Light on or off?” She asked, her finger hovering over the switch beside their bed.

“On, if that’s okay?” He replied and she nodded wordlessly, shuffling down under the covers, pulling them up to just below her armpits. Crossing her arms over her stomach like she was snow white waiting to fall into a poison-laced slumber, her eyes bore holes into the ceiling, and his thoughts banged loudly against his temple. The silence of the room seemed to only turn their avoidance tactics into a cacophony they couldn’t ignore.

“If you’re going to ask questions, I might as well tell you before we get back to Quantico.” She said finally, her sigh heavy and exhausted and she looked over at him, his brunette locks splaying over the pillow in waves, his facial hair scratching against the sheet when he flicked his head over to her too.

Hazel had never been such a pretty colour than when they sat in silence for a moment, staring at one another, almost daring the other to speak first. He swallowed, his mouth watering at how she looked, tucked under the sheets, her body lax and soft under her pyjamas, her hands skimming over her stomach nervously.

“Is it because of the day in the elevator?” Spencer asked after a few minutes, breaths suddenly becoming difficult to regulate naturally unless he forced them to be, because he was so close to her under the covers, his entire body too long and gangly for just a twin bed, he could smell her shampoo and conditioning combo in full force. Her spearmint tongue rolled words around her mouth for a minute, dropping down to his Star Wars shirt he felt childish for wearing the minute he saw her looking at it.

“Kind of, he just wanted us to move so fast, it just kinda made me nervous, but I always thought being nervous was supposed to be good, you know?” She sighed, forgetting to breathe in between her splurge of words that had been building up inside her for weeks, “Like you said the feeling of excitement and fear are almost identical so I think I just convinced myself I was being dumb and I was being a bad person for not just giving him what he wanted. I’m supposed to love him, right? Being his girlfriend and all that,”

He had said that; because scientifically that was exactly correct. The hormones released during love and during fear were, down to their core, chemical matches, and it felt funny she’d remembered that fact considering she made him feel somewhere in between too. He knew she was special, just as much as he knew the idea of tainting her with his core terrified him. Like he secreted some kind of radiation that would ruin her if she got too close for too long. But he couldn’t help it. How do you stop yourself from wanting something good? It was just science. A Pavlovian response.

“You’re not supposed to do anything. There’s no timeline for how you feel, and you can’t force yourself to feel something any quicker or stronger than you do,” He said, shaking his head when she bit her lip, her fingertips playing with one another ontop of the sheets.

“He wanted to know when I was ready to have…” She swallowed, her cheeks heating, “Intimacy with him. A-and it’s not like I’ve not done it before, I had a boyfriend in high school, but I just felt like with him…”

“He didn’t pressure you, did he?” Spencer asked, his brows furrowing as he felt a surge of annoyance flash through his blood that she had wound herself up so much just because of some guy who couldn’t keep it in his pants for a few months.

Her eyes widened, taking in the storm brewing in that beautiful woodland gaze of his, and she shook her head quickly, “No, no, nothing like that. This was all on me, it was all just me being dumb,”

“You’re not being dumb just because some guy didn’t like the answer you gave,” He corrected, exhaling deeply and letting his frown drop, because he knew she hated when he did that, “Why didn’t you want to, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She shrugged, looking back up at the dusty lamp shade hanging from the ceiling, the cobwebs that smattered around the wooden panels.

“I don’t know, I just kind of never saw the two of us.. becoming intimate, you know?” She said, her tone sheepish like she was in confession and he was a priest sat on the other side of the divide. He looked over at her, scanning the outline of her face, but she seemed adamant on avoiding his gaze, because she knew she would spill everything the minute she looked at him. With Spencer, there were no secrets, and that was entirely the problem.

Spencer’s lips pursed, thinking of exactly the right thing to say to such a delicate soul when she was laying herself hypothetically bare for him.

“You don’t have to be intimate in a relationship if you don’t want to. No one who loves you should ever make you feel like there’s an expectation or like you owe them that,” Spencer explained softly, edging his pinky finger out the tiniest bit to catch the back of her hand that now lay flat on the bed, her head turning up to meet his round forest hues that looked down at her with more softness than he’d felt in a long time.

He wished he could stay here with her forever. In the quiet of this room, they were just the two of them, not Doctor Reid and the Special Agent he had a huge hopeless crush on that was years his junior and thought she could fix everything wrong with the world.

“I know,” She sighs, and his heart caught in his throat when her pinky raises up to meet his own, the tips of their fingers brushing against one another like they were meeting each other for a slow dance. He had touched her many times before, but there was something illicit about this time. Like their skin had become oppositely charged and was pulling the other one in with an electric crackle, “He never pressured me but I felt like I could have tried harder to want it.”

“If you don’t want it, you don’t ever have to have it. A lot of people reach your age when your frontal cortex is developed and realise they might be asexual, it’s not a bad thing-” He tried reassuring her, but she was quick to shake her head again, bashfully ripping her eyes away from him to look at their caressing fingertips.

“No, no. It’s not that I never want to be intimate ever, I just never really felt comfortable around him enough to let myself want it. Like I couldn’t just be me with him, I was just being what he wanted me to be. Like he never really knew the real me,” She explained, and she rolled over onto her side to face him, her other finger coming up to absentmindedly trace over the prominent vein that ran up his arm, stopping just below where his old needle scars were at the crook of his elbow. If she saw them, she didn’t say a word, but Spencer felt like she was trailing a flame over his skin. He thought if she took his manhood in her hand she’d probably get the exact same response from him, because with every invisible swirl and line she drew over his skin, he felt a heat ripping through his loins. “Does that make sense? Like I didn’t think he would like the ikky parts of me so I ended up putting on a charade,”

“Y-yeah,” He replied, and his stammer made her look up, eyes wide and innocent as she watched him all but falling apart under a single fingertip. God he was pathetic. Mid thirties and nearly finishing in his boxers over a pretty girl touching his arm. Only it wasn’t just a pretty girl. It was her. His sunshine girl. “But I don’t think you have any ikky parts, to be honest,”

Her eyes deepened into pools of awe, and he watched her trail a glance down his nose to his mouth vulnerably.

“Spencer, you’re being too kind,” She whispered, and he swore his chest lurched.

He cleared his throat, and moved to roll over towards her too, hoping to disperse some of the energy that was clogging between them, only for it to become dialled to a hundred, trapping them in a tiny box where they were looking at one another, laying on the bed they were being forced to share and almost holding hands, because committing to full thing was scary like they were ten years old in a playground.

“Of course that makes sense. It’s much healthier to form intimate relationships with people we trust and feel safe with than rushing into things,” Spencer tried to breeze past the tension, but her breath was fanning over his face, almost tripping him over his words, because she was still looking at him like he knew all the answers. Because he usually did. Except for this time. This time, he felt like he was walking blind towards his point, “Not that one night stands should be shamed or anything, but it’s much better to engage in sexual intercourse with someone when it feels right,”

She breathed out deeply, licking her lips, and her finger movements stopped.

“So it’s just a when you know, you know, kind of thing?” She asked, her brows pulling together in a saddened frown, “I’m not, like, broken or anything?”

He sat up on his elbow, grabbing her wrist tight enough she would listen the minute he said it to her, because he never wanted to hear her say that again, “There is nothing wrong with you, you hear me?” She looked up at him with glassy eyes, wide and shocked to see him so desperately insistent over her, “You feeling secure is more important than any guy out there, no matter how nice they are, got it?”

She nodded after a beat, because she thought her brain might have stopped working with the way he was leaned over her, looking down at her with a glimmer of the harshness he’d been drowning in when she first met him. These days he seemed to have mellowed out the tiniest bit, except the straightforward tone he held with everyone else who wasn’t her, or the general heavy handedness he didn’t seem to realise he was capable of. Like in the way his warm, rough hands gripped the skin of her wrist, his expression somewhat frustrated though not with her as he looked down at where she was half beneath him.

“Spence?” She whispered into the electricity between them, her eyes trailing over his nose again and ghosting over his half attempt at facial hair. They were just whisps, but they suited him embarrassingly well. He didn’t reply, just stared at her to wait for her response, “I feel safe with you, you know that?”

He swore his heart was thumping out of his chest. She looked divine under his hand, sweet like a pudding begging him to taste, and he couldn’t help it when his thumb trailed up the side of her jaw, brushing just under her bottom lip, and she seemed to press herself further into his touch, a cat being scratched behind velvet ears.

“You’d tell me if you ever wanted me to stop, wouldn’t you?” He murmured, gooseflesh crawling up his arm when she nodded, her eyes boring holes into his soul when she looked up at him like that.

“Always,” She answered honestly, blinking at him once, twice, before she took a deep breath for courage, “But what if I never wanted you to stop?”

Spencer nearly moaned when he crashed their lips together, and he heard her squeak in delight beneath him, his large hand cupping her jaw, weaving into her hair, tugging her closer. She felt like her was consuming her whole, and she had no qualms about it, not when she reached a hand up to his shoulder and tugged him even more on top of her, the weight of him on her chest comforting and achingly right.

He pulled away to breathe for a moment, but she was chasing his lips, her touch maddening and he swore his brain switched off when she ran a hand up his spine, slipping under his shirt and tracing over every one of his vertebrae making him shiver. Her lips were stronger than any craving he had ever felt, the instant dopamine rush embarrassing for a man of his age, so hardened by the world reduced to putty, ready to beg for more because now he’d had a taste of her ambrosia, he didn’t think he could ever think straight again. A man sent crazy by forbidden wine.

He pushed her hair away from her face, using his long fingers to wrap around the back of her head and pull her impossibly closer to him, his other arm skirting down to her clothed waist and pressing their bodies together. She whined in his mouth, and Spencer thought he could finally die happy.

He pulled away to let her catch a gasp, her fingers carding through his long, brown curls, scratching against his scalp in a way that drew a low growl from his throat. He needed more, needed her, more than the air he gulped down ravenously and he found himself kissing at her soft neck, her head tipped back in bliss as he kissed every inch he could.

“The reason I didn’t want it with Taylor,” She choked between manic breaths, her hands holding onto him so tight he knew she didn’t have any intention of asking him to stop, “Was because it didn’t feel like this,”

Spencer wove their fingers together, pushing her hand above her head as the other came up to tilt her face towards him, looking into her bleary eyes for a second, their noses ghosting past one another, her mint breath delicious on his lips.

“It never feels like this, baby,” He whispered, their foreheads pressing together before he gave into her again and pressed his lips against hers so hard she whimpered into his mouth.

And she believed him.

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #matthew grey gubler x reader

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emmyrosee · 5 months ago

Note

Don’t know if you’re taking request, but imagine modern college au where Toji has baby Megumi (the mother isn’t in their life) and reader, his girlfriend, have class together but has to bring Megumi along cause he has no babysitter or they cancelled, so while sitting on the back seat of the class, Megumi is playing with you hair for attention and so you pick him up and hold him and Megumi kicks his legs happy while he draws you all, as a big happy family UGH

IM GOINF TO DIEEEEEE THIS IS SO PRECIOUS AUGH

And secretly, you’re kind of glad when Megumi’s babysitter cancels, because the little boy is so sweet and so well behaved it’s like he’s not even there anyways, and yet you still adore spending time with him. So when Toji knocks on your door to pick you up, and there’s a tiny Megumi in his arms, he rolls his eyes as you squeal and take Megumi into your own arms, who instinctively wraps his around you.

“Yeah, hug him before me, how nice of ya,” he scoffs, but he smiles as you press a loving kiss to his lips.

“Not his fault I like him more than you,” you coo.

He snorts and grabs your book bag from the ground, carrying it as you make baby small talk with Megumi- what he colored the other day, the pretty kitty he saw on the walk to you, and the new highest number he learned to count to; which, he eagerly displays as you conclude your walk to class.

“You’re so smart, megumi!” You praise, nuzzling his nose with yours while Toji holds the door open for you both. You’re quick to make your way to the back, plopping down on the double table. “Baby, hold megumi for a sec?” You ask, and when Toji takes Megumi back into his arms, you take off your hoodie to lay it on the ground as a slight cushion. “There. Come get comfy Megumi!”

The small boy is let out of his father’s hold and makes his way to the hoodie, sitting down quietly before blinking his big eyes at you and Toji.

“I got your coloring books hold on,” Toji says, taking his own seat as he opens his bag. He pulls out a box of crayons, slightly worn from use, and a big coloring book, filled with dragons and knights for him to fill in. Megumi’s eyes light up as his father passes him the book, and he immediately goes to work.

The class starts like normal. No one says much about Megumi being there, an occasional smile or gesture for a high five from the small boy, but no one bats a negative eye. Megumi’s small but quiet, he’s a good kid who plays with his own toys and sits in place. No one really minds his company- especially not you.

Professor drones on for hours, talking about something you can’t pay attention to- you’re too busy playing with Megumi’s hair, carding the black locks and smiling down at him as he nuzzles into your touch. You’ll get the notes from toji later. You’ve got more important things to take care of.

It isn’t until megumi uncharacteristically stands up with a few crayons in his hand and reaches a hand up to stroke your head, smoothing down any hairs. You turn to him with a smile, patting your lap for him to crawl into, which he does eagerly. You flip your notebook to a random blank sheet- definitely making a note to get a rundown from Toji later- and let him color anything his heart desires. You bury your face into his tiny head of hair and gently rock both of you back and forth, only to smile when you feel Toji’s big, warm hand lay on your back, thumb smoothing up and down your spine. Megumi’s legs dangle and swing happily as he colors, occasionally humming in thought quietly.

The professor finally, after two hours, concluded his lesson, bidding you all farewell and dismissing the class. You stretch and take a peek over to Toji’s messy notes, and you chuckle and lean over to press a kiss to his cheek. “Pay extra close attention so you could teach me, huh?”

He snorts and turns his head to kiss your lips, “you had the kid, I knew your ass wasn’t going to pay attention. Besides- I can always tutor you later,” he chuckles.

You swat his chest with a laugh before turning back to Megumi, “what did you draw, lovey? Can we see?”

You see Megumi ponder for a moment, eyes looking down in thought before he looks up at you and nods quietly. When you open your notebook again, you nearly cry from the drawing.

It’s the three of you- toji drawn as a big square, you, a triangle, and Megumi a small circle. The two of them have dark scribbles to represent their hair, but Megumi took the liberty of being extra careful coloring your hair, making it look nice and pretty. You’re all encapsulated in a big, pink, messy heart that almost fills up the entire page.

“Who’s that?” Toji asks, pointing at a small circle between you and Megumi.

“Mr. Moo,” he says simply, referring to his tiny stuffed cow he sleeps with at night. Toji hums in acknowledgment, but you’re too busy burying your face against Megumi’s, kissing his tiny cheeks and squishing him close. He wraps his arms around you, merely out of instinct.

“Can I have it, Megumi?” You ask, and when the small boy nods, toji scoffs in offense.

“Hey. You got the last one- this one’s mine!” He argues.

“Uhhh, actually, you get Megumi all the time, so I call dibs on all his drawings,” you say back. “It’s a fair trade.”

“I’ll show you a fair trade,” he grumbles, but he leans down to pick up your bag all the same. “Come on. I need a coffee.”

“C’n I have donut?” Megumi asks.

“Why not?” Toji shrugs. “You were good today.”

“He’s good every day,” you hum happily.

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aurumalatus · 1 month ago

Text

YOU ARE THE ONLY THING

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ (THAT'S EVER MADE SENSE TO ME)

wc. 5k chapter warnings. angst, cursing chapter summary. the memory of you haunts kinich wherever he goes, a perpetual existence in his life. but when he sees you again by chance, he takes the opportunity to try to right his wrongs. author's note. the first chapter of many...this is gonna be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, a lot of stupid mistakes and forgiveness and moving on and all that good stuff. pls lmk what y'all think! reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

masterlist | next ↣

MAYBE WE DON'T TALK ENOUGH. [1]

The graduation ceremony had been lovely, Kinich is sure.

If he had actually been paying attention to any of it, he might’ve even had fun. The field had been decorated with an array of balloons and flowers reflecting your school colors. Countless tears are shed and hugs are exchanged—he knows this might just be the last time he sees some of these people for the rest of his life. In a way, it’s a tribute to the childhood he’s spent here.

He scoffs, kicking at the dirt. To hell with that.

Because while everyone else had been grinning widely, proudly cheered on by their families, all he could do was stare at the empty seats in the stand. Unfulfilled promises swirl madly in his mind; the congratulations that people offer him in passing just slip in one ear and out the other.

So when you approach him, one hand outstretched as you shyly ask him to talk alone, all he can do is follow, blankly staring at the back of your head.

“Kinich, I have something to tell you.”

Kinich feels the remnants of you when he runs, sweat sticking to his skin and cold, biting air filling his lungs in a single breath.

Mid-stride, he zips his windbreaker to his neck, watching his breath dissipate like ice. The wind feels so much more piercing when he runs—it stings at his skin and his teeth. Fallen leaves crunch underfoot, a blanket of color over the edges of the field. Autumn always makes him feel melancholic—change always makes him feel melancholic.

Each step pounds heavy in the grass, picking up speed. His teammates know that he likes to run alone, just him and his contemplation—though Aether claims that it makes him a crazy person—and these are the rare times that he can just think.

Running comes naturally to him. Thinking does too, but not like this.

Most days, he tries to stay busy enough to avoid the thoughts. When he’s busy, there isn’t time to reflect on the past, there isn’t time to regret. Being team captain and taking as many credit overloads as he does means that he can stay ahead of the impending waves of guilt.

But when he runs, and it’s just him and the sound of his footsteps, memories of you start to creep in.

They say grief comes in waves, and he believes that must be true—you’ve always been a tide, ebbing and flowing into his life. That much was a constant, even when you weren’t.

(Or, even when you ceased to be.)

He can go about a few weeks without thinking about you, as far as he’s tried. And he means really thinking about you, not just a brief thought relating to you, or your life, or your memory—he’s not sure he could last even ten minutes that way. Over the years, you’ve become so tightly intertwined with his being that he’s not sure he could ever untangle that connection fully.

His laptop password had been your birthday for years after you left. He still makes his tea the way you taught him, with lemon and just a spoonful of honey. Your shared playlists still haven’t left his Spotify library.

He sighs. Three years is a long time.

It’s long enough for most normal, well-adjusted people to grow out of their past relationship, or at least not be wondering about them for a majority of the day. And that’s if he can even call what the two of you had a relationship—it had been something, and it was his fault that it wasn’t anything more.

Sometimes, he just wonders where you are and what you’re doing.

It’s a sick sort of thing to ponder, especially knowing what he did to you, but he can’t help it—often, he sees you in everything.

He wishes that wasn’t the case.

A part of him wishes he could strike you from the history of his existence. Another part of him wishes he could see you again, just once.

“Sorry for calling you out here! I just thought if I didn’t tell you now, I might never tell you…”

“Kinich!”

He flinches halfway through his step, the echo of your voice fading somewhere in the back of his mind. When he skitters to a stop, he realizes it’s his coach yelling his name, one hand cupped at his mouth and the other frantically waving his clipboard. He gauges the distance between them—lost in his thoughts, he had run about 200 feet straight past the other man.

Flushing in embarrassment, Kinich jogs back to meet him.

“Sorry about that,” he pants. “Was just thinking about one of my exams.”

There’s a pause, like Coach Wayna is deciding whether to ask questions or let it go—Kinich isn’t usually one to lose track of himself, after all. Still, the man seems to land on the latter.

“Well, nice hustle,” he praises, rewarding him with a strong clap on the shoulder. “Get some water and wash up.”

He slaps a towel into Kinich’s outstretched hand—he accepts gratefully, slinging it over his neck and scrubbing the sweat off his face.

He glances up at the graying sky. The clouds are coalescing into mismatched swirls—maybe it’ll rain tonight, he thinks vaguely. It doesn’t usually stop them from practicing anyway. He can recall a number of times that he has walked home drenched in mud.

“Already? It’s early, isn’t it?”

At this time of year, practices don’t usually end until the sun kisses the horizon, dipping and dimming. Kinich usually walks back to his apartment with his roommates at dusk, Aether’s whining carrying them home.

Coach Wayna is busy watching the other guys run, scribbling something down on his clipboard.

“We’re letting out early today,” he shrugs.

Licking over his lips, Kinich tastes the salt pooling at his cupid’s bow, lungs heaving.

“What’s the occasion?” he asks, raising a brow.

Looking out over the field, he watches the rest of his teammates finish their sprints. Aether is messing around again, trying to leapfrog over Xiao’s back, much to the latter’s irritation. Gaming seems to find the sight amusing, based on the way he whoops and cheers.

Kinich sighs, shaking his head—Aether is lucky that he’s as talented as he is.

Coach Wayna laughs, a guffawing sound that resounds deep in his chest and across the field. He’s a good-natured guy, really, if not a bit more patient than Kinich himself can manage.

“The occasion is that you guys are college students,” he explains, “and sometimes, I’m willing to let you enjoy your lives a little bit.”

