#the ghost kitchen ch 6

[datshitrandom]

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[PART 2]

[roosterr]

white flag ✹ ch 6

note: hoo boy, this one's a doozy. didn't mean to project so hard with this one, but fuck it we ball ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 5.3k

no use of y/n reader's callsign is 'stingray'

summary: you reach a breaking point with simon, and he finally realises what he needs to do to fix things.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, some light violence, ghost finally getting his shit together, arguing, kitchen floor romance, fluff

ao3

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simon didn't see you at home. in fact, he found out from soap that you went straight to the pub with him and the others. you didn't even drop your car off, which meant you weren't going to get drunk, you were going to avoid him.

it stung – a feeling he’s become quite familiar with lately. but you wanted him to leave you alone, to give you space, and seeing as he had no idea what else to do, he would oblige.

he sits at the kitchen table, across from the chair that's become yours through some unspoken agreement. a random book is in his hands – an attempt to keep himself occupied, but he's been staring at the same page for the last twenty minutes and he hasn't absorbed a single word. you are the only thing on his mind, no matter how hard he concentrates on what's in front of him.

slamming his book shut with a frustrated grunt, he gives in to the fact that he's not going to be able to do anything meaningful until you get home. perhaps trying to talk now that you'd be alone would work out better than his previous attempts.

he intends to go straight up to his room when he leaves the kitchen, but for some reason simon finds himself standing outside the door to your room, peering into the darkness through the gap where you'd left it ajar.

he shouldn't go in, he knows that. from the start he'd promised himself to give you complete privacy – he hadn't even set foot in the living room since you'd moved in, apart from the times he brought you hot chocolate and put you to bed. it was the least he could do, offer you a space to call your own, since you really didn’t have much else.

but simon missed you; he missed being near you, the scent of your shampoo and the laundry detergent you use, just basking in your presence. he wouldn't touch anything, he rationalised, he just wanted to be surrounded by something that was you.

it’s dark, but he doesn't even bother to turn the light on, the hall light through the door illuminates the room enough for him to see where he's going. the armchair on the far side of the room is unoccupied, so he collapses there with a deep exhale.

the solitude must be driving him insane, because when he closes his eyes he can almost convince himself that you’re there with him, sitting across from him with one of his books in your hands. the disappointment that washes over him when he opens his eyes to be alone again isn’t rational, but knowing that still doesn’t dull the ache.

on the mantle, he notices something definitely not left there by him; first, he spots the flowers he gave you, a little wilted and slightly squashed, sitting in a vase that was here when he moved in. he feels a fleeting sense of relief at that, he wouldn't have been surprised if you'd thrown them straight in the bin.

but more interestingly, there's a photo frame, something simon owns exactly zero of, so it must be something of yours. he stands up, his curiosity getting the better of him, and takes the frame gently in his hand. tilting it into the light so the photo is visible, he feels a faint smile tugging at his lips at the sight of a younger you surrounded by your previous team.

you’re grinning widely, making bunny ears behind one of your teammates crouched in front of you, while someone behind does the same to you. as his eyes follow their arm to their face, poking out just above your head, he feels a sharp frown pull at his brows.

it’s anderson.

simon blinks a few times, in the hopes the he was simply imagining things – that his hatred for the man and lack of a good night's sleep was causing him to see things, but no matter how many times he looked away and back again, anderson’s face refused to change.

the urge to smash the photo builds up like steadily boiling water the longer he stares at it, so he places it back on the mantle before it gets too strong. why was he just now finding out you used to work with anderson? it explained why he was so overly familiar with you. was that why you liked him more? you had to be close with him – closer than simon was with you.

were you… involved with him?

the very thought makes his heart sink like a stone. his head feels light as he stumbles back out of your room, the acidic taste of bile rising in his throat.

not a moment after the door clicks shut, simon feels his phone buzz in his pocket, pushing his spiralling train of thought to the back of his mind. he pulls it out, the screen lit up with johnny's name on the caller id, but he doesn't want to answer it.

he lets it ring until the missed call notification appears instead. expecting that to be it, simon moves to shove his phone back in his pocket, but it buzzes again before he can get there.

it's a text this time – more of them coming through before he's had time to read the first. with a tired exhale, he opens the messages from johnny.

you coming pub? 20:23 pm

you should 20:23 pm

sting is here ;) 20:24 pm

no. 20:25 pm

why notttttttt 20:25 pm

cmon just get down here 20:25 pm

seriously i think you should come we need you 20:26

fine. 20:28 pm

let's fucking go 20:28 pm

better run tho be quick 20:28 pm

simon breathes a sigh of exasperation, but grabs his jacket off the hook. he doesn't even bother to change his balaclava for a more socially acceptable mask. whatever johnny's reasoning was for getting him to come to the pub, he was secretly grateful for the excuse to go out and see you – whether he would actually get to talk to you or simply watch you from the sidelines.

✹✹✹

slipping in quietly through the side entrance, simon is relieved to find the pub not nearly as rowdy as it is normally. it seems to be only the one-four-one and their associate unit mixed in with the locals, rather than being packed with soldiers like usual.

immediately he spots price, taking up a booth in the far corner, who raises a hand in greeting to him but otherwise stays put. the gesture draws johnny and gaz's attention to him, both of whom give him enthusiastic waves of their own.

he doesn't see you with them, which prompts him to scour the rest of the pub as he trudges over to his comrades. it doesn't take him long to find you over by the bar, though when he spots anderson unnecessarily close to you, he feels like his heart might just stop.

now that he knows you and him have history, simon feels a pit of hopelessness in his chest that he knows won't ever go away as long as he has to see you be happy with someone else.

it should be me, he thinks, a bitter downturn to his lips under his mask. 

"why am i here?" he grumbles when he finally makes it to the booth, choosing to stay standing at the end of the table rather than sitting down with them.

"because you need'ta sort out this thing between you and sting." johnny replies, pushing himself up to stand next to simon and giving his shoulder a firm pat.

simon rolls his eyes to hide the way soap’s words make him flinch. "i've tried. they won't listen to me." he mumbles. he sees price shake his head in a show of disappointment, which only makes him feel even worse about the whole situation. aside from you, the captain’s been the hardest on him for the way he fucked things up, and while the sergeants clearly think he's an idiot, they've done their best to support him.

"then make them listen!" gaz exclaims, "explain yourself, tell them you'd do anything for them," he gestures one hand to where you’re standing at the bar, "tell them you love them!"

"i don't–" he begins to protest as he follows gaz’s hand, but the words die on his tongue when his eyes land on you; the dim lighting of the pub illuminates the way you smile so pleasantly, simon’s heart skips a beat. turning away from you before he becomes too entranced, he shoots gaz a light glare. "keep your voice down…"

"just tell them, l.t." gaz has an easy, knowing smile on his face when he meets simon’s eyes. looking between him and johnny, who wears a similar expression, he lets out a tired sigh.

"you’re a pain in my arse, both of you." he grumbles, massaging the creases in his forehead over the fabric of his mask.

"you're gonna do it, right?" soap grins from behind his pint, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that has simon groaning, but nodding nonetheless. "good lad, i knew you had it in ya!" soap claps him on the back once more before taking his seat again.

before any of them can bother him further, the sound of raised voices reaches their ears from the bar. not loud enough to hear what they're saying, but enough to know that there's a problem.

he's not sure what he's expecting when he turns around; but seeing you pushing a very drunk anderson’s arm off your shoulder with a scowl on your face, simon finds himself stalking over to you before he can even think about it.

"c'mon, we're good together, we have history!" anderson's words are slurred, leaving no mystery as to just how drunk he is. he leans further into your personal space, and simon watches your face scrunch up as you lean away, placing your hand on anderson’s chest to keep him at bay. "you're not seriously into that freak, are you? with that creepy fuckin' mask?"

that makes simon pause. he wanted to rip anderson away from you – of course he did – but he also wanted to hear your response, whether you would denounce him or not.

"oi!" you exclaim, an incredulous tone to your voice. "he is not a freak, don't be so rude!"

the way you defend him makes his heart swell. you also didn't deny what anderson said, and though he knows it's arrogant of him, simon still holds out hope that you don't truly hate him.

with the tiniest smirk under his mask, simon closes the distance, coming to stand at your side between you and anderson.

"sting." he addresses you, meeting your eyes and completely ignoring the annoyed mumbling from the idiot on his other side. "you alright?"

the look you give him is one of surprise and relief, but you don't get to say a single word before anderson is pushing simon's shoulder so they're facing each other.

"lieu‐lieutenant ghost, fancy seein' you here," anderson is clearly annoyed at his intrusion, poking a finger into his chest that gets slapped away just as quickly. "come to show everyone how big 'n tough you are, eh?"

"andy, stop it." you hiss, pushing him back again and stepping between him and simon.

anderson scoffs at you. "why should i? we're not at work, he can't do anything, he's just some random loser." he glares up at simon, a pitiful attempt at intimidation he knows he wouldn't dream of trying if he was sober.

"give it a rest, sergeant." simon grumbles, rolling his eyes at the way anderson puffs his chest out and stands up straighter. 

"y'know, sting was right, you're a huge fuckin' arsehole," anderson spits, ignoring the way you try to keep him away when he steps around you be face to face with simon again. "can't blame 'em for not wantin' to put up with you anymore."

simon flinches ever so slightly at that, but thankfully anderson is too drunk to notice.

"that's enough." he growls, his nails digging painfully into his palms.

"no, no! what th'fuck is your problem, man?" anderson shouts, shoving simon's chest – which doesn't move him, but pisses him off anyway. "you think you're so much better than me, but you hide your ugly mug behind that fuckin' mask like a pussy!" his raised voice draws the attention of the other patrons, and an uneasy silence falls over the room as the background chatter halts.

"just fuckin' shut up," simon rolls his eyes again, shifting his gaze over to you and jerking his head in a gesture for you to move. "c'mon."

"and don't even get me started on sting!" anderson continues, pointing a swaying finger in your face which gets slapped away the same as before. "you're so obsessed with them, it's creepy as shit, everyone knows it!"

"i'm not–"

"they must be a fuckin' freak n'all, to be into you, you're both fucked in the head–"

"watch your fuckin' mouth." simon spits, taking the front of anderson's shirt roughly in his fist. he could insult simon until his last breath, but to drag your name into this ignited the flame of real anger in his chest.

"ghost, let's just go." you grasp his wrist, the one holding anderson, and perhaps if simon could focus on anything other than the smug little bastard he's moments away from punching, he might’ve felt the warmth that your touch brought him.

"–that's why they have go to the bloody psy-psychiatrist all the time, they're fuckin' mental–" the moment the words left anderson’s mouth, simon feels every sliver of restraint he had immediately leave his body; the only sound he can hear is the rushing of blood in his ears as his face twists in rage.

"shut the fuck up." he seethes, rearing his free arm back to throw possibly the most satisfying hit of his life; but before he can land it, his arm is immobilised he’s being yanked away from the sergeant.

suddenly price is in his face with a more than disapproving frown, walking him backwards with a firm hand on his shoulder. "get a hold of yourself!" he yells, commanding and abrasive.

simon grunts and pulls price's hand off of him, leaning around the captain just in time to see you deliver a fierce slap to anderson’s face that resonates in the quiet of the room.

anderson’s head whips to the side with the blow, the shell-shocked expression displaying the clear bruise forming on his cheek and his ego. simon had to admit, the sight of that prick with a bright red handprint on his cheek was incredibly gratifying.

"don't fucking talk about me like that." you spit at him, the most intense glare he's ever seen on you creasing your features. simon notices the way it softens when your eyes meet his, as johnny pushes you away from anderson – who's still reeling from the hit, but nobody bothers to take care of him.

he can't take his eyes off of you. it's like the rest of the world has just faded away and you're the only other person left, because right now, you're the only person that matters.

its drizzling by the time you drag him out by the arm. the damp air has a somewhat sobering effect on him as he allows you to pull him along with you.

"i could’ve handled that." you mutter angrily over your shoulder. you're taking him in the direction of the car park, the orange glow of the lamp posts casting shadows on your irritated expression that he finds himself admiring like fine art.

"i'd do it again." simon replies, still having never once taken his eyes off of your form. when you let go of his arm, having arrived at your car, he immediately feels the absence of your touch. he watches you walk around to the driver's side, meeting his eyes over the car and pausing in your tracks.

you hold his gaze for a moment, before looking down and shaking your head.

"just get in the fucking car." you mutter, opening the driver’s side door and disappearing from his sight. he follows suit without question, the car shifting under his weight as he settles into the passenger seat.

you pull out of the car park without another word, your face hard as you pointedly ignore his eyes on you. the silence between is thick, without even the white noise of the radio to break it.

in some way, simon’s glad you chose him over anderson, that you're driving him home rather than taking the side of that idiot. but, then again, he remembers the history the two of you must have, and he feels mildly guilty for potentially breaking up a long-term friendship of yours. not too guilty, though; the guy was a certified dickhead.

when the tension becomes too much, he decides to ask the only question that's been circling his mind like a vulture since he laid eyes on your photo.

"you know him." simon mutters. it's more of a statement than a question, really. "i saw the picture."

he sees your eyes narrow, his own still locked on your profile as you face the road. "you went through my stuff?" you reply, a small frown pulling at your brows.

"no, i just saw the picture." for a moment, he’s afraid he’d unintentionally started another argument, but his words only evoke a deeply exhausted sigh from you.

"he's just one of my old teammates." you reply, the sadness in your voice tugging at simon’s heartstrings. "i thought he was my friend, but obviously i'm not a very good judge of character, am i?"

perhaps that was a dig aimed at simon too, but he can only really focus on how disappointed you sound.

"it’s not your fault. he’s just a twat." he attempts to reassure you, to hopefully make you feel better, but he can't tell how successful it was.

"i know that now, i just–" you huff, cutting yourself off as you pull up outside home. you shut off the engine, massaging your temples with the same frown still on your face. he's tempted to say something more, but no words come to him.

"nevermind, i don't even wanna think about it." you sigh, quickly getting out of the car and slamming the door behind you. he follows behind, the lights of your car flashing as you lock it, illuminating the way your shoulders are slumped as you disappear into the house.

simon figures you'll want time to cool off after what happened, perhaps a cold cloth for your hand that's undoubtedly stinging after such a powerful hit. the memory is enough to make him smile lightly, a feeling of pride blooming in his chest for you.

he creeps upstairs on autopilot, his gaze lingering on the closed door to your room as he passes by.

it's still quite early in the night, so he's not surprised when he hears your door open and shut again downstairs – you going to sit in the kitchen, he assumes.

he wanted to talk with you alone, without the threat of anderson interrupting him again – and now is as good a time as any.

you're sitting at the kitchen table with your laptop open on some real estate site when he shuffles into the room. he stands in the doorway, watching as you continue sifting through nearby flat listings without looking over to him.

neither of you speak. you're not willing to break the silence first, and neither is he.

for a moment, simon just stands there, staring at you. he can see you watching him from the corner of your eye from where he shifting uncomfortably by the door. he half expects you to tell him to piss off, but to his surprise, you stay quiet. taking your silence as a sign that you aren’t, in fact, revolted by his presence, he inches closer and closer to you until he's standing directly next to where you're sitting.

still, neither of you say a word.

a minute or two passes with him looming over you, watching as you scroll through page after page of available flats, a shadowy figure in your peripheral.

eventually you find a reasonably priced listing, and when you click it, only then does ghost speak up.

"you don't need to leave." he says, cringing under his mask at the sound of his voice. he hopes you don’t pick up on how pathetic he sounds. "you already have a house."

"what? what are you talking about?" your eyes remain locked on your screen as you reply, voice flat and disinterested.

simon releases a shaky sigh, his nerve quickly faltering the longer you continue to ignore him. there's a brief pause as you inspect the words on your screen, before simon brings his hand up behind your laptop and firmly closes it. with an annoyed huff you finally look at him, piercing him with a narrow glare.

"you live here." he murmurs, staring intently back at you, fighting with himself to keep his expression neutral, to stay strong.

with me. the unspoken words hang heavy in the air.

"i can't stay here, there's only one bed for christ's sake." you grumble, brow furrowed as you pinch the bridge of your nose. "my back can't handle sleeping on that sofa forever."

"then sleep in my bed." there’s no hesitation in his words; he would gladly sleep on the lumpy sofa-bed if it meant you would be more comfortable – if it meant you would stay. the sound of your chair scraping the floor echoes in the stillness of the kitchen as you stand up, to be closer to eye level with him. 

"oh what, and leave you on the sofa? in your own home?" you scoff, shaking your head as you step around him.

"well, yeah. you– i…" he reaches a hand out to touch you, stopping himself just above your elbow before he pulls back. the gesture stops you in your tracks, drawing your gaze back to his eyes. "don't leave." he murmurs, just above a whisper.

your mouth opens to respond, but his words catch you completely off guard. your eyes flit down, and he knows you can see the way his hands tremble at his side. he felt so… vulnerable, a word he never expected to apply to him, of all people, but you had that effect on him.

"just stay…" he whispers, a desperate plea as he squeezes his eyes shut to block out everything except you and him. "please…"

another tension filled silence stretches between you. he opens his eyes again, blinking as he meets your gaze. there's a profound sadness there, dragging your features downwards in a frown that sinks his stomach.

your sigh breaks the silence.

"i can't keep doing this, ghost." you mumble, dipping your head and rubbing your eyes.

"...what?"

"this! one minute you're nice to me, then you're a complete dickhead, and then you're back to being nice again." you exclaim, waving your hands around in frustration to amplify your point. "it’s exhausting."

"that's not– i'm not doing it on purpose." he frowns, the internal panic that arguing with you causes rising to the surface.

"this is what i mean! you're just making excuses!" your voice has a desperation to it that strikes him like an arrow through the heart. you turn sharply away from him, focusing your gaze somewhere on the wall.

"then just tell me what you want, for fucks sake!" he pleads, shuffling to stay in front of you and try to coax your eyes back to him. "whatever it is, i'll do it!"

"tell you what i want?" you laugh wryly, looking back to him with an expression he can only describe as offended. "i want you to apologise to me! i want you to say you're fucking sorry, and i don't want to have to wring it out of you!"

your words ring in his ears, bouncing off the walls and back at him like an echo chamber.

"you have never apologised to me! not even once! after all the shit you've put me through, i have never heard the words 'i'm sorry' out of your mouth!" you scowl at him, your eyes glossy with tears threatening to fall as your voice breaks. "thats all i've ever wanted from you!"

simon can't shake off the stunned feeling your words impart upon him; all this time, had he really never apologised? he'd just assumed that you knew he was sorry, without ever having actually said it.

the answer was practically smacking him in the face the entire time, and he still somehow managed to completely miss it. no wonder you were fed up with him – no wonder everyone kept looking at him like he was an idiot.

he's never felt more like a fucking moron than he does in this moment.

he's broken out of his haze by the movement of you sitting back down in your chair, lowering your head into your shaky hands and taking an equally unstable breath.

"you say you don't know what to do– you keep saying you regret what happened, but you never tell me why!" you briefly lift your head to cry out at him, and he just about sees the wetness on your cheeks before it's hidden behind your fingers again.

he takes one large stride to be standing in front of you again. "i was trying to help! havin' any kind of phobia will get you killed in this line of work. i was trying to help you because…" he speaks with a similarly desperate tone, his hands floating uselessly in the space between you. "be–because i care about you."

"well you could've fooled me." you sniffle, lowering your hands slightly, your gaze staying locked to the floor. "why didn't you just say that to begin with? why bother with the tough guy act?"

"it's not that simple…" he mutters, frozen in place, afraid that one wrong move would send you bolting like a cornered animal.

"why?" you cry, tilting your head up to catch his eyes with your own reddened ones, "what are you so afraid of?!"

simons heart beats out of his chest, the rhythm so aggressive he was sure he'd go into cardiac arrest.

"i'm in love with you!" he blurts, the tremor in his hands increasingly obvious as he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. "...that's what i'm afraid of." his voice is little more than a whisper now, the silence following his declaration only serving to hurt his heart further.

when he peeks back down at you, there's a look of pure shock on your face. your mouth is agape, your eyes flickering between both of his, and simon feels as though you're staring straight into the abyss of his soul. 

"and i am sorry, i'm so fuckin' sorry, for everything– all the shit i gave you when you first started, for never givin' you a chance, for screamin’ at you," he continues, his own voice subtly cracking, "i– i'm so… in love with you, and it fucking terrifies me..."

he wanted to touch you, so badly, and with the sheer amount of raw emotion racing through his veins, he can't find it in himself to resist the urge.

simon sinks to his knees in front of you, his fingers grasping your wrists in a featherlight touch and pulling them away from your face with a gentleness he wasn't sure he possessed.

"i– i could've lost you. you could've died and then i'd have to live without you, and i can't do that…" for the first time in a long time, simon feels the sting of tears in his eyes as he caresses the pulse on your wrists with his thumbs, "i'm sorry…"

"simon…" the way you utter him name sends his heart fluttering like a caged bird in his chest. you'd never called him anything other than ghost or lieutenant before now; he never thought he could enjoy hearing simply his name this much.

"i'm so fuckin' sorry, i'll never treat you like that again, i swear." his voice is weak. he presses his forehead to your fingertips to hide the anguish in his eyes. "i'm sorry, i love you, just… just let me down easy, yeah?"

there's another pause, yours and simon's ragged breaths the only sound disturbing the silence.

"why would i let you down?” you whisper from above him. the words send a jolt of shock through him, the implication halting his breathing for a moment as he processes what you mean.

"don’t say that…" he mutters, squeezing your wrists ever so slightly tighter, not quite ready to let go of you yet.

"i'm in love with you, too."

his head snaps up to meet your eyes. "no, you– " he sputters, bringing one hand up to cover his mouth despite the mask still hiding his terrified expression "you can't… you deserve so much better…"

"i don't care what you think i deserve," you wear a tiny smile as you pull his hand away, your tender hold on his wrist mirroring his own on yours.

"i’m– i’m not good for you." he feels the tears building up again, blurring his vision.

"shouldn’t that be for me to decide?"

simon can hardly believe what's happening, when you bring your other hand up to his cheek, caressing his face through the fabric. he still doesn't let go of your wrist.

"i don't… you– i can't–" his tongue can't seem to form the words as he gazes up into your eyes, the kindness and warmth there overwhelming his senses. "i can't be what you want."

"you already are what i want." you sink to the floor as well, lifting your other hand to cup his face with a blinding smile. "i love you, simon."

for a moment, all he can do is revel in the warmth that bleeds through the fabric of his mask from your hands, pushing his face more into your touch like an affectionate cat.

a desperate noise escapes the back of his throat, his eyes fluttering shut. "...say it again?" he whispers the plea.

he feels your lips on the bridge of his nose, and his eyes snap back open at the sensation. "i love you, simon. more than anything." you murmur, shuffling closer when you kneel between his legs and pressing your forehead to his.

simon thinks he could die happy in this moment. to think, all the pain of the last couple of weeks – the last year, really – had all amounted to this, and can't help but think about what and idiot he'd been up until this point; to have waited this long to feel your touch, it was almost unthinkable.

he sighs, his breathing still evening out. "i'm so sorry…" he whispers. he goes to snake one arm around your waist, but hesitates just before touching you. as of sensing his dilemma, you give him a pleasant hum, wordlessly giving him permission to place his hand firmly on your back. he brings you that much closer with it, the feeling of holding someone a novelty to him.

"i'll forgive you, on two conditions." you reply. simon can sense the smile in your voice even with his eyes closed.

"anything."

"one, we talk to each other from now on, properly." you begin, and simon nods as adequately as he can with your forehead still against his. "second, you have to go on a date with me– to atone."

at that he opens his eyes, pulling back slightly and looking at you with a raised eyebrow. "not sure that counts as a punishment, love." 

you chuckle, meeting his sceptical gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. "it is, because you're cooking."

he chuckles, deep and rumbling in his chest, and drops his forehead gently back to yours, allowing his eyes to flutter closed again.

he'd cook for you for the rest of his life if you asked, if it meant he could stay like this, with you.

taglist p1: @sofasoap , @siilvan , @mockerycrow , @i-love-ghost , @projectdreamwalker , @achelois-is-here , @adamsloverboy , @thatchickwiththecamera , @chickensandwich69 , @batmanunicorns523 , @tiny-kasper , @dezibou , @pampeop , @cumbermovels , @goth-boi-atlas , @berryjuicyy , @guiltgoreglory , @postmodernrevolutionist , @untoldshortsofthefandoms , @delilah-grimes , @sunflowerqueen1416 , @luvssemma , @sunshiinegaz , @imonmykneessir , @kenz-ee , @eistro-phobia , @rzmarona ,

@alanalanalanalanalanna , @cathnoneofyourbusiness , @madsothree , @geisterfvhrer , @lazyninjaphilosopher , @koi-feish , @chaoticgoblindev , @clear-your-mind-and-dream , @thrivig-n-jiving , @lesterous , @glitterypirateduck , @slu77ym4nw415ts , @livelaugh-light , @trulylavendedarling , @stateofcatatonia , @rivalriotrenegade , @yoichiislovie , @nirvanaaaonly , @ameliaamareeee , @sapientiia , @thesecretwriter , @susanmukami , @ryze1113 , @stars-andfreckles , @spya1 , @tunaa-luvchrm , @tzutology (p2 in separated reblog)

[peachsukii]

Hollow Heart { chapter 1 - hurricane }

『♡』 pro-hero fem!reader x pro-hero bakugo ╰➤ ꒰ pro-heroes au | friends to lovers ꒱ ♡ katsuki bakugo masterlist ♡

summary: The dynamic duo of Dynamight and Deku are unstoppable, climbing the hero charts like they always dreamed of as kids. Their journeys were tough, but offered them the world - fame, fortune, protection of their family and friends, a comfortable hero life. The recent increase in crime around Tokyo kept their entire sector busy, sending heroes out non-stop, desperate to keep the statistics as low as possible to maintain a clean reputation. When a nearby sector is requesting assistance, the boys are tasked with a mission to inspect a villain’s lair in a deserted area outside of the city. Reports have noted people going missing, specifically with rare quirks. With plenty of other heroes being unavailable, you’re chosen to tag along with the duo for the night operation. Everything is going according to plan until the villain lands a surprise attack, resulting in the your kidnapping and whisking you away through a mysterious portal. It’s been a month since your disappearance with no help of the hero agency. Bakugo and Midoriya take it into their own hands and are determined to get you back - no matter how long or what it takes. tags & warnings: mentions of blood/violence, eventual & mild smut, kidnapping/abduction, experimentation, physical & psychological torture, PTSD, implied/referenced self harm, cursing, talks of trauma | angst with happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, regret, mutual pining, friends to lovers, insomnia, eventual romance a/n: Prepare for the heartbreaking journey of Bakugo battling with his feelings when it’s too late…or is it? :) ꒰ Ao3 version | word count; ~20.6k as of ch.4 ꒱ Chapter 1 | Hurricane [5k] Chapter 2 | The Ghost of You [4.7k] Chapter 3 | Choke [3.9k] Chapter 4 | The Grey [6.7k] Chapter 5 | The Good Left Undone [4.7k] Chapter 6 | Tourniquet Chapter 7 | There is Fear in Letting Go 『♡』 this fic has a playlist! ✩

CHAPTER ONE: HURRICANE

A beautiful summer morning, rays of tangerine light poured into the living room of your apartment as you sleepily make your way to the kitchen, desperate for that first cup of coffee. The clock on the stove read 8:35AM - the latest you’ve overslept in the last month. It was another long night in the office, writing reports for your previous week’s hero patrols that you’d put off for far too long. You'd think someone else would be responsible for inputting notes into the agency's system, but no - anyone below rank 10 was tasked with entering in their own data. 

Criminal activity in the area had increased significantly within the last 3 months, calling heroes of all ranks out nonstop, especially lower ranked heroes. Was it annoying? Sure, being awoken in the middle of the night out of a dead sleep to go stop a small robbery at the local late-night supermarket wasn't ideal. Especially when you dreamed of dealing with bigger threats, akin to crime syndicates and large scale villain organizations. As a hero, you’re taught to tune out the small details and focus on what’s in front of you - keeping the citizens of your ward safe and sound, even if it's helping a granny cross the street in the middle of the afternoon.

The agency accepted you with open arms right out of UA High, over the moon to have a hero with a quirk like yours in their roster. Psionic energy manipulation was shockingly uncommon amongst the 80% of the population of quirk users. The kinetic hero, Y/H/N, ranked number 37 - high enough to earn respect from your peers and low enough to not have to worry about being followed by paparazzi and negotiating brand deals. Cities were full of billboards with ads sponsored by heroes, heavily focused on those in the top 10 for allure to their product. Deku and Dynamight’s athletic wear collaboration, Uravity’s mochi bites, Shouto’s fire and ice energy drinks - it was impossible to avoid. Did you wish you had the smallest bit of spotlight? Sometimes, but being able to walk the streets off-duty and not be bothered was a luxury you'd like to keep. On the counter, your phone buzzed and flashed awake, shaking you out of the sleepy stupor.

Incoming Call: Katsuki Bakugo 

A picture of you and Bakugo appeared on to the caller ID screen - one of your favorite pictures with him. It was from a concert in Shibuya you'd attended a few months back. His arm around your shoulder, pulling you close as he flipped off the camera, wearing his infamous toothy smirk as you leaned against him with a small peace sign and a warm smile. 