A half-scowl crawls over Kinich’s lips. Coach Wayna is always on them about enjoying their lives outside the sport, just like everyone else in Kinich’s life. His friends have always been determined to get him out of his bedroom and get him participating in something that isn’t his clubs. It’s irritating sometimes, to say the least.

Kinich’s tongue runs dry, so he pads over to the cooler, throwing the top open and pulling a water bottle out to shake off the excess condensation. It’s nice and cool, a welcome sensation even when the air is colder than usual—internally, his skin thrums with heat.

He gets about halfway through the bottle by the time his teammates make it over, in various states of exhaustion. Aether is first to react, letting out a loud groan and flopping to the ground dramatically.

“Coach, are you trying to kill me?” he whines, throwing an arm over his eyes. “I can’t feel my legs.”

Xiao approaches Kinich directly, taking a water bottle from his outstretched hand.

“It’s your fault that you’re so tired,” Xiao deadpans, taking a swig and settling down in the grass. “Because you were late, the rest of us had to run extra.”

As kind as Coach Wayna is, he doesn’t let things like tardiness slide too often—Kinich’s legs burn as a firm reminder of that. Everything they do, they do as a team, which includes punishment.

“Blame Lumine,” Aether grumbles. “She forgot her keys, so I had to drop her off at work.”

Aether’s sister, as kind as she is, does tend to be a bit forgetful. But Aether is also irresponsible as hell sometimes, so there’s a 50% chance that he merely overslept. Xiao seems to silently agree, based on the way his brows knit together.

Coach Wayna has a short meeting with them to end practice, and Kinich half-listens—he’s still caught up on earlier. It’s only when Aether flicks him in the back of the head that he returns to earth.

“Hey, airhead, we’re going to Third Round Knockout,” he says, an order, not an invitation. Kinich scowls.

“You mean you’re going,” he corrects, packing up his duffel bag. “I’m going home so I can take an ice bath and forget this ever happened.”

He can count a number of other things that are infinitely more important than taking a single step in that greasy place, too. He has a few exams coming up to study for, a lab report to do, and a few logistics issues to resolve with his financial aid and scholarship. So really, he has no business going out at all.

But the thought grows more and more appealing the more his stomach rumbles. Aether seems to notice too, because he grins cheekily, slinging an arm over his friend’s shoulder.

“Just follow the sweet, sweet siren song of burgers and fries, and let it guide you home.”

Xiao sighs from where he sits on the bench, shaking his head—sharing an apartment with Aether and Kinich means he’ll likely get roped into this too. Aether goes around making his pitch to all their teammates, but most decline on the basis of being too busy or having things to do. Kinich thinks they’re just too exhausted to deal with Aether’s antics.

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” Gaming whines, checking his phone. “I have an exam tomorrow and if I don’t study and sleep, I’m gonna fail for sure.”

Aether wags a finger in his face, grinning. “You don’t have to study, C’s get degrees!”

Kinich wonders if he should step in, knowing how easily influenced Gaming can be when it comes to Aether’s lax personality. He doesn’t have time to get the words out, however, because Xiao strides past with a critical side-eye.

“Yes, and Aether’s get dropped from their university…”

“I don’t—hey!”

“Let’s just go,” Kinich sighs, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. Aether pouts, but follows his teammates off the field.

“Fine, but Xiao’s treating!”

Third Round Knockout is exactly the type of place Kinich imagines college students to like.

It sounds strange when he words it like that, considering he is a college student himself, but he means a different type of college student—the type that finds cheap, greasy pizza and boisterous laughter enticing. Or perhaps anyone who finds the showy, race car-themed decor attractive (just how much money did they spend on checkered flags?), or thinks that spending your Friday night listening to pop music from low-quality speakers is a good time.

He doesn’t mean it in a really bad way, of course. He’s friends with college students like that (like Aether), and that’s the only reason he finds himself stepping past the threshold. Still, after a long day of practice, he can’t deny that sitting down for some food sounds pretty good right about now, even if that food comes cheap and deep-fried.

“God, I’m fucking starving,” Aether moans, collapsing into one of the booths in exhaustion. He flips one of the plastic-lined menus over, scanning over the food options. “I seriously think if I have to wait another second to eat, I’ll die.”

Xiao slides into the booth next to him, brows furrowed as he types away at something on his phone. “Seems like you’re always somehow on the verge of dying.”

Though his stomach grumbles, Kinich doesn’t bother looking at the menu—the food here is as standard as it gets, burgers and fries that drip with grease and milkshakes that are basically entirely comprised of sugar. But he reasons that he probably deserves this after the day that he’s had.

Everything had been nothing short of exhausting. He had conditioning in the morning, followed by three exams back to back, then headed to practice right after. Needless to say, his brain is running on the fumes of the black coffee he downed in between his second and third lecture.

“You good, man?” Aether asks, poking at Kinich’s hand. “You’ve been looking like a zombie all day.”

Kinich figures that a zombie is probably an apt description for how he looks right now, in his ragged hoodie and old sweats. He hadn’t been planning on a night out, after all, but he’s not one to care for fashion even on a good day.

He merely mumbles back an “I’m fine,” thoroughly disinterested in discussing what he’s endured in the last twenty-four hours. He presumes that that’s just the life of a university student like him. The athletic scholarship is good, and he does enjoy playing with his teammates, so he’ll rest and recover and do it all again tomorrow, just like he always does.

Xiao and Aether start bickering over something on the menu, so Kinich takes that opportunity to zone out.

He blinks tiredly, gaze wandering—the bright, multicolored decor is almost too much for his weary eyes. People are drinking and grinding to the music on the dance floor across the room, the bass of the music so loud that he can feel it vibrating under his feet.

Sighing, he pinches at the bridge of his nose, trying to avoid a migraine.

He shouldn’t have come today. His mental to-do list only grows longer, and staying home would’ve been a far more efficient use of his time. Perhaps a part of him had felt guilty for how busy he’s been in the past few weeks—it’s actually been quite a while since he sat down with his friends like this.

“Alright, Kinich, you lose!”

The sound of his name pulls him from the depths of his mind to find Aether and Xiao staring at him expectantly.

“What?”

Aether nods to the counter, crowded with a swathe of people. “You have to go order. You were last to nose goes.”

Nose goes? Kinich’s face scrunches in disbelief. Sometimes, he feels more like a kindergarten teacher than a soccer team captain.

“Are you four years old?”

Aether tilts his head, a challenge. “Are you rejecting the sanctity of nose goes?”

Maybe he doesn’t feel so guilty for being busy after all.

Desperate, Kinich looks to Xiao for support, but the other man shrugs, as if to say I can’t deal with him either. Arguing with Aether is a guaranteed headache, so Kinich merely groans, begrudgingly rising from his seat.

“Whatever. Just tell me what you want, then.”

He sighs as he shoves through the crowd, passing through sweaty limbs and sticky floors. No one seems to pay him any mind, and he takes a few accidental elbows to the ribs. God, he wants to throw up.

The actual line for the counter isn’t too long, luckily. There’s only one or two people in front of him.

He checks over Aether and Xiao’s orders in their groupchat. Aether’s order is a list about a mile long, while Xiao simply wants a single combo meal. Typical.

He thinks on his own order a bit, and he’s midway through creating a mental list about the pros and cons of getting french fries versus onion rings when he looks up again to gauge the wait time. His breath hitches as he realizes two things:

He’s next in line.

He knows the people at the counter.

One of them is Childe, donned in a white t-shirt and a dark leather jacket.

Kinich knows who Childe is just like everyone else—with how much his name gets thrown around on this campus, he’d have to be an idiot not to. Being the star quarterback of the football team, he’s as close to a celebrity as one can get around here. Plus, they have some mutual friends, but Kinich doesn’t really consider Childe a friend, per say. They’re acquaintances at best.

But Kinich doesn’t really care about Childe—he doesn’t know him well, never has, probably never will, and he’s not one to worry about people outside of his concern. No, it’s not Childe that draws his attention at all; in fact, he’s in the way of it.

It’s the fact that Childe is talking to you.

Kinich sucks in a breath.

He blinks once, thinking it may just be his exhaustion playing tricks on him, but you’re still standing there, smiling up at the other man.

Though he’d known that you applied to this school, he never found out where you actually ended up going—you’d blocked him on everything post-graduation, after all. It seems like some sort of sick sign from the universe that you would be here right now.

You’re wearing the Third Round Knockout uniform, he notes dully—so you work here. But that still doesn’t explain why you’re smiling and laughing with Childe, looking entirely too happy with his company. Kinich has talked to the ginger before, and he’s not that funny.

Childe turns at that moment, seemingly finished ordering his food, before he lights up in recognition.

“Ah, Kinich, what’s up?” he greets, patting him on the shoulder. “Hey, nice game the other day! You’re fast as hell.”

If he were anywhere else but here, Kinich might’ve actually appreciated Childe’s compliment. But right now, he can’t even remember what game he’s referring to; instead, he offers a dry, tight-lipped smile.

“Thanks.”

He peeks around Childe’s arm—you haven’t noticed him yet, too busy counting bills and stuffing them into the register. You’re halfway through a yawn when you call out to him.

“I can help the next person, please!”

Childe shoots him a grin, waving as he steps past him to leave, and suddenly Kinich feels overwhelmingly vulnerable. It feels endless, the drag of your gaze as it turns up to him, falling to his face. Pure shock paints your features.

Something unearths in his chest, kicking up with dust that stings at the corners of his eyes.

They bloom there, a wealth of feelings that wrap like thorn-lined vines around his heartbeat. Regret speaks the loudest—it screams from where it sits, panging with familiarity at the sight of your face.

“K—Kinich,” you greet once you recover from your initial shock, a rasp. There’s an audible lump in your throat, voice reedy and thin.

You look even more beautiful than he remembers. That’s all he can think as his brain force feeds him a series of memories—images of hazy sunsets and half-empty spray paint cans and secrets shared between chapped lips. His entire youth is nearly synonymous with your name.

His eyes draw to your neck, the bareness of it; it makes his heart ache.

You toy with the silver chain swinging at your throat, shyly staring down at your feet.

Almost in slow motion, your hand slinks up to your collarbone, reaching for something that isn’t there. It has Kinich’s eyes fluttering shut for a moment, almost painfully.

“Hi,” he starts, sound barely crawling from his throat. “It’s been a long time.”

He waits, but he doesn’t know what for. A change, in expression, in tone, in something, a sign that you remember what the two of you were, or perhaps what you could’ve been. But you’re still blankly staring at him like he’s a stranger.

“Can I help you?”

Kinich forgets about the food entirely. He just can’t get over how different you look, sound, and are. It’s a stupid realization—obviously you would’ve changed in the last three years. But somehow, he feels like he’s been the only one rooted in place all this time.

“Sir?” you repeat pointedly. “Can I help you?”

He utters your name once, soft, then inches forward, an instinct. “Listen, I’m sorry—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you interrupt smoothly, devoid of warmth. You back away, defenses up; you’d expected this from him, clearly. “I don’t really want or need it.”

And it hurts to hear that, that you don’t really want or need something from him. Because that always used to be the case, used to be your normal—clinging to each other, wanting and needing and having each other. And though he doesn’t like to live in the past, this is one thing that Kinich is unwilling to let go of.

“Can I…still try?” he starts, hesitant. “To apologize?”

The music still pulses in his veins, in his hands, in his chest—it echoes in his ears as he awaits your reply.

Deep down, he knows he shouldn’t do this. He’d lost any right to pursue you years ago. And he’s certainly not the type to make emotionally-charged confessions in public, but he sees you and he wonders if you still remember his favorite color.

It’s messing with his head.

“Why would you?” Your tone is biting, words sharp as they’re flung off your tongue. “No offense, but we haven’t known each other for years. I don’t see a point.”

And though you’re right, the thought pains him—there had been a time when he was the only one who knew every part of you, and you of him. But you’ve changed so much, you both have, and the evidence is standing before him.

Your eyes fill with frost. His mouth grows dry with regret.

“I know, but at that time, I—”

“You avoided me for months, Kinich,” you cut in quietly, thumbing at the edges of your sleeves. He knows that habit—you always do it when you’re nervous. “Forgive me for thinking that meant you wanted nothing to do with me.”

The bitterness leaks into your voice. You’re trying to be indifferent, but the resentment still feels raw.

And he deserves that, deserves this, he knows; he’s made a lot of mistakes when it comes to you. He more than anyone knows how much he fucked up, and if he could take it back, he would do so in a heartbeat. But he can’t, and your dull eyes and bare neck are evidence of that.

“You’re right,” he breathes, then swallows, gathering himself. “I’m sorry.”

You clear your throat, looking for something else to busy yourself with—anything to avoid eye contact.

“You don’t have to be.”

Despite your words, the misery is written across your face, like you’re reliving every single moment of that day. And, of course, you have no way of knowing, but he wonders if you realize how often he relives it too.

“Now that we’ve graduated, I just thought you should know…”

Kinich feels completely out of his element, pinned in place.

He wonders what he even wants out of this whole interaction. Your anger? Your hatred? Would it have made him feel better than your disinterest? His fist clenches.

Say something. Don’t let it repeat itself.

It’s always been his vice—he doesn’t think he’s a stupid person, but he does think he’s a quiet one. And sometimes, that comes back to bite him in the worst moments. When he thinks back on the moments he’s shared with you, he can recall so many times that he could’ve said something. And maybe it wouldn’t have saved you both, but what if it would’ve?

You’re sighing in resignation, looking over his shoulder to call the next person when he speaks, hasty.

“If you ever want to talk about what happened, we can. I can.”

It reeks of desperation, and he has half a mind to be embarrassed, but the feeling doesn’t surface. Instead, he catches a flicker of budding hope in your eyes, a wink of familiarity that has his heart slamming against his ribcage.

Your lips form the shape of his name, and Kinich finds his breath.

“I like you, Kinich. A lot. For a while now. And, if you’ll have me, I’d like us to be together.”

“What’s going on here?”

Too focused on your expression, Kinich fails to notice the older man sneaking up behind you, a stern frown on his face and arms crossed. You cringe at the intrusion, already struck with a sense of foreboding.

You whip around, hands drawn meekly to your chest.

“Sir,” you squeak out, a nervous giggle escaping your throat, “I was just—”

“We’ve already talked about this,” your manager hisses, a contrastingly serene smile on his face. “This would be your third strike.”

Despair creeps onto your face, and Kinich finds himself drawn forward, hand outstretched.

“Wait, sir, please. It was my fault. She was just—”

Your boss fixes Kinich with a sour glare, looking him up and down—his lip curls into disapproval when he sees the tattoo on his arm.

“Don’t make excuses for your friend.”

Everyone around stares at the commotion—when Kinich glances back, Xiao and Aether are watching, wide-eyed.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way.”

“You’ve had enough chances,” your manager starts, deceptively saccharine-sounding.

He looks between the two of you, spiteful. Kinich’s heart drops like a stone.

“You’re officially fired.”

“Wow, you fucked up bad.”

The next day, Aether’s unhelpful commentary is nearly drowned out in the general noise of the quad.

Fluffy clouds half-obscure the sun above, leaving a permeating warmth and a relaxing breeze. There’s an extensive crowd of students spread out across the grass, studying and laughing and chatting. It would be a beautiful, enjoyable day, if not for Kinich’s overwhelming guilt and the irritating sound of Aether scarfing down his lunch.

And while the blond’s remarks are unhelpful, they aren’t necessarily wrong. Recounting the whole event just makes him more aware of how idiotic he had been. Kinich rakes his fingers through his hair in frustration—he just can’t stop making mistakes when it comes to you.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he admits, absentmindedly pulling at the blanket beneath him. “I just wanted to talk to her.”

After the incident, your manager had disappeared with you into the back, likely to work out the details of your termination. You threw him a last glance over your shoulder, eyes pouring with regret—whether it was regret that you had been interrupted, or regret that you had interacted at all, he isn’t sure.

“Oh, you talked to her alright,” Aether chirps, mouth full. Kinich’s face twists in disgust. “Talked her right out of financial stability.”

Lumine jerks an elbow into her brother’s ribs, ignoring his pained yelp.

“What he means to say,” she starts, shooting her twin a poisonous glare, “is that you made a mistake, and you know it now. All you can do is apologize, or leave her alone if you think that would be best.”

Kinich thinks on that for a moment. Apologizing seems reasonable, but the laundry list of things he should apologize to you for seems to grow longer by the day. He’s not even sure you would hear him out for that long at this point.

Last night had given him a glimpse of hope, but your manager had ruined anything he had built up in that moment.

And really, he should leave you alone. The guilt building and knotting in his chest is enough, enough that he knows that getting involved with you further would only lead to more heartbreak for both of you. He’s just not sure if he’s capable of letting you go again.

“I mean, no offense, but weren’t you the one who rejected her back then? And then, like…ghosted her?” Aether asks.

Lumine facepalms, thoroughly exhausted by trying to reel in her twin’s complete lack of decorum. It seems to be her full-time job at this point.

“It’s okay,” Kinich sighs, waving her off. “He’s right. I did.”

He’d been going through a lot back then, not that it had been a valid excuse. He’d been far too immature to be honest with you like you deserved.

With a groan, Kinich shuts his laptop to fully focus on the topic at hand—he hasn’t been studying for a few minutes now anyway.

Lumine and Aether stare at him like they’re awaiting clarification. He shrugs, deflated.

“I was young and stupid. There’s no good explanation for it.”

“I don’t know if was is the right term,” Aether adds thoughtfully. “I mean, you did just get her fired, and that’s because—”

“—Aether.”

Lumine hisses through gritted teeth, and her twin chuckles, suddenly nervous.

“That’s because I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot and I’m going to stop talking now.”

Aether dives back into his chicken fried rice like a kicked puppy, pouting. Lumine glances over at Kinich, gauging the conflict written over his features. She sighs, smoothing her hair over her shoulder.

“Well, the choice is yours.”

If it were just up to him, he would chase after you and apologize endlessly. But he knows that his aren’t the only feelings in play here—if anything, yours matter more. So, he decides to leave it to fate.

He fishes into his bag with one hand, producing his wallet and shaking out a few coins. He holds one out for his friends to see.

“Heads, I apologize. Tails, I leave her alone.”

He swallows hard.

“Forever.”

He’s not sure if he truly means that quite yet, but he tells himself that he does. Steeling his resolve, he tosses the coin in the air. Aether and Lumine’s eyes grow wide as they follow its path, spinning and twisting before landing neatly on the ground.

“Kinich, do you think we’ll still know each other in five years? Ten years?”

“Of course we will.”

Kinich leans forward, peering down at the fallen Mora.

There’s a tinge of relief in his sigh.

Heads.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kinich x reader #genshin impact #kinich #genshin fanfic #kinich x you #genshin impact imagines #adeptus ink

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nathaslosthershit · 1 month ago

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Stupidly Charming (CL16) [AoM Part 2]

Part 1: Audacity of Man Summary: Charles was never anything but a compassionate and wonderfully loving boyfriend. You always used to brag about how attentive he was... I guess this is karma?

You had tried to distract yourself, not get angry or upset over the fact that Charles had most likely forgotten your anniversary.

It was still early in the day, he could surprise you, or make up for the fact he forgot.

But hours went by of radio silence from the Ferrari driver. You couldn’t really blame him, even if he remembered your anniversary, you knew he wouldn’t be able to drop everything at work to text or call you.

Still you had hoped for something.

“Fuck him! What an idiotic asshole, especially after you made him breakfast.” Your friend said as you caught her up on the situation. “Get upset! Get angry! If the second he gets home he isn’t on his hands and knees begging for forgiveness, be the biggest bitch to him you have ever been.”

“That seems extreme…”

“Fuck extreme, fuck him! Get angry, fight, and then have the best makeup sex of your life.”

That you could do.

“Honey! Oh how I missed you” Charles said as he opened the door and saw you on the couch, pretending to read a book you had given up on actually paying attention to a while ago. You were still too upset.

You didn’t answer him. You even scoffed as he didn’t seem to recognize your silent treatment, just planting a kiss on your cheek and going to change.

What an asshole.

“Did you think about what you wanted for dinner?” He asked as he returned.

Again, silence.

“I was hoping to try out that new place that opened up down the street, heard it has amazing desserts.”

Still nothing.

“Baby? Did you hear me?”

…

“Are you okay?” He sat down next to you. A look of realization appeared on his face as he saw your frown. Finally, he was remembering.

“Oh honey, I am sorry I had to leave today when I knew you wanted to hang out. I wanted to as well, you know I did. Hours in the simulator and all I could think about was coming home to my beautiful girlfriend, the person I am most excited to spend the rest of my life with.” Nevermind, he still didn't remember. But dammit as he hugged your waist and pulled your face towards him to plant kisses everywhere, you couldn’t fight off the laugh that left your mouth. He was stupid but he was charming. Stupidly charming.

“There she is,” he said looking at the smile now on your face, much to your dismay. “How about I order from that new place, I’ll get all the things on the menu I know we’ll like so we can try them all.”