It's unfair how effortlessly attractive he was. Admittedly, you'd had a crush on him since high school and drank up every ounce of affection he threw your way over the years. Even though you've known him and Midoriya since childhood, your friendship didn't truly blossom until your first year in UA. Thanks to your tenacity and fighting spirit, he respected you after a long six months. That broke down his walls just enough to tolerate you and continue to be friends ever since. 

You, Midoriya, and Bakugo became three peas in pod, a strong bond established to last a lifetime. Post-UA life wasn’t as easy to see each other, but you made it work - trainings, missions, conflicting work schedules, and general life couldn’t get in between the three of you, even if it was just over texts, phone calls and late-night movie marathons. It helped that you all lived in Tokyo, at least. Midoriya, of course, was extremely special and essential to your life. He’s like the little brother you always wanted and a constant ray of sunshine, always there for whatever you need. There was just something different and special about your bond with Bakugo - a spark, without sounding cliche. And after all these years later, he's still your favorite person and one of your best friends. 

You wouldn't trade it for the world. Oh shit, I forgot we planned to go for a run this morning. You answer hesitantly, knowing full well you’re about to get an earful about being late. 

“Yo, Y/N, you plan on showin' up anytime soon?” There was shockingly no annoyance in his tone. “It’s almost 9.”

“Sorry Kat! I overslept. Had a long night writing reports in the office. I’ll be there in 10,” you say, not making any excuses. You hear a loud tch in response - ah, there’s the annoyance.

“I was about to bust down your door and give you a personal wake up call,” he teases, laughing to himself. “Get your ass to the park. See ya, lite-brite.” The line ended with a click. 

He'd never let that nickname go, one that followed you all the way back from high school. You'd grown used to it as he typically reserved it to get under your skin or light a fire under your ass. Most of the time? It worked - and you liked it.

Setting the coffee cup in the sink, you jog back into your room down the hallway and change into a clean set of workout clothes. You'd just gotten the PR package from Midoriya last week with his new sports wear collaboration with Bakugo, saving you time by not having to dig through your laundry pile. He would have scolded you for slacking on chores if he were to have woken you up in person, and then folded it himself to prove a point. He’d often harp on you for not keeping up with basic shit around your place, but in the same breath, start cleaning up for you - it was one of his love languages. 

The company they collaborated with nailed the designs perfectly. It was minimalistic, but still paid homage to their hero costumes. You grab Bakugo's set - a cropped black sleeveless hoodie with an orange 'X' across the front, a forest green band with a drawstring around the midsection, and an orange hood. The matching shorts were all black with a simple orange stripe down the sides. The neoprene material allowed for the set to breathe in any weather condition.

Thankfully, the park you were meeting him at was only a couple minute walk from your apartment building. Not long after pulling your hair into a ponytail, splashing your face with water and brushing your teeth, you're kicking on your sneakers by the door and shuffling out of the apartment. A few minutes to spare, you duck into the convenience store along the way, grabbing two sports drinks and a bag of his favorite spicy-flavored chips. God, you hated the taste of them and never understood why he liked them so much. Some part of you jokingly thought it fueled his already explosive personality, literally heating him up from the inside.

───

"You wear that on purpose?" Bakugo snickers over his phone as you skip toward him, pointing to your workout gear. 

"What can I say? It's comfortable. Happy to be a walking ad for the number four hero," you say, elbowing him in the arm. He rolls his eyes, snatching the sports drink you've outstretched to him and mutters a thanks. 

"You should model our next set," he pats you on the back. "You're the perfect fit." 

You scoff, waving a hand at him. "Yeah, like I'm model material."

"I literally just said you were, dumbass. Take a damn compliment!" 

He peers over your shoulder to see the chips in your bag. "Damn, you're really kissing up to me today. What's the occasion?" He's beaming over the attention you're showering him with - he'd never admit how much he loved it.

You shake your head playfully. "What, I can't spoil my favorite person?" 

Bakugo barks out a laugh while opening the sports drink and chugging half of it in one go. Again, it was stupid how attractive he was, no matter what he did. The summer breeze made his blonde locks dance lazily in the morning sun, a sheen on his flawless skin as some of the liquid spilled out of the corner of his mouth, trickling down his jawline. A sadistic part of you thought he did this shit on purpose to rile you up, testing the boundaries of your friendship. 

If only you had the nerve to just scream from the rooftops - Katsuki, I fucking love you.

“You good, Y/N?” He's waving a hand in front of your face. “Space case much?”

“Yeah! Sorry, apparently still waking up,” you apologize while stretching your arms over your head. “Let’s go!”

───

An hour later, you and Bakugo finish your run in the park, completely drenched in sweat. The two of you plop under a nearby tree in the shade, the humidity adding a layer of exhaustion to your depleted stamina. Lazily slouching over onto your shoulder, he steals the sports drink out of your hand and downs the rest of it himself with a satisfied hah. Somehow, you always forget that he smells like caramel and burnt sugar after a run, invading your senses with that sweet essence that you loved. His bangs stuck to the sweat on his forehead as he dropped his head back against the tree, eyes closed as he caught his breath. 

God, he’s so fucking beautiful, you think to yourself, almost afraid he'd somehow hear you.

"I'm free the rest of the day," he comments between shallow breaths, lazily opening one eye and elbowing your side. "Down for a movie day? Been awhile."

"Hell yeah. Junk food, too?" Your eyes light up with excitement.

"Like you gotta ask. I didn't run three fuckin' miles just to look good," he quips. "Cool if I shower at your place?"

That catches you off guard, sending a flutter of butterflies off in your stomach. Why the hell are you so riled up today? Sure, you've had a massive crush on your best friend for ages, but its usually not this intense. Must be the scent of his sweat deluding your thoughts...or maybe it’s the potential scene of watching him walk out into your living room, shirtless - excess water cascading down his hourglass figure, tracing his abs and settling into the hem of his sweatpants.

Stop it! Calm the fuck down.

"S-sure. I have a pair of your sweats, I think…maybe Izuku’s? It’s like you guys leave your shit at my place so I do your laundry for free." 

He shoves you jokingly, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Hah! Knew it was you who stole my favorite pair. I’ve got shit with me, no worries.”

Bakugo climbs to his feet, extending a hand back to you. “C’mon, I’m fucking starving and dying to do nothing the rest of the day.”

───

The sunset’s sorbet-colored afterglow flooded the living room as the fourth movie’s credits rolled on the TV screen, a faint warm breeze coming through the open balcony door. The two of you had settled in after your run, marathoning through a collection of films you'd be wanting to watch, surrounded by a buffet of comfort food - taiyaki, meat buns, spicy fried chicken bites, mabo tofu, yakitori, and a box full of various flavors of dango. The cashier at the convenience store must have thought you two were hosting an insane party with how much food you bought, cleaning out their entire hot foods section in minutes. 

Bakugo stretched out like a cat, his abs flexing as his black tank top moved up his midsection. It was impossible not to stare, especially when he wore cropped shirts, showing off his hard earned muscles. You found it ironic how you mentioned once - and only once - how crop tops on guys are attractive as hell, and a few weeks later? He had a handful of them that he’d rotate wearing during the summer, claiming he only wears them for “regulating his temperature for his quirk.” You knew that was a bold-faced lie, but never called him on it. Why would you risk making him change his mind when they looked so good on him? 

He let out a satisfactory groan, putting his feet up on the coffee table and hands behind his head. You stretch as well, throwing your feet in his lap like always. Bakugo looked comfortable, like he was at home. You were home to him.

“I got somethin’ on my face?” He jokes, lolling his head to face you. 

Lost in thought, you have no time to stop the words falling from your mouth.

“No, just admiring you.”

Bakugo quirks an eyebrow, surprised by your flattery. You see a faint pink blush begin to make it’s way across his cheeks, an extremely rare sight.

“Th-thanks,” is all he can muster to say in a low voice. 

“Is that so weird to say? You’re gorgeous, Katsuki,” you blurt out, shocked by your own words. Where the hell is this coming from? You normally weren't so...forward. Not that you were lying in any capacity. You've complimented him plenty times before, why is now different? 

Right?

You pause, realizing you could be overwhelming him. He'd always been adamant on how much he hates when "fans" view him as just a sex object rather than respect him as a heroic figure. 

“I know you hate being objectified. I’m sorry -,”

“Don’t be, y’didn't.” 

The static of the TV hummed through the lull in your conversation, the credits of the last movie approaching the end of its sequence. You nervously fiddle with the hem of your shirt. Thank fuck he can't hear your thoughts.

Bakugo notices your nervous tick and grins. That damn shit-eating grin. 

"Relax, Y/N. I didn't say I didn't like it. Big difference between you and a fan girl sayin' shit like that." 

As he’s about to continue the conversation, both of your phones ring simultaneously. That’s weird…it’s 8:30PM on a Tuesday night. Neither of you were scheduled for patrol and all sectors had coverage from the last e-mail update. You pull your phone out to check the caller ID and sigh in annoyance.

Incoming Call: AGENCY - EMERGENCY LINE

“The fuck?” Bakugo huffs, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

───

After 15 minutes, you're debriefed with a new mission, and strangely, you’re assigned with none other than Bakugo and Midoriya. This was extremely uncommon for heroes of top 10 rank to work with those below rank 25 and only happened when other top 10 heroes are too busy. Emergency calls were normally automated messages, but this was a personal conference call from the board of directors.

We are in need of Y/H/N to assist Dynamight and Deku’s mission to stake out a villain’s laboratory tonight in Sector 42. We’ve received reports of civilians going missing near the area over the last few weeks, specifically those with uncommon and rare quirks. There is a probability that hostages are being using for the development of a secret serum, to which is unknown at this time. Report to the agency by 11:30PM for further instruction.

Man, you were really looking forward to more time with Bakugo. Granted, you’ll still be with him, but now you’ll be stalking around for work, not stuffing your face on the couch together.

“Kat, I don’t know what it is, but I…I have a really weird feeling about this stake out,” you admit, unsure of where this anxiety is coming from. This isn’t the first time you’ve been assigned to a mission like this, and certainly won’t be the last, there was just something odd in the air surrounding this one. 

“Yeah. Go grab your suit, I’ll call Izuku to meet us here and we'll go over together,” Bakugo says hesitantly, already dialing Midoriya and bringing his phone to his ear. 

“Hey, yeah just got the call. Y/N and I are at her apartment, swing by and we'll go to the agency together.”

───

By 11:45PM, the three of you are suited up and stationed in Sector 42. The area was very…barren? It was confusing to you how people would wander out here and disappear. It was in the middle of nowhere, miles from the city limits, an open field surrounded by a spotty tree line. Something still felt off about this entire set up - a gut feeling, but it was enough to keep you on edge.

“Y/N?” Midoriya called to you, blinking with concern. “Are you feeling okay? You look a little pale.”

You rub your temple, desperately trying to push the feeling down. 

“Sorry, Izu. I’ve had a gut feeling something was wrong since the phone call.”

“What do you mean?” His interest is peaked, both out of curiosity and concern. 

“Can’t place it, but I feel it, too. Something’s not right,” Bakugo chimed in, surveying the field for any signs of…whatever the hell it was they’re looking for. An entrance to a lab? Masked minions abducting people? The agency was extremely vague in their details. That didn’t sit well with you, and Bakugo now, too. 

“You’re not wrong. This is an open area in the middle of nowhere. Why would anyone wander out here alone?” Midoriya muttered, continuing a conversation with his own thoughts aloud. “It's not a common road for travel, by foot or by vehicle. And how would the agency know what this villain is making without having the location of the lab in question?”

The abrupt sound of creaking metal echoed around you, a sense of danger spiking in your nerves. You place a hand on the shoulder of both Midoriya and Bakugo to halt them in their tracks.

“Did you hear that? It sounded like a door was opening…close by,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Whoosh!

You didn’t register there was another presence amongst you until the dart made contact with your skin. A warming sensation flowed through your right shoulder as you let out a cry, stumbling to your knee. What the fuck? Your hero suit was designed to prevent piercing damage to a degree, but this dart cut right through it. The dart resembled a syringe, automatically activating the injection mechanism as it pierced your skin.

“Y/N!” Midoriya shouted, immediately wrapping an arm around your waist to whisk you away from another potential attack. Bakugo whipped his head around, looking for any sign of where the dart came from. Was someone hiding, or was it a device hidden out of sight? Maybe in a nearby tree? That's not possible, these trees don't have enough leaves for coverage like that.

“Hold still, I’m going to pull it out,” Midoriya warned. You braced for the pain as he yanked the dart from your shoulder, tossing it out of reach. You wince, the sting slowly fading a few seconds later. “Are you feeling okay?”

Things were starting to feel fuzzy, the ache spreading rapidly through the rest of your body. Everything felt warm and cold simultaneously, as if your body was at war over what temperature to settle on. 

“I’m alright, just…dizzy,” you mumble, slurring as you attempt to reassure him.

Midoriya helps you to your feet, offering to let you use him as support. You wave a hand, muttering over and over again I’m fine, I’m fine. There’s a pulsing sensation starting to build in your shoulder, creeping its way through your right arm. It’s tingling, crawling - uncomfortable, but not painful. What the hell was in that dart? 

A flash of black invades your vision, throwing you off balance as things pixelate and sharpen repeatedly before completely disappearing. Things are spinning and your senses are dulling. You notice that you don’t hear Bakugo or Midoriya anymore…did they wander off? You should be able to hear explosions, gusts of wind, crackling energy - something.

A force knocks you on your back, slamming you to the ground. You don’t feel a damn thing, just a vague numbness as your body, what you presume, hits the ground. You can’t make out whatever, or whoever, it is that is attacking you. I still can’t hear anything! Can you speak? Can anyone hear you even if you could?

…Y…N! …Y/N!

A voice? It’s muffled, but you hear someone calling for you. Was that Midoriya?

“Let her go, jackass!”

Oh no, that’s Bakugo. 

His booming voice reverberates through your head, sending your thoughts whirling in a vortex more than they already were. A vision of the battlefield was starting coming into focus, hazy, but a semblance of scenery was making its way back to you. When did I get up from the ground? Didn't I get knocked down? 

The field before you was littered with debris.

…Branches and broken stumps of dead trees.

…Craters in the ground.

…are those broken pieces of Bakugo’s gauntlets? 

…patchy trails and puddles of blood soaking into the dirt.

The sights sent a chill up your spine - your gut instinct was right. 

To your right, Midoriya panted with force as he held onto his thigh, blood seeping through his suit and staining around the wound. He was close enough that you could see the detailing of his tendons exposed from the impact, frayed pieces of skin hanging from the damage. His hair was slicked back, matted with a mix of, what you think, is dirt and blood. The rest of his suit had a variety of slashes and cuts, the material tattered and torn all over his body.

To your left, Bakugo’s on the ground, battered and bruised as he’s struggling to get to his feet. His gauntlets were missing, along with the glove underneath on his right hand. His exposed forearm was beat red, what looked like hand prints blistering the area. Blood trickled from his forehead and pooled under his mask. He’s shouting again…you can’t quite make out what he’s saying as he’s extending his bare arm in your direction.

What the fuck happened?! 

Something inside you clicks abruptly, adrenaline surging, urging you to fight. It’s competing with the numbness in your muscles. How much damage have you taken if you can’t feel a damn thing?

Fuck. Come on, dammit. Move, fight - do something! Help them!

In your peripheral vision, a man appears beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder. You turn on your heel, ready to activate your quirk and blast this guy into oblivion. Your hand meets his clothed chest with a thump.

Nothing happens. 

Your quirk doesn’t activate.

Another swing, focusing all the energy you have into a concentrated blast.

Nothing.

Panic sets in as you study your hand, mortified that you’ve been rendered useless. Your mind is racing faster than you can keep up with. Is this the serum they talked about earlier? How long was I unconscious...was I even unconscious? 

And then it dawns on you - it’s a quirk suppressant. 

The serum they’re using to abduct people nullifies their quirks to make them a willing target.

The mystery man cups your chin, forcing you to look up at him. Your vision tunnels on his face, the rest of your body shutting back down. You feel your arms flop to their sides as your knees begin to buckle - the adrenaline being zapped from your muscles at his touch. 

“Good, it’s setting in. You’ll be a decent specimen. We’ve been waiting for a psionics user like you to add to our roster.”

A giant swirl of matter begins to manifest in front of you, a gentle force sucking you closer to it’s entry point. You can't help but think about how helpless you look in this moment, confused as hell that this scrawny man could take down three heroes with ease. You fucking hated the feeling, never wanting to be the damsel in distress. It pissed you off beyond belief.

“It’s time.” The man, in what you can now see is a white lab coat, turns you around to face the boys sprawled on the battlefield. “We’ll be going now.”

Every inch of your body is screaming run. But you can’t. You can’t move, paralyzed by all the conflicting effects of the serum running rampant through your veins. Your vision is dimming once more, your eyes threaten to close as Bakugo’s voice drags you back to reality. Your eyes snap open as he appears in front of you, digging his heels into the dirt. 

“Hey, wake up! I’m not letting you go!” 

He’s screaming at the top of his lungs, pleading for you to hear him as he clutches your forearm, attempting to pull you to him. You can’t feel it, but by the strain shown in his bicep, he’s using all of his strength to hold onto you. His eyes are full of panic, wide and bloodshot, crimson irises aflame.

"Let her fucking go!" he roars a second time. His hand is slipping down your forearm, now desperately gripping onto your hand. You attempt to grasp it to no avail, your strength failing you. You hear him let out an anxious grunt, struggling against the force of whatever is pulling you away behind you.

Time seems to slow as you lock eyes, an exchange of unspoken words between you two. A sense of dread begins to flood through your body as you see tears threatening to spill out of his eyes.

He's terrified. 

You remember a thought from earlier in the day, if only I could scream "I love you."

There will never be a perfect moment, never a time and place for you to say it. You have to create the moment yourself.

A steady breath escapes you, softly gazing at Bakugo as you see his fingers slipping through your own.

"Katsuki," you mouth, barely able to hear the sound of your own voice.

"I love you."

The last thing you see is Bakugo frantically scrambling toward you before darkness envelops your sight.

- - - BAKUGO POV - - -

Everything happened in the blink of a fucking eye.

Ambushed, both him and Midoriya were hazed with a mysterious smoke, rendering their quirks useless. His explosions fizzled out as he fought the onslaught of henchmen surrounding them, armed with various weapons. The two of them blitzed through a good number of them before quickly becoming overwhelmed - 25 on 2 wasn't ideal odds.

Their hero suits were ripped, equipment shattered as they were punched, kicked, stabbed at, battered, and thrown around.

"I don't need my fuckin' quirk to kick your asses!" Bakugo threatened as he swiped at a nameless henchmen, nailing a right hook to his jaw. Midoriya was holding his own behind him until he let out an agonizing yelp, falling to the ground audibly.

"Deku!" Bakugo called out, spinning in the direction of his cry as someone socked him from the left side. He skid onto the ground, particles of dirt trailing behind him.

Regaining his composure, he looked around to see that all of the henchmen had swiftly disappeared without a trace, as if they were never there in the first place. What the fuck?

He saw her body standing still, some man in a lab coat behind her. She resembled a lifeless puppet, the light from her eyes dim and limbs loosely at her sides. It looked as though she could collapse at any moment.

"Let her go, jackass!" Bakugo shouted, unable to get to his feet.

The unknown man gripped her shoulder as a large black mass appeared behind them. 

Is that a portal? That looks like Kurogiri's quirk from years ago, he thought to himself, willing every fiber of his being to get to his fucking feet.

He's able to muster enough strength get one knee off the ground, enough to launch in range of her and wildly grasp for her hand. 

“Hey, wake up! I’m not letting you go!” 

Bakugo doesn't realize he's screaming, he's acting on impulse and adrenaline - desperation to save her. His hand is slipping at an agonizingly slow pace, moving from forearm to her hand, hardly able to keep his hand clasped with hers. He's cursing internally, hoping that she can't see the terror in his eyes, the anxiety filling him to the brim. That's when he hears her speak, her voice hauntingly quiet.

"Katsuki, I love you."

His hand slips away, watching her disappear into the portal. It closes in an instant as he's hopelessly dashing to it, not noticing that Midoriya is charging from behind him. They briefly collide, stumbling from the impact before they both steady themselves. 

The silence surrounding them is deafening.

"Kacchan," Midoriya snivels, head hung low. "I'm sorry I wasn't fast enough to help." His voice was breaking, clenching his fists at his side.

Bakugo stares at his hand, collapsing to his knees. He felt nauseous, the crippling realization churning in his stomach.

I love you.

Her voice ricocheted through his head, bouncing around as it tugged hard at his heartstrings. An overwhelming sensation of loss fills his heart, refusing to come to terms with the current reality. 

A brief memory flooded into Bakugo's mind, reminding him of a feeling he'd long shoved away. One night - years ago - at his brand new apartment in Tokyo, they'd been up all night talking after the long day of moving his shit into the place. It was 3AM, boxes piled everywhere as they laid in his bed, bullshitting the night away with random talks of life. She started a vulnerable conversation of mental health amongst heroes, ranging from her own family issues and medicated struggles as examples of not knowing what people deal with beneath the surface. He'd been listening, watching as she poured her heart out next to him, able to smile through it all. It was in that moment that struck him like lightning - he'd fallen madly and irrevocably in love with her. He had convinced himself there was no way she would have felt the same, forcing himself to suffocate that feeling for years.

And he was wrong.

Midoriya crouched down beside him as he's lost in the memory, a hand on his shoulder. 

"We'll find her, Kacchan, don't worry," he attempts to declare confidently as his own tears are staining his cheeks. "She's strong, she'll be -,"

"She said she loved me." Bakugo's facade was shattering before his eyes as he watched his best friend crumble onto the ground, clutching his chest. He couldn't control the wail that escaped him, tears pouring from his eyes like the downpour of a rainstorm. 

Midoriya pulled him close, Bakugo falling limply into him, curling into a ball as they sobbed together.

and thus begins the traumatic story of bakugo and midoriya losing their best friend to a mystery portal to nowhere!

Divider by : @/saradika

[empresskylo]

beneath the mask ✩ chapter 6 ⬅ch.5

➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ➠SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X AFAB!READER ➠CHAPTER TAGS | afab!reader. mean!ghost. wc 3.7k ➠AUTHOR'S NOTE | not in love with this chapter, but i am in love with the tension. enjoy hehe

𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

you walked out of your room in the safe house, tugging on and securing your tactical vest as you did. you made your way into the living room and found ghost seated, propped backwards, legs spread slightly, and his arm resting on the armrest of the couch as if he was comfortably seated to watch a sports game. 

your feet faltered, hesitating slightly once you saw him, his eyes sharply following your movements. “where is everyone?” you asked, looking around. you peeked into the kitchen and found it desolate.

“left.”

you gave him a puzzled look, having no choice but to walk further into his space and sit across from him. you sat close to the edge, your body tight and closed off–a much more tense position than ghost was in. 

“got intel hassan’s men are on the move. soap and the others went to follow the lead.”

“so, why are we still here?”

he shifted in his seat, slouching even further into the couch. you felt your heart race–it wasn’t your fault he looked so damn good spread out before you like he didn’t have a care in the world.  

“we’re waitin’. gonna follow in a bit. make sure this wasn’t all a diversion. i got a feelin’ i know where they might actually be headin’.”

you nodded, rubbing your hands on your thighs as a distraction from the intimacy of the situation. “but why me?”

you wondered if ghost was smiling at all under his mask–or making any sort of gesture in general. “you were the only one still asleep. just made sense it’d be you t’stay back with me.”

“oh.” you weren't sure what you expected, but hearing that he chose you out of simplicity stung even though it shouldn't. you had to stop letting your feelings get in the way.

you felt the awkwardness surrounding you and you alone, like you were the only one experiencing it. ghost looked so cool and collected–it was actually starting to piss you off. you wondered how he always did it. 

“when do we know when to leave?”

“soap’s gonna give me word once he’s at the location.”

“and in the meantime?”

“we wait.”

“i know that. but…like…what do we do?”

“you’re askin’ me how to keep yourself entertained?”

your face went hot. you weren’t used to extended missions. you never had to wait. you weren’t sure how you should be preparing or if you should be looking some dossiers over. obviously, you weren’t asking ghost how to keep yourself entertained, and he knew that. it's like he got off on making you embarrassed. 

and just that thought alone, imagining what he got off to–which was a joke–sent a rush of butterflies to your stomach. you tried to hide the increasing way your face flushed by pulling up your mask to cover your mouth and nose. 

an hour passed and you were sat on the floor, across the room from ghost, your medical supplies sprawled out before you. you had sorted everything twice now and were trying to neatly organize everything back into your bag. you were bored out of your mind as you grouped things together on the carpet.

two combat boots appeared in your peripheral vision and you gulped. you slowly traced up ghost’s body until you reached his eyes that were looking down at you, his arms crossed. 

“what’re you doin’?” he asked. 

“oh, uhm. i was just going through my med bag. reorganizing and taking inventory...” your voice trailed off.

to your astonishment, ghost sank to the floor, crossing his legs and hunching over. your eyes widened as you watched him look over your tools spread out on the carpeted floor, too afraid to speak or you might ruin the moment. 

was ghost bored too? a sense of dread and anxiety pooled in your stomach. you felt like that night over a week ago where ghost told you his real name and you lectured him on letting people in, brought you closer in a sense. yet the two of you decided to ignore that connection, instead acting like nothing had even happened.

it appears i’ve grown… to like you. his words rang in your head. life is pretty fuckin’ miserable when the people you let in leave you.

“what’s that?” he asked, pointing to an unmarked tube and making you refocus your attention. 

“oh, that’s just a hemostatic agent. i use it to stop bleeding. it creates a sort of instant scab,” you said, gesturing your hands around nervously as you spoke. 

he seemed pensive as he continued to look over your artillery. “and that?” 

“that's a cricothyrotomy kit. you know… for keeping the airway open.”

he nodded. “and in that case there?”

“my automated external defibrillator.” you smiled at him. “got a new one recently. It’s very fancy," you said, widening your grin and mimicking his accent.

ghost made a humming noise, acknowledging that he heard you. 

“you always carry all this around?”

“i mean… yeah.”

“just seems like a lot for someone of your... caliber.” yes, you knew you weren't as strong as the other men, being a medic and all, but that didn't matter to you. you didn't care how heavy your bag was. you'd carry around anything and everything you needed with the potential to save someone's life.

you knew ghost was already aware of this information, too. he’d been in the military for how long? 10 years at least. but you humored him anyway. he was probably looking for something to occupy his time. you wondered if he was used to more exciting companions and that made you suddenly self-conscious of your entertainment value.

“you never know what kind of situation you might run into out there. it’s good to always be prepared.” you worked on shoving everything back into your bag, strapping things into their proper slots. 

you finished zipping up your bag when you spoke again. “want to play a game?” your face immediately went hot at your words. you sounded so stupid. 

your eyes slowly looked up to meet his. ghost leaned backwards on his hands, watching you intently. “what kinda game?”

“uh,” you thought for a moment, pushing your bag to beside you. “there's one i know, where you say something you’ve never done, but are hoping the other person has. if the other person did do the thing, they put a finger down. whoever has all 5 fingers down first, loses.”

“mmm.” he hummed, thinking. “what happens to the loser?”

“oh, i don’t know, actually,” you anxiously twirled your hands together. “it’s usually a drinking game so…”

“for fun then,” he muttered, setting you back at ease from your overthinking. 

you looked at him, wishing you could see his face right now to get a better read on what he was thinking.

“you first,” he said. 

“right.” you took a moment to think before speaking. “i have never… killed anybody.”

he snorted, making you jump slightly in bewilderment. “so we’re gonna play like that, huh?” he challenged, almost playfully. 

your chest began to beat rapidly. ghost held up his hand and put one finger down before resting back on it. 

you smiled as he lulled over his thoughts. “i’ve neva amputated someone’s leg.”

you puffed out a breath of air. “that’s cheating!” 

“you didn’t set any rules,” he said matter-of-factly, but with a clear smirk on his lips.

“you’re supposed to say things that you’re not entirely sure the other person has done, otherwise i could sit here and say i’ve never grown to be six feet tall.”

“six three,” he added. 

you scowled at him. "not the point." although, knowing he was that tall made you get goosebumps.

“well, you know for a fact i’ve killed people,” he added, referring to your first prompt. you rolled your eyes knowing he was right and he chuckled. you never thought someone laughing could sound so enchanting. 

“we’ll call it even then. from now on, we’ll do things we might not know.”

he nodded. something about this game felt so intimate as he sat across from you, staring at nothing other than you. you gulped under the pressure. 

“i have never…” you wondered what’s something you’ve never done that ghost has. he was quite a few years older than you and experienced in every sense of the word, so you figured this might be easy. 

you’re not sure why you let your next words escape you, but you immediately regretted them once they did. “...been in love.” your face went red hot at the admission. how fast the game took a turn and it was your own fault. 

ghost’s eyes studied you, flickering back and forth between yours. he was unreadable. you waited for him to hold his hand up and put another finger down, but he never did. a small breath left your lips as you watched him look above your head, thinking of another prompt. 

you clenched your teeth at the newfound information. ghost had never been in love…simon had never been in love. 