“Charles, that's an expensive amount of food for no reason.”

“No it isn’t, not when it is for you. You better get used to it, you are being spoiled for the rest of your life.” he walked away to order and you tried hard to remember why you were mad in the first place.

Right, your anniversary. But was it even fair to blame him? He was busy with work and while you wished he would prioritize you a little more, he always made sure to make up for it, to make you feel as loved as possible.

You were halfway to forgiving him when he came back into the living room, an apologetic look across his face. “I have to jump on a call, could you go pick up the food, my love?” Nevermind, even when making up for being busy because of work, he was too busy because of work to make up for it.

“Fine.” Was all you said as you got up, the frown back on your face as you grabbed your stuff and left, ignoring his calls and apologies behind you.

If that hadn’t put you in a bad mood, then the whole ordeal around picking up the food did.

“I am so sorry, ma’am. It will only be a little longer, we weren’t expecting this much business so fast!” The lady behind the hostess stand said.

It wasn’t her fault of course, but it didn’t help your mood. Still you tried to keep it together as you waited 45 minutes to pick up food that should have been ready the moment you got there.

You even kept it together as you realized you had forgotten your keys to the apartment inside, so you had to call Charles to let you in. But after a few insistent knocks on the door, and a few missed calls, you finally broke down. Maybe it was dramatic, leaning on the door as you sat on the ground, crying, but fuck that. You were upset, and upset you were going to remain. Still, it took a few minutes for Charles to come to the door.

“Ah, I am so sorry love I was on the phone and didn't see your-” He was rambling excuses the second he opened the door but stopped when he saw you on the ground, a mess of tears and snot. “Honey, what is wrong? Oh my love I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you out here so long, and I didn’t know that the restaurant would be such a mess.” He kneeled in front of you as he wiped away your tears.

“It's not that-or not just that. It's everything Charles, this wasn’t how today was supposed to go-”

“I know, my love, I’m sorry I was-”

“No, you don’t understand. Charles, it's our anniversary, and I spent so long thinking of things we could do today to make it special, but nothing happened and it just got worse and worse till I couldn't hold it in anymore. I just- you didn’t even remember and everytime I tried to tell myself it was okay to be upset or angry, you would be so sweet that I couldn’t justify it-” You couldn’t even finish as sobs racked your body.

Though, you paused when you heard Charles let out a low laugh. You looked up at him, but he wasn’t smiling or laughing at you, tears streaming down his face confirming as much. It was more of a pitiful laugh.

“I knew this was a stupid plan. There were too many ways it could backfire.”

Before you could question what he meant, he picked up the food in one hand and reached for you with the other. You hesitated.

“Do you trust me?” he asked. Even though you were upset, you took his hand and stood up. Of course you trusted him.

Your eyes widened as you saw the state of your apartment. Candles lit and spread around, balloons and streamers nicely framing your table that had been set up with a white table cloth, your nicest plates and glasses atop it, and a beautiful, large bouquet of flowers.

“I wanted to make tonight special. I had planned on making the entire day special, but when I had to leave I came up with a plan to make up for me being gone.” He looked at you, waiting for your reaction, he looked… embarrassed? “It was stupid, to pretend I forgot about our anniversary, I wasn’t going to but when I realized I hadn’t said anything, too caught up in the fact I was being taken away from you, I thought I would pretend so I could surprise you. I didn’t have a call, I just needed time to get this ready but after you left upset and then had to deal with all the problems at the restaurant, I began to panic, so much so that I didn’t hear your knocks and didn’t see you had called.”

You started crying again, alarming Charles. “I know it was stupid, I shouldn’t have done it, I didn’t think it through I’m-” you kissed him, hard.

He was an idiot, such a fucking idiot, but he was yours, and for all of his bad moments, you knew he loved you so much.

You two finally pulled away, that's when you realized he was shaking, a lot.

“Charlie?”

“I- I had a whole speech. I worked on it for months. In the shower, in the car, during free practice last weekend it's all I could think of actually, that's why I got yelled at by my engineer.” he laughed, turning red at the memory. “I wanted to talk about how much I love you, how much I don’t deserve you, that I know it's so hard to have my job continually come in the way, but you will always be first, my love, even if it doesn’t feel like it. And I want to spend the rest of my life working to deserve you and your love. I want to spend forever making you feel just as happy as you make me.” Had tears not been blocking your vision, you'd have seen him reach for the box in his pocket.

But it wasn’t until he got down on one knee that you realized what he was doing. And before he could ask the question, you tackled him to the ground.

The soft carpet luckily kept Charles’ head from hitting the ground hard. You didn’t care, he didn’t care, too busy giggling in between kisses as you both rolled on the ground. Once you two had calmed down and sat up, he slipped the ring onto your finger. “The ring is beautiful, Charlie, but this isn’t how I expected getting proposed to.” you teased as the two of you wiped tears away and tried to fix your messy hair from rolling around.

“It wasn’t how I thought I would propose, but if it ends in getting to spend the rest of my life with you, then I don’t care too much.”

So stupidly charming.

#formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine

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babiebom · 1 year ago

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Hey brother, I am humbly requesting a SDV Sam (or Alex) fic about the harvest festival & the fortune teller. I just think it’s a cute idea to see what the fortune teller says to Sam before/after meeting the farmer

A/N: this is such a cute idea!! Since this is more of a one shot request I can do both on this post? Hopefully by the time you see this it isn’t too far into the future!! Hopefully you enjoy how I wrote this!! Sorry it took a little while!

Genre:oneshot, fluff, some angst.

Tw:mention of death, mention of depression/insecurities, cursing, 2 mentions of the war that goes on in the game.

Wc: 0.5k for Alex / 0.5k for Sam

Sdv Masterlist

Alex

Alex was never one to go visit the fortune teller. He simply doesn’t really believe in magic, or the ability to see the future. Sure, there was the weird wizard that lived near the forest, and the monsters that live in the caves, but those were just outliers and didn’t have anything to do with the general population. The first and only time he went to it as an adult, was with Haley. He hated his fortune then, it tore down all his dreams and put him into an even more insecure place than he was in before.

No mom, no dad, and aging grandparents and now the woman in the tent is telling him that his current girlfriend isn’t his soulmate or the one he will end up with, and they’re saying his gridball career won’t take off and he’s going to end up in Pelican Town for the rest of his life? Actual dogshit.

It’s his own fault that he asked in the first place, he thinks. Haley wasn’t too mad with her fortune, and she didn’t seemed all that torn up about the fortune teller saying they weren’t meant for each other. It just pissed him off even more. Did this mean they were going to break up? Should they? Did he even have to listen or believe the fortune teller? It was probably just bullshit anyways, a scam to get idiots to spend more money to find out their future because she scared them. He’s never doing the stupid fortune thing again!

“Let’s do the fortune teller!” Your eyes are shining so brightly with excitement that he can’t say no. Obviously he hates the damned scam, and he didn’t have to agree but he liked you too much to disagree with visiting the woman one last time.

You shove him inside first, already looking through your backpack for your coin bag. “You go first.”

He swallows and steps up to the woman, glaring at her openly. She makes no move to react to his obvious discontent, instead waiting for him to dish out money so she could say something else to crush his hopes and dreams. At least you’re in here with him to hear what actual bullshit this is…you’re kicked out of the tent while he’s getting his fortune read.

“Hmm…I see you in the town’s square…it looks like you’re receiving a mermaid pendant. Looks like someone wants to marry you!”

“Marriage? To who?” He hopes that it’s you. You weren’t really in a relationship right now, but he does hope that it’s you giving him that pendant.

“Hmm…you’re watching a gridball match with the other guys in town…looks fun! It seems like you’ve brought everyone together.”

“The crystal ball has moved on…I see you and the farmer. You’re laughing together on the beach, looks like you’re holding a ball. The way you’re going it looks like you two are quite close! Ah…the crystal ball has gone dim. That’s all I can do for you, young one.”

Stepping out of the tent, Alex somehow feels better. He’s going to get married at some point, and you and him are going to be on good terms for a while. Maybe the fortune teller isn’t totally uncool.

Sam

The fortune teller was one of the creepiest attractions of the fair to Sam by far. Magic was something that he thought was cool, inspiring even, but that doesn’t mean he wants anything to do with it. Him, Abigail, and Sebastian get their fortunes read every single year, paying attention to whatever has changed, what has and hasn’t come true. It’s fun and sometimes a little scary when things turn out how the fortune teller said it would.

Abigail liked it the most out of the three. The year before he meets you is the first time in a while that his fortune had changed. The woman had said specifically that “someone was coming to the valley that would bring the budding success of his music.” All he really heard then was that his music career was going to take off at some point, and that’s all he really needed to keep working towards his goal.

You hold his arm tightly as you walk around the fair along with Abigail and Sebastian. It’s your first fair since you’ve come to Pelican Town, and Sam is all too willing to show you around. Besides, Pierre was probably going to win the stupid competition, again, and he wanted to be able to support you closely. Not because he has a crush or anything (he does), he’s just a good friend! “We should show the Farmer the fortune teller! See if they get a good one or not!”

This starts your groups trip to the tent. You seem a bit anxious about getting your fortune read, so like the good friend Sam is, he offers to go first and tell everyone his fortune to show you it isn’t so bad.

The woman smiles at him as he enters, and he immediately returns her positive energy. She always said good thing(except when she predicted his father was going to be deployed because of the war) so he liked her. He paid her quickly and watched as the crystal ball begins to glow.

“I see you performing on a small stage, the person who is going to support your music career is front and center. They are going to be the reason that you are performing so passionately. They buy some of your cd’s to help support you.”

He wonders for a second if that’s you. He had been feeling a little more inspired since you came around, and you never hesitated to praise him and his music when you get a chance to listen to him play in his room. “Hmm…I see you in a big house, something is playing on the television. The children seem excited about whatever is playing, so do you and the farmer. They’re smiling so brightly at you, don’t let them lose that light.”

It absolutely has to be you. He wonders what you’re so happy about, and who the kids are. Are they your kids? Maybe his mind is going too far, especially since a relationship wasn’t mentioned.

“The crystal ball is shifting…your father returns from war. He is safe, and unharmed…but he is not the same as he was. It seems that he is unhappy…oh…”

The crystal ball grows dim, maybe the last bit wasn’t totally good, but the rest of it was. He gets to perform, and you’re there cheering him on. His heart thumps as he exits the tent and meets your eyes. The way you’re looking at him is so bright. He feels excitement full his body, he has so much to look forward to.

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anystalker707 · 1 month ago

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training (trying)

Pairing: Sam Monroe x [gender-neutral] Reader Summary: you finally convinced your boyfriend to go to the gym with you. Tags: gym rat reader / drabble / whiny sam (as usual)

based on an interaction between @bimbo-baggins2-0 and @speaknow-sw

MASTER LIST

“Got it?” You asked, letting the barbell down, and you really wanted to believe that Sam had been paying attention to your explanation, but the look on his face didn’t convince you.

Sam finally huffed and nodded. Your muscles looked terribly good when flexed, and it was easy to allow himself to imagine one of his band shirts tightly spread over your muscles. “Okay,” he said. “What’s this called ag—” He cut himself off with a groan when he grabbed the barbell from your hands—or at least tried to, since it fell to the ground with a muffled thud at the same moment. Silence stretched for a few seconds before he scrunched his face, a string of curses leaving his lips.

You nodded faintly and moved to change the plates for lighter ones. They were tiny compared to the ones you used, and Sam didn’t know which was a greater humiliation—the big difference between the weights you two lifted or how it seemed pathetic to have two little, thin plates on the bar like that. “Biceps curls. Just curls.”

The gym wasn’t all that crowded at that time of the day, aside from some people occupying a couple of equipment and the instructors wandering around. Taking Sam to the gym was an effort already, so you didn’t want to hear any more whining, in case there were too many people, though he still found something else to complain about. Well, the bad music choice wasn’t your fault, and he did have to eat proper food because Monster isn’t a meal, and you can’t grow bigger without eating. He didn’t have gym clothes, but he put on some shorts and a black t-shirt that contrasted highly with his pale skin, showing some of his sides because of the low cut, and it worked.

“All good,” you said, pushing the heavier plate away with your foot.

Sam continued staring at the barbell with his arms crossed over his chest, cheeks tinted red because of the embarrassment and the rush. How was he supposed to remember so many details and exercises? Eventually, he nodded. He positioned his feet with the same hesitance his hands carried when dancing across the barbell to find a proper grip on the rough metal. He finally stood up properly and took a deep breath to start the reps.

“Twelve.” Your eyes ran over his form to analyze the performance. Sam wasn’t the best, with those thin arms struggling to lift the weights that barely reached half of what you could lift, trembling with each movement. It shouldn’t be so adorable. You took a step behind him, touching his elbows lightly. “Hold still and align to your torso.”

His bottom lip was caught tightly between his teeth when Sam looked at you through the mirror, breath hitching as he kept doing the reps the best he could. They reached lower each time, barely going halfway up. You’d have to spend longer at the gym now—an hour babysitting him, an hour training.

“Up to your chest, baby boy! I know you can do it.” A chuckle would’ve escaped your lips if there weren’t the risk of accidentally discouraging him. “C’mon, almost there. Three… Two… One…”

Sam exhaled heavily as he let the barbell fall to the ground, hissing as he stretched his arms.

“If you keep letting it fall that harshly, the owner’s gonna kick your ass,” you warned. He glared, but it didn’t last long—his attention averted to the tingling sensation in his muscles. Sam mumbled something under his breath, about to walk off when you placed a hand on his shoulder to pull him back, pinching the back of his neck lightly. “Two more series. I know you can do it.”

Sam wouldn’t dare complain too much and get on your nerves again, not when you could manhandle him so easily. He was lost in thought as the memory of you carrying him around, lifting him off the couch so that you could sit down with him on your lap. How he would wrap his arms around your neck, legs around your waist, and your hands held his thighs firmly. So hot. He enjoyed it a little too much. Fuck, you could never find it out. Just when you were about to say something, he quickly grabbed the bar from the ground again, starting the reps, feeling a mix of pain and numbness in his biceps.

“Arch your back like you do it for me, baby.” Your breath was hot in his ear, sudden—Sam’s eyes widened, and his arms wavered. “Come on, Sam! Twelve more! The first one didn’t count!”

⋆°｡⋆🎧🎸★ 𝖇𝖆𝖉 𝖗𝖊𝖕𝖚𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 ★🎸🎧⋆｡ °⋆

#hayden christensen #sam monroe #x reader #x female reader #gender neutral #x male reader #sam monroe x reader #anakin skywalker #lorenzo di lamberti #james kelly #life as a house #x you #imagine

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hollandorks · 11 months ago

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haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter fourteen

Summary: After the sudden deaths of her mother and grandmother, y/n is forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke her heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, she vows to get to the bottom of her former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what she’s expecting.

a/n: I'm back to posting semi-regularly, yay! Not sure when the next chapter will be finished because of the holidays but hopefully it'll be within the next week or so! This one is a little on the shorter side, but the next several will be longer I think! (Since I haven't actually written them--but I have plans and they're lengthy.)

Series Masterlist

word count: 2k

“Oh man,” Martinez groaned as his eyes flicked from Alfred, to her, to the picture, and back again. He gulped audibly. Next to him, Blake the security guard was white as a sheet. “Gordon’s gonna kill me.”

“Gordon’s gonna kill me,” Martinez said for the twentieth time as y/n poured him a cup of coffee to replace the one that was currently still on the foyer floor. “I was supposed to be the one paying attention. I was the one he trusted.” Which, he informed her after maybe the fourth “Gordon’s gonna kill me,” that meant he was Gordon’s most trusted on her security team. He was one who was secretly supposed to make sure no one else was compromised.

“Martinez,” y/n said for the nineteenth time. “No he isn’t. You were doing your job. You already said you didn’t leave, or fall asleep, or take a call. In fact, you did your job so well you ignored my offer of coffee.” She held out the new mug.

Martinez was still nervously mangling the hat of his uniform. He was completely ignoring her reassurances. He went still after a second, then turned eyes that were twice as frightened to her. “Man, Mr. Wayne’s gonna be so mad too, isn’t he? This is his house.”

Y/n narrowed her eyes. “I’ll handle Bruce. And besides–Alfred’s more in charge than he is, and he already agreed it wasn’t your fault.” Alfred had met Gordon downstairs a few minutes earlier. The elevator and entire lobby had been turned into a crime scene. Martinez and y/n were waiting to give their statements.

Easing Martinez’s fears was much easier than facing her own. It was easy to focus on him and nothing else. Because in the short half hour since she’d first found the picture, each bit of new information was worse than the last. No one on the security detail had been harmed, bribed, or had even moved. The security cameras had been turned off for only ten minutes. Which all meant that someone had enough access to Wayne Tower and its security to get past everything extra that had been set up.

They wanted her to know that they could get to her.

And they were drawing it out. Instead of grabbing her, they were making her wait. Making her scared.

Y/n focused again on the nervous cop in front of her, who was still bemoaning the fact that everyone was going to be mad at him.

“If you don’t stop, I’m going to be mad at you,” she snapped. There was a headache blooming between her eyes.

Martinez quieted, looking like a kicked puppy with a mustache. “Jesus, I’m so sorry, y/n. If I can make it up to you at all–”

“Just drink your coffee, okay? No one blames you.” Y/n took a sip of her coffee. Her hands were still shaking, and some of the liquid spilled over as she set the cup back down. Damn, she was wasting a lot of coffee in one night.

She startled when a warm hand landed atop hers. She looked up and met Martinez’s soft gaze. He didn’t say anything else, but his presence was enough to steady her.

“I’m so glad they didn’t shoot you,” she said after a moment.

They shared a grin. “Hell, me too.”

An awareness prickled along y/n’s spine.

She looked up, and there was Bruce.

His hair was stuck to his forehead and his shirt was on inside out. Her stomach swooped. There really only seemed to be one possibility from those two clues, plus the fact that he hadn’t been home.

Jealousy and shame spread like hot oil through her stomach.

Bruce looked…angry. His eyes were twin blue flames where they stayed locked on Martinez’s hand atop hers.

Martinez scrambled to his feet as if the king of fucking England had just walked in. More coffee spilled as he bumped the table. Y/n half expected him to bow for Bruce. She rolled her eyes.

“Mr. Wayne! I’m so sorry, I swear I was paying attention, I–”

Bruce’s eyes went cold. “And you are?”

“Officer Martinez, we actually met back–”

Y/n’s eyes narrowed. It was her turn to jump to her feet. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she said to Bruce.

Martinez flinched. Bruce calmly glanced her way then went back to glaring at Martinez.

“When the security of my home has been compromised due to incompetence–” Bruce said, still calm despite the obvious fury in his eyes.

Y/n cut him off. “Oh shut up. Stop talking to him like that. It wasn’t his fault!”

Bruce’s eyes flashed. “Well, it was certainly someone’s.”

“Maybe it was yours, then.” The words rose within her on a tide of anger. God, her life had been threatened again, and he had the nerve to come home from fucking his girlfriend and act like a dick to her friend? “I mean, you’ve been letting the rest of the tower go to shit for years, makes sense that maybe security is a little lax. Especially if you don’t even give enough of a shit to ever be here.”

They were almost toe to toe now, both breathing heavily. From the corner of her eye, she saw Martinez freeze in place, mouth open in shock.

“I give too much of a shit, y/n. If your little boyfriend hadn’t been distracted–”

Oh, y/n thought. Bruce thought Martinez was her boyfriend. And okay, maybe it looked like that, but Martinez actually had a great girlfriend who was in a group chat with them where they all sent memes to each other. She and Martinez wanted to set up a double date with her cousin and y/n.

The realization made the anger ebb, but then she was pissed off all over again.

“What gives you the right to act like this?” she spat at Bruce. He was so much taller than her that her neck was starting to ache from glaring up at him. “After what you did, after what you said, you’re acting like you have any right to one, be involved in my personal life at all or two, be jealous!”

Bruce flinched. Just like the first time it had happened two days ago, it didn’t feel as good as she thought it would.

“Um,” Martinez said in the echoing silence. “We’re actually just friends and I–I’m going to go give my statement now?”

Y/n barely noticed him leaving.

She was so sick of being so afraid, so heartbroken, so…everything.

“You’re going to apologize to him whether he’s just my friend or not,” she said, poking Bruce in the chest. He winced and tried to mask it by looking away. “I already told you, Bruce. I lost you three years ago. Stop acting like that didn’t fucking happen, because it did.”

Bruce’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides. Now he wasn’t looking her in the eye at all. “I didn’t mean–”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, yes you did.” But the words were bereft of the anger that had been present only moments before. She took a deep breath and a step backwards. “I’m just–sick of pretending things are the same, okay? I know you want to go all protective-best-friend thinking Martinez is my boyfriend or that he put me in danger but–I can’t just–Things aren’t–” Suddenly words were failing her. “It’s just not the same, okay?”