“i’ve never lied about datin’ soap to get some prick off my back.”

you gasped. “how’d you know?! did soap tell you? that bastard," you cursed, making ghost laugh. you momentarily thought back to the soldier who had been in the infirmary for a week and how he would not stop asking you out no matter how many times you refused. to your relief, soap had overheard one of abundant proposals and swooped in to the rescue, placing a kiss on your forehead and asking you if you still wanted to have lunch together. you may have blushed profusely, but you were so thankful. it was rather annoying that the man thinking you were involved with johnny is what it took for him to stop asking. not your flat-out rejections.

ghost hummed, “jus’ a good guess.”

you eyed him unsure but a smile rose on your lips as you looked down at your boots and thought of another. you liked that he seemed to be enjoying himself. he was laughing. and you had never had the chance to make him laugh. 

your back was against the wall and you pulled your knees into your chest, your hands fiddling with your laces. “i have never accidentally shot my gun off.”

ghost raised his hand and put a finger down. your mouth opened and your eyebrows went up. “no way,” you said in disbelief.

“it was a long time ago. no one got hurt,” he assured.

the way ghost spoke led you to believe he may have been a bit flustered at admitting that. you couldn’t believe that that is what it took to bring about a bashful ghost, no matter how slight the flush may be. you wished you could see the pink rise to his cheeks. 

ghost looked around the room as he thought. you saw the way his blonde eyelashes reflected the soft light from the corner. his eye makeup was smudged and just barely showed signs of his eyebrows. you marveled at this man you could barely see. you tried to shake your head free of these tormenting thoughts. 

“i’ve never joined the military out of the goodness of my heart.”

you scoffed and gestured a finger down before placing your hands on your boots again. “what’d you join for, then?

he shifted his position so his leg was bent out beside him and he leaned to the side on his hand, his other draped over his knee. “not sure anyone can join for a good reason. you end up killing innocent civilians no matter how hard you try to avoid it.”

you swallowed at his answer. maybe he was right. but you weren’t doing the killing, so were you really to blame?

ghost seemed to read your mind. “bein’ a bystander might not be as bad as pullin’ the trigger, but still…”

he saw you close in on yourself as you took in what he was saying. he didn’t want to upset you, but he wasn’t going to pussyfoot around things either. 

before he could say more, you spoke, cutting off any more exestential words from ghost. “i have never hurt somebody with no remorse.” your eyes flickered up to his and something dark began to brew in them. 

you watched as his body tensed. “is that what ya think of me?”

you shook your head, embarrassed at what you said. you didn’t mean to make it sound like that…

“simon, i didn’t mean–”

his bitter words drowned you out. “i’ve neva had a lil’ crush on my lieutenant, actin’ like this is all a big fuckin’ game.” his sharp eyes snapped to yours, his gaze igniting your skin. 

he knew. the bastard knew and now he was poking fun at you. he was pissed off at what you said and now he was going to take it out on you. his short temper sometimes crept up on him at the worst possible times.

you tried to subdue your shocked expression and will the embarrassment and tears away, but it was no use. you swallowed hard and grabbed your bag and stood up. “i don’t want to play anymore.”

you strolled across the room, wanting to hide from ghost. you heard him shuffle as he stood up and sighed. then he called out your name. “wait… i didn’t–”

soap’s voice cut in, grabbing both of your attention. you spun to listen. “ghost! we’re gonna need backup!”

“where are you?” ghost asked, the panic nowhere to be found in his voice. 

ghost and soap finished conversing as ghost ushered the two of you out and to the bottom floor. outside of the building you saw only one vehicle sitting in the driveway and it was a motorcycle. 

wait… did ghost expect you to–?

“get on,” he demanded, swinging his leg over the bike and starting it up. 

you hesitated as you stepped closer to the bike. “i’ve never–”

“we don’t have time. get the fuck on .” his resentful tone startled you. 

you were flustered as you awkwardly got on the motorcycle behind him, trying to keep your body from touching his, but it was inevitable. 

“no helmets then?” you asked. 

ghost turned slightly to look at you behind him. “better hold on,” was his only response.

he didn’t start moving until he felt your arms wrap around him. the second he took off, you were left with no choice to to squeeze your grip around him far tighter so you didn’t fly off the back. you pressed your face to his back and closed your eyes. 

after a few minutes, you slowly pried them open and felt your heartbeat begin to steady. it wasn’t so bad. the wind in your hair was actually rather enjoyable. 

feeling a bit more confident and realizing how entangled you were with ghost, your hands released him and rested on the part of the bike in front of him. you were already pressed against him, you didn’t want to also be hugging him to death. god, this was so embarrassing . especially after the way he called you out on your infatuation with him. you wanted to curl up in a hole, thanking god if he put you out of your misery. 

without warning, ghost used one of his hands to grab your own and he roughly put them around his waist. “don’t fuckin’ let go ,” he growled over his shoulder at you. 

a bit astonished, you did as you were told and kept your hands clasped together around ghost’s lower stomach. 

ghost slowed his bike as he edged on the location and you peeked to look around his back. you spotted a building engulfed in flames and a cry left your lips. ghost skidded the bike to a stop and hopped off, grabbing you without thinking, lifting then setting you down. 

you looked up a him a bit starstruck but he was already belining for the building. “wait! it’s not safe!” you called out to him, nervous he’d run inside. 

he tracked around the building's perimeter and found soap and three other teammates leaning over and panting. “what happened?” ghost asked them. 

soap’s words turned to nonsense in your mind as you spotted a figure in one of the windows. you looked at ghost and soap before you made a very bad, rash decision, dropping your bag to the graveled ground. instead of speaking up, you booked it for the door of the building. 

you heard ghost’s voice shout from behind you but you were already in the building and scouring for the person. 

you coughed, pulling up your mask and trying to shield your eyes from the smoke. as you stumbled in the building you realized that it was a house, spotting a couch and dining furniture. you quickly appraised your surroundings. a board fell from the ceiling and made you scream. you jumped backward, just missing the flaming piece of wood and blundered into the next room like a fawn learning to walk. 

that's where you saw him. a little boy was huddled in the corner of what appeared to be a child’s bedroom. he was sitting on his bed in front of the window you saw him in earlier. he was trying to open the window but his hands shot back in pain. 

you called out to him. “hold on! i’m coming…” you sputtered, coughing again, your eyes watering from the smoke in the air. it was becoming all-consuming, your senses being taken over by the potent smoke and heat. 

your name was grunted behind you as ghost wrapped his arm around your waist and hoisted you up into his arms. 

“wait! ghost, wait!” you shouted, pointing at the bed behind a wall of flames. “there's a kid!”

ghost turned, still holding you flesh against him in a vise grip. he contemplated for a moment before setting you down. “don’t fuckin’ move!” he demanded and you nodded in panic. 

you watched helplessly as ghost jumped over the fire, barely avoiding getting burned, then he pried open the window with an extensive amount of force. he grabbed the kid and you could tell he was saying something to him, before abruptly passing him out the window. a sense of relief flooded through you when you were sure the boy was safely outside. 

then ghost turned and made his way back to you. “it’s safer if you just go out the window! i think i can get out–” you began, looking behind you for an escape route. but before you could even finish your sentence, ghost was back by your side and heaving you up into his arms. 

“ah!” you gasped. "is this really necessary?" you asked, referring to him carrying you.

“so fuckin’ stupid,” he grumbled at you as he walked over the wreckage and dodged flames. ghost made it back out through the door managing to keep you both out of harm's way. you heard a loud crackle as the building began to cave in on itself and your eyes went wide with shock. the image of you cutting it too close set you on edge. 

ghost brought you back to where everyone else was standing around the humvee, and plopped you back on your feet. you were gulping for clean air, soap’s hand landing on your shoulder. “you okay?” he asked you. 

you smiled up at him, wiping your face from sweat and smearing ashes across it. “never better.”

“jesus,” he said with a bit of reprieve, “you scared the shit outta–”

soap was pushed to the side as a giant ghost loomed over you, taking his place. “you go run off without orders again, and you’re off the team .” his words were barely anything but a growl.

you gulped, wanting to hide from everyone, especially ghost’s wrath. you spoke, but your voice was husky from the smoke in your lungs and throat. “i’m sorry, i wasn’t thinking… i just wanted to save that boy.”

ghost’s eyes narrowed at you and it sent a shiver down your spine. he hunched over, lining his face with yours, speaking lowly so only you could hear. “you ever scare me like that again…” his voice trailed off as his eyes switched between yours. he took in a breath. “you’re the one who told me to let people in. i’d sooner kick your ass off my fuckin’ team if it meant keepin’ you safe. from leavin’ me . ”

you were bewildered by his words. by his confession. did that mean simon had let you in? or that he was trying to let you in? 

before you had a chance to reply–to nod, to thank him, to do anything of the sort–he stepped away, his fists clenched tightly, and got back on his bike. 

“come on,” soap said, patting your shoulder. “we’re headin’ back. shit was a bust.”

you watched as ghost rode off down the road, the dirt kicked up behind him. then your eyes turned to the burning building, civilians rushing over with water and attempting to put the flames out. 

“what about them?” you asked soap, your feet rooted in place. 

soap followed your line of sight. he struggled with his thoughts, but he knew that you have more important things to take care of. hassan is their biggest threat at the moment, and that takes priority. “they got it. come on,” he tried again. 

“soap…” you whined slightly, unsure of what to do. 

he sighed. “i wish we could help. really. but we gotta get back. shepherd’s orders.”

you looked at him and saw the hurt in his eyes. he hated this just as much as you. 

you spied the boy, his mother hugging him tightly and saying something in his ear as he clung to her. 

you swallowed and followed soap to the humvee. you’re just as at fault as ghost said you were… being a bystander doesn’t absolve you of your sins.

chapter 7 ➡

[writersdrug]

Ghost x Konig x Reader: I Don't Need You (Ch. 6)

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Summary: You (surprisingly) get more comfortable with Kortac, and slowly let yourself connect with the team. You subconsciously tether yourself to Konig, who is more than willing to help you fit in. The pain of the past begins to fade into the back of your mind like the end of a long chapter of your life.

Additionally, Konig starts asking the hard questions - it unearths a piece of you that you'd hoped would remain buried, but you still share the memories with Konig.

Chapter warnings: Mentions of violence, mentions of rape, cursing, google translate German, shirtless Soap, very EXTREMELY watered-down mentions of sexual themes (we ain't there yet, boiis)

Notes: Sorry it took so long, I've got a lot cooking in the kitchen now and I'm hoping to pump out a lot this week!

Additionally, I've had some comments on this work not being an x Reader. First off, I never want to mislead anyone. I label this as an x Reader because Bonnie is not an OC of mine. I've seen other x Reader fics include callsigns that refer to the reader, so I assumed using Bonnie similarly would be alright. I also mentioned a name ONCE in chapter 3, "Jane Morris," which I thought to be a very generic name, and I haven't used it since and don't plan to. I have a personal preference of writing longer, chapter-by-chapter fics in first POV because it feels more natural to me than second POV. The same goes for using y/n - I like to avoid it if I can because it feels unnatural.

Again, those last two thing are a personal preference. I'm not bashing any fics that use these things at all, I enjoy both ones that do and ones that don't, and I don't enjoy one over the other. When I say one feels more natural than the other, I mean it feels more natural to write, not to read. I'm debating changing the name I used in chapter 3 to just y/n l/n to make this a true x Reader. If you still feel like I should change this to an x OC please let me know and I'll be happy to adjust the tags, titles, and descriptions. Again, I never meant to be misleading, and I hope I didn't make anyone angry. If a mistake has been made I am happy to learn from it. Thanks!

Konig had cracked the code on me. He figured out that after a case of American beers and a long drive, away from the crowd of new faces, my outer shell began to soften.

There was still a wall that I was holding up between me and everyone else, even though it was significantly smaller than usual. When Roze and Castillo approached me at breakfast, I didn’t get up and leave. And when Juno used the empty spot in the gym room right next to me, dropping his bag on the floor and giving me a cautious glance as he set up for his routine - I didn’t grab my things and move to the other end of the room. That was my first instinct, but I fought it. Instead I huffed, facing the mirror in front of me and focusing on my sets.

I’d started going to the common area more often – maybe not every night, but often enough. We’d make it a habit to play poker on the nights I did show up. I was better than most of the group, since none of them were quite used to my mannerisms yet. However, Konig and Horangi still took the lead as the winners, despite most of us arguing that they shouldn’t be allowed to play if they were going to wear their masks. The argument would eventually turn into a casual conversation – I didn’t engage in it too often. I preferred to sit and listen, using the time to slowly learn more about the team. I typically planted myself between Roze and Konig, keeping my legs crossed on the seat and nervously fiddling with my Yuengling bottle.

Although I was ashamed to admit it, Konig had become a conduit for my interactions with the rest of the team. The way he engaged with their activities, yet still managed to stay reserved, struck a chord with me. I respected the fact that it could sometimes be difficult to find him on base, and that at the same time, he was always there when I started to feel overwhelmed. I didn’t need him, no… that was a stretch. But sometimes I felt grateful that he was so eager to accompany me places – especially when he invited me to go on “perimeter checks” with him, which mostly consisted of long drives off base.

I don’t know how I had grown to appreciate him so much – maybe it was because he felt similar to me, in the way that we both needed our alone time, and with how we often found ourselves slipping out of the common area around the same time, with the original excuse being that we were tired. Half of the time, we would sit in the mess hall and talk until the early hours of the morning.

“A sniper?” I asked on one particular night, fiddling with the mouth of my beer bottle. “You’re way to big for that – no offense.”

Konig chuckled. “And that’s what they initially told me.” He took a swig of his (nasty) German beer. “But, despite being handed other opportunities, I proved them wrong. I’m sill a damn good sniper.”

I huffed. “Nah, you should be happy you got promoted to Colonel; you’re lucky, you get to avoid being in the trenches – at least, as much as the rest of us.”

“Lucky? No…” Konig said, shaking his head. “I do not like being a Colonel. I’d much rather be doing the dirty work of soldiers than writing these stupid reports.” He slapped a large hand over the manilla folder that sat on the table next to his beer. “It keeps my head busy, and I don’t have to listen to myself think.”

I nodded while sipping my beer. “I completely get that – If I’m not actively doing something with my hands, my brain gets too loud. Like – like there’s a mini me in my head, and the only way to drown her out is by physically doing something. Anything, really.”

Konig laughed – almost a snort – “‘A mini you’. I like that, that’s good.”

I huffed a laugh through my nose, turning my head to hide the smirk on my face. Despite being a large, brutish man, he had a youthful essence about him. It was hidden deep beneath the thick exterior of a war-hardened soldier. But, every now and again, it rose to the surface, touching a part of my soul I hadn’t allowed to be seen in a long time.

I pushed my stack of bills into the middle of the table. “All in.” I said nonchalantly.

Gaz narrowed his eyes, leaning back in his chair and looking down his nose at me. “You’re bloody stupid…”

“Or really smart.” I retorted. I folded my arms over my chest, not wavering under his intimidating gaze.

It was unbearably hot in the room – whether that was from the tension of the game or the broken air conditioner (Price eternally insisted it would be fixed, “… by next week…”), I didn’t know. I was donned in my sweatpants and sports bra, Gaz was in a wife beater and sweats, Ghost was covered head to toe in a sweatshirt and jeans (one could ever rarely catch him wearing anything less), and Soap… well, Soap was Soap. Completely shirtless, with only a pair of gym shorts on. Typical for him to be so shameless.

Ghost looked at his cards, his jaw clearly tense underneath his mask. He wasn’t very good at hiding his unlucky hand – it was almost like he wasn’t even trying. Which was a possibility.

“Fucking hell… I fold.” He tossed his hand onto the table, revealing his sour bunch of cards. He walked to the fridge and cursed under his breath, rummaging through the contents.

“Jesus, you’re a load of dry shite.” Soap commented, leaning against the wall adjacent to Ghost. “You could’ve at least tried to intimidate ‘em.”

“You could try shutting your fucking mouth, alright?” Ghost snapped back. Soap raised his hands defensively, leaving Ghost by the fridge.

He flopped onto the couch near me and Gaz. “Miserable sap…”

I did my best to tune out their bickering. I stared down Gaz, tapping my fingers on the edges of my cards. I was relying on the river card – I had a chance at a four-of-a-kind, praying the last card on the table would be another seven.. It was risky, and Gaz was probably right in calling me stupid. But I was never one to back down from a challenge. I craved the thrill of it. Most of the time, I ended up getting lucky.

Gaz chewed his lip. He cocked an eyebrow, slowly pushing all of his cash to the middle of the table. “Call.” He said.

And I heard it – the telltale sign of his bluff. A fraction of a second where his voice had waivered, followed by him grinding his jaw. I knew I had it in the bag.

I was savoring the moment of triumph, watching Gaz stare at his cards, when I felt a hand on my back. I nearly spun around and yelled at whoever touched me, until I saw a gloved hand place a Yuengling bottle to my right, the lid already popped off. I faltered, staring at the bottle, feeling the hand on my back rubbing a thumb back and forth over my spine.

I glanced behind me, looking up to meet Ghost’s eyes. He was looking down at me with an empty gaze. His eyebrows twitched for a brief moment as he continued rubbing his thumb over the skin of my back.

I knew what he was suggesting. What he was asking. Put a woman on a compound with broken, touch-starved men, and eventually one of them will succumb to the temptation. Even so, I was shocked that it was Ghost. I would say he was showing a weakness here, no matter what he decided to call this – it was an admission that he needed something – something from me, specifically – which I never thought would happen.

He continued staring at me for another few moments, waiting for an answer. Keeping my eyes locked on him, I took the bottle and drank; my reply. He gave the tiniest nod, walking away and sitting down next to Soap – who was shuffling the remaining deck of cards, eyes narrowed at Gaz. He knew he was bluffing too.

I turned back to Gaz, smirking as he revealed the river card.

“You ever think about what you would say to those kids now?” I asked, tapping my beer bottle. “The ones who bullied you.”

Konig hummed. “Mm… not really. I don’t hold too much resentment.”

I chuckled. “If only we could all be a saint.”

“Well, it all happened so long ago.” Konig tried to justify himself. “We were only kids, bored and trying to stay on the surface. They just wanted to look tough so that no one would pick on them. Of course, I wouldn’t understand that as a kid. Maybe then, I would have admired what I’ve become, and I would have wanted to boast about it. But now that I am a Colonel – Ich habe besseres zu tun.”

I sarcastically rolled my eyes. “And that means?”

“Ehh…” he groaned, squinting his eyes. “How is it said… ‘I have bigger fishes to cook.’”

I sputtered, turning my head and laughing. Konig glared at me. “Gibt es ein Problem?” he asked, which I sort of understood. He sounded irritated, that much I could tell.

“No, Konig…” I said, standing up and giving him a pat on the shoulder as I walked by. “Just keep up the English lessons, ok?”

He scowled. “Verpiss dich… Start learning German and maybe I will.” He retorted, and I waved at him dismissively from behind my back.

I stuck my head into the fridge, grabbing a Yuengling and one of Konig’s beers. I walked back and placed them both next to him. Like instinct, he took each one and hooked their lid onto the edge of the table, then smacked the side of his hand down on the tops, sending the lid clattering to the ground. He opened my beer and handed it to me, then repeated the process with his, before reaching down and collecting the lids. He added them to the pile, totaling six beer lids so far.

If someone had shown me this image a year ago – Konig and I, sitting up late into the night, chatting like we’d known each other for decades… not to mention the fact that I was so unusually open with him… I would have been insulted. I would have laughed. No one would have been able to convince me that I would become so attached to anyone else after what had happened with the 141. Yet, all of this felt so natural. It was beyond how I felt that Konig and I were kindred spirits… it really did feel like I’d known him before. Maybe, he reminded me of a part of myself that I tried to bury away.

Or, maybe, I was just submitting to loneliness and trying to justify how quickly I clung to the first available soul. That was also an embarrassing possibility, one that I would rather not admit to.

“I have a question for you.” Konig’s voice and the clink of his beer bottle on the table brought me back to reality.

“I might have an answer.” I replied.

He looked off to the side, perhaps wondering whether or not he really wanted to ask the question. “Who did you kill? And why?”

Just like that, I felt the walls being built right back to where I had them. Bonding time’s over. Back to square one.

His inquiry caught me off guard. I froze, my bottle hovering in the air before I could take a sip, my eyes glued to the table. Just the mention of the incident brought the painful memories up to the surface, like claws scraping at the dirt, digging up the deepest roots.

“Lots of people.” I said, deflecting. I took a swig of my beer.

“You know what I mean.” He scoffed. “Why did you end up in military prison?” He leaned over the table – clearly not planning on letting the topic go.

I sucked my teeth, staring at him defiantly – moments ago, it was pleasant talking to him. Now, I was fighting back the urge to leave him at the table and go to my dorm. I felt ambushed at how he had changed the subject so abruptly. Like he had been waiting for me to carelessly stumble into the trap, and now he was watching me snarl from within it.

He leaned back with a sigh. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I just thought we were getting somewhere here.”

“Oh?” I said dryly, cocking an eyebrow. “’Getting somewhere?’ What’s that sup-“

“Hey, it’s ok.” He raised his hands defensively. “I get it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” His words were forgiving, but his eyes said something else – I knew what he was thinking.

Weak.

I gave him a hateful stare. Fucker know how to play his cards.

“I killed a sergeant.” I admitted. “My lieutenant’s right-hand man.”

That got Konig’s attention. He leaned forward again, putting his bottle off to the side. “Why?” he asked again.

I inhaled deeply, then exhaled, as I leaned back in my chair. My eyes fell to the floor as I forced myself to recall the memories. “In Egypt, a while back. Don’t ask when because I won’t tell you.” I warned Konig, and he huffed – but obliged.

I continued. “We were going in to retrieve a hostile target. Everyone was jumpy – me included. It was dark, and we didn’t know what to expect. After the hostiles started to engage, we were scattered. I got stuck in one tower, so I went upstairs to try and make a foxhole.”

I paused. It was now my own hands, covered in dirt, clawing at the roots of the memory. Each word I said was painful, yet somehow felt overshared. Like I was trying to get Konig to pity me. Except I wasn’t – I just wanted him to listen.

And that’s exactly what he did. No comforting shoulder pat, no soothing words… he just listened. He knew that if he stepped on the wrong spot, it would break my openness, like a branch breaking under his foot would disturb the silence of the woods.

“The sergeant – ‘Flare’ – he was up there, too. I thought we’d had the same idea, but… holy fuck…” I ran a hand down my face, feeling my heartbeat grow faster. “At first, I didn’t know what he was doing, I just heard him making those sounds and I thought he’d been hit, but… he was taking advantage of this – this woman – and with her kids right fucking there… she was probably just trying to hide, to hide them, she had to be so fucking scared… he didn’t even stop when I found him, I don’t know if he even heard me screaming at him.”

I paused, almost waiting for Konig to say or do something, but he remained silent. Despite my eyes never leaving the floor, I could see his blue ones watching me carefully. Concerned, patient, and calm.

“I didn’t know what else to do.” I said, my voice faltering the slightest bit. “So I shot him. In the head.” I unintentionally shivered. “Probably traumatized that poor woman and her kids, but… quick decisions aren’t the best ones.”

I ended my rant with a heavy sip of my beer. Konig continued watching me with wary eyes, which I ignored. I didn’t need consolation, or sympathy, or whatever he might try to offer. Somehow, he seemed to understand that.

“I would have done the same thing.” He commented.

Would you?

After a moment, he exhaled. “I don’t understand… I’d say you were in the right. Why did they put you in prison for that?”

I chewed my lip. “There was… some speculation, that I was jealous of his position. We’d been close throughout my time with the team, and when he got the promotion to second-in-command, I was a bit envious at first. People thought I was taking my anger out on him in what seemed like the perfect opportunity to lie.” I took another sip. “But I was happy for him. He worked hard, and he deserved it. But then the pressure got to him – Lieutenant was always depending on him for too much, and Flare couldn’t handle the responsibility. If he slipped up, it was a lot worse than if one of the rest of us did. I guess… the pressure is what got him in the end. Made him crazy in the end. He didn’t have any morals anymore.”

More silence. It felt uncomfortably loud – Konig’s stare seemed to make my head ring, making me fidget and bounce my knee. I wanted to snap at him. What are you looking at? Why are you asking so many fucking questions? But I was able to keep my anger at bay, justifying the situation by assuming his questions were fueled by nothing more than curiosity.

I figured I had said enough for the night, and finished off the rest of my beer. I slapped my leg, the telltale sign that I was getting ready to turn in.

Konig ignored it, or seemed to not notice. “Why did you kill him?” he asked.

I narrowed my eyes in confusion. “Why did I? What do you mean?”

“Why kill him? Why not just… disable him for the moment, and let your commander deal with him later?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but my voice was a second too late. “Again… in the heat of the moment, you don’t make distinctions like that. You think: ‘shoot,’ or ‘don’t shoot.’ And shooting him was the choice I made.”

Konig’s gaze became scrutinous. He knew I was lying about something… he was hellbent on figuring out what.

He’s going to have to wait a long damn time.

“Goodnight, Konig.” I said flatly. I collected my bottles, getting up from the table. With a clang, I tossed them into the bin by the exit, walking down the hall and leaving Konig sitting alone in the mess hall. I feel tears stinging my eyes, but that’s all they did. It’s all just water under the bridge, y/n. Get it together. You’re alright.

-----

Taglist: @igotmajordaddyissues @princekonig @vixionix

[matchagator]

Clash | jjk (Mature) Ch. 4

Chapter 4 is here! Hope you guys enjoy it. 😁

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

{Main Pairings:} Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader

{Rating:} 18+

{Genre:} Slice of Life | Neighbors

{Summary:} You're a new resident in your very first apartment excited to enjoy the simple life of adulthood. Unfortunately for you, you continue to run into unruly neighbors no matter how much you try to keep to yourself.

{Warnings:} Mature Language, Enemies to Lovers, Hostility, Mild Angst, Sexual Tension, Banter, Smut, Mild Degradation, Sexual Content, Prank Wars, Unprotected Sex , Awkward Tension, Fluff (This list will be updated as each part gets released)

The early morning rays seep through your curtains as your eyes flutter open, your pupils dilating to adjust to the bright lighting. Your down comforter feels immensely soft against your skin, your muscles relaxing as your body rests comfortably on your mattress as it molds to your muscles. You stretch your arms and legs out to each side of you, yawning as you toss between the sheets, the fabric feeling cold against your skin as you relish in the plush surface of your pillows.

It’s finally the weekend, allowing you a day to relax and go out in town to explore in an attempt to aid your social life. Yesterday night, Lisa and Roxanne messaged you about going out to a winery for the day, something you seemed eager to join in to avoid being at your apartment.

The mere thought of what happened between you and Jungkook the night before sends a shudder through your limbs, causing you to shift between your sheets. You turn your body to the side, hugging your pillow close to your chest as your eyes travel along the shared wall between your apartment and Jungkook’s. You lay in silence, noticing not a single sound could be heard from the apartment next door. There is no music, no voices, just silence as you rest, pondering your choices.

Your mind flashes with vivid recollections of the heated passion shared between you and Jungkook. You bring your hand up to your mouth, brushing your fingertips against your lips as the taste of Jungkook’s kiss floods your thoughts. Your body shudders at the memory of his lips and piercing ghosting against your skin, your cheeks heating as you recall his grunts and groans while he fucked you silly on your kitchen counter.

You gasp as your body ignites in an insatiable heat, moisture collecting between your legs as you indulge in your sinful thoughts of Jeon Jungkook. Your eyes shift back toward the shared wall between your apartments. Jungkook was the man that irritated you beyond belief, the man with whom you had a childish prank war just to assert your dominance. He is your annoying neighbor, yet suddenly, you can’t help thinking about the flex of his body against yours and the way he so effortlessly had you longing for more.

A long drawn-out sigh escapes your diaphragm as you peel your covers from across your body, knowing that if you stay in bed any longer entertaining such thoughts, you’ll only become more sexually frustrated. You drag one leg over the side of your bed, allowing the other to follow as you stand from the plush mattress. It might be the weekend, but you surely need to start your day. You decide a trip to the grocery store is the perfect distraction.

Your feet drag along the flooring of your bedroom and you seek out the warmth of a hot shower. Once you’re in the bathroom, you turn on the faucet, allowing the water to heat up as you take care of your morning routine.

The water feels glorious against your skin, allowing any tension to melt from your muscles as the droplets cascade down your shoulders. You reach for your loaf, squeezing some of your favorite scented body wash onto it as you lather it over your body. The sensation sends a chill up your spine as your mind vividly imagines Jungkook standing behind you, wrapping his strong arms around your body as the steam induces you both into a lustful craving.

You quickly realize that your thoughts manage to find their way back onto Jungkook, a groan escaping the barrier of your lips as you throw your head back. “Shit.” You mutter to yourself since it was all your fault for allowing yourself to become sexual with him. “Fucking great.” You groan, realizing that you won’t be able to look at the man the same way now that you know what he feels like inside of you.

The thoughts are quickly shaken from your head as you rinse off, distraught that a nice hot shower didn’t help you cool off from your building desire. You turn the faucet until chilly water shocks you from your haze, standing quietly under the stream before turning off the water.

You make quick work of drying off and getting dressed, opting for a pair of simple black leggings and a tank top since the weather is so incredibly hot lately. You rub the towel through your hair, soaking up whatever moisture you can as you peer into the bathroom mirror. Your eyes locate a small collection of red speckles spread across your neck, another clear reminder of Jungkook’s affection, causing your cheeks to flush red at the memory of him sucking against your skin with feather-light kisses.

You blink as you toss the towel onto the counter beside you, shaking yourself of Jungkook’s haunting image. No matter how much you attempt to think of anything else, the man keeps plaguing your thoughts, sending you into a spiral of desire and dread.

Your damp hair cascades over your shoulders, concealing your love bite from the world as you shift about your apartment to collect your belongings. The faster you leave for the grocery store, the faster you find solace in your imagination. You move quickly to collect your keys from the kitchen counter, grabbing your purse from the hall tree and lazily slugging it over your shoulder.

The front door of your apartment clicks shut behind you as you adjust your flip-flops onto your feet, turning around to lock the door. You let a sigh draw from your lips as your eyes shift to the apartment tucked at the end of the hallway, noticing Jungkook’s gym bag is no longer out in the hallway. You dwell on the memories of your pranks, never imagining they would lead to your mind drooling at the thought of fucking Jungkook again.

You twist your heels to turn toward the elevators, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth as you linger in your thoughts of Jungkook just a little longer. Just as you start to indulge, you hear a click from behind you, turning your body to face your apartment only to realize Jungkook is coming out of his apartment.

“Shit.” You mutter under your breath, suddenly feeling flustered as you turn back toward the elevators, quickening your pace as you press the call button. You pause just before the doors, feeling nervous at the idea of riding inside the elevator with Jungkook. The last time you were in the elevator together, you pulled your shirt off in front of him.

Jungkook notices you as he locks his door, slinging his gym bag across his shoulder as he approaches you. It’s easy for him to check you out in such a form-fitting outfit, your leggings hugging your curves wonderfully and your tank top causing his eyes to hover over your chest. He lets his eyes drop onto the patterned carpet, laughing sarcastically to himself as he keeps his gaze averted.

You can’t help but glance over at him, noticing his tattoos gloriously displayed from the muscle shirt adorning his body. He has on a pair of gym shorts with his hair tied back in a messy man bun. He's stupidly attractive, only fueling your sinful thoughts as he reaches the elevators.

What would happen now? While part of you was thrilled to see him, things are also incredibly awkward, the sensation causing you both discomfort, wishing you could disappear from his view. Maybe you can take the stairs to avoid the awkward elevator ride to the main lobby? You sigh, thinking you’re being completely ridiculous. You are just two neighbors that happened to have the best sex you ever experienced.

Before you can think of a reaction, Jungkook walks directly past you toward the door leading to the stairwell. “Yeah, I’m taking the stairs.” He states simply, causing your jaw to drop open. It doesn’t take long for him to disappear behind the door, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the stairwell as you watch the space he once occupied.

“Seriously?” You scoff, completely offended that he avoided you in the same manner you were just planning moments ago. You cross your arms over your chest, letting out a huff of annoyance as the elevator chime indicates its arrival. You stomp your feet as you walk in, mimicking a tantruming child as you press the button for the first floor. Ultimately, you didn’t blame Jungkook. While you are upset that he avoided you, the awkwardness alone was enough to cause you to cringe, annoyed with the fact that you seem to care what he thinks.

—

The evening is relatively tranquil as you lay across the sectional in your living room, your legs sprawled about your couch as you sit flicking through the various movie selections on your streaming device. You pass a variety of romantic comedies, knowing while they are your favorite, they would surely make you think about a person you’ve been desperately trying to purge from your mind. Despite your efforts over the last few days to forget your moment of passion with Jungkook, you still find yourself thinking about him, stealing glances across your balcony, or even listening to the sound of his music through the walls. 

To your surprise, most of the exhilarating thrill of your prank war is fading as your life becomes suddenly more peaceful. It’s been almost a week without any pranks or obnoxiously loud music. Instead, it’s tolerable and your interactions with Jungkook seem fleeting. 

While a part of you misses the banter and the silly tricks you pull on each other, another part of you is thankful for the distance. You know ultimately there is nothing you can say to Jungkook without feeling immensely embarrassed about the fact that you were screaming his name while he made you gush across your kitchen counter. 

The few moments in passing that you did manage to share with Jungkook were simple nods of acknowledgment and pure avoidance. There was a very clear discomfort between the two of you and part of you craves to know why. On your end, you knew that since that day, you can’t seem to get Jungkook out of your mind. You find yourself longing for an argument or smart-mouth comment from him just to have another moment in his presence. While he drove you insane, the lull in your banter was almost suffocating compared to your old tiresome reality.

You can’t help but wonder what he thinks of all of this. Is his distance out of regret? Was the sex not good for him like it was for you? Why did he insist on avoiding you just as you did him? 

You let out a sigh as you finally stumble across a sitcom, clicking away on your remote as the theme song blares through your living room. You let your head fall back against the couch cushions as you reach for your phone, noticing a text from Roxanne as you tap your screen to illuminate it. You’ve been avoiding her text messages all day, anticipating that if she became aware of you simply relaxing she would drag you out clubbing when all you want to do is rest. 

A soft thumping begins to resonate through your wall, Jungkook’s familiar playlist is vaguely audible over the sound of your television. Your stare shifts toward the wall, irritation sparking as you sit up. While you should be annoyed, you find yourself happy to hear the strangely comforting sound. 

The moment is interrupted by the sudden blare of your ringtone, causing you to flinch from the distraction. You glance down at your phone, sighing as you see Roxanne’s name displayed across the screen. You contemplate letting it ring, but ultimately decide to answer considering she would persistently continue messaging your phone until you did answer. 

“Hello.” You mutter after tapping the screen of your phone to accept her call. You sluggishly pull the device to your ear as Roxanne’s boisterous voice echoes through the speaker. 

“Y/N, what are you doing? Isn’t it your night off?” She interrogates as you roll your eyes at her predictability. 

You nibble on your bottom lip as you come up with some lie to cover yourself. “Yeah, but I had some errands to run today. I just got home.” You hope she doesn’t call your bluff as you fiddle with the remote of the television in your free hand. 

“Oh.” Her voice almost seems disappointed as she addresses someone off to the side. You aren’t able to identify who she’s talking to before she comes back onto the phone. “Well, what’s new at least? Seems like I haven’t talked to you all week.” 

“It’s been okay.” You state plainly, knowing your week has been anything but normal and okay. 

Roxanne’s voice deepens as she adopts a flirtatious tone. “Anything new and exciting with your neighbor?” She giggles, causing you to blush on the opposite end of the phone. The reality was there was a lot new and exciting about Jungkook. However, how were you supposed to explain everything to your friend?

“Um, I mean…” You stumble, trying to find the right words to say. “Things have definitely been quiet.” You opt for a simple statement that reflects the truth. Things have been quiet considering you barely run into him anymore since your random moment of desire. 

Roxanne smacks her lips on the opposite end of the phone, sensing something is off with your demeanor. “What happened? Did he prank you again?” She inquires as you continue gnawing on your flesh. 

“Well, not exactly.” You answer simply. “Things have just been awkward.”

“Why? Oh my gosh, did you guys kiss?” Your eyes widen at her comment, completely thrown off by her accusation. 

“What?! Roxanne, what the hell?” You become defensive, desperately trying to hide the falter in your voice. 

You hear a loud laugh through your ear, feeling as if Roxanne was analyzing your every word. “Hold up, did you bang him?” She adds, causing you to sit up straight on your couch as you practically choke from her accusation. 

“No!” You quickly lie, knowing if anyone was going to catch onto you, it was Roxanne. “Okay, yes.” You groan in defeat as Roxanne gasps in shock. 

“Damn, Y/N! Get some! Your neighbor’s hot.” 

As if it was even possible, your cheeks flush a deeper shade of crimson as you smack your palm over your face. “Okay, we’re done now.” Roxanne quickly protests as you try to wrap your mind around the conversation. You hear her trying to press for more information as your mind starts swirling with more thoughts of Jungkook. “Listen, I really need to get going.” You lie once more, shaking your head as you try to shake off your intrusive thoughts. 

“Okay, but we’re not done talking about this.” Roxanne threatens before you hang up the phone and toss it across the couch. You groan as you fall back against the cushions, covering your eyes with your palms as you contemplate what you’re going to do about this situation with Jungkook. Right now, all you can possibly think of is to continue ignoring him since he clearly isn’t jumping at the opportunity to hold a conversation with you. You let another groan escape your lips as you turn your head to the side to distract yourself from the sitcom. 

—

On the opposite side of your apartment wall, Jungkook’s music plays throughout his apartment as he tries to decompress after another shift at work. He carefully peels his work uniform from his torso as he tosses the fabric haphazardly across the bathroom into his laundry hamper. He makes quick work to peel away the matching pants, discarding the material just as quickly as he moves across his bathroom to seek out his phone that is laying atop the comforter on his bed. 

Given the confinement of his apartment, he casually walks about the space in nothing but a pair of Calvin Klein boxer briefs as he taps his screen to pass the currently playing song. As the instrumental opening of the next song begins to resonate from his Bluetooth speakers, he walks into his bathroom. 

He leaves the door open to hear the music, recognizing the song as the same melody that was playing the day you came over slamming your fist on his door. He smirks as he remembers the way your nose scrunched up in anger as you chewed him out for his choice in music, chuckling at the memory of you becoming flustered from his comments and physique. 

Jungkook clicks the metal of his piercing between his teeth as he fidgets with the metal, passing his tongue over it as he turns on the faucet of his shower. After a long day at work, all he wants is to relax under a warm stream of water, eager to freshen up. 

His thumbs slip into the waistband of his boxers as he slips them down his thighs, stepping out of the article of clothing as he tosses it toward his laundry basket, watching it fall limply against the other pieces of his uniform. 

He slips into the large round tub in his bathroom, pulling the shower curtain closed as the warmth of the stream soothes his tired muscles from a day filled with manual labor. He groans as he tosses his head back, letting the water fall onto his face as he squints his eyes shut. He runs his hands through his hair, slicking it back with the moisture as his muscles flex underneath the heat of the water. 

The nostalgic song continues to echo through his apartment, causing his thoughts to constantly circle back to you despite his efforts to focus on his shower. The temperature begins fogging up the mirrors, and droplets form on the tile from the building condensation. Jungkook’s thoughts entertain the memory of your body, lusting over the way your clothing always seems to hug your frame sinfully, allowing little to nothing for his imagination. 

His mind whirls with recollections of your sexual encounter, remembering the way you screamed his name and helplessly hung onto the counter as he fucked you. Jungkook lets out a grunt as he reaches for the soap, lathering some on his hands as he begins to clean off his body. Your eyes plague his mind as he keeps his eyes shut, the heat of his shower only causing him to become horny at the thought of you.

Jungkook’s hand drops to his groin, rubbing the junction of his pelvis and upper thighs as his length hardens with need. He knows thinking about you in such a way will only lead to his undoing, however, he can’t help but crave you. “Fuck, Y/N.” He groans as his fingers latch around his length, vividly imagining what it felt like to slip inside your tight center. The warmth of the shower helps reflect the heat of your pussy that was wrapped so tightly around him. 

Selfishly, Jungkook begins pumping his hand against his cock, grunting with each stroke as he leans his free hand against the tile in front of him to keep himself steady. He starts panting, imagining each time his hand strokes down his shaft as you bouncing against him, fucking yourself on his length. The song only continues fueling his delusions as he jacks off to the memory of your spontaneous sex, his body quickly climbing from the building desire. 

The memories start fading as he starts imagining you in the shower with him, wishing he could pin you to the wall and fuck you dumb. He lets out a humorous scoff as he wonders what smart remark you’d make at a time like this, picturing the many ways he could tell you the shut the fuck up with his body. 

Jungkook feels his climax climbing its peak as the song nears its end, his hand pumping fast as his dick twitches with stimulation. “Ah, shit I want to fuck you so badly.” He huffs, accepting his fate as he ejaculates across the tub beneath, his chest heaving from the mixture of heat and exhaustion racking over his limbs. 

His hand releases his length as he catches himself on the wall, feeling the water cascade over him as he desperately tries to catch his breath. While the moment of weakness paired with a pleasurable outcome, it also confirmed the reality of his sexual attraction to you. The truth is, his childish pranks were merely a way of flirting and getting under your skin, fighting off his desires even though they are now clearly exposed. 

“Damn it.” He slams his palm against the tile as he spirals into his unspoken confession, knowing that as long as you were his neighbor, he would continue having to fight off his impulses. 

As a new song begins, Jungkook gains the clarity he needs to finish his shower, cleaning off any evidence of his shameless indulgence. He focuses his attention to washing his hair and cleaning his arousal from the tub, deciding to call it a night once he finishes. 

—

The humidity of the early morning slips away as you enter the main lobby of your apartment complex. You took the opportunity to enjoy a run out in the cooler cloudy weather, not realizing that you would end up getting caught in the rain. You shiver as you wipe your feet against the large floor mat just in front of the main lobby doors, shaking yourself off in an attempt to drip the least amount of water over the lavish tile floors. 

You slip your hand into the side pocket of your leggings, pulling out your keys as you slowly start to maneuver through the corridors in search of the mailroom. It’s been a few days since you avoid the public location, knowing each time you utilize the amenities your apartment offers, it’s another chance of running into Jungkook.

The squeak of your shoes announces your presence as you reluctantly turn the corner to find the room lined with sleek mailboxes. there is only one other person in the room and it’s some random tenant you have never met before. You move your hands up to your neck, collecting your damp hair as you gather it to one shoulder. Your eyes shift about the space, noticing your last name printed on your mailbox as you move to press your key into the lock. 

You hope there aren’t any bills awaiting inside the small box as you pull open the door panel, smiling once you realize there is nothing to be found in your box. Perfect, you think to yourself as you focus your attention on shutting the unit. The stranger from before is now observing you closely, noticing the damp clothing dressing your body. 

“Is it raining out there?” The middle-aged woman asks, causing you to turn to address the stranger. You smile sheepishly as you peer down at your leggings and tank top that were clinging to your skin from the moisture alongside the water droplets sliding off your windbreaker. 

You nod quietly, shrugging your shoulders with a soft giggle. “It is.” You confirm before twisting your key to lock your mailbox. “So much for a morning run.” You laugh, thankful to see the woman return a friendly smile at your comment. You watch, politely waving at her as she dismisses herself back into the corridor, leaving you to collect your belongings.

What you didn’t notice was that while you were talking with the older woman, a much more familiar neighbor made their way into the mailroom, sneaking behind you to seek out his mailbox. It isn’t until you hear the shuffle of clothing behind you that you turn on your heel to peer back in search of the sound. 

Your eyes widen at the sight of Jungkook, his messy hair pulled back into a neat man bun. You can’t help but let your eyes scan over his physique, noticing a pair of chunky black sneaks peeking out from a pair of black tactical pants cinched at his waist with a large belt. Your heart rate instantly elevates as you focus on his chiseled waist, hating the fact that such a simple part of his body can cause your skin to ignite in an insatiable blaze. 

Refusing to allow your eyes to continue their track up his frame, you quickly turn around to avoid the possibility of another awkward encounter with your stupidly handsome neighbor. You recklessly step away, hoping to make a dash for it until your shoes slide against the tile, not realizing that water dripped from your clothing onto the floor to create the perfect recipe for disaster. 

Your hopeless effort to catch yourself on the slick surface causes you to tumble backward, your ankle rolling on the way down as a sharp pain shoots through your lower leg. “Ow, shit.” You hiss in pain as your backside collides with the hard flooring while your hand cradles your ankle. 

Jungkook is quick to abandon his keys and mail as he moves around you, squatting down to your level as he offers you a hand. Your eyes flicker up from your ankle to find Jungkook’s wide eyes observing you gently, an ounce of sympathy exposing itself on his features as he notices your expression of pain. “Y/N, are you okay?” He offers, resting his arms against his knees with his legs spread open as he squats over you. 

You utilize your free hand to push back the damp strands of your hair that now hang loosely in your face, pushing the pieces behind your ears as you feel the dull ache radiate on your backside from smacking against the hard floor. “I’m fine.” You groan in your agony, feeling sharp tingles pulse through your ankle. 

As you flex your toes, you feel another darting sting shoot up the muscles of your lower leg, causing you to flinch from the crippling affliction. You’re too busy assessing your injuries to notice that Jungkook is holding out his hand, offering his assistance in guiding you back to your feet. You pause, staring at his hand as if it is some kind of foreign object. Jungkook notices your hesitation as he moves to help you despite it all.

“You took a pretty hard fall, here let me…” He moves to cradle your arm to help guide you up until you reluctantly push away from him once again. 

“JK, I’m fine.” You insist, watching him press his palms onto his knees as he watches you attempt to get up on your own. You bend your knee, pushing your weight down onto your ankle to gain the momentum to stand, wincing in pain as another sharp ache radiates through your limb. Jungkook is quick to notice the discomfort on your features, moving to assess your ankle by tugging your legging up gently on the injured limb. 

Your cheeks instantly burn with embarrassment, your throat becoming tight as you feel his fingertips brushing against your skin as he observes your ankle. “JK…I said I’m…”

“Shut up, Y/N.” His voice is stern, throwing you for a loop as you observe his serious demeanor. “For once, don’t be so fucking stubborn.” His eyes examine your ankle as he gently presses on the side of your leg just above the bone. 

“Ow!” You hiss, your voice almost a growl as you shoot Jungkook a pointed glare. 

Jungkook ignores you completely as he continues to assess your injury before shifting his eyes back up to meet yours. “It’s just a slight sprain.” He states confidently as he holds out his hands to help you up once again. 

You scoff at his diagnosis of your injury. “How the hell would you even know that?” You argue back, refusing to accept that he knows more about your own injury than you. 

Jungkook simply laughs as he drops his stare onto the decorative elements of his uniform. “I’m a paramedic, idiot.” His cheeks swell against his eyes as he smiles brightly at you, surprised that you never noticed his line of work. The enlightenment of his career has you focusing back on his uniform, noticing a caduceus on a small patch on his shoulder, a clear sign of the medical profession.

 You realize that up until this moment, you have never seen him in his work clothes. You know he has absurd work hours, sometimes on day shifts while other times he seemed like he was on nights. Suddenly, his odd hours make sense to you, realizing why there was never any consistency with when his music was blaring through the walls of your apartment. You blink as his eyes fall toward his hands, noticing he’s still waiting to help you up. 

You reluctantly accept his help, slipping your palms into his as his strength helps pull you up off of the cold tile. You balance yourself on your uninjured leg, letting your weight press into Jungkook as his sturdy frame helps keep you from toppling over. “Thanks.” You offer sheepishly, realizing how silly you must appear to him.

Jungkook feels himself pause as your body presses into him for support, vivid images of your bodies intermixing in other ways plaguing his thoughts. He quickly shakes the thoughts from his mind as he guides you to hold onto the counter in the mailroom. “Let me get my stuff and I’ll help you upstairs.” 

Without missing a beat, Jungkook moves to close his mailbox and collect his things before turning his attention back to you. “No, it’s okay, really.” You insist as you start hobbling your way toward the door as you use the counter as a helpful crutch. 

Jungkook slides beside you, slipping his arm around your waist as he rests his hand right over your love handles, pulling you into him. “Let me help you or I’ll carry your ass upstairs.” He threatens, the corner of his mouth tugging into a smirk as your jaw drops open, completely thrown off by his insistence. 

Instinctually, you want to snap back at him but you quickly realize that having some help might be the most beneficial thing for you at the moment. You glance at him from the side, noticing that he is staring you down, prepared to lift you over his shoulder if you retaliate. “Fine.” You whisper softly, groaning slightly in defeat as he bends his knees to allow you the opportunity to wrap your arm around his neck for better support. 

You stumble alongside Jungkook as you both venture toward the elevators, refusing to make much eye contact with him. You suck in a sharp breath as his fingers tighten around your waist, his touch setting your skin on fire beneath your jacket. It isn’t long until you’re standing in front of the elevators, waiting for the doors to open and leaving you both confined together in a tight space. 

The awkwardness of the week weighs heavy on you both as you stiffly endure each other’s presence. You find yourself enjoying his company, wishing to discuss the most recent events to figure out what the hell happened between you. You want to clear the air and get rid of the floor of eggshells you had been walking on all week. However, you stay silent, knowing it’s not the best time to figure it all out. 

As the tone rings, the doors slide open while Jungkook guides you inside, your legs helplessly following behind as you limp your way inside the lift. Jungkook takes care of pressing the seventh floor while your eyes find the paramedic patch on his shoulder. 

“I didn’t know you worked at the hospital.” You state in an effort to slice through the silence, hoping to diminish some of the tension between the pair of you. 

Jungkook’s large eyes brighten at your comment, chuckling softly as the door encases you within the elevator. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, princess.” He adds with a breathy laugh, causing you to nibble gently on your bottom lip. 

“I didn’t think an asshole would have such a noble profession.” You tease, causing yourself to giggle as Jungkook’s features harden. You can see your comment struck a nerve with him as he loosens his grip around your waist. 

Jungkook tilts his head to the side as the tension in his neck loosens with a pop. He tongues the inside of his cheek as if biting his tongue from lashing out at you. His eyes focus on the seam of the elevator doors as you hobble in place. “I’m not an asshole to everyone, you know.” He grits between his teeth, his demeanor softening before flashing you a cocky grin. “Just to spoiled brats.” 

You relax as his playful demeanor returns. You gently push against his shoulder, causing him to stumble slightly in place as you roll your eyes. “Shut up.” You groan lightheartedly as his grip on your waist tightens for the flirtatious banter ensuing between you. 

Your heart begins pounding in your chest, the organ drumming in your ears as a moment of intensity sparks between you. The playful demeanors of both of you melt into the same sexual tension that haunts you, causing you both to get lost in each other’s eyes for just a second. The tone of the elevator causes you both to break eye contact as Jungkook assists you out of the lift toward your front door. 

You fiddle with your keys, feeling increasingly more nervous as Jungkook hovers over you. You finally manage to unlock the mechanism as you turn to thank him for helping you upstairs. “I’ll take it from here.” While part of you wants to spend more time with Jungkook, you know inviting him inside isn’t the best call for your sanity. 

“You sure?” He offers you sympathetically as you nod shyly, knowing you can easily limp your way across the threshold of your front door. You place a relatively large amount of weight on your injured ankle and feel the dull ache, dreading that it will most likely be sore for a couple more days. It’s nothing that won’t improve with proper rest. 

“Yeah, I’m just gonna ice it anyway.” Your hands reach out to either side of your doorway for support as you feel Jungkook’s hand slide down your thigh, stopping at the pocket of your leggings. “What are you…?” You begin to say before he pulls your phone out of the pocket, causing a shiver to run up your spine from his touch.

He easily manipulates your phone given that you recently removed the password now that you live on your own. “At least text me or call if you need help.” Your eyes fall onto your screen, watching as Jungkook types in his number, creating a new contact in your phone. You suddenly feel excitement at the thought of having Jungkook’s number before realizing he is only giving it to you in case you need him because of your injury. 

As his fingers type away on your phone, you take the opportunity to glance him over one more time. You thought he was hot before, but now taking him fully in his paramedic uniform with his tattoos displayed beneath the short sleeves of his shirt, you suddenly feel the need to fan yourself off. 

“It suits you, by the way.” You hesitantly mention, as you watch his curious eyes flicker up to meet yours. 

“What does?” 

You smile flirtatiously, suddenly completely enamored at the sight of him. “Being a paramedic.” You state simply before pulling your phone from his hand as you turn to walk into your apartment. “Thanks again.” Your words are the last thing spoken before you close the door between you both. 

Jungkook takes a moment to simply stand and watch the space you once inhabited. He runs his tongue along the bottom of his teeth, the corners of his mouth pulling into a smirk at the reality that your banter was accompanied by some flirtatious gestures. He shakes his head happily as he moves toward his front door, thankful to know that you don’t seem closed off to the idea of him.

—

The numbing chill of your ice pack has your skin tingling as you lay back in your bed with your ankle elevated on one of your pillows. A shiver rakes through your limbs from the cold as you sluggishly tug your duvet over your body, the warmth contrasting with the icy texture. You sigh happily as you lean back, reaching your arms up to fluff the pillow beneath your head. 

You feel immensely thankful that most of the pain has subsided since you took some pain relievers and iced your injury, remaining hopeful that you’ll be back on your feet in no time. You finally take the time to think back on today’s events and how you even ended up in this predicament.  You remember your morning run and the sudden oncoming rain before taking a quick trip to the mailbox. 

It was then that you remember the manner in which you tried to quickly escape the amenity to avoid running into Jungkook which ultimately led to your demise. If you wouldn’t have been so flustered and awkward, you might be spending your evening in a wildly different setting than already being tucked into bed. 

You shake your head in exasperation, annoyed with yourself as you think back on if it was really worth it to worry about running into Jungkook. You find that you don’t really regret your choices even if they did lead to your injury. While your ankle might be sore, you managed to hold another conversation with Jungkook, one that seemed to help propel your relationship past the reality that you slept together in a moment of frustration. 

For the first time this evening, you stop to think about the way Jungkook dropped whatever he was doing to tend to your injured self. With the knowledge that he’s a paramedic, it doesn’t surprise you that he sprung into action, ready and willing to help one of his neighbors in a time of need. You smile to yourself as you reflect on his character. Jungkook has always been viewed as your annoying ass neighbor. This new information about his career choice helps you view him as more than just a nuisance.

You stretch your arms behind your head to prop them up beneath the pillow as your mind flashes with images of Jungkook in his paramedic uniform, admiring the way it amplifies his built frame. You can’t help but dwell on the manner in which his muscles flexed against you as he came to your aid, his persistence to help you to your apartment admirable. 

Typically you find yourself arguing with Jungkook, but today offered you a glimpse of a vastly different side of him, one that was caring and attentive, even if it was only for a few moments. You glance over to your bedside table, pulling your arm from beneath your head as you reach for your phone that is currently charging. You fiddle with the wire to make sure it can reach across the length of your bed as you tap the screen, searching your contacts until you find the one Jungkook entered earlier. Your eyes settle on the name.

Asshole.

You roll your eyes as you gently tap your screen, pulling up the information tied to the contact. Your eyes study the digits within the phone number, wondering if he truly gave you his information or if this was another one of his notorious pranks. 

You teeter with the idea of calling him, knowing it would be the perfect opportunity to properly thank him for helping you. Your curiosity desperately wants to know if it is genuinely his number, which is why you ultimately tap on the green phone icon, feeling your heart jolt within your chest as you hear it begin to ring. 

The suspense causes your heart to flutter loudly as you fidget with a strand of your hair, suddenly feeling nervous as it dawns on you that it could truly be his number. What would you say to him after everything? There isn’t much time for you to think until you hear a deep voice answer on the opposite end of the phone. “Hello?” 

You freeze for a moment at the confusion in his voice, remembering that he only gave you his number, and not the other way around. “Hey…It’s Y/N.” You say bashfully as Jungkook’s voice instantly softens.

“Well, if it isn’t princess.” He teases, a youthful playfulness in his tone as you roll your eyes at his condescending nickname. 

“You know, I half expected this to be a number to a sex hotline.” You joke, not putting it past him as your chuckle resonates through the speaker. 

Jungkook clicks his tongue, “Is that why you called?” He questions which leaves you pondering the real reason you decided to reach out to him. “Or did you just wanna talk to me?” He adds with a cocky tone, causing you to smack your lips in protest. 

“In your dreams.” You object as you rotate your body to face the wall that was shared between your two apartments. Jungkook simply laughs at your denial, finding the manner in which you blatantly deny your intentions endearing.

“How’s your ankle?” His voice becomes soft, the concern in his tone is genuine as he inquires about the wrapped-up appendage still resting on your pillow. 

You smile subconsciously at his concern as you wiggle your toes, still feeling the pressure of the swelling causing the familiar ache from earlier. “A little swollen…but better.” You answer shyly, still feeling embarrassed that you slipped and injured yourself in front of him like that. 

“Good.” He states simply, his voice morphing into a more seductive tone. “Now that you know I’m not a….sex hotline, was it?” 

You smack your lips in annoyance, rolling your eyes. “Oh, shut up, JK.” Your heart nearly melts at the sound of his childlike laughter through the phone, the man suddenly becoming more endearing.

“No seriously though,” He adds, his laughter subsiding. “Call if you need anything.” He’s serious in his statement which causes you to blush at the thought of him truthfully caring about helping you out if need be. 

“I will.” You try to hide your bashfulness, remembering that the real reason you even called in the first place was to properly thank him. “Oh…JK?” He hums in response as you nervously start nibbling against the skin on the inside of your cheek. “Thank you for helping me earlier.” You suck in a breath, gaining enough courage to suddenly be a little more vulnerable around him. “I really appreciate it.” Your voice is sincere as stillness fills the air, both you and Jungkook remaining silent for a moment. 

If you were in Jungkook’s apartment, you would see the goofy grin he has painted on his face. Instead, you’re left in the dark, wondering what he was thinking about on the opposite end of your call. “You’re welcome, Y/N.” He finally speaks, causing you to finally release the breath you withheld. 