She watched as Bruce softened, too. “Y/n, I’m sorry, I–”

“Why did Martinez just run out of here like a bomb went off?” Gordon’s voice cut across whatever Bruce had been about to say.

“Mommy and Daddy were fighting,” y/n said drily, her defense mechanism of humor kicking in. Bruce made a choking noise. “Find anything useful? Like maybe Frank Gallo?”

She could almost hear Gordon’s teeth grinding from across the room. “No.”

“Bruce,” Alfred said from behind Gordon. “We have some things to discuss.”

Bruce gave her one last glance before following Alfred out.

Alone with Gordon now, y/n sank into her chair with a long sigh. She stared at the little coffee spills as if they had personally offended her. “If I spill any more coffee tonight I might kill someone.”

“Now that would be a sight. Looked like you were about to do Mr. Wayne in already.” Gordon chuckled and took the seat across from her. He flipped open a small notebook.

“I’m still not opposed to smothering him in his sleep,” she muttered. “Arrest me if you have to.”

“How about I get your statement instead?”

It didn’t take long. She was basically a pro at giving statements to the police at this point. When she was done, she said, “I’m so…tired of giving statements to the police.”

Gordon regarded her with sharp eyes that didn’t miss anything. “We’re doing everything we can, y/n,” he said softly.

“I know, I know. It’s just–getting shot at was scary and all, but this is my home.” Her voice cracked. She ducked her head and fiddled with her coffee mug so Gordon wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. “They’re telling me they can get to me here, too. Where I’m supposed to be safe.”

“I understand completely. We’ll get him. We’ll get them. I have a feeling he might show up on our doorstep sooner rather than later, with something bat-shaped pinned to him and a couple of black eyes and broken bones.” Gordon smirked. Y/n frowned as she realized she hadn’t seen Batman at all. Had he been downstairs? Maybe Bruce hadn’t wanted him to come upstairs. Her frown deepened. “Now, you’re going to have to help me convince Officer Martinez not to sleep in the elevator tonight. Or right outside your door. He’s pretty upset.”

“I’m surprised he still wants to hang around, considering how much of a dick Bruce was,” y/n said under her breath. “But I’ll do my best.”

Martinez took a lot of convincing, but eventually relented and went home to his girlfriend. He made y/n put a chair under her bedroom door handle first, though.

Bruce hadn’t reappeared by the time y/n went to bed.

She laid down, the words of their argument–or whatever the hell that had been–replaying on a loop. Being around him made her feelings go haywire. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so angry at him. The heartbreak of three years ago had taken over her life and she had to admit that the anger felt…almost good. Cathartic. But it also made her feel out of control. She didn’t feel like herself. Being mad at Bruce went against years of instincts. She was used to defending him, or him defending her, to being on the same team together.

She was still wide awake as dawn broke over the sky hours later.

Another thought kept turning over and over in her mind. Frank Gallo–or someone he had hired–had gotten into her home. Her very, very secure home.

She had been afraid before, but it was nothing like this. Her safe haven had been…sullied. They knew who she was, where she lived, and had basically said right to her face that not even Bruce Wayne’s money and power could keep her safe.

Added all together, y/n’s mind simply would not shut off in order for her to sleep.

It occurred to her again that she hadn’t seen Batman at all–had Gordon updated him on what happened? Because he had been in that photo, too. He had kept her alive, which she was certain had pissed off the Gallos. Was he a target? Maybe the picture of them together was a threat to both of them, but only given to her since they knew where she lived.

When she rolled over, her eyes caught on all of her research piled on the opposite side of the bed. Her eyes snagged on those three words: white knight syndrome.

She bet she had her answer about any possible feelings he might have. Even if he had shown up, he hadn’t tried to contact her, to see her, nothing. He was probably sick of having to keep her alive. He was probably leaving it up to Gordon and the police department now.

Despite everyone who was trying hard to keep her alive, y/n felt utterly alone.

Next Chapter

taglist: IF YOUR USERNAME HAS CHANGED LET ME KNOW!!!!!!

@ktficworld @grunge-n-roses5 @anon-cat-posts @projectdreamwalker @warsaur @lachillona02 @crazyunsexycool @doetic @alexiris @that-girl-named-alex @harry-bowie-mercury @vaniasagitaa @widows-writings @missing-loki @exactlyelegantwizard @miriamnox @mavenmoon @eclipsedplanet @spencerrxids @giulia2372 @katara-is-a-goddess-changemymind @janezat @incorrectmarvelquotesss @spiritdetectivel @i-have-no-life-charlie @ilovemybabes @curseyouperrytheplatypus @lightsinmycity @yondiii @spideybv28 @fictionalmansl4t

#bruce wayne x reader #battinson x reader #the batman 2022 #battinson #the batman #batman x reader #the batman x reader #bruce wayne #robert pattinson

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qwimblenorrisstan · 16 days ago

Text

Just Surviving | StepDad!Price & Reader

Summary: Price’s relationship with you, his wife’s daughter from another partner, isn’t the greatest, but he’s willing to try, and after a rough day at school, it seems he’s got a chance.

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: mentions of cheating, infidelity, bad best friend, school sucks, anxiety, panic attack, mentions of fist fighting bears?? THIS IS FULLY PLATONIC

A/N: I wish I had a price to be my father figure😔

Requests are open!

Captain John Price had settled down during his mid-40s, finding a pretty missus his age, courting her for a few years, and marrying her.

It was soon into their relationship, that he realized he couldn’t keep a woman and the military in his life at the same time. He had to make a choice, so he finally retired, a stern word from Simon about “appreciating good things that come to him” putting the final nail in the coffin of the entire ordeal.

But after the marriage, came a teenager. A teenage girl, to be exact.

The child of an old boyfriend of hers, his stepdaughter now, he knew. He hadn’t known what to think at first.

He wasn’t a jealous man, he didn’t see you as a symbol of your mother’s past relationships or an accident or mistake, no, he just wasn’t sure how to handle teenagers. They were loud, brash, and not to mention emotional. Always thought they knew the best for themselves, when in reality, they were hardly even bordering on self-aware most of the time.

Being in the military at a relatively high rank in a specialized position meant he didn’t have to deal with many teenagers, all of whom were just recruits who’d just arrived and probably realized how much of a mistake they’d made by enrolling. But it didn’t mean he liked them.

There were the rare few who were respectful, but in general, all the emotions, and for girls, the hormones and drama, he didn’t really know how to handle it. Gaz was better with all the gossip than he was by far.

He’d tried to reach out, to make an effort to include you in his daily activities and habits. He knew your father was a total douche who didn’t care much about you, and he wanted to make up for it, even if it wasn’t his fault, or really his problem, either. He made breakfasts for you, invited you to watch shows with him, and tried to show you how to fix up a flat tire or how to work with wood in the garage, but you always seemed mildly disinterested, just trying to pay attention to not be rude.

You were in almost the same boat as him. You’d never seen a man who looked like the stereotypical dad, a little beer belly, muscles hidden by fat, and a scruffy beard with crinkles in the corners of his eyes. Your real dad was nothing like him, looks wise or personality-wise.

He was the provider type, you could tell. And you weren’t too sure how to handle it, considering you didn’t want to come off as needy.

You called him ‘John’, and tried to pay attention to him, if not just giving little awkward smiles, but at the end of the day, he was just that-guy-your-mom-married. She loved him, she was happy, and if she was happy then you would be happy for her.

It all changed one evening when he was sitting on the couch, sipping on a cuppa tea, with a dash of cream just how he liked it, watching a show about surviving in the wilderness for weeks on end with no outside help when you arrived home from school.

You’d gotten home a few minutes later than usual. He’d noticed.

Your eyes were red around the rims, and a bit puffy as well. You sniffled, hands shaking a little bit around the strap where you held your backpack. A smudge of what he assumed to be mascara was under your eyes, as if you’d wiped away a lot of it. You were visibly upset and unsteady, breaths a bit shaky as you let your backpack drop to the floor with a thud, going to walk to your room, right past him.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

He asked, sitting up, and putting his cup down as his brows pulled together in a worried, confused expression. Sure, you two weren’t the closest, but he wasn’t going to let you go to your room and comfort yourself. You needed a father figure at the very least, and he wouldn’t let you go without one.

You stopped, glancing at him, swallowing almost audibly as you opened your mouth, then closed it, a sniffle coming out as you just began crying.

“Come here,”

He spoke, standing up with an abruptness you didn’t even know he’d had in his sore joints and bones. You sniffled again, little gasps coming from your throat between silent sobs. He walked over, gently letting his arms just hover beside your body for a moment, until letting them close around you in a warm embrace once he was sure you were fine with it.

You stiffened up at first, pausing a moment to just breathe before the sobs began again and you melted into him.

“I—my, my boyfriend, he—“

You hiccuped, and he made a gentle hushing sound like one would do to subdue a baby, letting his hand rub soothing circles against your back. He slowly moved you over to the couch, sitting down first, and patting the spot next to him in invitation.

You hesitated, before sighing and plopping down. He hardly had to do anything until you were leaning against him, arms curling around your own torso.

“What happened?”

He finally asked, voice smoothed over with a practiced calm as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, holding you close until you moved to lean your head against his chest on your own accord.

“My boyfriend cheated on me.”

You almost whispered, sounding scared to say it, as if scared to confirm it as true. And as you said it, a few fresh tears began flowing, which he quickly wiped away with the calloused pad of his thumb.

“‘M sorry, hon. Some people in life just aren’t good, can’t blame yourself for it.”

He’d hardly ever heard of your boyfriend, only the sparing little things your mom would pull out of you. He’d seen him pick you up before in an old beat-up van, and seen him knock on the door before and ask where you were. You had been texting him constantly, calling him too. But Price hadn’t heard much of the lad other than what he managed to overhear and see.

“A-and, my best friend knew, and she didn’t tell me, ‘cause she said she didn’t want to hurt my feelings.”

That made him angry more than anything.

Cheating was a betrayal of trust in your partner that you’d shared almost everything with, but your best friend was objectively worse. You’d shared everything with a best friend, the good, the bad, the ugly, and they weren’t as easy to cut off as a partner. He could see how devastated you were and held you closer.

“That’s awful.”

He murmured, trying to soothe you as he saw your breathing pick up again, bordering on panicking. He’d been there before, and seen his men get to that point.

It wasn’t pleasant.

“I’m gonna have to see them every day, and she’s my partner for my science project—and I’m already behind on my science—and I have an entire essay that I haven’t even started on and I still need to research for it—and, and—“

Your sentences trailed off into incoherent mumbles as you couldn’t help but almost cry from the pure anxiety you were experiencing. John remembered how much he’d hated school when he’d been a kid, which was why he’d joined the military as soon as he was eligible. The school system was fucked, and it wasn’t helping that you had a shitload of responsibility placed on you so young.

“Hey, listen here. I’m gonna email your counselor, or whoever I have to, and you’re taking the day off tomorrow. We can work on your essay and projects together and finish ‘em, but for now, let’s just relax and leave all that for later, alright?”

He kept his sentences simple and short, taking proper care to enunciate each word clearly in his British accent, watching as you slowly began breathing deeper, nodding as if to convince yourself that what he was saying was true.

He pulled you just a bit closer into his chest, letting your entire body weight lean on him, one hand sneaking up to lightly run his fingers through your hair, which greatly resembled your mother’s. He grabbed the remote, and hit the play button for his survival show, watching, but more focusing on you.

He saw how you zoned out quickly, that glimmer of worry remaining, so he gave you a little nudge, jerking his chin to the TV.

“You think I could survive all that?”

You refocused, taking a good long look at the man surviving alone in the Alaskan Wilderness, squinting your eyes to see (he made a mental note to ask your mom about getting your eyes checked later), before replying.

“Yeah, probably.”

You said, letting the words hang in the air for a moment, before adding onto it.

“I could last longer, though.”

He raised his brows, a grin forming on his face.

“Yeah? How you planning on doin’ that?”

He didn’t bother mentioning that he was a former SAS Captain and would absolutely last longer than you in the wilderness. He’d rather you at least talk to him and get into a better mood, even if by making fun of him.

“I’d steal all your stuff, then make you fist fight a bear.”

He let out a low chuckle at that. It was an answer incredibly reminiscent of something Soap would say, or Nik, on second thought.

“I think I’d win.”

You raised a brow at him, a look of clear doubt on your face, before you both burst into little fits of giggles. When you finally managed to refocus on the show, he grabbed a blanket from the side of the couch, pulling it over both of you before taking a sip from his cup.

You both slowly got comfortable, eyelids growing heavy as you yawned quietly. Before falling asleep, you managed to murmur one last thing.

“Thanks, John.”

And maybe it wasn’t the ‘Dad’ he’d been hoping for, but that would come with time, or maybe not at all, and he found that he didn’t care as much as he initially thought he would. He’d finally realized that not all men who were fathers were called ‘Dad’, and that was just fine with him, as long as you were safe and comfortable.

#writers on tumblr #cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod 141 #cod mw3 #cod modern warfare #captain johnathan price #captain john price #captain price #platonic!price #stepdad!price #price fluff #John price fluff #retired price

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youcouldmakealife · 4 months ago

Text

David, Kiro; ready for your close up, Mr. Ambassador?

For this year's bracket challenge winner, who requested something like Crosby and Mackinnon's Tim Hortons commercials, but with David and Kiro instead.

But of course, because this is David, instead you get a lot of setup as to how exactly we got into this particular scenario. (Kiro to meddle later)

David has never done many endorsement deals. It isn’t that they weren’t offered to him, especially at the beginning of his career — the Islanders may not be the most popular team in New York, but they were still, in Dave’s words, ‘in New fucking York. Yeah, okay, they’re on Long Island. Semantics, David, the market’s the market.’

It wasn’t semantics, not really — the Rangers were New York’s team, then and now, the Islanders relegated to some distant second, New York’s team the way that the Ottawa Senators were Ontario’s, that San Jose was California's.

Still, he had offers. A lot of them. But when he was younger David wanted to focus on hockey and only hockey, worried any distractions would halt his development. His job was to play hockey, not to pretend to be excited about some product he’d never heard of before they called him.

And, frankly, the media David deals with, and the filming he already has to endure for contractual reasons — YouTube videos for his team, soundbites for the TV networks, media day for the league — means that David has no illusions about his acting ability.

So, for the most part, David’s ignored the offers. The money offered is sometimes good, occasionally very good, but he already makes more money than he can spend.

Well, he could easily spend it, but it’s certainly more money than he could responsibly spend, particularly knowing that, sooner rather than later, his career will have to end.

It’s that particular thought, and the accompanying awareness that his endorsement value is only going to decline from this point forward, that has David playing closer attention than usual when Dave mentions that one of the team’s sponsors is interested in filming a TV spot with him.

That isn’t unusual — Dave mentions them often, but they’re more an aside that David’s welcome to ignore. Dave is well aware that David has little interest, but he still conveys the message, mostly, he says, because he gets paid for them too — not as much, obviously, but he does receive a portion of David’s earnings.

To date, David’s only taken him up on one offer. Leapt on it, even though the compensation was negligible compared to other offers, let alone compared to what he made on the ice, but that was because it was Bauer, offering him the chance to, in effect, advertise a stick designed to his specifications. The filming wasn’t too bad either, since it mostly involved him stickhandling for take after take, which wasn’t all that different from practice. Even those have cameras sometimes.

He still uses the stick to this day. It isn’t the only one uses, or even the one he uses most often — it’s a little too fragile, and David grew tired of having to race back to the bench when it snapped yet again, though he did draw more penalties with it — but it’s excellent for the power play.

“It’s a very generous offer,” Dave says. “They have a ‘vision’, they said, and they’re willing to pay a little more to get you specifically.”

“What do you mean?” David asks.

“Let them tell you,” Dave says. “It’s actually a pretty decent idea.”

Dave wouldn’t say it if he didn’t mean it, and between the money, and David’s curiosity, it’s enough reason to agree to meet with someone from the sponsor. ‘Just a coffee’, they said, but David prepares for — and receives — a pitch instead.

Apparently it’s all Kiro’s fault. The representative doesn’t put it like that, of course, but he does mention that the idea came after someone on their marketing team watched the red carpet interview from the Awards the year David won the Art Ross.

David isn’t sure why that interview’s still online, let alone why anyone would watch it, but it is, and they have, and their marketing team thinks, being that David is from the Canadian capital, plays in Washington, and Kiro joked about him being the Canadian Ambassador to Russia, it would be funny for David to play an ambassador.

“A hockey ambassador,” he says. “You know?”

“I have no experience with diplomacy,” David says. “Or acting, really.”

He’s sure he’d be terrible at it. He’s terrible even at playing himself, according almost every bit of feedback he’s received on NHL media day, and he can't see playing a role going any better.

“You don’t even really need to act,” the sponsor says. “We’re going for diplomatic, you know? Stern but polite. That’s kind of your vibe anyway, isn’t it? We figured that was why Volkov said it.”

“Is that why?” David asks. He genuinely thought Kiro had been joking that David earned honourary Russian status after spending the entire summer with him, Oleg, and Slava, but sometimes Kiro’s jokes can go over his head.

That gets a laugh, and he’s not sure why, but he’s stopped trying to understand at this point, unless it’s someone whose opinion that matters to him, someone he cares about.

“Well,” David says, when time’s up. He still has half his tea, but it’s in a to-go cup, and he thinks he’s heard enough. “I’ll think about it.”

He doesn’t anticipate needing to spend a lot of time on that. The money really is good, but he really does have no shortage of it, and he doesn’t think he’d like to earn money by humiliating himself.

His mistake was mentioning it to Kiro. He should have known Kiro would never let him turn it down.

#fic snippet #david chapman #kiro volkov #dave summers

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alwaysshallow · 6 months ago

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coffee at midnight, part 12

John "Soap" MacTavish x f!reader

Military consumes your private time - to the point that you pretty much can't live without it. All of the boys from Task Force 141 are just like brothers, not only best friends – you know that you can trust them with your whole heart.

Somehow, one of them manages to steal it completely, and that's on Johnny MacTavish. Over months, you learn that's harder and harder to ignore that burning feeling in your heart. (4,6k)

READ ON AO3

previous part

You need a few seconds to understand what exactly happened in the last twenty minutes. A few seconds to look back, before you’ll leave this room—but understanding doesn’t come easy here. You just stare at the dead guy’s body with a wound in his head, thinking it will come to you, eventually.

The whole time, you felt like you were the observer of the situation. Watching everything behind a glass in slow motion, watching a movie where tragedies happen, but in these moments, thankfully, you’re usually not the participant.

But here, you were a participant. You still are, but it’s hard to believe that so many things took place under the span of twenty minutes. Not an hour, not half a day.

What is funny in all of this, you had a particularly easy job. Had to be the perfect little spy, find the room, take the intel and run away, so you won’t get caught. Simple, yet, ending up tragically in beating up the guy and taking the pendrive before you checked if he’s still alive. You thought the whole situation would result in you having a few bruises there and there, but you made a mistake like a rookie, so you have two gun wounds.

You only blame yourself. It’s something that they teached you about in the military, on multiple trainings—to check. Not even twice, maybe thrice, if you’re not so sure about someone being dead. Because if the enemy is not dead, you’re as hell going to be.

Or, someone from your unit. Almost the same thing.

It was a reflex, when you grabbed a gun and shot the guy in the head. Without mercy in your action whatsoever, but it’s still a tad too late. There’s a bullet in your thigh anyway, your arm has a wound too. Not that bad, as he didn’t really know how to aim after being hit to the head, but… but it’s still only your fault. Even if he looked pretty beaten up, barely able to do anything other than grabbing your ankle.

It makes you angry.

Not only the fact that you got shot like a rookie, but the fact that there’s no actual way in the world that someone didn’t hear the gunshot. No matter how fucked up and wasted people are, something like this doesn’t miss them. Music isn’t loud enough for them to skip it, at least not the guards that are watching everything like a hawk, waiting for someone to slip, so they can off them, if they are a problem. And here, you definitely are a problem that they’d want to eliminate.

You scrunch your nose, weighing your options. It wasn’t supposed to turn like that, and now you’ve got to think fast, before someone will eventually shoot you. This time, with deadly precision; you don’t escape death twice like it’s a “Final Destination” movie.

So, you think. It’s not like you can show to anyone that you’ve been shot; there will be questions, assumptions and it will lead to your quick fall. Or, they’re already after you—nonetheless, you just need to go out of there and leave everything behind you. The guy’s dead, there’s nothing to do here.

Steps that you take are slow; you pay attention to them, way more than you actually need to, but it’s hard to pretend you’re okay. Or to have your back straight, when you have two gunshot wounds and you need to move because it’s gonna be worse.

Being completely honest and straightforward, you’d prefer to rip the dress (annoyingly long dress) and at least try to look at the wound, estimate the damage, but it’s not an option right now. Even going to the bathroom isn’t one: you don’t know if motherfucker didn’t inform someone about your presence here before he died. He had multiple ways to do it, maybe some wouldn’t be visible to you, God only knows.