“Okay well…goodnight.” You add quickly, feeling as if the awkwardness is returning. You hear him return a goodnight before clicking the end button, tossing your phone down to the side as you press your head back into your pillow. Despite everything, you can’t help but feel giddy after talking with him, your smile invading your cheeks, causing you to realize that Jungkook has more influence over your emotions than you care to admit. 

—

A smile stretches across your lips as you walk across your living room, thankful that your ankle’s swelling has dramatically decreased alongside the pain. It’s been a few days since you sprained it and sitting at your desk at work really helped you get the rest you needed. 

You have your favorite book tucked beneath your arm as you make your way toward your balcony, eager to spend the evening peacefully reading while you continue to rest your foot in hopes it’ll heal for the next weekend to come. You pull open the sliding glass door to step outside, noticing a surprising chill swirling between the balconies of the courtyard. 

Your eyes scan your surroundings, noticing barely anyone is outside at this time of the evening. You peer through some of the opened blinds of apartments opposite yours in the courtyard and notice families having dinner or people snuggling on their couches while watching movies or playing video games. 

The breeze continues blowing through the rectangular courtyard, most of the harsh gusts blocked off by the towering structure of the complex. You shiver slightly, missing the warmth that usually accompanied summer nights. You turn to head back inside, seeking out the warmth of a fuzzy blanket to keep you toasty while you enjoy some fresh air. 

Before you can step back inside, your eyes settle on the flicker of orange from the courtyard below as you step towards the rail of your balcony to peer down. The community firepit is blazing with warmth as the bright reflections dance across the walls and balconies of the lower floors. You notice the hammocks near the firepit are available, deciding that it would be far more relaxing to read and enjoy your time downstairs by the fire than up on your balcony. 

As your eyes continue to scan the environment, you notice a mess of fluffy hair sitting close to the fire pit, spotting the back of one of the resident's heads. You narrow your stare, focusing on the details of their appearance until you recognize the familiar mullet of your neighbor, shifting your eyes to find the tattoos painted on his right arm. Of course, Jungkook just has to be down there when you want to go. 

You continue observing him for a moment, realizing he has a beer bottle clutched in his hand as he sits back in one of the lounge chairs, obviously enjoying the weather just as much as you. You contemplate whether or not you should join him. Would it be awkward for you to head down there as well? 

After a few moments of debating your choices, you decide to take the risk and venture downstairs. What better opportunity for you to try and bond with Jungkook than now? If he could help you without a second thought, you could surely be the first to extend an olive branch in hopes of sparking a possible friendship. As you turn to walk back inside, you wonder if you could ever really become Jungkook’s friend. The man simply blinks in your direction and you’re drooling over his physique. 

You shake your head of your thoughts as you place your book down on the coffee table of your living room, moving towards your hall tree to pluck your sweater off from one of the hooks. You tug the fabric onto your shoulders as you quickly slide the zipper up the center, adjusting your hair so that it isn't stuck beneath as you grab your keys and slide your phone into the pocket of your jeans. 

It doesn’t take you long to lock your front door and head toward the elevators, clicking the call button as you turn to face the mirrors decorating the wall. You notice some flyaways as you examine your hair, quickly running your fingers over the strands to flatten them out as much as possible. You lean closer to the mirror, flashing a smile as you examine if there is anything stuck in your teeth. Once you approve of your reflection, you hear the ding of the elevator, turning around to walk inside. 

The ride down to the main lobby seems longer than usual. You suddenly become nervous as the numbers continue to decrease on the screen, meaning you're getting closer and closer to your moment of bravery. You laugh at yourself, finding it completely absurd that your heart is pounding within your ribcage. If Jungkook banged you on your kitchen counter, he surely won’t mind if you join him by the only fire pit your community has to offer. 

You let out a long sigh as the elevator opens, revealing the long hallway leading out toward the pool deck. You straighten your posture as you slip your hands into the front pockets of your jacket, walking past the gym and restrooms as you spot the flicker of the fire from the opposite side of the glass door at the end of the corridor. 

The cold air outside kisses your skin as you walk toward the fire pit, noticing that Jungkook’s back is facing the lobby door. “Mind if I join you?” You ask softly as you slow your steps to walk around him, moving to stand near the fire as you pull your hands from the pockets to hold them in front of the heat. 

Jungkook’s eyes lift from his beer bottle, surprised to see you up and out of your apartment so late in the evening. By this point, the sun has long set and the darkness of night exposes the stars. You look up toward the open top of the courtyard, smiling at the sight of the night sky before moving to take a seat on the lounge chair beside Jungkook. 

“Be my guest.” He motions to the seat beside him as you gently sit atop it, crossing your legs beneath you as you stick your hands back into your pockets. You offer him a gentle smile which he reciprocates as you let out a content sigh, focusing your stare onto the dancing flames that cast a variety of shadows around you. 

“Long day?” You ask shyly, keeping your gaze averted from him. 

Jungkook nods his head gently as he brings the beer bottle up to his lips, drinking back a swig before resting the bottle between his legs. “You could say that.” You can’t imagine the type of calls Jungkook and his team respond to. If he is a paramedic, that means he is on the frontline of emergencies. Who knows what kind of horrors he shows up to when being dispatched?

“Work?” You continue to pry, hoping it allows you to have another meaningful conversation with him. “I bet it’s not always easy.”

Jungkook shifts his stare onto yours, surprised to see you so sympathetic about his line of work. “Some days are harder than others.” He admits as you finally lift your eyes from the flames to seek out his large doe eyes. “It’s always worth it though.” He adds with a kind smile, turning his body to face you. “So tell me, what is it that the princess does for a living?” 

It isn’t hard for you to realize that he’s trying to change the topic. You drop your head to look at your hands fidgeting in your pockets, letting out an amused chuckle. “Nothing important.” You admit, knowing your job is simply to answer phone calls and manage insurance claims. 

“Tell me.” He insists, his eyes darkening in your direction as if he is commanding you to obey him. 

You raise an eyebrow at his insistence. “It’s really nothing that you’d be interested in.” You offer, knowing your career choice is wildly less impressive or exciting as his. 

Jungkook swings his legs over the lounge chair so that he is sitting facing you, pressing his elbows onto his knees as he leans closer to you. “Try me.” His demeanor is intimidating, but his voice is soft as he brings his drink up to his lips once again to take another sip. 

You sigh as you pull your hands from your pockets, moving to push your hair back behind your ears. “I work for an insurance company.” You finally reveal, watching as Jungkook’s eyes illuminate with curiosity. He motions with his hand for you to elaborate. You hesitate for a moment before you continue. “I just handle claims and make sure money is transferred between departments.” 

Jungkook’s eyes stay glued to yours as if he is studying your deepest inner thoughts. “Do you enjoy it?” He questions, his features hyper focused on your body movements. 

“It's okay. It pays the bills.” You feel yourself shrink under his stare as he eases up on the intensity in his demeanor. 

You pause for a moment as Jungkook leans back in the chair, letting his legs drape back onto the cushion to rest in a lying position. You sit in silence for a moment, wondering if your conversation will lead to anything other than simply talking about your careers. “How’s your friend? Roxanne, right?” He asks with a confident smirk stretching on the corner of his mouth. You freeze at the mention of your promiscuous comrade, remembering the time Jungkook blatantly commented about fucking her. 

You narrow your eyes into small slits as you offer him an unamused smile as a deep chuckle resonates in his chest. Before you can comment, Jungkook stares back toward the fire pit, still amused by your jealous reaction. ‘’You’re cute when you’re jealous.” He comments between his chuckles. You feel your cheeks heat up at the fact that Jeon Jungkook said that you’re cute, still mildly frustrated that he even brought up Roxanne in the first place.

“Yeah, well you’re annoying when you act like an ass.” You mumble under your breath as he sits back up. 

“Lighten up, princess.” He teases as he finishes off the last of his beer. “I’m just fucking with you.” 

Your annoyance quickly fades away at the sight of his childish smile, watching as a wide grin causes his cheeks to swell against his eyes. He looks so innocent and sweet, two words you would usually never associate with Jungkook. 

“Keep it up and I’ll push you into the pool.” You threaten lightheartedly, watching as Jungkook’s eyebrows widen in hilarity. 

“As if.” He huffs in delight, knowing you could never manage to overpower him and get him into the pool. He could throw you in easily compared to your empty threats. 

The manner in which he mocks you causes you to stiffen slightly, determined to prove him wrong. You stand up from your chair as you straighten your posture, motioning for him to get up. “Alright, big shot.” You challenge him as Jungkook’s eyes darken, finding it adorable that you think you stand a chance against him. 

He leans forward to place his empty bottle on the ground before standing up. Your confidence falters as you notice just how much taller he is than you are. The smug grin on his face only fuels your determination as he walks over towards the edge of the pool, holding his arms out as a welcoming gesture for you to try and push him in. “Come on, princess.” He mocks, as you suddenly become blind with resolve. 

You move quickly, pressing your hands against his chest as you give your best effort to use all of your strength to push him in. Jungkook stumbles slightly from the impact, however, he quickly latches his hand around your wrist, twisting you in his arms as he bends down to wrap his free arm around your knees, lifting you up off your feet and tossing you over his shoulder. You’re completely disorientated with how fast he overwhelms your senses, looking down to see you’re hovering just over the edge of the pool. 

“No! JK, stop!” You smack your hands against his toned back as you feel yourself bounce from the laughter radiating in his diaphragm. 

He smirks mischievously as he steps even closer to the edge, threatening to let you slip from his hold and fall in. “Finished being a brat?” He asks as his innocent laughter echoes in your ears. You can’t help but laugh alongside him, continuing to push against his frame, desperately hoping he has mercy on you. 

“Yes, just put me down!” You yell through your giggles. Jungkook happily obliges as he lets you slide down from his shoulder, moving his hands to cradle your hips and guide you back toward the ground. 

Your feet finally meet the floor as your chest presses into Jungkook’s, causing you both to stand frozen in each other’s space. Your body ignites from his touch, his strong grip holding onto your hips as you slowly peer up to find your faces are inches from each other. You feel drawn to him like a moth to a flame, ready to burn in his affection as you gulp. 

Jungkook clicks his piercing between his teeth as he fights back to urge to grab ahold of your face and pull you into a passionate kiss. A mysterious noise from somewhere around the courtyard causes you both to snap out of your trance, leaving you both flustered and frazzled. 

“It’s getting late. I should head up.” You hear Jungkook finally break the silence as he moves to collect his empty bottle. You nod your head in agreement, following behind him as you both make your way back inside toward the main elevator lobby, surprised that he’s holding the door open for you like a gentleman.

Jungkook discards his rubbish into the trash can inside the lobby as he continues walking forward without glancing back at you. It isn’t long until you’re back at the front, pressing the call button as you both awkwardly wait for your ride upstairs. Jungkook finally looks back in your direction to find that you are also looking toward him. You keep eye contact until the door slides open, revealing the small confined space awaiting you. 

You make the first move, stepping inside without hesitation as you hold your arm in front of the door to keep it open for him. Jungkook’s eyes shift toward the stairwell door, “I’m gonna take the stairs.” He states simply as you feel your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. Is it really that awkward around you that he is going to walk up seven flights of stairs? You watch as Jungkook disappears behind the stairwell door, leaving you alone in the elevator. 

“Seriously?” Your irritation returns, feeling completely slighted. You remove your arm from blocking the door as you press the button for the seventh floor, disheartened by his indirect rejection. 

Just as the elevator door begins to close, you see a hand slide between them as they reopen to expose Jungkook. He presses both of his arms on either side of the elevator door, his eyes dark with determination as he practically pants from his building desires. He’s staring at you as if a hunter on the prowl, your annoyance only amplifying. “What now?” There is more bite in your tone than you originally intend. 

“Fuck the stairs.” You hear him huff as he lunges forward to press you back against the elevator wall, his arms caging you between him and the sturdy structure as he captures your lips in a heated kiss. You gasp as your hands instinctively cling to the fabric of his shirt, feeling yourself melt into him as his hips press forward to pin against you. 

You shamelessly let out a moan as the doors encase you inside the elevator where Jungkook’s hands begin to travel down your sides, pawing at your hips as he invades your mouth with his tongue. Your senses quickly become overwhelmed with his smell, his taste, and his touch as you move your hands around his neck, digging your fingers into the curls of his mullet. “Jungkook.” You pant between his kisses, feeling his hips grind forward against you. 

“Shit, Y/N.” He groans as he assaults your mouth with more of his affection. You can’t do anything other than grasp onto your sanity and his built frame as you feel your body ignite with arousal. “I can’t fucking stop thinking about you.” Jungkook admits as he continues making out with you, hoping that no one else calls for the elevator to interrupt your moment. 

Your mind whirls from his confession, knowing that you equally haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. You go to speak, however all that escapes your mouth is another gasp as Jungkook pulls down the zipper of your jacket, peeling the article off your shoulders so he can lean down to feather kisses along your collarbone. You can’t bite back your moan as your head falls back against the elevator wall, submitting to his ministrations as he sets your body ablaze. 

“Oh my gosh…” You moan as his hands move to your breasts, grabbing your mounds within his palms as he continues exploring your body. You feel euphoric trapped against him, not hearing the elevator's soft tones beyond your moans and groans. 

You both suddenly hear the doors sliding open on their tracks, revealing the seventh-floor lobby as Jungkook grazes his teeth against your shoulder. You shudder against him until he finally pulls away, leaving you both a panting mess. You stare at each other for a moment before Jungkook reaches out his hand to stop the elevator doors from closing. You adjust your jacket back onto your shoulders as you sluggishly walk out of the elevator, completely overwhelmed by Jungkook’s actions.

You unevenly step down the hallway, reaching into your pocket for your keys as Jungkook follows behind you, doing the same. You fight off your desires to turn back around and pounce on him, wanting your bodies to become tangled together in your sexual desires. Jungkook unlocks his apartment door as you do the same. You share a final glance in each other’s direction, clearly both fighting the urge to continue what’s already been started. 

The tension only simmers once you enter your apartment, pressing your back against the door as you twist the lock shut. “Holy shit.” You whisper, bringing your fingers up to your lips as you still feel the exhilarating tingle of Jungkook’s kiss. 

{Tag List:} @erica2283 @i-never-post-but-i-am-here @koobunsblog @jkoma @jjkw-7 @gretesstuff @chimsworldsstuff @rms-expensive-girl @generouschildcolor @moonfaery @coralmusicblaze @roguesthetic @kissyfacekoo @tatamicc @oopscoop @namjoonscrabjuice @joonssidebitch @shaybtsforever @bangtans-momma @itslamia @minayas1998 @chimsworldsstuff @coralmusicblaze @aak22 @telepathytae @jk97bam @savinasavers @jjeonjjk7 @jalexad

[seiya-starsniper]

Six Degrees of Separation - Ch 4 (Sandman x Dead Boy Detectives)

Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland, Crystal Palace/Charles Rowland (DCU), Johanna Constantine/Jenny Green Rating: Teen & Up | Status: Incomplete | Chapters 4/6 | Words: 7.3K

Tags: POV Multiple, Hob Gadling gives live advice to a bunch of teenagers, while helping them solve cases, that's it that's the fic, also he maybe plays matchmaker for his hot mess bestie, fic starts out as crystal/charles and ends with charles/edwin, Mutual Pining, Slice of Life, Hob Gadling adopts the Dead Boy Detectives

Summary:

The Dead Boy Detectives run into a familiar pub while out on a case, and Crystal has to contend with an unfortunate event from her past. Hob Gadling wasn't planning on adopting three teenagers and a full grown woman, but stranger things have happened in his long centuries of life.

Tumblr Posts: Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3

Read Chapter 4 below, or at the above link on AO3

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“Jenny, can you help me with these boxes?” Hob calls out to the kitchen as his supplier finishes unloading their cargo from the delivery truck. It’s early, and only the two of them are at the Inn at present. Hob had told Jenny that she didn’t need to come in the mornings when she’d first started, but the former butcher had wandered in anyways on her first week, claiming she needed to do something with her jet lag or she’d go insane. 

Almost two months later, Jenny’s still on the morning shift most days and Hob’s grateful for it, honestly. Having run her own place back in the states means she’s efficient, and doesn’t take any nonsense when suppliers are late or trying to argue with him. She’s also great for commiserating with, whether it’s about customer service or really annoying supernatural occurrences. Like the poltergeist in her apartment that the boys had to exorcise the week before. 

When they’re done unloading everything, Hob stays back in the kitchen to put everything away, while Jenny gets ready for opening. There’s not usually a lot of people right at opening, except on Sundays, when all the hungover university students are craving brunch, so Hob’s not worried about leaving Jenny alone out there while he preps in the back. 

When he finally emerges a little after 1:00pm, right when the lunch rush starts to pick up, one of his newer regulars is chatting happily with Jenny, and he can tell by her body language that she seems utterly charmed by the American. 

“She seems nice,” Hob teases his newest employee later. “Pretty too.”

“Yeah I’m not—really into blondes,” Jenny replies, and something about the caginess in her voice tells Hob that there’s a story behind that. He’s not sure if it’s related to how she ended up with the Dead Boy Detective Agency or not, but he makes a note to ask Edwin about it later. He was coming by later to look at Hob’s tomes again to see if there was a spell in there that could help with their latest case.   

“Ah well, plenty of fish in the sea,” Hob says easily. “Especially when you go from living in a small town in America to great old London. How are you adjusting, by the way?”

Jenny happily accepts the subject change and takes the opportunity to complain about her flat. The boys had exorcised the poltergeist, but not before it had flung nearly all of her belongings about the entire place, and put a few holes she’d have to fix before her landlord noticed. Hob had offered to help her find a new place while the whole incident was occurring, but Jenny had been stubborn and refused to move. Still is refusing to move, in fact.

Godspeed to her, Hob thinks. Hopefully another ghost won’t move in.

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

“Niko attempted to play matchmaker with Jenny by arranging her to meet with her secret admirer,” Edwin tells him later that afternoon as he peruses the pages of one of Hob’s, or rather Mad Hettie’s, cursebreaker books. “Unfortunately, Maxine also revealed herself to be Jenny’s stalker, and when she saw that made Jenny uncomfortable, tried to kill her.”

“Oh bloody hell,” Hob says, nearly choking on his tea. “Yeah, I’d swear off dating for a while too.”

“Indeed,” Edwin says, flipping through the pages of a particularly heavy looking volume. “Relationships seem so much more…complicated in this day and age,” Edwin notes casually. Hob studies him for a moment, wondering if Edwin had come to talk to him about something that wasn’t quite related to his work.

“They are,” Hob agrees, taking another sip of his tea. “But there’s a lot more freedom too. You can choose who you love now, regardless of status, race, religion or…gender,” he adds, carefully studying Edwin’s face for some sort of reaction.

“Ah ha! Found it,” Edwin exclaims, either completely ignoring Hob’s comment, or too caught up in his discovery to notice what the immortal had said. He looks up at Hob and smiles. “Do you mind if I borrow this for our case? I promise to bring it back unharmed.”

“Go ahead,” Hob nods, waving casually. Edwin snaps the book shut and heads towards the door of Hob’s flat, then abruptly stops. Something tenses in the boy’s shoulders and Hob thinks he can guess what it is Edwin wants to ask him. 

“Mr Gadling?” Edwin asks, turning back around to face him.

“Hob,” Hob corrects him. “What is it? Did you need something else?”

“No I—this is a more—personal question, if you wouldn’t mind,” Edwin says, his tone now shy instead of confident like it had been moments before. 

“All right,” Hob says, shrugging and trying to look as non-threatening as possible. “What is it?”

Edwin’s face goes through a multitude of emotions before the boy finally seems to find the words he’s looking for.

“How long have you known your proclivities tended towards men as well as women?” Edwin asks, and the bluntness of the question causes Hob to choke on his biscuit. He coughs violently into his sleeve, which catches most of the small crumbs he manages to dislodge from his throat. When he looks up next, Edwin is staring curiously at him, arms wrapped around the book he’d decided to borrow, waiting for Hob to answer his question.

“Uhhhh…” Hob coughs again, then gulps down the rest of his tea, dislodging the last of the offending biscuit. “I guess since the 14th or 15th century?” he says uncertainly, flailing about as he tries to recall the first time he’d ever fancied a man. “I know when you were alive there was all this—” he gestures vaguely, “nonsense around homosexuality, but well—things weren’t always like that. So I guess I’ve known for. A while,” he finishes somewhat lamely.

Edwin sighs, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He looks like he wants to follow up on his question, but doesn’t seem to know how.

“Something you want to talk about?” Hob asks after a brief silence. Edwin sighs again, then steps back towards the living room, and Hob makes a mental note to make more tea for this longer conversation. 

“It was brought to my attention recently that I am in love with my best friend,” Edwin says, still as straightforward as ever. “But I assume you already knew that.”

Hob shrugs helplessly, not willing to confirm or deny his conversation with Charles. Edwin seems to understand the gesture immediately though. 

“I don’t require the details of your conversations with Charles,” Edwin follows up. “However, I suppose I am seeking some—commiseration. For a broken heart.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right spot,” Hob says with a soft smile. “I know a thing or two about unrequited love with your best friend and all that.”

Edwin tilts his head curiously. “You are speaking of your patron? Death’s brother?”

Hob chokes again, this time only on air.

“Why,” Hob groans, burying his face in his hands, “Does everyone seem to know this?!”

“I am a detective,” Edwin replies, deadpan. “However, you are also extremely obvious in your affections. Perhaps more so than Charles is about Crystal, and that is a feat, I assure you,” he adds, rolling his eyes.

Before Hob can retort that he is very much not obvious, and that Edwin himself is oblivious to just how affectionate Charles is about him, there’s a loud rapping at the front door, which causes both Hob and Edwin to jolt in surprise.

“Oy, Hobsie! Open up, I need your help with something!” a female voice yells from the other side of his door. Hob sighs, knowing the source of the voice all too well, and then reluctantly gets up from his comfortable position on the couch to answer the door.

Johanna Constantine strides in without so much as a hello, making a beeline straight for his study, but then stops suddenly, making direct eye contact with Edwin.

“Hobsie, don’t be alarmed but there’s a dead child in you flat right now,” Johanna says. “And it looks like he’s stealing one of your books.”

Edwin scoffs. “Excuse you, I am borrowing this tome, with permission, I may add.”

“Right,” Hob interjects before Johanna can get another word in. “Jo, this is Edwin, Edwin, this is Johanna Constantine,” he says gesturing between the two of them. “We’re all friends here, no one’s stealing anything.”

“Oh, a Constantine!” Edwin exclaims with delight. “How ever did you get involved with her?” he asks, turning to Hob.

“Long story, kid, but I don’t have time for that right now, I need some help with a case,” Johanna says. “Unless you’ve got any expertise on weird fish men who live in swamps and eat people.”

“Actually, I do,” Edwin says, much to the shock of both Johanna and Hob. “1974,” he adds, as if this explains everything. “I’m happy to help, and I’d love to pick your brain on an old cursed fountain pen, while we’re at it, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Johanna stares at Edwin for a moment, her eyes narrowing.

“You’re those ghost investigators or something, aren’t you?” she asks. “I’d heard of you, but I hadn't realized you were actual children.”

Edwin scoffs. “We are the Dead Boy Detectives, thank you very much, Miss Constantine,” he says. “Now would you like our help or not?”

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

A week later, Hob is questioning whether he should’ve introduced Johanna and Edwin as he hangs suspended above a supposedly haunted pond. 

“Are you sure this is safe?” Hob yells from his precarious position. 

“Don’t worry Hobsie!” Johanna yells back as she adjusts the rope to lower Hob closer to the pond. Hob swears he hears a weird growling coming from below the water’s surface. “This shouldn't be low enough to kill you, I think,” Johanna continues. “And anyways, if it is, you’ll just come back!”

“THAT DOESN’T MEAN I WANT TO DIE IN THE FIRST PLACE JO!” Hob shouts back. 

“Not to worry Mr Gadling!” Edwin pipes in. “Charles and I shall ensure your library is well guarded should you unexpectedly perish and we’ll help Jenny out the Inn. Crystal is also quite experienced at sneaking bodies out of hospitals.”

“That was one time!” Crystal exclaims indignantly.

“If you die, do I still get paid on Friday?” Jenny, who has inexplicably decided to tag along for this case, asks. “Or is there like, a 3-5 business day turnaround for resurrection?”

“You better still pay her, Hobsie!” Johanna chimes in, and Hob can see her grinning devilishly at his employee. “A girl’s gotta eat after all,” she adds with a wink towards her.

Terrible. These people were all terrible and he was going to have to die and start over with a new life. And he was going to find some new friends while he was at it too.

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

Hob doesn’t die, but he does lose a chunk of shoulder to what’s later revealed to be some half shark, half man monstrosity. At least the damage from that will be gone by tomorrow. Hopefully anyways. Even if Hob did have to cover it up, it certainly wouldn't take nearly as long to heal as a whole resurrection does.

“Jenny is romantically available, by the way,” Hob hears Edwin tell Johanna in a low voice once he's been let down and wrapped in five layers of bandages.

“Is she now?” Johanna asks, in a tone Hob knows is definitely interested. “And you’re so interested in my love life because—?” 

Edwin shrugs, and Hob catches the barest hint of a smile on his face. 

“I think you’d like each other,” is all he says, enigmatic as ever.

“Are you trying to play matchmaker to distract yourself from your own love life?” Hob asks Edwin later when the boy comes to return Hob’s book. “Because I can tell you from first hand experience it only makes you more sad when you do that.” 

Edwin hums. “It’s something Niko would’ve wanted to do,” he says. “She felt so bad after the whole thing with Maxine. But she’s no longer here, so I’ll have to do it in her memory. At least this time I can guarantee Miss Constantine is not a serial killer. The rest of her character though...I suppose she seems...pleasant?”

Hob howls with laughter. “Yeah okay, that’s fair. Need some help with your little scheme then?”

Edwin’s eyes dance with mischief and delight, and Hob’s painfully reminded of Robyn in that moment. He’s never had another child with anyone else besides Eleanor, not knowingly anyways. Being a father was far too painful when you would easily outlive your own child.

But Edwin was already dead, and would be around forever, just like Hob, so perhaps it was inevitable that Hob would love him like a son.

“Okay, so let me tell you what I know about Johanna—”

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Thursday, November 28

BUFFY: (Getting up abruptly holding the bowl.) This is no good! It needs more condensed milk. (She flees into the kitchen.) GILES: Buffy, Xander's in real danger. Are you sure the solution is pie? BUFFY: (Adding more condensed milk.) Over bickering and confusion, I'll take pie. We will find a solution. And we will have a nice dinner, ok? Both. End of story. I'm having thanksgiving, and it'll be perfect.

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[kaidynsarell]

🦋🫧Sanguinis et Omnium Fractorum🫧🦋

Chapter 3-Of Cracks and Fine Lies

🦋🫧🦋🫧🦋🫧🦋🫧🦋🫧🦋🫧🦋🫧🦋🫧🦋

Pairing- Sebastian Sallow x Female OC

Rating - This story is rated overall 🔞(ch 3 is SFW)

Tags- Discussions of terminal Illness, self-harm.

The full chapter can be found below the cut(3.5k words

Ongoing Fic

Chapters 1-6 Are available on WP and AO3

The walls of the Great Hall did not find Clara amongst the throng of students that breakfasted the following morning. Nor was she found amongst those whose aching heads still lingered beneath the bedclothes to coax every morsel of sleep from ticking hands. Instead, the soles of her overly scuffed boots clipped hurried footsteps toward the Hospital Wing. Echoing noisily against the flagstones in the near-deserted corridors, to be witnessed only by the numerous moving portraits and the occasional ghost.

The nightmare was not new, nor were the headaches that accompanied them. Though they'd both worsened in recent years.

It was a parasite that had clung to the edges of her consciousness as long as memory had lived within her mind. Always the same confused mass of distorted images lingering in the dark corners of her dreams, only to show its face when she was least prepared.

Each time left her just as terrified as the last, and each time left her just as confused.

Between that and the wash of scarlet-stained memories from Fifth year, a carefully regulated regimen of Dreamless Sleep Draughts via Nurse Blainey had become her only solace from an otherwise steady flow of nightmares.

Even so, the potion was not readily available.

Difficult to brew and disastrous to get wrong, the potion required ingredients that were not only highly regulated but also incredibly expensive, and a severe lack of galleons did not lend to obtaining the precious vials of swirling indigo and cerulean.

She'd been forced to forego the potions during the summer holidays, resigned to what sleep she could achieve with her Grandmother's chamomile tea and fresh bundles of lavender. It wasn't much, but if Clara couldn't find love tucked between the careful stitches in her clothing, she would find it curled within the steam and brushed across the hand-painted peonies that decorated the delicate porcelain in shades of the palest pink.

The tea had never helped the nightmares much, but she'd told Gran it did, if only because it had made the older woman smile. Maybe if Clara had said it enough, she could have convinced herself of it as well.

She'd lied every night until the last cup of tea Gran had made her, just weeks before the start of term. The delicate pink peonies had shattered in shards of glass across the kitchen floor before Beatrice Elmore fell to the ground, and only the swirls of wood grain had tasted the chamomile that dripped from the fragments.

There was no enemy- no goblin or Dark Wizard from whom she could exact revenge- just an old woman's heart counting the last of its beats. Clara couldn't destroy time or old age, and as she'd learned with Professor Fig, no spell could reverse death.

Clara didn't drink tea anymore.

><><><><><>

Frosted glass muted the shafts of early morning sunlight, breaking through the windows to wash over the soft green and blue linens and kiss the wooden arches of the peaked ceiling.

The flagstones were chipped here, spiderwebbed with cracks, and crumbled along the corners. It was odd to have floors in such disrepair. Clara might have suspected they belonged to the dungeons or a secret passage.

She would not have expected the Hospital Wing.

Then again, no one visited this room because they were completely whole. They were all a little cracked and crumbling.

Perhaps the castle could sense it.

Nurse Blainey was not in the room.

Instead, a young woman perched on the edge of the bed closest to the nurse's office—where Clara could make out the faint murmur of voices from behind the closed door. Gentle hints of auburn ignited in the soft light and curled amid the darker waves of cinnamon brown that framed the woman's thin face, and Clara could just make out the light sprinkling of freckles that had never counted as many as her brother's.

Confusion poked at the place she kept her worry, and only the stabbing pain behind her eyes distracted her from the rush of cold weightlessness that accompanied the uneven slamming against her ribs. All thoughts of Dreamless Sleep Draught momentarily banished to the corners of her consciousness.

Anne shouldn’t be here

The brunette had all but refused to go to a hospital since before the end of Fifth year- since the Healers had given up on her, and hope had burned to destruction in Sebastian's hands. Ominis had nearly been on his knees before she had allowed him to hire a Home Care Mediwitch who could check in each week to monitor her condition and replenish the stock of potions that fought and often failed to mitigate her symptoms fully.

If Anne had come to Nurse Blainey willingly... if she'd felt she needed to come... Clara frowned and stepped over the cracked stone, trying and failing to resist the implications surging ahead at breakneck speed to threaten her overwhelm.

The brunette's head tilted slightly at her appearance, eyebrows squished at the center. "I didn't think I'd see you until tom...tomorrow."

The words wobbled at the precipice, close to falling. The little smile Anne had worn clenched at the corners, twisted to a grimace, and Clara didn't miss the slight flexion of her spine or the near-unconscious guarding of her abdomen. "Anne, is everything...has something happened? Do I need to get Ominis?"

"No....no, I'm fine. Everything's fine."

Fine.

Fine was a relative term.

Fine ignored the half-dug grave that clawed at her bones and waited to drag her under the dirt to lay alongside her parents. Fine ignored the skull that could be seen beneath paper-thin skin and the plum-dark bruises maintaining a permanent residence under her eyes. Fine ignored the curse barnacled to her cells, leeching what little life remained in her blood.

Fine was the lie Clara told herself over and over in the hope she might one day believe it.

Almost as quickly as it had started, Anne's grimace softened, tipped up, and curled at the corners. Her smile was nearly a perfect mirror of Sebastian's, in how it crinkled over her entire face, but more so in how it masked the pain that lingered beneath the surface.

Anne shifted her weight on the mattress. "I...I've been in contact with a Healer from St Mungo's, actually."

The words hardly had time to register coherently in Clara's mind before the click of a lock, and the scraping of wood over stone interrupted the flicker of her surprise, and Nurse Blainey's office door was pushed open.

Clara didn't recognize the man who stepped from within.

Tall and thin, he had hair the color of cornsilk and a haughty expression that might have rivaled the worst of Ominis' ill-tempered moods. Polished shoes clipped purposeful steps over the cracked floor with the precision of a metronome. Though the effect was somewhat lost in the slight sway of his hips. His gaze hovered over Clara for half a beat; the little flare of his nostrils and tightening of his lips were the only acknowledgments he'd seen her before his cold gray eyes shifted down to the clipboard and pad of documents extracted from inside a pristine leather satchel.

If the brunette had noticed his overly stiff posture, she gave no indication, tilting her head to the man who now stood only a few paces from them. "This is Healer Fawley. He's from a branch of St. Mungo's Spell Damage Department–Experimental Research and Development. We've been in contact recently, and ...well..." She trailed off and gestured vaguely for the man to continue.

Healer Fawley did not look as he spoke, his voice as clipped and sharp as his footsteps. "Our department studies the nature and progression of rare and unseen afflictions. Given the nature, and frankly the rarity of Miss Sallow's curse-"

Rarity.

It was another word that ignored the truth of Anne's condition. The curse was unheard of by any of the Healers assigned to her case and nowhere to be found in the nearly two years Sebastian had spent pouring indefatigably over every text he could pilfer from the restricted section.

"-We reached out some weeks ago in the hopes she might allow us to study it further, utilizing some methods we are in the early process of developing."

Study it? Clara blinked between the Healer, still pointedly fixed on his notes, and the brunette still perched on the edge of the bed. "Do you... do you mean to say you might...that you could find...?"

The word felt taboo against her tongue, and it died behind her teeth, but hope tasted like honey and lingered where the words could not be spoken.

Anne's lips turned down. "A cure isn't likely."

"Oh." Hope was fickle. Too sweet, and bitter dripped down to smother it. She should have known better, and crescents dug scarlet against her skin.

Distraction.

Healer Fawley's gaze snapped abruptly to Clara at the motion. Cold grey to her blue and flicked down to where her fingernails dug against the fragile skin at her wrist. Brows twitched together. It was gone as quickly as it had come, and his gaze returned to the clipboard as he spoke. "I am sorry I cannot assure a better outcome, but I will not make false promises."

Anne shivered despite the late summer heat but appeared otherwise unperturbed. Terminal had become a far too familiar concept. If not by way of the Healers, who'd failed to find a solution, then by way of Solomon, who had rejected all attempts to the contrary and repeatedly insisted on acceptance of the inevitable.

"We are hopeful, however, that it may offer some insight into other lesser-known curses and afflictions that still puzzle wizardkind. Though, if we make any progress or find anything promising that may aid Miss Sallow's condition, she will be the first to know."

Anne shrugged, a slight movement barely noticeable beneath her thick sweater and woolen scarf. "Provided they keep the tests minimally invasive and continue to meet me here rather than at St. Mungos, I've agreed to help."

Clara frowned. Leave it to Anne to refuse to enter a hospital when it came to saving her own life, only to leap at the opportunity as soon as it meant she might help someone else by doing so. Salazar Slytherin would be rolling in his grave. Though she supposed that was Anne. The brunette favored pity even less than Clara did. She'd had more years for it to sour. But this? What Fawley was asking for didn't smell like pity. Anne wasn't being worried and fussed over. The Healers weren't even focused on saving her; if anything, she was helping them.

"Elias?" Nurse Blainey was a small woman, barely taller than Clara, but years of looking after the health of rambunctious students had given her a presence that was hard to ignore. She bustled from her office; a thick folder clutched between her fingers. "Are you sure these are all the documents you'll need on Miss Sallow?"

Fawley took the folder without looking and nodded once- a short, curt motion. "Yes, Thank You, Noreen."

The nurse frowned. "I'm afraid they are somewhat out of date; perhaps you shou-"

"No." Fawley must have reviewed his notes at least a dozen times since leaving the nurse's office, but his eyes were locked, once again, on the document even as his hand snapped up to bat the question away.

Nurse Blainey raised her eyebrows, arms folded across her chest. The irritation spread so thickly over her features that Clara might have run a finger through it and licked away the frosting. "Very well. Do you require further assistance, Healer Fawley?"

Clara did not miss the shift in the nurse's tone, nor did Fawley, whose jaw had tensed slightly the curt addition of the title.

The man swallowed, glanced at the clock beside the door, and then at the petite woman. "These tests will be adequate for now. Thank you, Nurse Blainey. I would, however, like to gather a few vials of Miss Sallow's blood. If you'd be so kind as to collect those for me, I would greatly appreciate it. My skills in that area have grown somewhat lax in recent years."

Nurse Blainey huffed through her nose but otherwise did not respond. Instead, she glanced at Anne, who nodded her consent and pushed her sleeve up.

As though to mirror the cracks below their boots, the stark blue of Anne's veins traced spiderwebs under translucent skin. The thin woman didn't finch as the nurse made a small cut just below the junction of her elbow and siphoned the stream garnet into two glass vials.

Clara watched as Healer Fawley carefully secured the vials in an inner pouch of his satchel and fell into a brief discussion with the Hogwarts nurse.

"I will be seeing you tomorrow, won't I?" Something bumped Clara's shoulder, snapping her attention from where the vial of Anne's blood had disappeared into the Healer's bag.

"What?"

The brunette had stood from the bed and arched an eyebrow at the slightly shorter woman. "Tomorrow? It's Saturday. You're both still coming for dinner, aren't you?"

Understanding flooded spaces left by her confusion, and Clara nodded her agreement before her attention was again drawn to Healer Fawley. His face had taken on an air of bored disinterest, and his eyes darted in a steady triangle- from his notes to Nurse Blainey and up to the clock with near-dizzying repetition.

Anne chuckled softly and slid a thin arm through Clara's. She smelled sweet, like caramel, vanilla, and the dustings of baker's sugar that often adorned her freckles or the spaces between her knuckles. "The thing is-" she continued, head bent to Clara's ear "-I've not told Omi about this yet."

It was Clara's turn to raise her eyebrows.

Anne grimaced and looked down. "I didn't want to worry him. You know how he can get."

Any further discussion on the matter was interrupted as Healer Fawley abruptly tore himself away from Nurse Blainey's conversation. "Again, Thank You, Noreen. Miss Sallow, I will contact you shortly with plans for our next meeting."

Then Clara watched as the tall man turned on his heel and strode from the Hospital Wing. The sharp, methodical clip of his footsteps faltered only once when the toe of his polished boot caught the crumpled edge of a flagstone. He stumbled for a moment and disappeared down the hallway.

Nurse Blainey sighed and turned to the other two witches. "Miss Elmore, I'll see you in my office now, and Miss Sallow, you are welcome to use my fireplace to get back home if you'd rather not traverse the grounds to the apparition boundaries. I imagine you'd be quite exhausted walking that far."

Anne nodded, and they followed the petite woman

Her office existed in shades of chestnut and bronze. Bookshelves filled with charts, well-worn medical texts, and various anatomical models that moved and stretched as though to mirror living counterparts lined one wall. Locked cabinets filled with brightly colored potions- Wiggenwelds, Skele-gro, Pepper up, and several others were crammed against one another. And still, another wall was hung with certificates of licensure featuring the crossed wand and bone of St. Mungo's and additional anatomical drawings and diagrams. What books were not on the shelves had found themselves on the large mahogany desk at the center of the room and rested amongst stacks of student files that had not yet received proper documentation of recent visits.

With a little huff, the nurse settled behind her desk and pulled one of the unfinished files toward her.

Anne stepped to the fireplace and gathered a small handful of Floo powder from the pewter bowl in the bracket affixed to the wall. "Thank you again, Nurse Blainey. I do appreciate your allowing me to use your ward."

"Of course, my dear. You're welcome anytime." The nurse's eyes remained on the file in front of her, but the corners of her mouth quirked into a small smile.

Clara was wrapped in a sweet-smelling hug that might have crushed the breath from her lungs had Anne's body not been so frail, and the brunette vanished amid a rush of green flames.

The smooth cherrywood box scraped across the desk before the wash of green light vanished from the room. Slightly larger than Clara's palm and charmed to only open at her or Nurse Blainey's touch, Clara could already picture the five small vials, each slightly larger than her pinky finger and swirling with the tell-tale indigo and cerulean of Dreamless Sleep Draught.

"The nightmares have still not improved; I take it?"

She didn't question how Nurse Blainey had known. Showing up to her office first thing in the morning, before classes had even begun, must have been enough of an indication. Clara shifted on her feet, clenched her fingernails against the indentations on the underside of her wrist, and locked them against her skin. With the distraction of Anne no longer present, restless desire crushed between her knuckles and ached to uncurl her bones and stretch them out to snatch the square of cherrywood from the mahogany.

The break over the summer holidays had done little to temper her desire for the little swirling vials, and now that shattered peonies dripped with chamomile had joined the images of her nightmares, she hated how much more she wanted it.

Rest.

Peace.

Escape.

Clenched tighter, Clara felt the little 'pop' and sting as the skin broke beneath her fingernails.

Pain.

Distraction.

Control.

"No, they haven't."

She didn't feel pity knit beneath the nurse's furrowed brow as much as flickers of concern that tugged at the corners of her lips and darted her gaze between Clara's face and the small box perched on her desk. "Very well, do you remember the directions?

She forced her eyes away from the cherrywood to where Nurse Blainey sat behind her desk and rattled off the list she'd been instructed to memorize and required to recite every month with each new box of the precious liquid: "Do not exceed more than five vials every thirty days. Do not exceed more than one vial every three days. Do not take while under the influence of alcohol or combine with substances containing valerian root, and I'm to tell you straight away if I have any abrupt headaches or changes in vision."

Nurse Blainey nodded slowly, brown eyes locked against Clara's blue with a curious intensity. "Excellent, Miss Elmore. I trust you remember and understand the risks, and you will follow those instructions?"

Death.

That was the risk she'd been warned of repeatedly. Or rather, a state of unconsciousness so complete it would be impossible to wake. Students weren't given vials to use at their own discretion, but as Professor Black had put it, Clara was the Hero of Hogwarts. Surely she could be trusted with something like this, and undeserving of the title or not, she'd be hard-pressed to reject one of the few things that had offered relief from the nightmares.

Clara nodded.

She wasn't surprised when the nurse stood and, with a flick of her wand, a series of colorful glowing orbs appeared around Clara's head. It was a simple vital systems charm- one Clara could have conjured herself. The brown that had been so focused against blue shifted to the hovering orbs. Holding her wand aloft, Nurse Blainey began using her other hand to manipulate the orbs with quick, precise motions. "I take it you are still interested in continuing to assist me this term?"

It was not a question, though the upward inflection in the woman's voice begged a response, and Clara nodded her agreement. Once again, focused on the cherrywood box and the sharp sting against her wrist.

The glowing orbs dissipated, and Nuse Blainey pushed the box toward Clara. "I'll speak with Professor Weasley and Professor Sharp to arrange it into your timetable, and we'll be in contact shortly. Otherwise, I'll expect you back in thirty days with any vials you may have remaining."

Impatience tied strings to eager fingertips and leapt them forward to curl around the cherrywood. Another nod and assurance that Clara would adhere to the terms of her prescription and the sound of her boots tapped across the cracks and out to the corridor.

Clara already knew she wouldn't have any of the vials left when she returned in thirty days.

She never did.

[artdepleurer]

retrograde - ch. 6 snippet - uncanny, demonic, & fascinating

The ghost of Hermione's lips against his cheek continued to haunt him even after she had long gone.

Tom moved silently toward Harry’s room, flicking on the light. It was a risk slipping something into the clever cop’s drink, but he did not have the luxury of time. The decor seemed more appropriate for a teenage football fan than a grown adult police officer, but Tom was not surprised. He doubted that Hermione approved of the models with high-waisted bikinis baring their tits over the bookshelf. (A bookshelf in name only, Tom frowned, knocking over a Batman figurine before tracing back his step to place it upright among its superhero friends.)

Unsatisfied with his search, Tom returned to the kitchen. With a soft crack he opened another beer, sipping it as he watched the unconscious man on the couch. He imagined slitting his throat, the hot liquid seeping into the fabric. Hermione would never forgive him, but he was just a storyless stranger she had met in an alley. A lesson in better housemate screening and nothing more. No vendetta. No manifesto written in blood.

As he pondered the kitchen knives, a nondescript pocket book caught his eye. Perfect.

Tom flipped through the book, lit by moonlight. It did not take long to find the address he had been searching for. He copied it down on a take away menu before slipping back out the door.

With each step he grew more and more concerned that the bizarre illusion would end as quickly as the mirage of Hermione in the field. He would not allow that to happen again.

Hermione lived at a boarding house not far from the station. He stood from the street, watching the windows until a figure appeared in the second floor. Hermione moved from one window to the next, a robe clinging to her body. Tom scanned the neighborhood, stepping from shadow to shadow. He appraised the large tree in the yard, taking an experimental hold onto a low hanging branch as he hoisted himself up. He slinked up the tree, keeping her window in his sight as he perched against the trunk.

In perfect nescience, Hermione meandered through her nightly routine. The robe fell from her body to be replaced moments later by a nightgown. She meticulously rolled her curls with her fingers before placing a bonnet over her hair. Tom sat enraptured as she snuggled herself into bed with a book.

He was unsure which fictional world she had endeavored to explore. The bold typeface along the spine read Tolstoy. Knowing Hermione it would have to be Anna Karenina—he couldn’t imagine her stomaching any of his other behemoths. (Though if anyone could curl up daintily with War and Peace it would be Hermione.)

Tom maintained his position until Hermione placed her book on the nightstand and turned off the lamp, and then for many hours after that.

He returned to Harry’s house under the symphony of owls. Creatures of dawn tittered and howled for want of a forest in a desert of pavement and cobblestone. Tom understood their desperation, beings in a land familiar and yet so unknown. A Hermione that he remembered, but that he did not know.

[thetalesofno-one]

Curse of Strahd, Act I: Pt. 1, Ch. III -43 Tallies-

D&D Campaign Retelling Part 1/6 Chapter 3/5 ~5.3k words Content Warnings: Curse of Strahd typical content, Read at own risk

Summary Forced together by the mists and lost in a strange new land, our four strangers run into a grim omen along their path and a fork in their road. The Ghost, the Rebel, the Charmer, and the Holy Man finally reveal their names where the deadmen carve their messages on the bones of trees. Read Previous Chapters also available on AO3

Time seems timeless in this place. 

No light wanders behind shaded skies, no sun, no stars. All the heavens diffused entirely behind grey skies hung so low the tops of the barren trees stretch their fingers to touch the clouds. A heavy shroud without breath, suffocating the land. Grasses greyed and withered, thin as straw, dry as hay. Their stalks rustle lightly in the rain with an endless shifting that carries the mind to places beyond. Luring thoughts away from the land like a dream.

Left in the rustling silence, Emet’s mind wanders.

The dim dissonance with the world bringing back memories of a darkened shop thick with the scent of paper and leather. Of a worktable scattered with various tools and thread, half sewn signatures left in a neat stack beside a half drunk and forgotten glass of wine as he remeasures a board and pares the edges of supple smooth leather, the scrapings curling across his fingers. Of candlelight flickering long through the sunken day, windows ever cast in the shadows of spires. Of night slipping over the city like a thief, light fingers pocketing the sun in velvet black without so much as a blink of notice from the little shop. The candles burning ever bright, the day’s end only realized when the flame flickers thin and the darkness steals the workman’s light.

Fingers pricked with needle thin scars and paper thin cuts lighting another candle. Hair loosely tied back, a few strands always slipping free as he smooths the marked tape along a new edge and carefully notes the measurements with a tailor’s precision. Of a guillotine blade sliding through a stack of vellum and trimming its edges to a fine point, a perfect block to be folded. Of the smooth texture of bone between his fingers, the gentle scrape as he runs the folder across the edge of a bent sheet, turning a bowed page into a sharp crease. Glue sticks to his wrist from a missed spot on the wooden table, the book shaping in his mind before its pieces are folded and glued and sewn together. 

And all the while, the quiet loneliness whispering at his back with a phantom silence. Not of presence, but absence. Empty. The weight of a space where someone should be, infinitely loud in its stillness. Its siren voice chased away by the endless work. Its words unheard and yet unignored. Every movement his, every breath slipped through his teeth with no other lips to catch it. Scarred hands reaching for tools no other fingers brush across. And all the while knowing when he finally stops, the kitchen will be empty, the home devoid of spiced currents in the air, the bed cold. The bitterness left in tasting the flavors of an old life when you know now the sweetness of another.

“There is a scent of death.”

Emet’s attention snaps from lullaby memories. The holy man stopped along the muddy road, bent nose turned up and sniffing the air.

“Maybe undeath.”

The blades are in Emet’s hands before the old human even finishes his sentence. The broken glaive hanging dangerously from his hand, vicious tip polished to perfection and flashing brilliantly in the dim light. A stark contrast against the dark bloodstained cloth wrapped around its shattered haft. 

The charmer knocks an arrow into his charred longbow with the fluidity of someone who has fired it under dire circumstances. A faint scent of smoke whispers past as his fingers tug the string lightly, ready for trouble. 

“I don’t like this,” the rebel whispers, slipping her arm through a shield—a small round thing of black and gold painted metal. A coil of whip hangs from her belt but she reaches for metal instead. The short blade slips free of its sheath with a faint hushed breath.

The all too familiar stench of death doesn’t yet reach Emet’s nose, but he has no reason to doubt the holy man in this. Eyes flickering through the mist, resentment wraps itself around Emet’s chest and burns through his scars. But there is no place for spitting out what has been earned because of the hand that offers it. Not when it comes to undeath. Emet calls on his forsaken power. Soul reaching out beyond himself with clawed grasping hands ready to take what might be denied, he stretches out his inner self toward a god he isn’t sure will answer. Toward a god who heard his screams and turned away.

Power floods through Emet’s irises in a dim display. Pale grey light ignites his faded eyes in a hollow glow burning with ghost fire, and though they do not shine with the brilliant white of beacons as they once did, the divine sense is not gone entirely. Not yet.

The rebel glances up at him with an unreadable expression, but he ignores her and scans the mists around them. If anything undead or fiendish in nature lurks nearby, the divine power flowing through him will draw his attentions like someone taking his chin and gently pointing him toward unseen dangers. But no phantom fingers grace his scarred jaw or pull at his divinely heightened senses. Whatever smells of death here must then truly be dead.

Giving a nod to continue on, the holy man presses forward with the slow and quiet feet of a hunter stalking its prey. The faded light falls from Emet’s eyes after a moment and he feels the divine slip away from him with a cold chill. The rebel still stares at him with narrowed eyes and uplifted brow, but her lips remain sealed. Whatever question lurks in her mind, he suspects she no longer needs to ask it. A curiosity that seems less about the ability and more about the person wielding it. 

Though he no longer wears his holy symbol or any sign of faith emblazoned on his person, no trace of a past better left buried, it is not uncommon knowledge to those of faith that only paladins—knights of gods—are blessed with such an ability. And Emet realizes he’s let something of himself slip in front of knowing eyes.

The rebel’s lips part—

The scent finally reaches them.

Sickly sweet and turning the stomach with a heavy wave of bile. Both enticing and revolting in that way only death can be. Corpse rot. There’s no doubt. Not but fifteen feet down the road, a human body decomposes half off the path with arms outreached toward the road as though it breathed its last in a desperate crawl. A young man once, clothes torn by brambles and thorns with flesh pockmarked by the beaks of birds feasting on an easy meal. A tarnished copper compass spills out from that outstretched hand, its red needle trembling and twisting uncertainly as though unable to find North.

The holy man kneels beside the body and looks it over without touching the overly soft and rain sodden flesh. The boy’s skin shifts across his bones with gelatinous ripples as the old man accidentally shifts the mud in taking a knee. A slimy sheen has already settled over the pale flesh like melted fat. Long strips and sharp pecks break through the wet surface to expose the black and purple insides, dark as a bruise, the blood long clotted and rotting. White bone peaks out from cheeks a fingertips, the nose half consumed. The birds have eaten well.

The holy man narrates his findings softly. Scratches from branches and brush, gaunt flesh, sunken eyes—what remains of them, at least—but no visible mortal wounds. The young man died from exhaustion of all things. The holy man’s eyes take on a dark and certain stain when he says the word. 

Exhaustion.

How the holy man knows, Emet isn’t sure. But he never was the best at healing during training. Healing required not just blind faith like those outside of holy orders assume when they beg healers to fix their every ailing, but also knowledge of medicine. A bone cannot be knit together without knowing how its structure is woven together. A crushed hand cannot be reconstructed if one does not understand the pattern of nerves and vessels, tendon and ligament. Or rather, it will heal with faith alone, but it will never be the same again without knowledge behind it.

Emet has always been better at the unmaking…perhaps that’s why they were put together during training. 

Him and Azemir. 

Wrapped eternally like wax around the cold stillness of Emet’s heart, his name brings warmth to the hollows of Emet’s soul where nothing grows. Ever a flame without shadow, a sun without night. Healing and warmth have always been more of Azem’s specialty and Emet wonders how long it will be before he can touch those healing hands and feel their warmth. How far he must go to set things right again. When they will talk without so much distance between them. Or if whatever has happened in these mists will delay his journey. He will walk a hundred lifetimes seeking a way back if that’s what it takes. He will carry the weight of that name forever.

Sickening chills drift and trail cold fingers across Emet’s body snuffing out the thin flame of Azem’s name within his soul—always touching, always grasping. He shudders and crawls within his own skin wanting to shrink away, wanting to claw them off. They touch and grasp and choke and scream—

The calming coolness of one washes away all the others for but a moment. And Emet can breathe. Just one breath. Before they drift back like the sea and cling to him as algae on an anchor. But it’s enough. Why they grow restless, he doesn’t always know. Perhaps a reminder of the promise he made them so it doesn’t settle unfulfilled.

Emet’s eyes follow the old man’s ministrations with that name balanced delicately on the tip of his tongue. The way the old man’s rough and calloused hands move light as feathers over the boy’s corpse as though the kid can feel anything anymore. Pain is beyond him now, but still the old man moves gently. Emet isn’t sure what he is searching for. Perhaps some other answer than the one he already knows and something in the holy man’s expression settles like wet sand over a stone when he finds no other. The warm candle flame in his eyes dimming beneath a cold and familiar wind.

The old man rests a hand over the boy’s rotting one in a strange gesture of comfort. Bowing his smooth shaved head, he whispers blessings beneath his breath. Emet isn’t sure why the old man bothers. There’s nothing left to save.

Nudging the broken compass after his prayers and looking to where the boy’s hand falls, the holy man quirks his mouth sadly. Perhaps seeing another blessing where there is none.

“The boy was going this way,” he points to the opposite side of the wagon trail toward a tree bearing faint tally marks—43 of them. An arrow carved into its bark points away from the muddy road toward a thin path cutting deeper into the woods. A jagged knife cut through the trees, all but unnoticed if it weren’t for the arrow to point the way.

“You want to follow the dead’s path,” Emet asks incredulously.

“Why not?” The charmer steps over the rotting corpse’s outstretched arm to get a better look at the path behind the body rather than ahead, “He’s probably a criminal trying to leave, so I’d say follow where he came from and we’ll find civilization.”

“Why would you say he’s a criminal?”

“Why else would he be out here?”

“Why are we out here,” the rebel counters.

The holy man looks up from body, “And we are not criminals.”

The rebel gives the holy man a nod, “What the old man said.”

“I am not that old.”

Emet looks over the kneeling holy man. Crows feet spiderweb out from his eyes into well worn paths, tracing old channels. Deep lines folding into the leather of his human face, ripples and cracks where great emotion has marked it forever in memory. The echos of pain and joy held forever in weathered lines. Calloused rough hands scarred with the burden of much hardship dust off his knees as the holy man stands from the corpse. But no light cracks and pops fill the air as his bones settle. And he springs back from his crouch with ease, not even bothering to lean on his shepherd’s staff. The skin past his toughened hands bears much scarring and yet a youthful smoothness. 

If he is not old, then he lived a life full of immeasurable hardship.

The holy man quirks his head to the side and returns Emet’s stare, “Why are you looking at me like you are reading stones in the sand?”

“Human ages are a bit difficult for elves to determine,” Emet admits.

“I am thirty-two.”

The charmer and rebel both snort.

“Nah, mate,” the rebel crosses her arms and grins, “You’re at least sixty.”

“I am not lying.”

She smiles, “Whatever, old man.”

The holy man scrubs his scrawled salt and pepper beard, gesturing off to Emet, “I am not old, he is old. Elves are always old.”

Emet concedes that with a shrug. He’s already lived more years than most of those with him could hope to ever reach and lifetimes before that.

“Yet he looks closer to thirty-two than you, old man,” the rebel continues, picking her nails with a sly grin.

“That is because he is an elf.”

“And I’m not?”

The holy man sighs.

“Ah, I’m just fucking with you, grandpa” she chuckles, “I know I’m half human.”

“You are half—what are you doing?”

The charmer barely pauses his light-fingered search of the dead boy’s pockets, finding more interest in stealing from the dead than their idle chatter. The holy man is about to admonish him further when the tiefling carelessly flips the body onto its stomach and continues his search through pockets.

The holy hand throws up a hand, all conversation on age and good looks forgotten.

“Eh! Eh! Devil boy! Respect the dead! I already took his compass if that is what you are looking for.”

The charmer ignores him, his hands continuing to wander across the ragged clothes and slipping into the pockets and folds as though it is a dance they have performed many times before. His fingers wander with a speed born of practice, seeking whatever the dead may hide. But his search is fruitless, the tiefling finding little more than a small pocket knife like used to carve the tree with its 43 tallies. He turns the small blade this way and that in his red hands, dark nails tracing the edge before pricking his thumb atop the tip. No blood flows along the blunted edge.

With one quick toss, the useless blade flies over his shoulder, “I’m a bit too far gone for respecting the dead at this point.”

The holy man frowns deeply, those ancient lines creasing in old paths. He turns away from the grim display and takes out his feather once more. Whispering more quiet words meant only for the far reaching ears of gods, the old man holds the brilliant feather out before him like a candle in the dark. After a breath, he releases the stem and watches it flutter listlessly to the wet ground. The stem settles first in the mud, its tip angling lightly toward the deadman’s path.