All in all, going anywhere to inspect the wound is more dangerous than trying to get out, even if it potentially means you’re gonna pass out in the car. That’s why you push through with a pendrive in your bra (as, logically, it’s easier to steal a purse than having a pendrive slipping out), papers carefully folded in your purse, and a fake smile that you give everyone, so they won’t suspect you’re hurting.

You also tap the bracelet Alejandro gave you in a frantic manner the whole way to the back door, trying to get past many people. The only thing that is saving you is their drunkenness, the way that they don’t exactly get that you’re limping your way to the outside.

There’s just a few obstacles in your way. Some guards wander there and there, not paying too much attention, but on your way you have to eventually sneak into the small cabin in the men’s bathroom, when you hear them reloading their guns and running towards your direction. Maybe it’s nothing, maybe they’re after someone else, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Especially when you’re limping, and you can’t quite do the Mission Impossible moves here; not when you do not want to do anything that might cause another injury.

Because you probably wouldn’t be satisfied with additional leave. You spent enough time off the team already.

You can’t see what is happening, so you just listen. There’s people surely going forward, not even stopping to check the cabins around yours, but at least two are standing nearby. Talking, and you barely can hear about what—and you can barely understand, as it’s Russian and English at the same time. They have a heated conversation, that’s what you can definitely hear.

“...had to run somewhere,” one of them says. Seeming furious—and you really can’t blame them, you’d be furious yourself, if you’d find a dead guy from your team. Because that's what they did, you assume. “Three clear shots.”

The other man is saying something in Russian—you only catch some words, thanks to Nikolai that taught you, and they don’t seem friendly either. So, the moment they leave, you decide it’s the perfect time to go forward after another look or two, when the coast is clear.

You’re walking way quicker than the last time, caring even less about your limping and disguising your state. You realize that your time here is shorter second by second. It won’t do you any good, but it wouldn’t do you any good to act like you did earlier. At least, you think so.

An absurd idea grows in your mind, when you’re passing through hallways: because you start to debate on exiting the building through a window. It’s the “Mission Impossible” move, many times saved your life, but the last cells of common sense tells you it’s the worst idea ever with a two gun wounds. Not only that, there’s too many people to pull a stunt like that; no matter if it’s breaking the window, or simply opening it.

The idea flies out of your mind the moment someone grabs your arm and yanks you into their direction, to one of the darkest corners here. You don’t even have the time to see the person before you start attacking them; first with a kick, and you follow that with a quick punch in the gut; because screaming isn’t an option. With one man you can do something, but with an army? You’d be dead in seconds.

Surprisingly so, it doesn’t work. Or, it does, but not in the way that you think it would. They’re not attacking you, but they give you a little slap right in your butt, shushing you with a quick “Quiet”. The grip is loosening, and when you see Alejandro right in front of you, you realize that the person who is holding you is no one else but Soap.

They both seem to be scared and concerned at the same moment when you look at them.

“Ye tap the bracelet like crazy and then you attack me. ‘S not a good look on you, lassie,” MacTavish murmurs right to your ear, teasing it with his lips. For a second, you forget why you are here.

“Security’s going like crazy downstairs. What happened?”

Alejandro’s question makes you silent for a few seconds. You give them a faint smile, before you actually answer. “Well. I should start with: I had to kill someone—”

“—And you’ve been shot. Again. What were ye thinkin’?” You grit your teeth, hearing that tone from Soap. It seems patronizing, like you’re gonna get a twenty minute long talk about your decisions; and you hate it in the moment where all you want to do is just lie down and forget.

Yet, you really can’t say that you didn’t see that coming. You’ve been together with them for too long to not learn how they react.

“You know, these days I’m playing as a living human target,” you joke in response, trying not to wince under his touch, when he starts to walk again with you by his side. You find it easier to sneak with them—easier or better, as you have in the back of your mind the thought that they will help you, in case of emergency. They’re like bodyguards, making you feel safer than you felt earlier. “That was funny. You can’t deny it.”

Soap looks far from amused, as you can see. “Oh, very bloody much.”

You raise your eyebrow, surprised at his tone. “It’s not like I’ve done it on purpose. Besides, I’m good.”

“We know,” Alejandro says, before even Johnny opens his mouth. “He just has a lot to say lately, amiga.”

And it seems like he wants to prove it to you that he has a lot to say. He grabs you unexpectedly, bridal style, rushing to the car, Alejandro after him. Not giving a care in the world to the two men that are asking if you are good, they’re just pushing through.

When you’re in the car, things are even wilder than they were. Before you know it, Soap lifts up your dress—without even asking you for permission—almost seeing your underwear, while Alejandro—more clumsily than not—tries to drive to the safe location, as your previous one already got compromised. Johnny doesn’t even react when you call him by his name; maybe that’s for the better because you’re not sure if you want to scold him or ask what he has in mind.

After looking at your wound (way too close for your liking—it feels like you’re gonna lose your mind here), he ties his tie right above the wound. Tight. Preventing you from bleeding any further, and then he takes care of the second one.

You thought you’d feel pain by now, but you’re too hypnotized in his movements to even notice something; it’s difficult enough for you to look at what he is doing, not straight at him, so your pain takes maybe the third place in importance.

It’s not a surprise that he cares, not at all. He always cared. No matter what the situation was, no matter what humor you had, he was always here. A loving man, making you smile with every little interaction, making an actual effort to do that. He was just a pure ray of sunshine on every step of your life, and you always knew that you could count on him.

But situations like this one, where you’re taken care of on a mission, gets to you at a much higher level than anything else he could do. He puts you first before anything, even himself.

“Price said there’s gonna be a medic nearby, so we’ll take you there. We’re… nearby, I think.” Alejandro says out of the blue, looking at you two. “No discussion,” he adds, when he sees how fast you open your mouth, as if to argue with him about it.

You roll your eyes. There’s nothing you can do about their attitude for that matter and you know it very well, so you wouldn’t even try to argue with them—and, what’s more, you’d prefer those two bullets out sooner than later. You’re not a two year old to make a fuss about something so serious. “Fine.”

“Perfect.”

You close your eyes. Crimson red flies right before them, haunting, along with the dead guy’s face, when you ride to the temporary base; it's something you're used to, massacre. Seeing a lot of blood, taking a lot of lives, whether you like it or not. Comes with a job, so you sweep away these images, trying to focus on the moment. You're alive, that's what matters—not who’s dead, especially when the people you love are still alive.

You’re grateful that you didn’t leave them tonight. Could’ve been better, of course, but it’s the thing for the past right now. You don't need to worry yourself with that.

You have enough of a headache when you arrive. There’s maybe two minutes of peace, and it’s broken the minute Price walks in with the whole ass Ted Talk that contains “you need to be more careful” for the twenty minutes straight. When they are sewing up the wound, after telling your captain the whole story, you hear how reckless you were, how rookies make these mistakes, but you shouldn’t.

You know it well, so maybe that’s why you don’t look at him when he says that. There’s a sting of shame, but also an irritation because how long can someone give you a scolding, when they see that you’re aware of everything that happened?

But, even if you’re a little bit irritated, and humbled by him, you know it’s because he cares about you. About everyone in that matter, so if it was Soap, he’d give him the same treatment—after all, you’re his family. Found, almost like a daughter.

Out of the team, Ghost is the one that gets your jokes about being a living target, when the atmosphere is lighter; not only that, he’s the one to suggest that you should practice more, at which you laugh, asking if he’s gonna help you with that. One irrational conversation leads to another, and time is flowing by.

Price and Soap look at both of you like you are insane, Alejandro says something in Spanish under his nose, but it’s clear that he doesn’t find it funny either, what makes you and Ghost just continue joking. Kyle just snickers in the back, making coffee for everyone, and it’s all so domestic, even when Johnny gets defensive and says something about being stupid. For some time, even your wounds are all forgotten.

At least, it doesn’t bother you until you decide to take a few hours of rest before going into route again. The nap seems important, necessary after getting hit, but you can’t fall asleep; you toss and turn, but it doesn’t give you anything, when the stitches irritate you through your clothes. As much as you try, there’s no sense in making yourself go through that when you have a bandage nearby.

You sit on your bed and start wrapping the bandage around your thigh. Carefully, so it won’t make things worse—because you really want to sleep. Your eyelids feel heavy, everything that you do, every little move feels like you have to put some force into it, so it would be best to go to sleep.

It would be.

“How are you feeling? Better?” You hear. When you look up, you can see Soap, leaning against the door frame. Completely unbothered, like the mission didn’t happen, like you didn’t announce an hour ago that you want to sleep and you don’t want anyone to disturb you.

His shirt is slightly unbuttoned and way more disheveled than it was before; and he looks like a Greek God nonetheless. The one that people worship, look up to, not only because he’s smart but because he’s good looking.

You almost feel jealous of that; he can’t really stay in elegant clothes more than he’s supposed to, yet he still looks good. No matter if his shirt has seen better times, as well as his hair.

“Alright. Wound irritates me when I’m trying to sleep, so I’m… doing something with it,” you murmur, noticing how he scoffs at that. “What?”

“Do ye have to wear clothes at all?”

You laugh, shaking your head. Not taking him seriously because why would you? It’s him. Soap, cracking jokes, it’s not unusual. “Johnny—”

He takes a few steps forward; you observe him with double curiosity right now. Like a prey observes the predator, knowing that the attack is inevitable to happen. “I’m completely serious, lassie. We’re not going home for at least a couple of hours.”

“And, your point is?” You raise an eyebrow. It’s not hard to see that he hates the way you act on his obvious tries. Maybe for the first time, he can’t really decide if you are clueless, or if you’re just playing with him.

He purses his lips. For a moment, he’s silent—but it feels like an hour. An hour of longing glances, thinking what to do next. What you should and what you shouldn’t, applying to you and him. You both try to get through the other person’s thoughts with fear of being possibly rejected. Hell only knows how much time you spent on feeling like this in the past; some of that, you remember. But you can’t really recall from your memory when you understood that you feel something more to Soap than friendship. There’s fond memories of fear, annoyance at his actions with other girls, but realization is hard to find.

“Open,” he says.

You take a shaky breath, looking at him. Your cheeks are hot, making you realize how you’re burning inside as well. Taking a walk on hot lava would be the right equivalent to what you’re feeling right now. “What?”

“Open,” he repeats, tapping your thighs. Kneeling right in front of you, a knight in shining armor, even if his doings are far, far away from that. “Or I’ll make you. I don’t really want to repeat myself again and again, ’m not patient enough for that.”

“Listen—”

“I need to see if you did it correctly, don’t I?” He harshly cuts you off. His blue eyes look like real sapphires now, looking right through yours with a question, even if he knows the answer already. Even if he doesn’t need an answer, if you’re honest with yourself. “Please.”

Please do that for you, so you just allow him to do what he wants. Inspect if you did everything that you needed to, even if you know perfectly well it’s not what he wants to do—at least, not the only thing. He just hides himself behind a barricade, thinking that he won’t get caught.

He’s slow with his movements—you can’t help but think that it’s to mess with your head more. His “checking” contains lifting your dress higher and higher, without even looking at the bandage once. His eyes are glued to your skin, once again this evening; this time, with plenty of care. It’s clear that he wants something and he’s determined to get it.

There’s not a single protest from you.

How could there be a protest, though? You want that. Maybe you’re not admitting it in front of yourself, but you do want that, badly.

You wanted that for a long time. Waited for the right signal from him, so you wouldn’t make a complete fool of yourself if something would go wrong.

His fingertips trace the line higher and higher, feeling definitely confident about what he is doing. You call him by his callsign multiple times, but he doesn’t seem fazed by that; he’s maybe even more encouraged, leaving a single kiss on your thigh. Testing the waters, before he’ll dive deeper into it.

And you’re buying everything that he gives you.

Your last cells of restraint are hanging on a thread. Particularly thin one. “Soap, we—”

“—I’m not on duty right now,” he almost growls. A warning sign, something that you see immediately; as well as the sudden mood change, when he looks up at you. Soft eyes, eyes that could convince you to do anything he wants. “Please.”

“Johnny,” you say, your voice almost a whisper. He nuzzles your hand with his nose, and that alone makes you feel bad because of what you have to say right now. “We can’t.”

“We can’t, or ye dinnae want to?” he asks, taunting. Kissing your wrist higher and higher, crossing any boundaries you had. Folding you, piece by piece, in order to get what he wants. “No one will know.”

“Price said—”

“—He can kiss my ass, if I’m bein’ honest. We have hours.”

And that’s all you need.

He keeps eye contact with you, as he drags your panties down. Royal blue eyes transform to something entirely different, something dirty, maybe predatory, if you’d look deeper.

It’s something that you didn’t see earlier—and you thought you knew all of Soap’s faces. Turns out, not only it’s unusual to see this particular one, but you’re determined to learn more about your comrade.

Especially from the lover's side, a side that you don’t know very well. It’s the side that is reserved for hookups only, if anything.

And normally, you’re experiencing the fun friend, the deep talks friend, so the difference is big, when you were never in a position like that. Under him, basically, but you can’t complain.

When he leaves hickeys on your thigh, you can’t help but think that you always made fun of him with others—about that side. About him being a lover boy, whenever he came back after having a woman around him because it was easier than admitting that you wanted it to be courted by him. Adored, assuming that he’s a tender man.

He offered it to you thousands of times, serious or not. You always took it as a joke, something that you can laugh on with a glass of whiskey in your hand.

But right now, with his face buried between your thighs, you can’t help but think if you’d only take him more serious sooner, you could have it all. If you could have him, this, and maybe many more because no matter how Soap was, he always took care of things.

Even if it was for a quick moment.

You’re gone the moment he touches your clit; not a coherent thought in your mind. Fixation on him is too strong to care about anything else but his words, when he makes you do everything he wants you to do, like an obedient doll. If he wants you to dance, you’d dance—you lose every ounce of willpower when he speaks. Right now, you’re not even bothered by that fact.

The worst is when he wants you to lay still—it’s nearly impossible, as he speeds up the tempo, then suddenly slows the moment he sees you’re not doing what he wanted. Limiting the pleasure or extending it.

“Waited way too fuckin’ long f’ this,” he murmurs into your skin, when you yank his hair, trying to get him back to action. “Just say please, baby. ‘S all it takes.”

And you do. You say please multiple times, knowing perfectly well that you hate to use it, especially in fragile moments like this one—but when he pushes his fingers in, you forget about it instantly. There’s no other sound in the room besides the squelching, the obvious proof of John making out with your pussy, and you think you can go genuinely crazy.

Which is ironic enough because you are crazy about him. Been for a long time, if you’d like to count.

He seems to enjoy every little “please” that he gets from you, when your orgasm is close—he asks “if you want it”, and you have to beg, assure him that’s what you need. Your fingernails scratch his clothed shoulders, thighs squeeze his head, and he menacingly laughs because that was what he wanted all along.

You can’t hear what he says to you; you only see that his lips are moving, when you’re splayed on the bed, eyes on his fingers where your juices are. Body absolutely limp, with mind full but empty at the same time. It’s a funny feeling, keeping you wondering what will happen next.

Before he even unzips his belt or kisses you, there’s a call on his phone. He almost ignores it—almost. You can clearly see how his smug face drops the moment he sees who calls.

“Price?” you ask, even if you don’t need to. He’s the only man that could get him off the things that he was supposed to do, even if the said thing is you.

Whatever the captain says, upsets him visibly. Soap plays nervously with his mohawk—just like you were, a minute earlier—but he’s way more upset. He just mumbles, “yes, sir,” under his breath, the last thing he wants to say, and he hangs up. “Apparently, we have only thirty minutes now. Not hours like I said.”

You prop yourself on your elbow, looking at him for a few seconds before speaking. You’re torn between feeling disappointed and relieved by learning this information. “Right. I’ll… change, you can go.”

“Or: I can stay. It's not like I haven’t seen ye naked,” he says, cocking his head to the side. Boyish, making you think twice before you’ll actually answer him.

“It’s different this time,” you murmur bashfully, turning to him, so he’ll see your back instead of your face. Hot with emotions caused by his attitude; it’s like a never ending story.

“Different,” he repeats. You feel like he’s burning a hole through you, even if you can’t really see if he’s looking or not from that position. Maybe that’s the effect after you just were trembling in his hands. “How so?”

You want to give him an answer to that, but you can’t find a coherent thought that would satisfy him. If you’d tell him about the high of the moment, he’d probably corner you and ask if you’re not feeling all of it right now—and if you’d say that you’re shy right now, it wouldn’t be a good answer for him either.

You could be compared to a blind person, trying to find the right exit when there’s multiple ones; and you’re sure as hell that they would find the right solution first.

“Just different,” you finally decide to say, after you clean yourself up. Surprisingly, he doesn’t react to that. He’s silent, so you continue to quickly change, and then, the two of you are gone from the room.

The rest of the team are already waiting for you at the back of the building. They talk about something, but the moment they spot you and Soap they stop. If you wouldn’t know any better, you’d think that boys discussed something about you.

“You’re certainly better, huh?” Kyle asks, tilting his head to the side. Observing, just like he always does.

“I mean… it is better,” you say slowly, suspiciously looking at your comrade. “Why?”

“No reason. I suppose someone has magic hands,” he murmurs, a knowing smirk on his face. You do not like that, at any chance. “Wanna share some secrets?”

“You wish, Garrick.” You poke him in the chest with a smile; slightly forced because you didn’t expect that from him. “Better get to the car, or we’ll leave your ass.”

You keep quiet here, and thankfully no one pays mind to that, as you’re usually like this on the way home. Silent and in your thoughts about the mission.

This time, on your mind is John MacTavish.

#soap x reader #soap x you #john soap mactavish x you #soap mactavish fanfic #cod fanfic #x reader #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #friends to lovers #soap smut #soap mactavish x reader

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danny-phantom-slut · 4 months ago

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heavy is the crown (12k)

A rewrite of Season 2, Episode 5, Reign Storm.

Phantom wins the throne through trial by combat.

Danny was in the middle of English class, head down on his desk in the back of the room, trying to hide from Dash and Kwan (it wasn’t his fault they were after his ass – well, okay, maybe it was his fault, because he’s the one that played multiple pranks on them, but still!), when he felt something in his core shudder. It felt like a wave – a tsunami, really – of ectoplasmic energy slamming into his core. Danny froze and tensed up for a few seconds, gripping his pencil so hard that it snapped, damn his ghostly strength. Then the moment passed, and the energy was gone. Danny immediately looked up, startling Star, who sat next to him. She gave him and his pencil a dirty look, but Danny didn’t pay attention to her. He was too distracted by the foreboding feeling in his core. It wasn’t the typical blue mist that indicated a ghost, but somehow, he knew that a ghost was causing his core to cower.

It was strange. Usually, his core reacted angrily to another ghost coming into his haunt, or it reacted happily to his friends being around, but never had it cowered before. Danny didn’t do fear, he got too much adrenaline from the fighting to even consider being scared.

Unfortunately, it was in that moment that Mr. Lancer called on him to read the part of Sebastian in the “Twelfth Night” by Shakespeare, forcing Danny to actually pay attention to what they were doing in class. Danny sighed as he picked up his book – “act two, scene one, Mr. Fenton,” Mr. Lancer said – and flipped to the required page. His core continued to shudder for a moment, then settled.

Danny started to read in a dead voice, “By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me …”

Danny Fenton and Valerie Gray were running as fast as they could – or rather, Danny was keeping pace with Valerie, trying his best to resist the urge to jump into the air and fly away at Mach speed. They both had good reasons for running; Valerie, from her stalker, Nathan; Danny, from Dash and Kwan, whom he had pulled multiple pranks on earlier in the day. Fenton Works was close, but up ahead there was an alleyway that was even closer. Danny and Valerie locked eyes for only a moment before hastily jumping into said alley, pushing each other behind the dumpster that gave prime hiding real estate. Except – there was already someone there. Behind the dumpster sat Sam Manson, one of Danny’s best friends.

All three looked at each other, confused. Danny shoved at Sam to make room for him behind the dumpster, sitting beside her. His recent growth spurt made it hard to pull his lanky legs out of sight, but he managed. Without a word, Sam pointed at Danny, and he shrugged, arms hugged around his legs. “Hiding from Dash.”

Sam pointed at Valerie. “Hiding from Nathan. You?”

Sam only jerked a thumb over at the alley entrance, where her mother, Pamela Manson, ran by. “Sammy-kins!” She screeched; her eyes were wide. She looked around, and Valerie ducked behind the dumpster just in time. Pamela was holding a god-awful looking dress; it was a pastel pink, yellow, and white. It had puffy sleeves, a frilled collar lined with pink hearts, and a ballroom-skirt with lots of pink, frills, and hearts. Pamela looked very distressed. “At least try it on!”

She kept running, going right past their hiding spot.

“Fair enough,” Danny conceded. “But we can’t stay here – my house isn’t far, and we can all hide in it.”

The three of them got up and quickly hauled ass to Fenton Works.