“I think we should go this way.”

Emet’s lips curl into a faint snarl, “How much faith do you have in that feather?”

“A lot of faith.”

“Do you honestly trust that more than the actual, factual compass you have in your other hand?” The rebel asks with no small amount of skepticism, the moment of warmth shared between them only a moment ago blowing away with the breeze.

“It has never lead me wrong, nor has my god. Besides,” the holy man tosses the tarnished bronze compass to the rebel, “this does nothing. It is broken.”

“I can’t fucking map-read,” she growls as she snatches it from the air with a loud clang as the compass hits the edge of her shield. The rebel palms the bronze and glass bauble in her hands, watching it a moment and expecting the needle to settle. But the sharp red spine continues to wobble and spin as though unsure.

Her eyes narrow, “I don’t think it’s meant to do that.”

“I have never had a compass,” the holy man shrugs, “but I did not think so.”

“Hey, poncy bloke,” the rebel looks up at Emet, “You look like you know how to use this kind of shit.”

Emet arcs a sharp brow at the nickname. In the absence of anyone having offered up their names, it was inevitable they’d all call each other something. But poncy bloke? Not exactly his first guess. Most people went with ‘giant’ or ‘tower’. He’s even heard ‘statue’. 

The rebel’s arm swings out with the compass and all the world slows. Emet’s breath catches and his eyes lock on that approaching hand like a blade plummeting toward his gut. For a moment he can’t see, his vision crystalizing on that hand and blurring all the world around it as he instinctively steps away before he’s even realized what he’s done. His body moving without thought, shifting back as though about to be skewered in a fight before the moment ends and only an open palm offering a compass hangs before him. 

A strange look crosses the half-elf’s face. 

Emet thought he was starting to get better about this. Hand-shakes, fingers brushing when taking a drink from a server’s hands, shoulders getting bumped in a crowded tavern. All of these things he could handle with a steadying breath. But all of those things are expected touches. Expected moments that he can predict and prepare for, ready his nerves to stand firm. But the more unexpected the approach, the more he steps back into the shelter of himself like a fox cornered between stones with nowhere to run from the wolf’s shadow. And his body reacts with all it knows in that moment. Fear.

Emet shifts his blade arm deeper beneath the dark cloak draped over his shoulder, drawing attention away from the hand wrapped tightly around the glaive’s broken haft with a light cough as he forces his clenched fingers to release. He breathes, thankful he did not draw steel this time. 

Acting as though nothing happened, Emet stiffly leans over when the rebel gives the compass a little shake, beckoning him to take a look. Her face immediately screws up, recoiling as though he’s some shit-faced drunk at the bar thick with the scent of whiskey and lust and offering her the best lay of her life. Emet doesn’t understand the shift in her expression a moment before he realizes he’s a very large man looming over this young woman despite the distance his previous reaction put between them. The half-elf’s discomfort is readily apparent and Emet quickly puts some space between them after a brief glance down at the compass.

“No, it’s not supposed to do that,” he says gently.

The compass disappears in one of the rebel’s belt pouches as she shuffles away from him, risking a look over to the holy man as though asking him to interpret what the hell just happened. The old man only shrugs lightly.

Everything is going wrong, that’s what happened.

He almost apologizes, but the words catch in his throat. What if doing so makes them ask why he practically jumped away from her. Those aren’t questions he’s ready to answer, so better to not give an opportunity for them to be asked.

“So we have a feather, a broken compass, and I’m hoping you’re a tracker,” Emet says to the charmer, trying to plough through and trample into dust whatever walls this disaster of a conversation brought up before anyone thinks too hard on it.

The tiefling regards him a moment before flicking away a piece of dried grass twirling between his long fingers, “I rely on instinct and I’m with the old man on this one. His dumb feather pointed to where I wanted to go anyways.”

“Thank you, young boy,” the holy man nods.

“Watch it.”

“You keep calling me ‘old man’, why can’t I call you ‘young boy’. It is better than ‘devil boy’, no?”

“You’re fair game,” the tiefling bites back, “I’m not.”

Emet pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing, “Would it not be better to call each other by our actual names instead of these substitutes.” He cuts a glance at the rebel to his side, “Creative as they are.”

The charmer scoffs, “Let’s not get sentimental.”

“First names, then.”

The holy man’s eyes widen incredulously, face scrunching as though Emet just suggested the moon is an illusion, “I only have one name. Are you supposed to have more?”

“Typically…Your name and a family name.”

The rebel murmurs something under her breath about having too many.

“That is a…weird revelation, but okay.” The holy man lifts his hand in greeting, “My name is Roshan, but you can call me ‘old man’ if you like.”

“Emet. We’ll leave it at that for now.”

Both the charmer and rebel suddenly find great interest in some moss on a tree and a particularly long strand of dried grass as Emet and Roshan’s attentions fall on them in expectant silence. 

“I can just call you ‘devil boy’ and ‘lovely elf lady’ if you want,” Roshan offers.

The charmer rolls his eyes and flicks away the chunk of moss, “Evrrot. You can call me Evrrot.”

Kicking a loose stone on the ground, the rebel keeps her voice low. Perhaps hoping no one will actually hear her, “Most people call me Evie.”

Roshan nods after each one, fingers twirling in his beard as though he can tie each name to his memory, “Emet, Evrrot, Evie. Everyone is an ‘E’. That is strange, but okay.”

“So we’re done here?” Evrrot asks, “Everyone all happy with their little names?”

He walks off down the deadman’s path without waiting for an answer, abruptly ending the conversation that was more akin to pulling teeth than basic introductions. Roshan quickly follows with a grin, resuming his practice of trying to walk ahead of Evrrot, further irritating the charmer tiefling into a faster pace.

Emet and Evie watch them hastily disappear between the trees, left behind again. Realization slowly dawns on them as they share another look that this will likely be their shared fate quite often in the days ahead.

“You know,” Evie says, “I get the feeling that wherever we go, we’re gonna end up in the same place anyways.”

“As do I,” Emet sighs. 

“We could just keep following this muddy slop road and they’d probably end up right behind us.” She shrugs, “We could just go.”

“Tempting, though I get the feeling we shouldn’t be separating in a place like this.” He glances around the dark and silent forest pointedly, the mists shifting into strange shapes and shadows in the distance.

“Mmm, probably right,” she groans. “Come on then.”

Evie ushers Emet ahead of her and they follow the already fading silhouettes of Evrrot and Roshan. Both still vie for who gets to lead without there ever being a winner. Though from the near permanent curl to the old human’s lips, Emet suspects Roshan takes the game itself as a win.

The arrow carved into the tree above forty-three sharp tallies—every slash bearing down harder than the last, the groupings becoming more sporadic and wild, telling a tale of madness and desperation—points them down a narrow footpath. The trail is thin, quickly forcing them into a line as the trees and brush crowd in eagerly to either side. Branches reaching out to snag on their clothes and boots sinking in the thick slosh of earth. Roshan and Evrrot are forced to relinquish their game of footsie. ‘Devil boy’ comes out on top as he slips ahead of the holy man through a rather narrow bend where two barren trees crowd as desperately close as lovers in a storm. Despite the loss, Roshan casts a secret little amused grin toward him and Evie. A promise their game is far from over.

Though the scent of decay and rot gradually gave way to bitterly sharp winter air as they walked beyond the corpse along the road, it returns again, thick as ever in their lungs and threatening to make them choke. Ahead, an eerily similar tree with another forty-three tallies looms near the path with a bowed back, its branches nearly sweeping the dried grasses. Another arrow continues to point further down the path. But it’s the second body that makes this repetition unsettling, a shiver passing through their bones as though someone walked over their graves. 

A bulking husk, ribs splayed open in grim offering to the meal of its soft blackened innards spills out across the path. Bloated gases wafting from the entrails with fresh release as though only recently released from the prison of bone. A half eaten yawning skull grins up at them through the sinew of the face it once wore, hooves splayed out in deep grooves as though the beast tried to keep running until the very moment of death. The rotting horse rests on its side, never to rise again.

Evrrot studies the body from a good distance where the smell is not quite so overwhelming. Emet notes he doesn’t pinch his nose from the stench as though it is one he well accustomed to. In fact, none of them do. An odd revelation, but one Emet isn’t yet sure of what it means. His own line of work often sent him delving into crypts and left him covered in the rot of decay for hours before he could finally scrub it off. But the average person does not easily handle such a scent without practice. The newest recruits to the order often went on several missions before they could stand it without bile filling their throats. His own first experience left him nauseated for days and unable to keep anything more than light broth down.

Evrrot steps over the splayed hooves, “Alright, so that dead guy was on this horse obviously. Probably riding away from whatever settlement is down the path. His horse dies, he goes on foot, and then he dies.”

“Or the other way around,” Evie counters, “Horse could’ve thrown him, then the horse went and died.”

Roshan hops lightly over the body, kneeling by the tree with a dagger of his own and carving a new tally to the set, “Maybe he was carrying the horse,” the old man offers sagely, “He was very tired.”

All eyes turn on him and Roshan simply grins.

With the tally carved, Evrrot quickly jumps ahead of the holy man and presses the group further down the pointed path. Emet steps carefully over the corpse, glancing back at Evie to see if she desires a hand. But the half elf stares off behind them, unawares. The path they’ve walked is already half swallowed by mist, the large wagon trail long gone from view. She twists back with a sigh, face quickly shifting as she gives him a glare to move. They continue on.

Eerie becomes troubling when the path leads to a third tree with the same forty-three tallies and another arrow. The lack of a corpse this time does little to alleviate the hook twisting in Emet’s stomach. It lifts and snarls his insides, not in pain, but in anticipation. Anticipation of the moment it will all go wrong. 

This is what it felt like that day. The day he should’ve listened to his instincts.

The arrow points to a swallowed path. All sign of trail and trees vanish behind a solid wall of fog so thick Emet cannot see even a glimpse of what lies beyond. It bisect everything perfectly, trees ending abruptly as though severed by blade. As though a curtain were drawn across the land on a giant stage. The line the mist cuts across the path is unnaturally defined, too sharp and perfect and to be natural, yet permeable as proven by the grasses swaying in and out, vanishing instantly on the other side, yet returning again.

The foreboding hook twists deeper with the echo of Emet’s past. Of dark crypts and silent darkness, a day that started in laughter and ended in screams. Blood spilled beneath the sickening brightness of beautiful sunny day, the color forever tainted in red. They should’ve stayed on the well-worn wagon path. They never should have cut through these godforsaken woods. His instincts tell him to turn back now, but going back on his own still seems a far more foolish idea in these unknown lands. 

Emet steels himself. A chilled touch settles over his shoulder. If the self-chosen leaders get him killed—if they ruin what he’s given everything for—Emet will never allow them a moment’s peace. Not in this life or the next. He already knows Kelemvor will never collect his twice damned soul. Not after what he did. So he’ll have all the time in eternity’s glass to make good on his vow. Maybe this one he’ll keep.

“This repetition is how the kid died.” He glares at the severed path, “We’re going in circles.”

“This isn’t the same as the last tree,” Evie says, “The old guy put an extra mark in that one. Plus, no dead things.”

“Not yet.”

But Emet suspects they will pass that tree again and the horse one beyond. And if his instinct proves right, they will do so again and again until they too die of exhaustion, carving tallies into trees until they can carve no more. There’s madness here and he’ll be damned if it catches him off guard. But the dead kid probably thought the same thing. Now he rots with a skeletal finger ever reaching for the path that killed him. A warning they did not heed.

The wall looms before them, vast and endless until it vanishes into the grey of the skies. Tendrils of thick mist swirl and twist like eels against the edges, unseen bodies pressing against the glass but never breaking through. The snaking, winding movement is almost hypnotic in the terrible silence.

Evie’s eyes narrow, “Anyone else think this fog is fucky?”

“Yes,” Emet and Roshan answer in unison.

The holy man taps his staff, warm dawns light spreading across the wood like honey. Though it glows in the deep reds and oranges of the morning sun, the light does little to chase away the sickly grey of this place. 

He nods satisfied, “But this is the path, so let’s go.”

Emet blanches as Roshan lifts his shepherd’s crook and presses toward the wall of fog without another thought. He vanishes instantly. Whatever god this holy man follows, Emet hopes they have as much faith in their followers as Roshan does in them because this is about as foolish as sticking your hand in a nesting viper’s den and trusting it will not bite.

Evrrot—never more than a half step behind the holy man—strolls past the moon elf as casually and carelessly as choosing a garden path to stroll, vanishing almost instantly behind the old human. Not even a shadow is left to hint at their passing.

Emet stands speechless, too shocked to believe what he’s just seen.

The words finally come to him, “Well, fuck.”

[oblivious-aro]

Friends in strange Places Ch. 6 Pt 2

What if Vlad was good instead of evil? Link to chapter 1:

Friends in Strange Places Chapter 1, a danny phantom fanfic | FanFiction

FANFICTION.NET

Summary: Vlad comes over to The Fenton's house for the first time since telling Jack and Maddie about his ghost half and Tucker asks Valerie out on a date.

Word Count: 8600

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It was Danny's turn to do the dishes after supper that night.

"I'll wash, you dry tonight?" Maddie offered as Jazz went upstairs to study while Jack headed down to the lab.

"Sure." Danny said, setting the pile of plates he was carrying in the dish water.

Danny watched as his mom scrubbed a plate.

"So how was school today?"

During drama class, no one had noticed that some ghost with floofy pants that only spoke in iambic pentameter had shown up instead of Trevor that day. Danny had spent the next hour struggling to find a way to suck their Romeo into The Fenton Thermos without anyone noticing.

"Pretty average." he shrugged.

"That's good to hear." Maddie smiled.

Danny watched her scrub a plate.

He thought about the conversation they'd had in the helicopter. He'd said he'd tell her what was going on soon.

That had been months ago.

He could tell her now.

The thought made Danny's heart speed up dramatically.

"Are you keeping up with your homework alright?" Maddie asked "We haven't had any calls from Mr Lancer lately, but I know you had that rough patch at the start of the year."

"Don't worry, I've been doing better. Jazz has been giving me study tips." Danny responded mechanically.

"I'm glad to here that." Maddie smiled "I know how much of an adjustment high school can be. I'm glad you at least have Jazz to show you the ropes. Ugh, I don't know how your father always gets so much cheese stuck on his plate." Maddie rolled her eyes as she grabbed the scouring pad.

Danny's mind was too occupied to pay attention to what Maddie was saying.

He couldn't tell his mom he was half-ghost while they were doing the dishes. That was way too big a bombshell to just drop like that. Besides, it was probably better to tell her and Dad at the same time, get the revelations all out of the way at once.

Danny sighed to himself.

It was logical reasoning, but Danny still felt like a coward. He wanted so badly to tell them, to just get it over with, but it never felt like the right time.

His mom handed him the wet plate to dry.

"Did I tell you Vlad's stopping by tomorrow?" she said.

Danny almost dropped the plate.

"R-really?"

"Yup. Sometime around four, he said."

"O-oh. Th-that's...cool." Danny didn't notice that he was drying the air above the plate instead of the plate itself.

"Are you alright, Sweetie?" Maddie raised an concerned eyebrow.

"Huh? Oh yeah, fine, fine, totally fine. I was just wondering, um..." Danny rubbed the back of his neck "Do you think it might be kind of awkward with you three? You know, with the whole, finding-out-Vlad-has-ghost-powers thing?"

"Oh don't be silly, Danny." Maddie laughed as she handed Danny another plate.

"It's not weird for you and Dad? You know, since you're ghost hunters?"

"Vlad's not a ghost Danny, he's our friend. I mean, sure, none of us expected...this to happen, but your father and I can adjust. I mean, we did choose a career path where one has to be prepared to deal with the unexpected, so we've been managing our mindset."

Danny's mind flashed to that night in the kitchen when he'd seen his mother sobbing with her face buried in her hands, his dad's arms wrapped around her.

Now she spoke so collectedly it was hard for Danny to believe he was talking to the same person.

"That being said," she continued "Things are really going to depend on Vlad's comfort level."

"What do you mean?" Danny asked.

"You saw how he was at the end of the trip, Danny. The poor dear had himself tied up in knots for years, worried about how Jack and I would react to his ghostly properties." Maddie sighed "I do have sympathy for him, of course, but sometimes I just can't believe he honestly thought we'd turn on a friend like tha- GHOST!"

In an instant, Maddie whipped out an ecto blaster and shot at the plate she'd just pulled out of the sudsy water. Danny instinctively ducked and pulled the dishtowel over his head as the ecto blast bounced around the room a few times before dissipating.

"Ope, never mind, that was just a weirdly shaped guacamole smudge." Maddie laughed as she put away her blaster and continued scrubbing the plate. "Anyway, I suppose we'll have to tread a little carefully tomorrow, but I'm sure things will go smoothly once we get everything out in the air."

"That's great to hear, Mom." Danny said, clutching the dishtowel around his head.

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"So did you tell them yet?" Sam asked as soon as she saw Danny approaching their table.

"Couldn't you at least wait for me to sit down?" Danny said as he took the seat across from her.

"Okay, you're sitting now, did you tell them yet?"

"Sam!" Danny threw back his head in exasperation.

"So that's a 'no'?"

Danny rolled his eyes.

"I haven't told them yet, and I don't know when I'm going to, but I'm stressed out enough without you pressuring me!"

"Okay, okay, I'll stop asking." Sam relented "But don't you think we should at least start discussing the plan?"

"The plan?"

"You know, like when you want to do it, who you want to be there, that sort of thing."

"Uh..." Danny's brain completely blanked "I think I'll just figure all that out later."

"You know, it might help your stress levels to at least start to get a plan in place."

Danny didn't agree. Just thinking about telling his parents made him feel queasy.

"Do you want Tucker and me to come over some night? Would that help?"

"I don't know." Danny couldn't keep the irritation out of his voice "Why are you even so invested in this Sam? I thought you were against me telling my parents at all."

Sam took a deep breath, gathering patience. Couldn't Danny see she was trying to be supportive?

"Danny, it may not be what I'd do in your shoes, but I know this is important to you, and you seem pretty stressed out about it, so we're just trying to help. Tucker, back me up here."

But Tucker wasn't paying attention to the conversation. His eyes were locked on the empty seat by Sam.

"Valerie not joining us today?" he asked.

"Doesn't seem like it." Danny shrugged.

Sometimes Valerie would join the trio for lunch, but most days she went to the library to do homework. She said she liked to have it out of the way in case there was a ghost attack after school.

The idea of not having any homework after school did seem pretty sweet, but Danny didn't know how a person could stand seven straight hours of school without a break. The idea made his brain melt.

"Ah. Well," Tucker stood up "I'm gonna go now. I've got something I needed to do before lunch ends. See you two later!"

Tucker grabbed his bag and headed for the cafeteria exit.

"I see he left his tray for us to take back." Danny remarked.

"Thanks Tucker." Sam rolled her eyes "Any idea where he was going?"

"Uh...nope!" Danny thought about the conversation he and Tucker had the other night "No idea!"

"Hm." Sam was too occupied watching Tucker leave to notice Danny's terrible acting skills. "Well, while it's just us, I wanted to ask you for a favour."

"What's up?" Danny was glad for the change in topic, but he had learned a long time ago to not say 'yes' to Sam's favours until she told you what they were.

"Don't tell Tucker I'm aro."

"Aro?"

"It's short for aromantic."

"Oh. Yeah, sure no problem. I'd never tell anyone something like that without permission. If anyone understand- wait, do you like, specifically not want Tucker to know?"

"Yup."

That was weird. Sam was usually very open about her identity. You didn't have to talk to her long to find out she was an 'ultra-recyclo vegetarian'. Or what that was. In great detail.

"Why?"

"Because discovering this about myself has been really eye opening. So many things have clicked into place and I really feel like I understand myself and the world a lot better now that I know I'm aro."

"Okay, what's that got to do with Tucker?"

"Look, Tucker's my friend, but this is very important to me, and I know he wouldn't take it seriously."

"People taking you seriously never stopped you from sharing your views before. Very loudly, might I add."

"It's not my fault if people can't handle the dark inconvenient truths of this world. But this is different. It's not a debatable opinion or a style choice, it's an unchangeable part of who I am. If Tucker tried to turn this into a joke, I might strangle him with his own beret, and I feel like you'd be pretty sad if your best friend got murdered."

Despite Sam's joking, Danny couldn't help but take what she was saying very seriously. He knew Sam and Tucker weren't getting along the best right now, but apparently both of them had decided to start keeping things from the other.

When had things gotten so bad?

"Tucker would take this seriously if you told him how important it is to you." Danny insisted.

"Yeah right. He never takes anything seriously." Sam flipped over a piece of lettuce with her fork "Besides, he's probably itching to get back at me for teasing him about Valerie so much."

"What? I don't think he cares that much."

"He seemed to care a lot when he tried to goad me in the RV."

"Well if you're really worried about that, maybe you should apologize to him." Danny suggested.

"Come on Danny, you know how Tucker is." Sam said, stabbing some vegetables onto her fork "He'd just turn my apology into a joke like he does with everything."

"Okay one, he doesn't turn everything into a joke, and two, I'm literally a ghost and your favourite colours are black and dark black. Can you blame Tucker for wanting to lighten things up a little?"

"I like purple too." Sam grumbled.

"Look, I've known Tucker a long time, and I know sometimes he doesn't think about what he says, but his heart's in the right place, and if you just talked to him directly and told him he was bothering you in some way, he will listen."

"Sure Danny." Sam said as she took a bite of her salad.

Danny sighed. Why'd he have to be friends with the two most stubborn people on the planet?

"Can you just think about it?" he asked "You two are friends. You really should have a little more faith in each other."

"Yeah, I'll mull it over." Sam said.

She didn't sound totally sarcastic. Dany supposed that was a start.

"So," Sam said "Did you remember to bring in your book report?"

"That's due today? I thought Lancer said Friday!"

"No, it was definitely today."

"Oh man, oh man," Danny began digging through his bag "I still have to write the conclusion!"

"Okay that's not too bad," Sam said, handing Danny a pencil "There's ten minutes of lunch left, you can get something passable if you hurry."

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Tucker checked around the doorframe to the library again, silently debating whether or not he should go in.

On one hand, he didn't want to interrupt Valerie's study session to ask her out. He knew how annoyed he got when people interrupted him when he was working. Not to mention whisper-asking someone out wasn't the most romantic gesture.

On the other hand, Valerie might stay in the library up to the last second of lunch, so if he waited much longer he might not have enough time to properly ask her.

Tucker sighed as he checked his watch. Maybe it would be better to do this another-

"Hey Tucker." Valerie said, emerging from the library "What are you skulking outside the library for?"

"Valerie! Just the girl I wanted to see!"

Tucker was relieved to see Valerie, but it didn't last long when he remember why he'd wanted to see her alone in the first place.

"Oh yeah?" she said.

"Yeah, I um," Tucker cleared his throat "I had something I wanted to ask you."

"What's up?"

"I was just wondering if you maybe wanted to um...maybe go out sometime. With me."

"You mean...like a date?"

"Uh, yeah. I mean, i-if you're interested, that is. Like, no pressure or anything." Tucker adjusted his glasses.

"That..." Valerie smiled "Yeah. I would like to do that."

"Really?" Tucker felt his heart leap in his chest.

"Yeah. I'm don't have anything I need to do today. Wanna meet up at seven?"

"Yeah!" Tucker beamed "That sounds great."

"Cool. I, uh, I'd better get to class. See you then!"

Valerie waved and quickly walked away so Tucker wouldn't see how wide she was smiling.

Tucker waited until Valerie was all the down the hall. Once he was sure she was too far away to hear, he let out whoop and pumped his fist in the air.

"She said yes!" he squealed "She actually- I'd better get to class." Tucker cut off his own celebration "Ms Ramos probably wouldn't that I was just got a date with Valerie."

Tucker started running down the hall, his heart doing little skips all the way to fourth period.

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"Hey Mom! Dad!" Danny called as he shut the door "We're home!"

"Oh, hey kids!" Maddie called back "We're down in the lab! Would you two mind joining us?"

Jazz and Danny looked at each other before starting down the basement stairs. When they got to the lab, they saw their parents putting some devices into a cardboard box. More boxes were piled on the floor next to them.

"What's with all the boxes?" Jazz asked.

"Well, since Vlad's coming over today," Maddie said "We figured we'd move some of our more...sensitive equipment into the garage and out of the house."

"Really?" Danny's eyes lit up.

"Yup." Jack nodded "We'll bring 'em back to the lab after Vlad leaves, of course. But while he's here we'll keep them out of his vicinity. For his comfort and safety."

"Oh."

Jazz glanced pityingly at the deflated Danny.

"Think we should add this to the box?" Jack held a glowing green rock up to Maddie.

"The ectoranium? Well, I hate to leave something so valuable out in the garage, but our research indicates it can be excruciatingly painful for ectoplasmic entities to touch, so we'd better not risk."

"That's a good point Madds. Oh, I know! Danny! Take this to Ops Center! It'll be more secure there!"

"Uhhhh..." Danny stared at the rock his dad was holding out to him.

"Oh, don't worry about what your mother said son," Jack waved his free hand "Ectoranium only hurts ghosts!"

"Yes! But," Jazz lunged forward and grabbed the rock from her dad "Danny's just sooo tired from school. He can't carry this all the way up to the Ops Center. Just look at those noodly arms."

"Hey!" Danny said.

"But honey," Maddie said, perplexed "You, um...both went to school today."

"Yeah, well, Danny did this thing in gym class. It's, uh, a thing they make the freshmen do. You know, the ninth grade..."

Jazz gave Danny a look that said Please help, it's your skin I'm trying to save here!

"...run?" Danny lamely supplied.

Jazz gave him another look. This one said Seriously? That's the best you could come up with?

"Ninth grade run?" Jack scratched his chin "Well since it was only running, You should still be able to help us carry this stuff Danno."

Danny took a step towards the boxes, but froze when something started beeping.

"Uh, actually" Jazz said loudly "Running is an exercise that works the entire body, and The Ninth Grade Run isn't just a run! It's more of a triathlon, so Danny really shouldn't be carrying anything right now! Don't you two remember when I did The Run? All my muscles were sore for, like, a week!"

"Oh, are you feeling sore Danny?" Maddie asked sympathetically. "You don't have to help move stuff if you're not feeling up to it, Sweetie."

"Yup!" Danny said "Jazz's right, I'm really sore everywhere. Sorry I can't help move this stuff, but I'm going to go upstairs and rest for a bit. Um, ow, ow, ouch." Danny exaggerated a limp as he climbed the basement stairs.

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Danny was sitting on his bed reading comics when he heard a knock on his door.

"Come in." He said.

The door swung open, revealing a disgruntled Jazz with globs of ectoplasm tangled in her hair.

"What-"

"Don't ask. Is The Fenton Scalp Scrubber in here?"

"Yeah," Danny picked up what looked like a hand vacuum with mini scrubbers all over it from his nightstand "That ghost Youngblood decided he was obsessed with paintball the last time I fought him. Except instead of paint, his shots were filled with compressed ectoplasm. Catch!"

"You owe me for this one." Jazz said, catching the device with one hand "Also 'Ninth Grade Run'? Was that seriously the best you could come up with?"

"Hey, you're the one who started the cover up story! You didn't really give me much to work with!

"I'll tell you one thing," The Scrubber buzzed as Jazz switched it on and began running it meticulously through her hair. "I'll be glad to finally not have to ad-lib these excuses anymore once you tell Mom and Dad. The only thing that makes me cringe harder than watching Mom and Dad fall for the nonsense I come up with is watching them fall for the nonsense you come up with. Speaking of, have you come up with a plan for telling them yet?"

"Er..." Danny held his comic up in front of his face "I'm still thinking."

"About..."

"Y'know...how to, like...tell them."

"You haven't thought about it at all, have you Danny?"

"I have thought about it. I'm just still trying to figure out when and how I want to do it."

"Danny, it's been well over a week."

"I mean, this is kind of a big thing, Jazz."

"I understand that, but I can't help but feel like you're putting this off. You do want to tell Mom and Dad, right?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then what's with the stalling?"

"I'm not stalling! I'm just trying to figure out the right way to do it."

"There's no perfect way to-"

"I never said it had to be 'perfect'." Danny threw his comic aside "Ugh, why does everyone keep bugging me about this? They're my ghost powers! I'll tell Mom and Dad when I'm ready."

"This affects the rest of us to, Danny." Jazz said "I know you have the most at stake, but we're all anxious about it. I'm not going to drag you downstairs and force you to tell Mom and Dad right this second, but I'm not leaving until we've discussed some sort of-"

Jazz was interrupted by sharp gasp from Danny, a tell-tale puff of mist escaping his mouth.

"Aw darn, a ghost, guess we gotta continue this conversation later." Danny shrugged as he transformed.

"Danny, you can't avoid facing this mental block forever. Even if you won't talk to me about it, at some point you have to sit down and ask yourself-"

"Gotta go! See you Jazz!" Danny yelled as he flew out the window.

"Jazz! Danny!" Jack called from downstairs "Vladdie's here! I saw him out the window! Come down and say hello!"

Jazz glanced at Danny's open window and sighed before heading downstairs to greet Vlad. That kid was quite the headache sometimes.

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Angela Foley narrowed her eyes.