As they ran, Sam frowned over at Danny. “So, what’s up with this?” She asked discreetly, making sure Valerie didn’t hear. “Why are you helping her all of a sudden? After everything she’s done to Phantom?”

Danny knew what Sam was talking about. Valerie had become the Red Huntress in the last month of their freshman year, almost a year after Danny had his accident in the summer before and became Phantom. Ever since getting her ghost hunting suit, Valerie had been relentless in her pursuit of ghosts – and all of it was bad. She absolutely hated all ghosts. The Red Huntress was indiscriminatory and went after both the destructive ghosts, like the Box Ghost, and the local ghostly hero, Phantom. Not to mention that the Red Huntress didn’t care about keeping ghosts safe and alive (heh – alive, ghosts), and that she had the mindset of “tear them apart molecule by molecule,” just like Danny’s parents. So, Danny often had to save the ghosts she went after, only painting him more as a villain in her eyes.

“Well, she helped hide me from Dash earlier,” Danny said, picking his words carefully. He chose not to mention how he may have still held an old candle for Valerie, even after everything that had happened. “I’m just returning the favour. It doesn’t need to mean anything.”

“Well, just be careful,” Sam whispered, just as they reached the steps to Fenton Works. “The last thing you’d want to do is invite your arch enemy into your own house.”

His arch enemy was inside his house.

His father’s hulking figure, dressed in a neon orange and black hazmat suit, sat over a small chess table, his features frowning down at the pieces. For as much as Jack Fenton was a genius when it came to engineering, he was not very bright in other aspects of life – case in point, chess. His sister, Jazz, sat on the sofa reading a book on psychology. Her bright orange hair was pushed back with a teal headband that matched her pants. And his mother, Maddie Fenton, stood above both; she was wearing her teal hazmat suit with her red goggles pulled up over her eyes. She held a teapot in one hand, with her other hand on her hip. She glared down at …

Vlad Masters, otherwise known as the halfa Vlad Plasmius, Danny’s self-proclaimed arch nemesis.

Vlad sat across from Jack, hand on his rook, as he turned to face Danny at the door. “Ah! Hello, Daniel!” He grinned maliciously; his voice way too chipper for all the devious deeds Danny knew he’d done before.

“Too late,” Sam muttered.

“You!” Danny said. “What are you doing here?”

His mother, who didn’t like Vlad anymore than Danny did, and was actually quite obvious in her dislike, ‘accidentally’ poured hot tea onto Vlad’s crotch. Vlad cried out in pain. Maddie narrowed her eyes behind her goggles. “Totally valid question, Danny.”

“Still steaming!” Vlad said, voice cracking.

“You have no idea,” Maddie growled out.

Vlad looked appropriately cowed, up until Maddie left the room, and he turned back to Danny with a smirk. Danny didn’t like that look on his face. “I was just, you know, passing through. And then I saw that marvelous battle suit –” Danny remembered the Fenton Ecto Skeleton his parents were working on, and just how powerful of a weapon it would be … if it actually worked “– and thought, since I can’t just destroy Jack and take it, I suppose I’ll steal its secrets right out from under his nose!” He followed up his words by flicking a finger at Jack’s nose, causing Jack to look up in confusion, too stupid to understand the threat.

Vlad and Jack stared at each other for a good long while, until they both burst into laughter at the same time, as if Vlad had just told a funny joke and hadn’t threatened Jack’s livelihood. They held onto each other like they were good friends and not estranged college classmates.

“Oh, I swear,” Vlad laughed, “I am such a joker! More tea, please?” Maddie poured the tea over Vlad’s head, not even pretending for it to be an accident, and Vlad cried out, “not there, oh!”

Maddie swiftly left the room, along with Jack, who followed her, looking lost.

Danny was quick to jump on Vlad now that his parents weren’t in the room. He got in Vlad’s face. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Vlad, but – well, no, actually, I do know. You literally just told everyone your plans. You’re going to try to steal the Fenton Ecto Skeleton.”

“That’s right!” Vlad snapped, “and say a word about it, and I’ll share your little … secret. I’m sure mom and dad would love to know their son is a freak and – ah, the young Miss Gray.” It was only then that Vlad seemed to notice Valerie standing behind Danny. Vlad’s eyes sparked red for a split second, so quickly that if you blinked, you would have missed it, thinking it was just a trick of the light.

Valerie blinked. “You know me?”

“How do you know her?” Danny demanded, feeling protective.

Just then, there was a loud beeping sound, coming from the bust of Jack Fenton on their fireplace mantle. The eyes kept flashing red as a warning. Jack rushed over to the bust, flipped the head up, and pressed the giant red button underneath. Above the mantle, the TV flickered to life, showing a black screen with “GHOST ZONE RADAR” written in bright red on the top, with a neon green grid below. In the middle of the grid was a giant green swirl, and in the corner, little ghost icons slowly encroached on the middle. It was obviously some sort of map – something anti-ghost that his parents had once again created. Danny had thought the bust was stupid when his father first created it, thinking it nothing but a conceited self-portrait – in the same way his father had to name everything “Fenton” such and such – but now it put him on edge. He hadn’t known it was actually some sort of anti-ghost tool.

“Galloping goblins!” Jack exclaimed, staring with wide eyes at the screen. “It’s the Ecto Exodus Alarm!”

“The Ecto what?!” Danny asked – no, demanded. He needed to know if this was something dangerous, something that could harm him or other ghosts. Behind him, his sister and friends seemed just as confused and concerned. Fenton inventions weren’t exactly known for working well …

“The Ecto Exodus Alarm,” Maddie repeated, looking just as frazzled as Jack, “or the EEA. It’s an alarm we attached to the sensors on the ghost portal, which are linked to this map on the screen. That right there –” she pointed to the green swirl “– is our ghost portal. And that –” she pointed to the ghost blob icons “– are the ghosts. The alarm can sense when large amounts of powerful, sentient ectoplasm encroach on the portal – and it’s only supposed to go off if we’re about to face a massive ghost invasion!”

Danny immediately looked over at Sam and Jazz. “Stall them!” He hissed, then he was off, running downstairs to the Fenton Ghost Portal.

Danny ran downstairs, pushing off the last step and doing a front-flip, transforming mid-air. Familiar blinding white halos flickered into existence at his waist, splitting apart and traveling up and down his body. His skin faded into a light shade of blue, his eyes flashed an ectoplasm green, and his hair was shocked white and started to float. His ears elongated into points, his canines sharpened into fangs, and his freckled started glowing and moving like the constellations. His clothes morphed into his iconic black and white hazmat suit; his boots a glowing white, and his gloves making room for his claws.

Phantom’s core pulsed excitedly, eager to face the ghosts (he couldn’t help it, fighting was just in his ghostly nature), making the room drop several degrees. Adrenaline was already flowing. Right before his feet hit the ground, he automatically started to float in the air, the natural state of ghosts.

Phantom sped toward the portal to try to shut it off before any ghosts could get through, but he was too late. A ghost flew out of the portal, a blur of blue and white, barreling into Phantom, pushing them further into the room … but it was just the Box Ghost. Phantom got up off the floor and reached for the Fenton Thermos at his waist, already laughing.

“BEWARE!” The Box Ghost shouted.

“Oh, Ancients,” Phantom said, chuckling. “It was just you?”

Just then, a bright green beam came out of the ghost portal, hitting Phantom and knocking him back several feet. He was still looking down when a large metal boot slammed in front of him, and Phantom looked up, only to see – “Skulker?” Phantom gasped.

But Skulker didn’t even look at Phantom.

“I told you there was a way out through here,” Skulker said. He turned to face the portal. Behind him, through the swirling green ectoplasm of the ghost portal, multiple heads popped out. Phantom recognised some of them – Ember, Lunch Lady, Walker – and some of them he didn’t recognise – ghost eels, ghost demons, and ectopuses. They all had one thing in common – they all looked scared. Skulker grimaced. “Now, save yourself – go, go, go, go!”

They didn’t need anymore direction. The ghosts all immediately left the poral – not just Phantom’s usual rogue gallery, but hundreds of unidentifiable ghosts, ghost animals, and even blob ghosts. They shot out of the portal like there was something chasing them.

Behind Phantom, he heard his parents cries as they got closer.

They could not see Phantom and these ghosts in their basement, or they would lose it.

Phantom grabbed onto Skulker, turned them intangible, and shot them up through the roof. As soon as they were in the sky and alone, Phantom turned to face Skulker, fists at the ready. “Now, what in the hell is going on –”

Someone grabbed onto his fists, holding him back, and Phantom looked up, surprised. He came face to face with Dora in her dragon form, with Sidney Pointdexter sitting on her back. Sidney frowned down at Phantom. “Phantom, I know this might sound a little fishy, but Skulker isn’t the bully here. Not this time.”

“Bully?” Phantom exclaimed. He backed off, floating a few feet away from Skulker. “What are you talking about? What is going on – what are all you guys running from?”

From the densely packed group of ghosts crowding the sky, Ember floated out. She strummed her guitar, creating a foreboding melody. “His name … is Pariah Dark,” Ember said. “The Ghost King and ruler of the Infinite Realms. Somehow, he’s escaped from the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, and he’s angry. He’s searching for something – but we don’t know what. He declared the entire Ghost Zone as his, though, and that’s why we needed to escape.”

“Pariah Dark? I’ve never heard of him before,” Phantom said. “How could one ghost chase out thousands of other ghosts? He’s just one person.”

“You misunderstand,” Skulker growled. “Pariah Dark is not just ‘one person.�� He is the Ghost King, in possession of the Ring of Rage and Crown of Fire. With both, he has near limitless power. He existed long before all the other ghosts in the Ghost Zone even spawned, and he will exist long after we have all faded. He used to run his kingdom with an iron fist, until the Ancients decided he was a tyrant. It took all of them teaming up to finally seal him away in the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep – and now he’s escaped!”

“The – the Ancients had to team up to defeat him?” Phantom thought about the sheer power Clockwork, the Ancient of Time held, just on his own, and then imagined that tenfold. And even that had barely been enough to defeat this ‘Pariah Dark’ guy? His throat ran dry.

“Yes, and now he’s really angry, and really powerful,” Ember said.

“You said he was searching for something – what? Maybe if we give it to him, he’ll leave the rest of you guys alone?” Phantom said, grasping for straws. “Because you guys cannot stay in the Living Realms. It’s not safe for you guys – not with my parents and Val – er, the Red Huntress around.”

“You think if we knew we would be here right now?” Sidney demanded. “Pariah Dark is just a big bully – even if we gave him what he wanted, he would just go back to being a tyrant.”

“Well, you guys can’t stay here –”

As if to prove his point, an ecto blast shot past him right at that moment, almost clipping his shoulder. Phantom immediately flew to the side to dodge the other incoming blasts. He glanced down at the ground, spotting his parents. Jack had a Fenton Bazooka hooked over his shoulder, and Maddie held an anti-ghost net, ready to throw it down over any unsuspecting ghosts that got close by. Phantom’s core shuddered angrily – how dare they try to hurt his rogues?

“Scatter!” Phantom yelled.

All the ghosts listened immediately, rogue or not.

“So, the equipment is to your liking? It functions properly, does it?”

Vlad sat on the edge of the building beside the young Miss Gray, who was dressed in her hunting suit and floating on her hoverboard. After the Ecto Exodus Alarm went off, it was easy to snatch the girl’s backpack while she was distracted, essentially cutting her off from her ghost hunting equipment. From there, he only needed to reveal that he was the one who gave it to her – providing information that only one who created the suit would know to prove it – and to share his “ghost-hunting” inclination to get the girl to trust him. From there, he gave the ghost hunting equipment back and convinced the girl to fly them out of Fenton Works to somewhere a bit more … private.

“Heck yeah!” Valerie exclaimed. She folded her hoverboard up back into her suit, sitting down beside Vlad and dangling her feet over the edge of the building. “It’s like you designed it just for me!” Then she paused, as if realising how creepy that was. “… Why would you do that? I’m like, fifteen.”

Vlad smiled – a soft thing, with wide eyes. “Why, Miss Gray, you’re the most capable ghost hunter I’ve ever seen! You’re smart, you’re fast, you’re strong, and most importantly – you’re motivated.”

“Really?”

It was like luring flies in with the sickly-sweet smell of the venus fly trap. Now he just had to close the claws before she could fly away. Vlad put on the charm, chuckling as he spoke. “Of course! Why else would I say such a thing? I’d have to be some sort of … diabolical villain to manipulate you like that!” Valerie stared at him for a moment, as if unsure about the joke. Then she started to giggle, and Vlad joined in. Together, they laughed heartily. Finally, she was in his trap. And now, to finish the plan … “And, my dear, it’s the reason I can trust you with this …”

Vlad put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a ring.

But not just any ring – it was the Ring of Rage.

It looked like a ghostly signet ring – it was a bright neon green, made of crystallised ectoplasm, and on the broad side was black obsidian, with an emerald inset skull engraved in the stone. The ring was magically enchanted to fit the finger of every person who came in possession of it, as well as giving a power boost to any ectoplasmic entity that owned it. The only nasty side effect was that it could also enhance the emotions of the wearer, sometimes causing emotional – and wrathful – outbursts.

Valerie stared down at it in confusion. “A … ring?”

“Not just any ring!” Vlad lied. “It’s a ring from my family, and it’s been passed down from ghost hunter to ghost hunter for generations. Made of the very ectoplasm that ghosts are made of, it’s virtually indestructible, so no nasty ghosts can ruin it.”

“I … don’t know what to say,” Valerie said, eyes now wide.

“Don’t say anything, dear – but please, let’s keep it our secret, hmm? We wouldn’t want anyone else to find out and try to take it from us, would we?” Vlad asked. He slipped the ring on her finger, grinning.

Valerie nodded. “I won’t let you down, Mr. Masters!”

Vlad chuckled darkly. “I’m sure you won’t.”

Deep within the ghost zone lay Pariah Dark’s keep. Once upon a time, it used to be a large castle surrounded by acres and acres of land, with a whole kingdom standing on the island. But after the battle between the Ancients and Pariah Darm, during which Pariah was trapped in the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, the Ancients destroyed the area surrounding the castle, scared of the power and wealth Pariah had built up. The buildings and land surrounding the castle crumbled, leaving Pariah’s Keep isolated on its own small island in the Ghost Zone.

That didn’t mean it was now unimpressive, however. Pariah’s Keep was still a large concentric castle, well put together and not crumbling, resembling one castle nestled inside the other. It looked like something straight out of the middle ages, with a moat and everything.

Inside said Keep stood hundreds and hundreds of ghost skeleton soldiers, all dressed for battle and war. They all floated inches off the ground and glowed an ectoplasmic neon green, gnashing their fangs in excitement. At the head of these soldiers stood Fright Knight, an ancient and powerful ghost, the spirit of Halloween, and the Ghost King’s second in command. He had large and muscled body, adorned with black and grey full-body armour. His faced was obscured by a black helmet with a mohawk of spikes on top, which was only accentuated by the flaming purple hair and cape and flaming grey gauntlets. It was paired with his ectoplasmic sword called Soul Shredder, which had the ability to make ghosts fade.

A ruthless knight, Fright Knight was known to strike fear into the hearts of anyone he went against.

At the very front of the group of skeleton soldiers stood three unique ghost skeletons. One wore typical Roman armour, with a gladius at its side. Another wore a World War II uniform. The last one wore clothing typical of the Vikings, paired with a Viking helm and long braids. All had vicious fangs and canines, glowing red eyes, and long claws. They were the generals of the skeleton army.

“Your armies are amassed?” Fright Knight asked. The three skeleton generals all saluted Fright Knight, silent but sure. Fright Knight grinned. “Then, on my orders –”

“On my orders,” a loud, booming voice said from behind.

Fright Knight spun around, surprised. Fright Knight was a looming eight feet tall, but Pariah Dark absolutely towered over the Fright Knight at almost twenty feet tall. Pariah was a large, well-built ghost, with a white face outlined by a red helmet. He wore an eye-patch over his left eye and had a scare over his right. Pariah also had a gorgeous mane of long, green hair, and a braided green beard. He had two grey horns on either side of his head, the left of which was broken. His outfit consisted of black full-body armour, with grey shoulder guards, boots, and gauntlets, and he had a green belt with a metallic circular buckle with a green skull in the middle. At his waist was his sword, Reaper, which had the power of absorbing ghostly cores to enhance his power. And on his head sat the Crown of Fire, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. It was made of crystallised ectoplasm infused with the power of Pariah’s core, lighting it on fire eternally. It was supposed to be paired with the Ring of Rage, which would have sat on his left-hand ring finger, but …

“Go to that world,” Pariah demanded, baring his razor-sharp teeth, “bring the Ring of Rage to me, and to those that stand in your way – show them no mercy!”

“Dude, you okay?” Tucker asked, looking concerned. In the fluorescent lights of the cafeteria, Danny looked dead … well, deader than usual. His features were gaunt, skin impossibly pale, with large circles under his eyes. Danny gave Tucker a deadpan stare, and Tucker blushed. “Sorry, standard question. Late night?”

“Of course, it was a late night. Every ghost I know – and about a million I don’t – are loose in the Living Realm and there wasn’t a single thing I could do about it, because apparently, they’ve been kicked out of the Ghost Zone by some maniac Ghost King who wants the entire Zone to himself! And instead of having to fight them, I had to protect them from my parents all night, who were trying to capture them for experimenting!” Danny exclaimed, getting more and more frustrated as he went on. He threw his hands out in helplessness. “Not to mention, I couldn’t sleep because my arch enemy was in the guest room next to me.”

“My parents sleep in the bedroom next to me,” Sam offered. At Danny’s glare, she shrugged. “I mean, it’s not the same, but I can’t sleep either.”

Danny was about to retort – no, it was not the same thing at all, especially since Sam didn’t need to worry about her parents ripping her apart molecule by molecule – when behind him, he heard: “Oh hey, Danny.”

Danny immediately plastered a smile across his face, just for the sake of things. “Hey, Val.”

“‘Hey, Val’?” Tucker repeated, looking unimpressed. He turned to Sam, jerking a finger over at Valerie. “Isn’t that the same ‘Val’ who’s usually on a jet sled trying to kill Danny?”

“Yup,” Sam said, voice sarcastic, “and apparently, next week, we’re having cookies with Skulker!”

“You might want to … uh, bag-lunch-it outside,” Valerie said, looking concerned for something Danny couldn’t fathom. She, too, didn’t look too good that day. She had large bags under her eyes, her hair was frizzy, and her outfit seemed ill put-together, as if she hadn’t had time to look at what she was putting on before leaving the house. One thing that struck Danny as odd was the green and black ring she wore – Valerie had never been one to wear jewelry, even when popular. But then Valerie started speaking again, distracting Danny. “This isn’t exactly the safest place for you right now.”

“What makes you say that?” Danny asked, confused.

Just then, he felt two large presences approach behind him. Danny sighed.

“Hey, Fenturd!” Dash said, grinning down at Danny maliciously. His stupid blond hair was styled perfectly with gel, and he wore his football jacket, like he did the other three-hundred-sixty-five days of the year. “Guess what? There are no teachers around to protect you now.”

“Dash, take a hike, will you?” Danny snapped. His core pulsed angrily, wanting to freeze the jock in a block of ice – but that was a big no-no. Not if he wanted to keep his identity as Phantom a secret, and if he wanted to stay as a hero instead of a villain. When Dash didn’t budge, Danny frowned. He resisted the urge to bare his fangs. “I’m way too tired to put up with you! Besides, shouldn’t you be failing a test, kicking a puppy, or beating up someone weaker than you right now?”

“Come to think of it? Yeah! And guess what? You’re weaker than me!”

Dash went to throw a punch, but at the last minute, Danny went intangible, letting the fist fly right through his chin. Dash stumbled from the motion of the punch, not expecting to not hit anything. For a solid few seconds, everyone in the cafeteria stood stalk still. Dash looked down at his fist like there was something wrong with it. While everyone was distracted, Danny discreetly shot an ecto-beam at Dash’s shoes. Ectoplasm had highly acidic properties, was extremely corrosive and, at high enough temperatures – like, per say, a ghost’s ecto-blast – could melt things. Danny’s ecto-beam easily melted the plastic of Dash’s shoes to the ground. Luckily, no one noticed.

When Dash finally regained his wits, he growled. “Oh, that’s it, Fenturd!”

But when he went to take a step forward, his shoes stuck to the tiles, making him trip and fall to the ground. Danny was quick to take his chance, and he ran away from the cafeteria while Dash was incapacitated. Behind him, his friends ran after him. They only came to a stop once they reached the bleachers in the back fields, far enough away – and hidden behind the bleachers – for no one to see them.

“That was sweet!” Tucker said, out of breath from running after Danny.

“Is it?” Sam asked, putting her hands on her hips. She, too, was slightly out of breath. Danny rolled his eyes, his core sending out static annoyance. They’d already had this argument before; Sam didn’t believe in Danny using his powers for anything other than hero work, but Danny tried to get her to understand that he was literally a ghost – or, well, half-ghost – and that using his powers casually, even for mischief (especially for mischief) was in his ghostly nature. “I know Dash is a jerk, but what if he saw something?”

“He’s not going to see something,” Danny dismissed. “If no one has noticed anything for the past year and a half, no one is going to notice anything now. Besides, I’m tired of getting kicked around all the time. It’s time I do something for myself!”

Sam’s expression twisted into something Danny couldn’t read, but Danny wasn’t willing to argue with her about this, so he turned away.

The large ghost had commanded the skeleton ghosts to “find the King’s ring,” whatever that meant. Ghosts were always doing insensible things, courtesy of their cores and obsessions driving them to far extremes. They just weren’t capable of higher, intelligent thought. Besides, Maddie was too busy trying to get Jack out of the Fenton Ecto Skeleton pants to focus on what the ghosts were looking for. The Fenton Ecto Skeleton pants, which were draining Jack of his energy, using him as a battery to charge the machine. It was a scary thought, being a battery and potentially being burned out.

If only there were some other sources of energy, something that was naturally occurring and had large amounts of power – like a ghost’s core! Hmm …

The army of mindless ghost skeletons swarmed Amity Park. They marched through the streets, throwing and breaking cars, cutting fire hydrants, pulling parking meters, crashing storefronts, and causing immeasurable property damage. They searched through apartments, stores, and more. They even chased after humans, determined to find their King’s Ring of Rage.

“Those poor humans,” Sidney Pointdexter said. He was hiding out on the roof of one of the many apartment buildings in Amity Park. He turned the gaggle of ghosts behind him, who didn’t look nearly as concerned as him. “They’re being overrun by ghost bullies!”

“Oh, who cares about them!” Ember scoffed. “That is the Ghost King’s crew, which means he’s on his way here! And did you hear what Fright Knight said? They’re looking for his ring!”

“A ring that we do not have,” Skulker said. “Which means when Pariah Dark comes through that portal, he will not hesitate to set Fright Knight on us, whether we have what he wants or not. So, we have to camouflage ourselves.” He turned to the streets of Amity Park, where a hoard of humans was running from the ghost skeletons. He grinned. “And you hear that? That’s confusion and panic, which means it’s the perfect time to find our hiding places.”

Behind him, the ghosts smiled.

The screen showed a pretty woman with orange hair and teal eyes, dressed in a pink dress with matching earrings. She shuffled her papers in front of her, professional as always, despite her shaking hands. “Hello, this is Tiffany Snow, with Action News! And tonight, we are covering the Ghost Emergency Broadcasting System, or the GEBS. Amity Park is in the midst of a massive ghost attack! Sources say that while the attacks have been happening for over several hours, and there has been numerous property damage –” the screen showed multiple ghost skeletons flipping a car over, and other clips from the news station “– no humans have been seriously harmed. There are no reported injuries or fatalities. And now here’s Lance Thunder, with the ghost weather.”

“As you can see, we have random ghost activities in restaurants, malls, and this box store.” Action News showed a brief clip of the Box Ghost haunting the box store, shouting “BEWARE!” at any approaching humans, but running at the sight of the ghost skeletons. “If you look to the West, you can see a huge wave of ghost skeletons heading from the center of town toward Casper High. All parents are advised to immediately pick up their children and run – run for your lives! No! NO –”

Maddie gasped as she saw the news reporter overrun by ghost skeletons in their news station.

No injuries or fatalities, her ass.

She needed to go get Danny and Jazz – right away!

What was Plasmius doing in the school? Was Danny’s only thought when he first saw him.

He was quick to escape from his friends and the rest of the student body by running into a janitor’s closet and transforming into Phantom. The familiar white halos appeared within seconds, and Phantom turned intangible and flew through the school, chasing after Plasmius, all the way to the football field. When Plasmius finally landed and stopped, Phantom bared his fangs and readied an ecto-blast. “What do you want, Plasmius?” He demanded. He knew he could kick Plasmius’ ass ten ways to Sunday if he wanted to – and man, did he want to – but right now, he needed answers.

“Calm down, Phantom!” Plasmius scolded. “I didn’t come here to fight you; I have other things to worry about!”

The sound of a horse, and the stomping of hundreds of feet, interrupted the two. Both turned, eyes wide, as they saw Fright Knight riding atop a black horse with large, bat-like wings. It had massive canines, like a sabre-tooth tiger, and had glowing red eyes. Behind it came a rushing skeleton army, all dressed in a mix of modern military uniforms, Roman armour, and Viking-esque armour.

Fright Knight plowed through the football field on his ghostly pegasus, wielding Soul Shredder. Phantom knew full well what the sword could do – and how it could made ghosts fade – so he dodged immediately, flipping away through the air as Fright Knight swung the six-foot long blade. Unfortunately, the football goal post was in the way, and was easily cut in two. Phantom landed on the ground, ducking and rolling, and jumped back up right in front of several ghost skeletons. He was quick to shoot a powerful ecto-blast at the first one, then punched the next one that got too close. It went down like a sack of potatoes, the bones collapsing in on themselves. A blue mist escaped from his mouth, and he turned just in time to see the sword of a Viking ghost skeleton coming down – only for a pink ecto-blast to destroy it, saving Phantom.

Phantom turned to Plasmius, who had shot the ecto-blast. He was baffled. “You’re helping me?”

Before Plasmius could say anything, he was grabbed by the front of his suit by Fright Knight, lifted off the ground. Plasmius may have been six feet tall, but Fright Knight was eight – and atop a horse. Fright Knight growled. “The King’s ring – return it!” He demanded.

Ring – they were looking for a ring? Phantom knew about Pariah Dark from the other ghosts, but they had originally not known what Pariah was looking for. Was he really causing all this fuss for a ring?

“I don’t have it!” Plasmius snapped. “But, if you join me, perhaps we could –”

Just then, a large red ectoplasmic blast shot at Plasmius and the Fright Knight, effectively knocking Fright Knight off his horse and Plasmius several feet behind. From the sky, the Red Huntress descended on her hoverboard, carrying her blaster over her shoulder. “Guess what everybody?” She yelled, “the best ghost hunter in Amity Park is here! And that means you’re –” she pointed to the ghosts “– about to get your ass handed to you!”

Plasmius staggered to his feet, whispering to Phantom, “she really is quite good at this.”

“She also thinks we’re the enemy!” Phantom hissed.

“… Good point,” Plasmius said.

The Red Huntress swerved down to the field, hovering in front of Phantom. She aimed her blaster directly at him. “Alright, ghost,” she spat, as if talking to him physically disgusted her. “What’s going on here?”

“It’s, uh, kind of hard to explain right now!” Phantom said. “Wait, look out –”

The Fright Knight got up and was back on his pegasus, charging straight toward Phantom and the Red Huntress. The skeleton ghost army followed behind him. Before they could get too close, Plasmius shot up and made multiple duplicates of himself, using them to shoot down the incoming skeletons. He protected Phantom and the Huntress. The Red Huntress, though her mask covered her face, still looked visibly confused. “Uh … thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” Phantom said. He floated out of line of her blaster. “Look, I know this is going to be hard to believe –” behind him, Plasmius was body-tackled by Fright Knight “– but right now, that guy is the problem right now, not Plasmius. And I could really use your help to get rid of him.”

“I still don’t trust you,” the Red Huntress said, “Or your spooky friend.”

“You don’t have to trust me!” Phantom yelled, “just fight with me! Or else the entire Living Realm is going to be overrun with ghosts and a rabid Ghost King forever!”

Phantom held out his hand for the Huntress to shake, and after a moment of hesitation, she took it.

Phantom grinned.

Together, the two flew in to save Plasmius. Phantom shot multiple quick-fire ecto-blasts, while the Red Huntress used her blaster. The Fright Knight was pushed back several feet by all the blasts, and the unlikely team – two halfas and a ghost hunter – continued to fight. They must have taken out hundreds of ecto-skeletons, with Phantom and Plasmius focusing solely on the Fright Knight, making sure Soul Shredder didn’t hit anyone, before Fright Knight seemed to finally snap. “You fools!” He growled. “All I wanted to do was seize the Ring of Rage and return to Pariah Dark’s Keep. But now you give me no choice. By the authority vested in me by my King –” Fright Knight took Soul Shredder and stabbed it into the ground, until only three feet of the blade was left in the open “– I claim this town, now and forever under the banner of Pariah Dark, the King of all Ghosts!”

From the blade, an ectoplasmic green light shot upward into the sky, changing the skyline to greens of the Ghost Zone. Amity Park shook as if under attack from an earthquake. Cracks appeared in the ground, surrounding the entire town, and all the skeleton ghosts stopped moving. A huge, green-like dome descended upon Amity Park, separating it from the outside world. Then, finally, Fright Knight stood before Soul Shredder and spoke. “The sword is sunk, the die now cast. The sword removed shall signal fast, make reappear the ring thou hast, or your next day shall be your last.” And with that, Fright Knight disappeared into thin air.

“Again, with the ring!” Phantom said. “Where is this ring he’s talking about?!”

He glanced over at Plasmius, suspicious.

Plasmius only shrugged with a small smile.

Phantom’s eyes narrowed.

On the screen sat the pretty woman from before. Her hands were no longer shaking, probably from the fact that she was in a new studio and away from the ghost skeletons. “Welcome back, to the big scary town watch! Otherwise known as Ghost Emergency Broadcasting. I’m Tiffany Snow! We’re in our fourth hour of captivity, and tenth hour of ghost invasion. Amity Park remains cut-off from the outside world. With more on that, outside the safety of our studio is our very own weatherman, Lance Thunder! Lance?”

The station cut to a view of the outskirts of the dome, with Lance Thunder in front of the camera. His blond hair was styled perfectly once again, clearly having been fixed since being overrun by ghosts. His suit, however, was still rumpled from earlier.

Lance didn’t seem to realise he was on air yet.

“Why the hell do I have to be here, I’m a weatherman, for the love of – oh!” Lance finally noticed the person behind the camera making cutting motions with their hands. He plastered a wide smile on his face. “Tiffany! Despite the odd circumstances, an eerie calm has fallen over Amity Park, with the ghost skeletons having stopped attacking. Unfortunately, emergency teams are still having no luck in piercing the dome surrounding Amity Park.” Behind him, there was a giant metal drill, with several volunteers in hazmat suits manning the machine. They attempted to drill through the dome, but it only sparked and made the drill blow up, causing the volunteers to run away, screaming. “It seems to be made of some sort of electrically charged ectoplasm, which is why everyone is advised to stay away from the outer edges of the dome, lest they be shocked or hurt. Wishing he had taken that job in Chicago, this is Lance Thunder, Action News, out!”

Danny and Valerie, who had been watching the news on the Fenton TV, turned to each other with matching looks of concern. They were currently hunkered down in the basement of Fenton Works, with carbon-steel enforced metal walls and anti-ghost tools up the wazoo. If there was anywhere safe to be in a ghost invasion, then this was it.

Behind the two teenagers, Maddie and Vlad worked tirelessly to finish the Fenton Ecto Skeleton. Even Vlad, who usually wore pristine suits and had his hair gelled back, was now wearing overalls and work boots, and his hair was pulled back in a high bun to keep it out of his face. Jack would have been helping his wife and friend, if he hadn’t still been too drained and ill from using the Fenton Ecto Skeleton pants earlier, protecting Maddie and Vlad from Fright Knight. The pants had literally drained the strength and energy from his body to charge the suit, and he was paying the price.

“This suit is the only hope we have to punch through that ghost dome,” Maddie said, welding a piece of the suit together. She took a step back to admire her work, and she pulled her goggles up and over her head to reveal her blue, almost purple eyes. “But I still don’t think we’ll be able to perfect the neural receptors. The suit simply needs a lot of energy, and we don’t have a battery powerful enough to substitute.”

“Which is why I’ll wear the suit,” Jack said. He was sitting over by a lab work bench, ice pack on his head to ease his raging migraine. “If anybody is going to beat that ghost back into the Ghost Zone, it’s me!”

He stood, as if making a point, but almost immediately became dizzy. He groaned.

“No, Jack!” Maddie scolded. “Look at you! You’re still wiped out from the last time!”

Danny grinned as he leaned over to whisper to Vlad, who was still under the Fenton Ecto Skeleton, tinkering with the bolts. “It kills you, doesn’t it? How much they love each other?”

“I have other things to worry about!” Vlad snapped. “And … so do you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

But Vlad was already turning back to the suit to tinker some more.

Valerie decided to get away from … whatever weirdly charged tension was between Danny and Vlad and headed back upstairs in Fenton Works. In the living room, though it was scattered with open wires, various ecto-guns, and had ectoplasm stains everywhere, it was still a somewhat cosy place, if only because the furniture was all over two decades old, there were multiple blankets, and the TV was one of those old box television sets from the seventies.

Still hurt from the ghost fight earlier against – what was it Phantom called him? Fright Knight? – Valerie was quick to take a seat on the couch in from of the TV, sighing into the soft cushions. Sam and Tucker were also in the living room – when were they not at Fenton Works or around Danny? – and Tucker looked over at her, concerned. “You feeling any better?” He asked.

“A little,” Valerie admitted, “though I’m surprised you care.” And she was surprised. Sam and Tucker seemed to hold a grudge against her since day one. “You guys don’t like me very much, do you?”

“Well, we don’t know you very much,” Sam said snidely. She crossed her arms, frowning; Tucker also looked over Valerie with a critical eye. “And honestly, you used to be pretty mean to us when you were still hanging out with the A-listers, like Paulina and Dash. You think we’re going to just start hanging out with you without wondering what you want? And what you’re going to do with that obviously ecto-infused ring?”

“What I want?” Valerie asked. “I don’t want anything from you guys. And the ring officially falls under the category of none of your –”

Before she could finish, Danny skipped up the steps behind them, almost like he was flying. He smiled when he saw Valerie, and Valerie smiled back at him. She couldn’t help it – he was cute! With his tousled black hair and baby blue eyes, anyone would think he was adorable. “Hey, guys!”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. She leapt off the couch to storm up to Danny, grabbing him by the forearm. “Can I talk to you for a second?” She asked, before not even listening to him and dragging him off to the nearest closet. On the way, she also grabbed Tucker. She locked eyes with Valerie, right before slamming the closet door closed behind her, cutting Valerie off from the group.

Valerie glared after her.

In the closet, Sam turned the light on, so at least two of the three could see something. Danny didn’t need it because he was a ghost, and ghosts could naturally see things in the dark. All three sat in a cramped circle, surrounded by spare hazmat suits and winter boots.

“Yo, dude!” Tucker said, almost immediately. “You do know that the minute you turn into Phantom, she’s going to shoot first and ask questions never, right?”

“She’s not going to find out!” Danny dismissed.

“How do you know she’s not snooping right now?” Sam demanded. She leaned in, worried. “What if that ecto ring on her finger is some sort of ghost detection device?”

“Wait – ring? What ring?” Sam only rolled her eyes and pointed at the door. Danny turned intangible and invisible and peeked his head out from the closet, spying on Valerie, who was still sitting on the couch and watching the news on their older-than-dinosaurs television set. He spotted a green and black ring on her finger, and with his enhanced vision, he was able to see the green skull carved into the obsidian gem. If he focused, he could feel the strong power of ectoplasm leaking from the ring. He didn’t know how he didn’t notice before. Suddenly, he remembered seeing the same ring on her before, in the cafeteria of Casper High. It had struck him as odd, because Valerie didn’t wear jewelry – at least not usually.

Danny pulled himself back into the closet and turned visible again. “Oh, man. We have a problem. I think that’s the ring that the Fright Knight is looking for! But I just don’t know how she could have gotten her hands on it, unless … Vlad must have given it to her!”

“Isn’t Vlad a little old for her?” Tucker joked.

“He’s obviously using her to hide the ring from Fright Knight,” Danny said, slowly piecing everything together. “But why the ring is so important, I don’t know. Something fishy is going on. And I have a feeling that the other ghosts know what is going on.”

“Skulker!” Phantom called.

Using his ghost sense to find the other ghosts was usually easy – after all, he only needed to trace the sentient ectoplasm he could sense, and he usually ended up finding whatever ghost it was that was wreaking havoc on Amity Park at the time. But Amity Park was now filled to the brim with hundreds of thousands of ghosts, and paired with the natural ambient ectoplasm that was always present, it was harder to discern the different ectosignatures and find the specific ghost he was looking for. Luckily, he had lots of practice in finding ectosignatures, thanks to all the times he needed to hunt down certain ghosts in the Ghost Zone.

“Skulker!” Phantom called again. The abandoned gun shop was completely trashed, but Phantom knew that Skulker was around, he could sense him. “Skulker! Skulk – Ember? Sidney?”

Phantom’s eyes widened when he took in the gaggle of ghosts in the store. Bullet, Dora, Ember, Klemper, Lunch Lady, Sidney Pointdexter, Technus, Walker – it was like his entire rogue gallery was here. He knew that they all came through the portal together, but he hadn’t known that they had stuck together in the Living Realm. Ghosts were mostly solitary creatures, so it surprised him.

“Phantom,” Sidney said, “we need your help.”

“Only if you tell me what’s going on,” Phantom said, hands on his hips. “And what is this big fuss about a – a ring? That Fright Knight wants.”

“Very well,” Skulker said. “You already know part of the story: it was many years ago, before you, before me – before most of us – that there was a ghost called Pariah Dark. He was the king of both the Ghost Zone and the entire Infinite Realms.” Phantom remembered Skulker saying that before, but even now, he struggled to wrap his head around ruling the entire Infinite Realms. It was, well, infinite, after all. “Pariah ruled with an iron fist alongside his second in command and enforcer, Fright Knight.”

“Another thing you need to know –” Skulker said “– there are many ghostly artifacts that can only be used by ghosts or denizens of the Ghost Zone. One of these artifacts was the Crown of Fire – a crown which was made of crystallised ectoplasm, and which gave the wearer power over other ghosts. With this power, no ghost could refuse any order made while the person wore the crown. Well, they could try, but only the most powerful ghosts – the Ancients – could resist the Voice of the Crown of Fire. The other artifact was the Ring of Rage. Also made of crystallised ectoplasm and obsidian, the Ring of Rage lends the power of the Ghost Zone to the wearer – fueling them with infinite ectoplasm. But it had a nasty side effect of enhancing the emotions of the owner, oftentimes causing emotional – and wrathful – outbursts. Paired together, the Crown of Fire and Ring of Rage give the user infinite power. But it is also dangerous, because that infinite power could overtake the core of the user and make them fade.”

“Pariah was a ghost of such power and magnitude alone that he was able to control the energies contained within both artifacts. When wearing both, Pariah could do anything he wanted. He was a tyrant. That was, until a group of powerful ghosts – the Ancients – banded together in a last-ditch effort to defeat the King. They locked him within the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, another powerful ghostly artifact, capable of putting any ghost to sleep for an eternity … or so we thought. Somehow, he escaped. And now he’s wreaking havoc in the Ghost Zone once again.”

“He’s looking for the Ring of Rage,” Ember said, “as you’ve already figured out. Pariah has only been free for a day, and he’s already destroyed our homes.”

“And that’s without the ring,” Phantom summarised, finally seeing just how strong Pariah Dark was. He bit his lip, thinking about what to do next. If Valerie had the ring, that meant that she was going to be a target for Pariah and Fright Knight. But … that must have been exactly what Vlad wanted, to keep the heat off his own back. He needed to get the ring away from Valerie, and quickly. “We can’t let him get the ring back,” Phantom decided. “Somehow, we need to get him back into the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep again. But I’m going to need your guys help to do so.”

“And what, exactly, do you think we can do against a ghost like Pariah?” Skulker demanded.

“Well …”

Phantom flew down to the front door of Fenton Works, de-transforming back into Danny mid-air and flipping down to the ground. His skin melted from the icy blue to a sickly pale colour, punctuated by strong freckles across his cheeks and shoulders. His ghostly white hair fell to the power of gravity and became tousled and a night black. His eyes went from their shocking green to a baby blue. His black and white hazmat suit shifted to his usual NASA t-shirt and ripped jeans. For all intents and purposes, he looked like a normal human boy. But both he and Vlad knew otherwise.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Vlad asked, looking smug as he leaned on the Ghost Assault Vehicle, which was parked in front of Fenton Works. He was back in his stupid, pristine suit, hair gelled back obnoxiously.

“You’re putting innocent people in danger,” Danny growled. “It stops – now.”

“Really?” Vlad said, chuckling darkly. He crossed his arms, looming over Danny. “You know what I’m up to? Your tiny teen mind has pieced together the rest of my plot?”

“Yes, it has,” Danny said, not rising to the bait. “I know that you stole the Ring of Rage, woke Pariah Dark from the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, gave the Ring of Rage to Valerie to hide it, and now you’re waiting for your chance to steal it back.”

“That’s pretty good!” Vlad said, as if he was complimenting Danny, but they both knew better. “It’s almost as thought I barely consider you a threat.” Danny felt his core pulse angrily – he was just so angry at how nonchalant Vlad was being about putting so many people in danger – and he knew his eyes were burning a toxic ectoplasm green. Vlad only grinned. “Oh, there’s that temper of yours, again. What are you going to do? What if Valerie sees us, hmm? You wouldn’t want her to know you’re a freak, would you?”

Danny growled. He shot an ecto-blast at the nearby streetlamp, causing the light to shatter and drench the area in pitch dark. Vlad cursed – that was one thing that he hadn’t developed as a halfa that Danny did: night vision. Now with the upper hand, and ensuring no humans could see, Danny shot an ecto-blast at Vlad. It knocked Vlad almost a whole block, enough to land at the next streetlight. Danny jumped and rolled, letting familiar transformation rings slide over his body. His core sparked, eager for the fight to put out his aggression. When he jumped up after his roll, he kicked at Vlad, sending him hundreds of feet into the air, and halfway across the town. Sometimes, ghostly strength helped.

Vlad hit a billboard sign and slid down to the top of a roof, letting his own transformation rings appear, changing him into Plasmius. He floated up from the roof. “Sneak attach – very good, Phantom. You’re getting more like me with every battle.”

“I am nothing like you!” Phantom growled. “I don’t put innocent people in danger!”

He flew upwards and punched Plasmius directly in the sternum, knocking him another few hundred yards away. He hit him so hard, in fact, that Plasmius landed back in the football fields of Casper High School. Phantom flew up to Plasmius and grabbed him by the front of his suit, only for Plasmius to grin at him. Phantom furrowed his brows, until Plasmius spoke. “Oh, you’re not like me? Using your powers to get back at people you don’t like? Throwing the first punch? You’re more like me than you know!”

Plasmius shot an ecto-blast and knocked Phantom across the field. When Phantom got to his feet, however, he realised he was directly next to the Soul Shredder, still stuck in the ground from earlier. He remembered the words from Fright Knight earlier. He frowned.

“Oh, yeah?” He said to Plasmius. “Well, if I’m more like you than I though, then instead of asking you to give the ring to me, I’ll make you!”

He reached out to Soul Shredder, both hands wrapping around the hilt of the giant sword.

“Phantom, no!” Plasmius cried. “The sword is a signal!”

“I know,” Phantom said. And then he pulled the sword free, having to use all his ghostly strength to do so. As soon as the sword came out of the ground, the ghostly green dome that surrounded Amity Park … fell apart. From the centre of the dome, large cracks appeared, until the entire dome looked like a starburst of fractures. The pieces then started to drop, large, crystallised chunks of ectoplasm falling from the sky. But as the pieces fell away, it revealed that the entire town was no longer in the Living Realms, but instead, in the Ghost Zone. The sky was painted many shades of swirling green, random purple and black doors floated about, and the edges of Amity Park dropped off into nothingness.

The ghost skeletons, who had previously been stationary in the streets of Amity Park, now all flew upwards into the Ghost Zone, to congregate at the side of the Fright Knight. And beside Fright Knight … that must have been Pariah Dark. He was twice as big as Fright Knight, adorned in black and grey armour, and wore what was obviously the Crown of Fire atop his head.

Fright Knight held out his hand and though Phantom resisted it, Soul Shredder was pulled from his grasp and shot toward the Fright Knight.

The Ghost King floated gently down to the ground, but when his feet touched the dirt, it cracked and splintered under him, as if the sheer force of him was too much to withstand. Pariah observed Phantom and Plasmius, who had both frozen under his gaze. Pariah tilted his head, as if confused. His eyes glowed a bright red. “You’re not … ghosts. But you’re not, not ghosts, either. Freaks of nature – will there ever be an end to today’s surprises?”

Phantom’s core cowered under the gaze of Pariah Dark.

Then, behind him, Phantom heard – “hey, stone-face! Surprise!”

From the sky descended the Red Huntress, holding her blaster over her shoulder. She shot it at Pariah Dark, blinding him momentarily. Pariah yowled like a hyena, then turned around and shot a strong, red, laser-beam from his one good eye. The Huntress was forced to dodge the large beam, dropping her blaster in the process, and accidentally running into the football goal post. She fell to the ground but was quick to get up, forming a smaller blaster on his wrist to shoot – except, it malfunctioned, broken from the fall, and sparked. The Red Huntress yelled out in pain at the heated blaster sparking, and she ripped her glove and the blaster off her hand. But by doing so, she revealed –

“The ring!” Fright Knight yelled. “Give that to the King, now!”

The Huntress looked down at the ring that sat on her finger, then back up at Pariah Dark and Fright Knight. She knew she was in over her head – and she needed a distraction. Her visor turned downward. She removed the ring, pulled out a torpedo shooter, placed the ring on the torpedo, and hefted it over her shoulder. “You want it?” She said, “then go get it!”

She shot the torpedo out into the endless Ghost Zone, watching it disappear into the green. Then she booked it out of there, heading toward the Fenton Ghost Shield like her life depended on it.

Fright Knight was quick to follow after the Red Huntress, raging as he hit Soul Shredder into the ghost shield over and over again. He had long lost sight of his King, who he had left back at the fields of Casper High, but he knew he needed to go after that miscreant that had dared attack his King. He yelled as he hit the shield again, the glowing green dome not giving under his ghostly sword.

“This – is – not – over!” He grunted with each hit, in a rage watching that dastardly hunter walk away.

“Actually, my loyal servant,” Pariah’s voice said behind him, “it is.”

Fright Knight stopped, letting go of his sword and dropping into a deep bow at the feet of Pariah. His frown, which bared his fangs, was vicious. But then – then he smiled. Pariah never smiled. Except then Pariah opened one of his clenched fists, showing the Ring of Rage within his palm. Pariah chuckled darkly, escalating into a loud, shrill laugh, as he carefully put the ring on his finger. Once the ring was on, Pariah’s features scrunched up in pain as the sky glowed bright, and the ring sparked. A bright, blinding light lit up the sky, the source of it being Pariah Dark – it flickered, turning the world white, black, and green for several moments, as Pariah screamed in pain. But it only took a minute, and then the light died down, showing how Pariah dark was glowing an endless ectoplasm green, courtesy of the ring. The flames of the Crown of Fire were brighter, larger, and hotter than before.

“Come, we have plans to make,” Pariah said, slightly out of breath, “for soon, this human world will also be mine!”

“Danny!” Sam exclaimed, bursting into his room, “you’re – you’re okay!” Danny turned around, revealing a passed-out Valerie behind him. She was covered in bruises and dirt. Sam took a step back, startled. “Whoa – what happened to her?”

“You name it, it happened,” Danny said. “Fright Knight, Pariah Dark, Plasmius – all of my enemies.”

“Dude, you can’t blame yourself for this. It’s not your fault,” Tucker said, stepping into the room from behind Sam. “Valerie chooses to go into ghost fights – you know this.”

“Maybe it’s not my fault,” Danny said, “but it is my responsibility. The humans in Amity Park, the ghosts, the Ghost Zone – all of it. It’s my responsibility to keep it all safe as Phantom. But this time, I just … I froze. As soon as Pariah Dark came, it was like … it was like my core stopped working. I couldn’t handle his presence. And Valerie got hurt as a result. She passed out just within the ghost shield, and I was barely able to drag her to my room after, escaping Pariah and Fright Knight. Now I don’t know where Vlad is, Pariah has the Ring of Rage, along with the Crown of Fire, and the entirety of Amity Park is stuck within the Ghost Zone. I don’t know what to do!”

“Danny,” Sam said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, “you need to stop catastrophizing. Take a deep breath, and let’s go through this logically. You’re powerful on your own – and you have the support of hundreds of ghosts right now. You said they agreed to help you. If you all attack together, then you must have a chance against Pariah Dark!”

“Sam’s right,” Tucker said. “As much as I don’t like it, we need a plan to go up against Pariah – and you’re our best bet.”

Danny sighed. “Okay, let’s do this, then …”

Travelling through the Ghost Zone with almost a hundred rowdy ghosts was not easy, but eventually, they made their way to Pariah’s Keep. When they got there, there was maybe a hundred – no, thousands of ghost skeletons surrounding the Keep. Phantom quickly realised he didn’t need to defeat all of them – he only needed to make a path through them, enough to get to the doors of the Keep and find Pariah Dark. With his rogue gallery behind him, Phantom let loose on the ghost skeletons. He blasted away hundreds of skeletons with his ecto-blasts and froze hundreds of others. Klemper was right behind him with his icy breath, covering them in a deep impenetrable snow. The Box Ghost assaulted several with boxes and bubble wrap, while Dora let loose a torrent of fire from her maw. Ember knocked some out with her sonic blasts, and Skulker shot multiple bombs and used his nets to incapacitate them.

When they finally carved out a pathway to the Keep, Skulker turned to Phantom. “Now go, defeat Pariah! So, that I may be free to hunt you another day!”

“Wow, you really know how to motivate people,” Phantom snarked, but entered the Keep, nonetheless.

He flew through long, tall corridors, until he finally came to a set of red wooden doors over twenty feet tall. His core shuddered at the sheer power emanating from behind the door, and he deep down, he knew, that this was going to be his final stand. He kicked the doors open, knocking them off their hinges, to open into a large throne room. At the end of the room, behind the throne, sat the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep. And standing between the sarcophagus and him was none other than Pariah Dark.

Standing twenty feet tall, adorned in strong armour, and holding a glow spiked mace, Pariah was every bit the fearsome King that he was thousands of years ago. Pariah grinned at him. “I was hoping you would come,” Pariah said, “if only so I could see the freak of nature again.”

“What do you say,” Phantom said, “we skip the snappy banter and go right to the part where I kick your ass! You shouldn’t have the Crown of Fire or the Ring of Rage!”

“Very well,” Pariah conceded, “I accept your challenge and terms.”

Pariah launched himself at Phantom, swinging his mace – which was almost as big as Phantom – downward. Phantom put up a large ectoplasmic shield, blocking the hit. The mace came in contact and immediately shattered the shield from the sheer force of Pariah’s power and strength, forcing Phantom to flip backwards and away from Pariah. He regained his wits quickly and shot a powerful ecto-blast at Pariah, following it up with a sheet of ice on the ground, knocking Pariah to the ground and making him slide into the throne and destroying it. Pariah’s sword fell from its sheath, clattering to the ground, but Pariah didn’t seem to notice. Pariah recovered, floating to his feet. He glanced down at Phantom, reassessing what he had previously thought of the ghost child.

“That much power – it’s a burden, isn’t it, child?” Pariah said, grinning with fangs. “But I wonder – how did you come across it? Is it due to your freakish nature?”

“The power isn’t the burden,” Phantom said, “it’s in how you use it – and you’ve been using yours very poorly!”

Phantom jumped up, floating in the air, but Pariah threw his mace, curving it along the walls before it hit Phantom and sent him forward, closer to the King. Before Phantom could reorient himself, Pariah gave a roundhouse kick and sent him sprawling. Phantom’s back hit the wall and he fell, dropping to the ground. While Pariah watched in amusement, Phantom got to his feet. He grunted as several duplicates of himself appeared around Pariah, all with their eyes blazing and fists clenched. Together, all the duplicates flew at Pariah, punching and kicking and sending stray ecto-blasts.

Pariah cried out in pain as an ecto-blast hit his eye. He called his mace back to him and swung, making one of the duplicates disappear into dust. Another duplicate pile-drove him from behind. Several of them approached, and all together, they spoke – “You better leave my town alone!”

Pariah shot another red charged ecto-blast, making another duplicate disappear.

“Surrender, child. You can’t possibly win,” Pariah said, growling.

Phantom’s core shuddered at the order from the Voice of the crown, but he refused to give in.

“That’s the thing, I don’t have to win,” Phantom said. “I just have to make sure that you lose!”

From behind Pariah, one duplicate opened the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, while another shot a perfectly aimed ecto-blast, which knocked the Crown of Fire from Pariah’s head. The crown flew through the air until it landed in Phantom’s hands. Face lit up from the flames of the crown, Phantom glanced up at Pariah with a sinister grin. He placed the crown atop his own head. The crown’s fire rose several feet, spluttering and raging. Phantom could physically feel the itch in the back of his throat, the Voice of the crown trying to overwhelm him – the power that it held. Pariah howled.

“No – NO!”

“Now,” Phantom said. He let the itch overtake him. “G̶i̵ve̴ ̵m̷e̴ th̷e̶ ̶R̷i̵ng̴ ̴of̷ R̵a̵ge̷.”

Pariah’s whole body froze. He visibly struggled to resist the order from the crown. “N-never,” he said, voice rough. “I will never – never give this power to you!”

“G̶̟͕̭̤̭͔̤̲̜̱̝̉̐̇͜I̷̢̨̱͍̬̓̆̏̑̉̈͆̒̿̀̃̐͋̾͗̊͜V̶̛͖̝̝͇͉̞̗̤̾͊̐͋̓̄́͗͋́̑̾̇́͊͜Ȩ̶̥̜̳͇̱̹͍̺̟͓̜̐͌̽̀͆̇̓͗͒̈̌̾͘̚͝͝ ̴̢̛̻̮̖̮̖͉͓͕͙̤̱̞̼̲̇́̿̅̇͆͋͌̏͐̒̄̚̚ͅṀ̵̛͚͇̪͙̟͇̫̬̭̭̱͕͔̓̋̉̀́É̢̛̯̘̝̞̗̦̯̻͙̝̮͓̖́̎͋̊̐͛͌̈́͒͊ ̧̢̠̤͇̞͓̝̲͈̫͉̀͝Ṭ̥͚̗̤̞͜ͅĤ̴̡̻̝̪̫̬̦͌̎̌̐́́̋̅̿̊̎͋̑͝È̘̺̻̘͔͔̯̭̟̹̘̍̍̅̾̍͆̾̐͝ͅ ̴͈̈́̏̕͠R̷̡̧̡̨͎̳͍̘̬̻̪̦͔͓̫̖̈̾͊̐͋͛͗̓͗̐̽̋̒͝ͅI̵̺͚̠͎͎̅̌̔̒͗N̴͎̟̊̿̉͌̓ͅG̵̠̟̺̻͎̫͙̭̼̠͉̹̬̅͌̋̈́̅̂̓ ̨̱̼͉͙̫͓͕̘̃̈́̈́͋̅͗́̓̀O̷̯̳̮͒͛͗͆́̎̃̌͐F̶͙͉͖͕̯͕̘͔̹̪͆͌̓͒́͂̉͆͝ͅ ̶̻̊͘R̷̢̺̙̠̜̤͈͛́̈̏̃͛͛̒̍Ȧ̴̰̘̀̋̆̂̏̈͆̐̆͂̀̎̓̿͛͝G̵̡͈̪͔͎̱̈̆̓̏̏̈́̿̀͂̀́͋̑̈́̈́̃̕E̵̢̡̢̧̛͓͔͖̮̅̃͂̅̍̔̈́̚͘!̷̡̧̡̡̨̻̟̮͚͔͖͈̝̲̩̤̍̏̆̂̿̈́͌́̕̕̕!̴͓̥̮̺̓̀̇̚͜”

Pariah Dark fell to his knees and cried out in pain, still resisting.

Phantom took the chance. He rushed forward and slashed downward with his arm, created a sharp ice attack which cut off Pariah’s left hand. Pariah howled again. The hand fell the to ground, limp and spewing green ectoplasm and blood. Phantom bent down and picked up the hand, taking the Ring of Rage off Pariah’s now limp finger. In his hands, it felt so small – so insignificant. But he knew of the true power that it held. If he focused, he could feel the infinite ectoplasm that it leaked, fueling its wearer. And carefully – ever so carefully – he slipped it onto his own hand. For several moments, there was nothing – and then pain, pain like he had never felt before. The room lit up in green light, which emanated from both the Crown of Fire and Ring of Rage. Phantom could physically feel his core being ripped apart.

His core pulsed and shuddered, overwhelmed by the power of both artifacts. But it only took one look down at Pariah – the sniveling king, who had taken his town, his people and ghosts, and destroyed their homes – to know that he couldn’t give into the power of the artifacts. There was no way he would let himself burn away and fade, leaving anyone at the mercy of Pariah Dark ever again.

The light faded. The Crown of Fire and Ring of Rage stopped glowing. Phantom’s core slowly released the heat, ice spreading out in fractures from beneath his feet, freezing over the entire throne room. Snowflakes fell from the ceiling, the wooden throne splintered under the cold, and the Sarcophagus of Forever sleep slowly froze over. When the ice reached Pariah, it melted around his feet at first, but slowly, it overtook him, too. Phantom stepped forward, spreading more rapid-fire ice under his heel, causing craters in the ground and sharp ice pillars to form with every step.

“Go̵ ̶i̶n̴t̵o t̵h̵e̴ ̴Sa̶rc̵o̷ph̴a̶g̷u̷s o̷f̴ F̷o̶r̴ev̵e̷r̴ ̴S̴le̶e̴p,” Phantom ordered.

And Pariah, features still scrunched up in pain, was forced to obey.

Phantom closed the Sarcophagus of Forever sleep. He didn’t have the key, so he froze over the sarcophagus with his impenetrable ice, freezing it into a solid block of ice, so that Pariah may never escape again.

On the way out, Phantom picked up the sword that Pariah had dropped during the fight. The sword shrunk as soon as it was in his hands, going from over ten feet in length to only five feet of blade. It looked like crystallised ectoplasm, with a glow surrounding the blade. On the hilt, which was made of some sort of green leather, was the inscription “Reaper.” By only holding it, Phantom could feel that it had similar properties to Soul Shredder. He very carefully held the blade as he left Pariah’s Keep, not sure if he would need it or not, but knowing he couldn’t leave it out for anyone to take.

While the inside of Pariah’s Keep was quiet, when Phantom stepped out of the Keep, he found the battle was still very much ongoing with the ghost skeletons. And, unfortunately, his rogues were started to flag in their energy. Phantom saw Ember fall beneath several ghost skeletons, he saw Skulker’s blasters fail to go off, he saw the Box Ghost’s boxes crushed, and his core pulsed angrily. He took a single step outside he Keep, and the ground cracked beneath his feet. Another step, and frost started to spread. The ghost skeletons around him froze over quickly, but this wasn’t a battle that Phantom needed to fight. He knew, as long as the Crown of Fire sat on his head, and the Ring of Rage stayed on his finger, that this was his army to command.

“S̷͎͎̝̣̠̫̤̠̣̙̱̩͇̉̿̾̒͒̈́̽̋̾͛̀̀̚͠T̶̛͙̤̬̯̜̗͍͈̮̮̖̻̿̊̆͛̈́͐̃̌̑͒��͌̈͂̎̌͜Ő̷̡̱͇͕̤̞̓̏́̐̿͜P̵̡͉̯̫̮̌̌̍̈́̉̽͂̓̎̔!̶̢̢̛̻̱͇̙̙͕̫̅̔͐͋̑̓̈͛̏̅͊̕” He commanded, his Voice loud and clear. He held out Reaper in threat.

And they listened.

Figuring out how to bring Amity Park back into the Living Realms was a bit of a harder task than stopping an army of hundreds of thousands of ghosts. His rogues weren’t any help because none of them could open a portal on their own, not like Wulf could – but Wulf wasn’t here right now. Pariah had known how to open portals, too, but he was gone now. Except … Fright Knight was still left, his second in command. And if anyone were to know how to do what Pariah did, then Fright Knight would.

It wasn’t hard to find Fright Knight considering he was waiting outside Pariah’s Keep with the rest of the army. When Phantom floated in front of him, Fright Knight immediately dropped to his knees and bowed before him, no Command or Voice needed.

“My Liege,” Fright Knight said, startling Phantom.

“I’m no king,” Phantom denied.

“You are now,” Fright Knight said. “You are my King now. By trial of combat, you have defeated Pariah Dark, and you now possess both the Crown of Fire and Ring of Rage. I will follow you wherever you go, I will do whatever you wish.”

“I don’t want to be a king, I want to bring Amity Park back to the Living Realms,” Phantom said. “How do I do that?”

The Zone swirled around him, the purple doors moved out of his way, the islands appeared at his will, and Amity Park was safe. It was like the Ghost Zone responded to his emotions and wishes. He only felt marginally bad when he used his claws as he ripped a giant hole in the space and time around him. The Infinite Realms bent around him, splintering and ripping under his will, creating a large rip in the Ghost Zone. The dawn-lit sky from the Living Realms bled through, and Phantom used all his ghostly strength to push the island that was Amity Park through the rift, right back to where it belonged.

Phantom invisibly flew to Fenton Works, phasing through the walls and dropping right into his bed. He de-transformed, turning back into Danny, and groaned into his sheets. After using so much power, and his core being abused so much, he felt like he had been run over by a bus. Behind him, his friends, who had been waiting in his room, startled.

“Danny!” They both exclaimed.

“What happened?” Sam demanded.

“Are you okay?” Tucker asked.

Danny groaned again. “Let’s just say, Pariah Dark will never be a problem … ever again.”

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