"Your teeth are brushed?"

"Yup."

"Glasses are clean?"

"Yup."

"You're sure that's what you want to wear?"

"Mom!" Tucker rolled his eyes "Valerie and I decided this would be a casual date."

"But it's still your first date, Honey." Angela straightened Tucker's beret "I'm so excited for you! I just want everything to go as smoothly as it can."

"And I appreciate that, I really do, but-"

Tucker was interrupted by the basement door flying open.

"Did he leave yet!?"

"No Maury, he's still here." Tucker's mom told his dad "But he was just about to. I told you he had to be gone by six thirty."

"I know, I know." Maurice shut the door and walked over to Tucker and Angela "I was at a critical juncture in my Enterprise model and I lost track of time. You know how it is with level fives. Anyway," Maurice dug in his pocket and handed Tucker a twenty dollar bill "Here's a little something to mark the occasion."

"Oh, cool! Thanks Dad."

"You're welcome Son." Maurice continued to smile, but his expression shifted to a more more businesslike one "Now, have a good time and make sure you treat Valerie right. And compliment her appearance at least once. I know you two aren't doing anything big, but if there's one thing I learned from my older sisters, it's that first dates are ripe for self-consciousness, especially in teenagers, so a little pick-me-up in that regard can go a long way. Speaking of, you're not looking too bad yourself, kiddo. I see you cleaned your glasses for the occasion, excellent. Always good to show you're putting in an effort, even if it's not a serious date. You know, I remember my first-"

"Ugh, not you too!" Tucker opened the front door "Look, I already sat through Mom fussing over me, and if I go through all that again with you, I know I'm going to be late, which is not how I want to start off my first date!"

Tucker swung the door shut behind him. Not five seconds passed before the door opened again and Tucker stuck his head back inside.

"That being said, I do appreciate how much you two try to support me and take an interest in my personal life, but I've really got to go now, so I love you and bye!"

Tucker slipped back out and shut the door for real this time, a bit more gently.

"They grow up so fast." Maurice wiped an imaginary tear from his eye "You remember your first date?"

"Timothy Matthews. Freshman year. Same age as Tucker. If that kid treats that lovely girl even remotely like Timothy treated me, I'll flay him alive."

"Come on Dear," Maurice laughed and put an arm around his wife's shoulder "You know he won't. That kid's got a good heart."

"I know." Angela put her hand on top of her husband's "We can just heat some leftovers for dinner tonight. Did you want any help with that model?"

"Absolutely." Maurice beamed.

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Tucker knocked on the door. He gave his outfit one last lookover. It was just the same stuff he usually wore, since he and Valerie had agreed to keep this date low-key, but he'd still made sure to pick out a stain-free sweater and rip-free pants. It was still a date, after all.

The apartment door opened to reveal a very tall man. He gazed sternly down at Tucker.

"Um, hi," Tucker greeted him nervously "You must be Valerie's dad?"

"I Just want you to know young man," Damian Gray's voice was deep and threatening "That if you hurt my Valerie in any way, I will-"

"Come off it Daddy," Valerie pushed passed her dad with an 'over it' look on her face "You're not funny."

"Aw, Valerie." Damian's voice was suddenly much softer "You ruined it. I really had him going."

Valerie rolled her eyes, but she was smiling affectionately.

"Did you really think I was just going to stand there and let you scare my date away?" Valerie crossed her arms.

Tucker felt a small jolt of giddiness when Valerie referred to him as her date.

"No," Damian smiled back "I suppose I did raise you right. You kids enjoy yourselves. And be back by ten."

"Eleven?" Valerie smiled wide and fluttered her eyelashes.

"Ten thirty, and that's as good as you're gonna get Val. It's a school night."

"Fine. Love you Daddy."

"Love you too Babygirl. Have fun and be safe."

Damian closed the door, leaving Valerie and Tucker alone in the hallway.

"So," Tucker felt his cheeks heat up "We're going on a date. You and me. That's...that's pretty wild."

"Yeah." Valerie bashfully tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "So, where are we going?"

"I...uh...didn't think that far ahead." Tucker was instantly pulled back down to earth. How had he forgotten such and important detail? "We could...do a movie?"

"Eh...to be honest, a date where we sit there and don't talk for two hours doesn't really sound like the greatest first date."

"Huh, I never really thought about it like that. Why is a movie always the go-to first date on TV then?"

Valerie shrugged.

"Okay, we could...uh..." Tucker totally blanked.

This wasn't good. Despite being the one to ask her out, Tucker had no idea where would be a decent place to take Valerie on a date, and he was beginning to panic.

"You kids should go to bowling!" Damian called through the door "They've got snacks, and Valerie's a great-"

"Dad!" Valerie interrupted sharply.

"Sorry! I'll be quiet now."

There was an long moment of silence.

"Bowling does sound pretty good, actually." Tucker said "Amity Lanes does make pretty good hot dogs."

"You know what, why not?" Valerie smiled "I do like bowling, and it has been a while since-"

"See! I do have good ideas sometimes!"

"Dad!"

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"Okay," Maddie turned to Jack, her hand on the door knob "Remember what we talked about."

"I know, I know," Jack waved his hand "No talking about ghosts or ghost powers until Vlad explicitly says he's comfortable with it."

Satisfied, Maddie opened the door.

"Hello Jack, Maddie." Vlad greeted them, formal as always. "It's wonderful to see you again."

"Hey Vladdie, come on in!" Jack wrapped his massive arm around Vlad's shoulder's and practically dragged him inside "And don't worry, we're not going to ask you any questions about your powers or even talk about ghost stuff until you say you're comfortable with it!"

Jack finished his sentence with what was probably intended to be a comforting smile.

Maddie facepalmed.

"That's...great to hear Jack." Vlad returned a smile that was much more strained.

"How about we go sit in the kitchen?" Maddie said, gently inserting herself between Vlad and Jack "I just put the kettle on."

"Yes, that sounds rather lovely."

Maddie didn't miss the stilted way Vlad spoke.

When they got to the kitchen, they found Jazz moving some books off the table and into her bag.

"Hello Jazz," Vlad greeted her "How have you been?"

"I've been good Mr Masters." Jazz swung her bag over her shoulder "Mom, Dad, I'm going to the library. Danny's in his room, sleeping. Do not wake him up. Enjoy you're visit."

She grabbed her keys and marched right past the adults and out of the house before anyone could respond.

"She's certainly...efficient." Vlad remarked.

"Well," Maddie said "Guess its just us. Ope, there's the kettle!"

"Have a seat Vladdie!" Jack said, sitting at the table as Maddie poured the boiling water into a teapot.

"Y-yes, of course." Vlad said, sitting down opposite Jack.

Maddie set the tray with the tea stuff down at the table.

"So Vladdie," Jack said "How ya been since we last saw you?"

"Oh, um, I've been well."

"That's good to hear." Jack smiled.

Despite his upbeat tone, Maddie could tell Jack was feeling the tension as much as she and Vlad were.

Maddie sighed to herself. She was trying to be sensitive, but if someone didn't address the elephant in the room, the whole visit was going to be this awkward.

"So, Vlad." she said, sitting down at the table "We didn't really get the chance to talk much after...after that ghost attack at your cottage."

"Oh," Vlad immediately tensed "I-I mean, well, you know-"

"Listen Vlad," Maddie cut off his rambling "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but I really think it would be a good idea if we talked about it. Maybe cleared the air a little? If we're being honest, it's pretty much all Jack and I have been thinking about this past week, and I have a feeling you're in a similar boat."

"I mean," Jack said "I wasn't going to say anything, but she's not wrong V-man."

Vlad sighed and his posture slipped a little, a subtle surrender.

"Alright." he relented "What did you want to know?"

"Um, well..." Maddie glanced at Jack. His expression mirrored hers. Of course, they both had a million questions, but where to even start?

"So...this all happened to you because of the proto-portal accident in college?" Maddie said.

"Yes. That's correct."

"Right, right." Maddie nodded "You did say that back at the cottage."

"Yes. I did."

Maddie grasped her hand together tightly, unsure how exactly to proceed. That had been a pretty dumb question, and Vlad could definitely tell, but she was very aware how tense this conversation was, and she wanted to be careful with what she asked next, try not to go too fast and-

"So when did your ghost powers first show up? Was it right when you got to the hospital?"

Maddie's blood pressure spiked as Vlad flinched. She was torn between giving Vlad a comforting look and glaring at Jack. He wasn't an unkind person, quite the opposite, but sometimes he just did not think! Sure, someone needed to get the conversation going, but did Jack have to go right for the throat?

"Unless you don't want to!" Maddie added hurriedly.

"Oh yeah, you don't have to talk about it if...how does Jazz put it? 'It brings up too much trauma'." Jack nodded.

"We understand if it's too painful."

"No, no, it's...alright."

Vlad cleared his throat and shifted slightly in his seat.

"I can't remember exactly how many, but I'd only been checked into the hospital for a few days when my, erm, abilities first manifested."

"How did they manifest?" Sure, Maddie had just wanted to scold Jack for his pressing question, but he wasn't the only one who had trouble keeping the scientist at bay sometimes.

"Well, I'd been suffering from a fever that kept increasing in intensity as time went by, and...I'm not exactly sure how to explain it, but I suppose I reached some kind of breaking point eventually. I was forcibly transformed into my, er, ghost form and I let out an enourmous burst of plasma energy. Did quite a bit of damage."

"How did you avoid getting caught on the security cameras?" Jack asked.

"The hospital hadn't implemented cameras yet. Wasn't the most well-funded facility."

"Ah, I guess this was back before they all had them." Jack nodded.

"Yes. There was one nurse who witnessed the whole ordeal whom I feel quite bad for, though."

"Oh dear." Maddie put a hand over her mouth.

"Yes, he was a nice young man, but I played dumb and had him convinced he'd hallucinated the whole ordeal. Didn't really have an explanation for the damage to the room, but I doubt he even tried to tell his superiors it was because his patient had turned into a monster and blasted fire everywhere." Vlad sighed "I was acting in panic, but I do regret the way I dealt with him. If I ever do find that nurse again, I'll make sure explain things."

"But what about you?" Jack asked.

"Excuse me?"

"How were you doing when all that happened? You must have been scared out of your wits, Vladdie. All on your own...Maddie and I could've been there for you, you know! We tried! We really did!"

"Jack, I told you, I didn't tell anyone what had happened. I barely even knew what was going on."

"Yeah, but we could have figured it out together! You were just stuck in the hospital by yourself, scared half to death because of my goof up." There was a pain in Jack's voice Maddie rarely heard "Oh Vladdie, I knew my mistake had cost you, but...I never really knew just how much."

Vlad was stunned. Maddie reached over and put her hand on top of Jack's.

"Dear, you can't blame yourself. We all worked on that prototype." she said softly.

"Oh please Madds. We all know I have a bad habit of rushing into things. I try to be careful, but I just get so excited sometimes and don't think! Maybe if I'd just-"

"No Jack." Vlad spoke up "I knew the risks I was signing up for. We all did. We all knew how dangerous ghost research could be. Sure, none of us probably expected that becoming a ghost was a possibility, er, well, in this capacity at least, but I knew I wasn't signing up for a normal life when I decided to investigate the paranormal. Would you be angry at me if our positions were switched?"

Jack sniffled and wiped his face with his free hand.

"You know, I've really missed having you around Vladdie."

"And I've missed you two." Vlad hand tightened into a fist on the table "A lot."

There was brief silence as the three of them took it in: after so long, the gang was back together. They were far from as they were, but at least they finally together again.

"You know..." Jack tentatively broke the silence "I wanted to tell you the last time we met up, but I finished constructing The Ecto Catapult a few months ago."

"Y-you did?" Vlad raised an eyebrow, taken aback "But, why would you bother? That was just some silly idea we had in college."

"Maybe so, but it was really cool silly idea we had in college! Seeing you at the reunion again made me think about it, so one day I just decided to go ahead and build it!"

"Of course, it has just been collecting dust in the corner of the lab ever since." Maddie said "We never even got around to properly testing it out."

"You want to go down to the lab and see it?" Jack asked.

Vlad's eyes widened slightly.

"I...very much would."

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

"Fire!"

SPLAT!

Giant globs of ectoplasm were smeared all over the wall of The Fenton Containment Tank. Jack, Maddie, and Vlad had been down there for over an hour launching ectoplasmic samples of various sizes into the giant glass container.

"Interesting." Maddie said as she scribbled furiously into a notepad "The Ecto-Pult is consistently launching the ectoplasm with enough force to induce splatter, but no matter the weight of the load, the ectoplasm retains enough surface tension to sustain its mass!"

"Even the big pieces on the ceiling aren't dripping!" Jack said "We should've tried flinging ectoplasm at a wall ages ago! There's so much to observe!"

"It's a shame all our attempts to utilize ectoplasm as an effective adhesive have failed so far." Maddie lamented "Despite its incredible mucilaginous properties, it can be pulled apart by hand relatively easily."

"Yes, I've been down that road too," Vlad said "Despite it's incredibly unique structure, the most effective use for ectoplasm I've gleaned from my research is for anti-ghost measures. And energy supplication."

"Oh, we know. Jack and I have been experimenting getting the house running on nothing but ectoplasmic energy!" Maddie beamed.

"Er, that's rather...ambitious of you two." Vlad said, his brow knitting "Seems like there'd be a number of complications to consider, though."

"Eh, it's still only a hypothetical for now." Jack waved his hand "Now, let's see if we can learn anything else from flinging ectoplasm at a wall! Maddie! Grab a sample The Fenton Deep Freeze while I wind this baby back up!"

"Ooh! That'll be interesting!"

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

The two remaining pins sat at the end of the lane tauntingly.

This was a tricky shot. Tucker knew his aim had to be perfect to knock the last two pins down.

He pulled back, swung his arm, and let the ball go. He held his breath as it rolled down the lane...

...and sailed right down the middle of the split pins.

"Dang it!"

"Word of advice," Valerie smirked as she picked up a blue ball from the return "When you get a seven-ten, in-between the pins is the worst place to throw."

"I was trying a manoeuvre!" Tucker pouted as the remaining pins were knocked over by the pinsetter.

"Ah, yes, I see." Valerie nodded "Quite the manoeuvre."

"All right," Tucker said as the new pins were set up "Let's see you do better."

Valerie grinned. She carried her ball to the lane, took a stance, aimed, and threw, her whole body smoothly following the motion.

Tucker's jaw dropped as all of the pins went crashing down. Neon letters spelling out STRIKE scrolled across teh screen above them.

"How was that manoeuvre?" Valerie smirked.

"How'd you do that?" Tucker gaped as the fallen pins were swept away.

"I was on the bowling team in middle school. Shame Casper doesn't have one."

"I'll say!"

"Of course, I wouldn't really have time for bowling if there was a team, anyway."

"What do you mean?" Tucker asked.

"Well, you know, with the whole ghost fighting thing. Gotta be ready at any time."

"Hey, it's not all on you, you know." Tucker said as he lined up his next shot "The four of us are a ghost hunting team. There's always backups if one of us has stuff to do. For instance, Sam's got her poetry thing," Tucker threw his ball as hard as he could "And I play Yarg-A-Loo at the card shop on Mondays. One of us being absent has pretty much never been a problem. Just because we gotta catch ghosts sometimes doesn't mean we can't- NOOO!"

Tucker cried out as his ball rolled into the gutter. All he could do was watch in dismay as his ball sailed right past the pins.

"Ooh!" Valerie cringed "You sure you don't want me to ask them to turn on the kiddie bumpers?"

"Yes, I'm sure." Tucker grumbled.

They bowled many more rounds. Valerie managed to get four more strikes.

"Whoo!" Tucker pumped both fists into the air as he scored his first spare of the evening "Told ya I didn't need bumpers!"

"Nice one. Hey Tucker," Valerie checked her watch "How many frames we got left?"

"Frames?"

"Yeah, how many more are left? I wasn't really counting, but I feel like we should be at least getting close to ten."

"I...don't know."

"Haven't you been keeping score?"

"Keeping score? I don't know how to keep score."

"Isn't that what you've been doing on your PDA?"

"I was just keeping an eye on my messages in case a ghost decided to try to eat the roller rink, or something."

Tucker and Valerie stared at each other in silence for a few seconds before bursting out laughing.

"Y'know," Tucker said "I think at this point we can safely say you won."

"I mean, you're probably not wrong."

"Wanna call it and grab some hot dogs from the canteen?"

"That sounds great."

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

"...but then my mom realized she didn't have the cake!" Tucker was barely holding back laughter. This was one of his favourite stories to tell.

"Wait, but you just said she set in on the driveway to buckle you in, so- oh no!" Valerie covered her mouth in horror.

"Oh yes, my dad backed right over it!"

"No way! Your mom must've flipped!"

"Yeah, both my parents were freaking out. In the end, they went and bought a cake, and told me they'd buy me whatever Lego set I wanted as long as I pretended Mom made it. And that's how I got the Toa Lhikan Bionicle that's on my computer desk."

"Is that the gold one on the rhino?"

"It's a Kikanalo, thank you very much."

"Right, right," Valerie sarcastically patted Tucker's hand "How could I have made such a mistake?"

Tucker looked down. Valerie hadn't removed her hand from his. He looked back up at Valerie and smiled. It took Valerie a second to figure out what Tucker was smiling about, but she was soon smiling back at him.

Both of their cheeks began to flush.

"Here's your hot dog's!" The chipper voice of the server almost made Tucker and Valerie jump out of their seats. They kept their hands together, though.

Valerie recovered first.

"Oh, thanks!" she politely smiled at the server "It's been way too long since I've had one of these!"

"Yeah, there's just something special about Amity Lane's footlongs." Tucker agreed before picking up his hot dog with his free hand and taking a large bite.

Tucker watched Valerie put mustard on her hot dog with one hand. Even though he hadn't known her for quite as long, talking to Valerie felt as natural as talking to Danny or Sam.

And she trusted him too. Sure, she'd been pretty hesitant at first, but it didn't take long for her to see him as someone she could talk to, and Tucker was really flattered that she thought of him that way.

It made him want to share something personal with Valerie in return.

"Hey, I just wanted to say the other day at The Nasty Burger, when you told us you were bi, that was really cool."

"Oh. Um, yeah?" Valerie didn't remove her hand from Tucker's, but there was a hint of wariness in her voice.

"Yeah. And I do realize that might seem a little weird for me to bring up, but I've been thinking that I might actually...uh maybe be bi too." Tucker adjusted his glasses as he spoke.

"Wait," Valerie sat up straighter and her eyes widened "Really?"

"Uh, just maybe!" Tucker said quickly "Like, I get crushes on guys sometimes, but I'm still not really sure if they really count."

"What?" Valerie raised an eyebrow "What makes them not count?"

"I mean, I think in my whole life I've only liked, like three maybe four guys, but I've liked at least a million girls, so I'm definitely into girls, "

"Hey, it's not like someone's gonna arrest you for not liking enough boys. If you say you're bi, then you're bi."

"I don't know." Tucker swirled his pop with his straw. "Sometimes I just worry I'm taking something that isn't mine, ya know?"

"Oh no, some kid called himself bi when he might not technically follow the standard definition a hundred percent!" Valerie said in an exaggerated voice "This is robbing us of all our bi resources! We won't be able to add in a swimming pool at the clubhouse!"

"Well it sounds ridiculous when you put it that way..."

"There might be reason for that." Valerie said, the corner of her mouth cocking upwards.

"Yeah, yeah." "You're probably right. It still feels kind of weird. Calling myself 'bi', I mean. I think I like it, but I'm not a really a hundred percent sure."

"Give it time." Valerie said "You figure it out eventually."

"Danny said something like that, too." Tucker let his head flump onto the table "Why can't someone just tell me what's going on in my brain? This all just feels so needlessly complicated!"

"Trust me, it's worth it." Valerie patted Tucker's hand.

"Okay fine, I'll stop complaining. But you and Danny had better be right about this!"

Tucker lifted his head to see Valerie smiling down at him.

"What?" Tucker asked, smiling back.

"I've just never really had someone I could talk about this stuff with. I mean, I've got some cousins who'd probably be cool, but they don't live close enough for me to see them that often. And my old friends were...well, you know."

"That sounds rough. You know, Danny and Sam are pretty cool, if you ever want to talk with the group. Jazz too. Wait, I don't think you've ever met her. She's Danny's sister, and she gives really good advice."

"I'll keep that in mind, but I like talking with you."

"Because I'm a fellow bi?"

"No, it's because I like you."

"Oh." Tucker smiled as felt his cheeks go warm "I like you too. I like talking to you."

Valerie bashfully smiled back.

The tender moment was broken by what sounded like distant screaming.

"Did you hear that?" Valerie asked.

"It kind of sounded like-"

CRASH!

Tucker was interrupted by a large object flying through the ceiling. Tucker and Valerie jumped apart as it hit their table, smashing it in half.

The object turned out to be Danny Phantom, now lying in a heap in the wreckage of Valerie and Tucker's table.

"Oh hey," Danny waved from the ground. "Didn't expect to run into you two. How's the date going?"

"Pretty good, in my opinion." Tucker said "Thanks for ask- hey wait, do you like, need help dude?"

"What? No, don't worry, I got this ghost handled, you two enjoy your date!"

"Doesn't look like you do." Valerie pulled an ecto gun out of her backpack "Danny, taking down a dangerous ghost is was more important than-"

"No no no no no! I'm good! I got this! She just got a lucky shot in." Danny grunted as he pushed himself up and cracked his neck.

"That's better." he said to himself, floating up into the air "See? I'm good. Seriously, don't worry about me. I'll just call Sam if I need help, you two enjoy your date. Oh, and congrats on Valerie saying 'yes', by the way." Danny gave Tucker a double thumbs up.

"Oh yeah, thanks." Tucker said "You sure you don't want any help?"

"One hundred percent. It's just another one of Romeo's acting buddies, I got this. Just pretend I wasn't even here."

With that, Danny zoomed back out of the hole he'd made in the ceiling, disappearing into the night sky.

Valerie looked at Tucker.

"Does he 'got this'?"

"If he says he does, I believe him. Romeo wasn't a very tough ghost." Tucker picked up his mostly intact hot dog from the floor "Would it ruin the mood if I ate this?"

"I mean, Danny definitely already killed the mood, but I'd still judge you for eating off the floor."

"What? It stayed in the basket the whole time." Tucker said as he took a bite.

Valerie rolled her eyes.

"Also these things cost like four dollars each."

"Good point." Valerie said, retrieving her own fallen hot dog.

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

"Goodbye Vlad!" Maddie beamed "Today was so much fun, we'll have to get together again soon!"

"Yes, very soon. Goodbye Maddie, Jack." Vlad smiled back as he shut the door behind him.

He really meant it. Vlad truly did plan on seeing Jack and Maddie again soon. It had been too long since he'd had that much fun.

Sure, The Ecto-Pult (as Maddie had dubbed it) was incredibly inefficient compared to most modern-day ecto weaponry, but he hadn't realized how much he missed doing research with his friends. The data they'd collected might not have been that significant, but Vlad had left that basement feeling more invigorated than he did after the most productive days in his own lab.

Vlad couldn't stop smiling as he walked down the front steps.

There were still some thing the three of them needed to work out, such as the fact that all of them were hesitant to talk about Vlad's ghost side directly, but today had felt like the first sunny day after a week of rain, and Vlad was willing to work through any amount of awkwardness to have more days like that.

After walking a short distance, Vlad ducked into an alleyway to transform. The Ghost Zone was the fastest way to travel to and from Amity Park, but Jack and Maddie didn't need to know Vlad was using their portal. Not that he thought they would mind, but it was one of those awkward things Vlad wasn't ready to discuss quite yet if he could help it.

"Well," Jack wrapped an arm around Maddie "That was a lot better than the last time Vlad visited!"

"I'll say." Maddie agreed.

Once they'd gotten down to the lab, it was like they'd all forgotten about Vlad's accident and had been transported back to college when they were a closely knit research team and everything was normal.

Of course, in reality their college days were long behind them and things were far from normal. Vlad was still hesitant to talk about his ghostly properties, and Jack and Maddie still felt pretty awkward about the whole situation themselves.

A lot of unresolved thought and feelings still had to be dealt with, and Jack and Maddie knew that fixing things with Vlad wasn't always going to be as enjoyable as today was.

But this was a start. A pretty good start, in their opinion.

[dewdropreader]

Fic Titles Ask Game!

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

I was tagged by @starport-seven-five and @loki-is-my-kink-awakening 💕

Some (most probably lol) of these have been mentioned recently in my WIP poll but some have different names or can be expanded upon!

Have at it!!

Cat ch 7

Found family 8 Kid and Loki Genderfluidity

KIP

Time Crew 6- Loki Trauma

Sylvie and Peggy Vs the End of the World

TC- Kitchen Sink

Sylkius Christmas

Loki Bingo 17- Disorientation (B) (wouldn’t be for bingo anymore bc that was last year but still lol)

TC- Ghosts

Found Family- Frost Giants

TC- Restored Memories

Flufftober

Loki Found Family 5- Boastful

I don’t have 14 people to tag (definitely not if we include how many people I’m going to double tag whoops) but I’ll tag as many as I can other than the two that already tagged me!

@insert-witty-user-name-here @mirilyawrites @cha-melodius @lgwilt @bushs-world @dreamycloud @waterhorseyblues-ao3 @blackbirdofasgard

[whispermask]

gasoline in your heart ch.6/10 | soap/ghost/könig

read on ao3 | first ~ previous | ch wc: 3.6k, total: 34k | completed

tags: smut, eventual ot3, fwbs to lovers, porn with feelings, jealous!ghost

dead dove time: this fic as a whole features a brief mention of a past suicide attempt, briefly graphic past child abuse (not CSA), past abuse of alcohol and present alcohol use, and at times dubious consent (consuming alcohol and engaging in sexual activities; dubcon voyeurism; dubcon sexting)

summary: soap and ghost start hooking up; soap and könig have apparently been hooking up; ghost doesn't know how to deal with it (eventual polycule)

preview:  “We should talk–” Soap starts. “That’s the last thing we should be doing right now,” Simon says.

They reach for each other at the same time.

“Hey,” Soap says, voice hushed. “What are you doing?”

Simon’s just closed the door of Soap’s flat and toed off his boots, turning to find arched ceilings and wall-length windows behind him. It’s more of a warehouse space really, but it’s been converted into some kind of industrial-chic studio flat, with a spiral metal staircase that leads to a platform above the main unit where the kitchen and living space are located, half of a second floor. Soap’s draped large swaths of Afghan fabrics over the black-paned windows, his sparse brightly patterned furniture gives the place a sense of warmth and nostalgia. 

Beyond the living room in the shadow of the second floor is an art studio. Simon had known that Soap liked to sketch, had seen him with his tongue poking out while he dragged graphites over the pages of his notebook, shading and smudging with the pad of his finger when he wasn’t using the charcoal or a pencil. This is on a whole different level entirely. 

He’s got three easels staged in a half circle so that his back would be to the window while he works on the canvases. The concrete floor is covered in paint splatters, countless sheets of sketch paper littering the area around the easels. Two rolling carts sit nearby, piled full with brushes in mason jars, tubes of acrylic paint, and various other tools. Soap’s covered the large canvases resting on the easels with opaque nylon sheets. 

“Mirin your place,” Simon says, turning to look at Soap where he stands with his hip leaned against the counter of his kitchen island. 

“I’ll give you the tour,” Soap says. He comes around the island to stand beside Simon, hooks his fingers beneath the strap of the duffle bag and lifts it from his shoulder and over his head to drop it at their feet. Soap gestures to pocket door on the kitchen wall to their right. “The toilet’s through there, and a walk-in shower. I put out clean towels for you if you need them,” he says, inching closer to Simon’s side as he talks, placing a hand on his arm to direct his eyes. 

“Over there’s my art studio and above it’s the bedroom and a second toilet. Once I knew I wanted to set up an art studio, I opted to renovate, create more space,” he finishes.

“It’s very stylish,” Simon says. 

“It’s my pride and joy, arsehole,” Soap says, and shoves Simon’s shoulder. Simon laughs, falls quiet, turns his back on the flat and looks at Soap, haloed in the light from the kitchen behind him. 

“We should talk–” Soap starts.

“That’s the last thing we should be doing right now,” Simon says.

They reach for each other at the same time. 

Simon goes for Soap’s waist while Soap’s hands come up to frame his face and pull him into a desperate kiss. The press of their mouths is not frantic like it’s been every other time, no threat in Soap’s touch, but it still burns through Simon like molten gold in his veins. Their lips drag against each other wet with spit, teeth catching and tongues swiping, kitten licks that turn filthy. Soap drags his cheek against Simon’s bearded face, sighs on a moan as he reaches between them to cup Simon through his jeans. “Impatient,” Simon says.

“Like you aren’t,” Soap replies. 

Simon sucks in a sharp breath when Soap squeezes his shaft lightly and rubs the heel of his palm against the sensitive head through his clothes. Soap smells leather and petrol, a hint of bergamot, familiar yet new. Beneath that, his own musk mingling with Soap’s. Their arousal becomes tangible, a thing with claws that’s been lying in wait, long grown tired of waiting. 

He backs Soap up against the island, sudden and startling, places his hands on the counter behind him, cages him in. Soap catches on soon enough, winds his arms around Simon’s neck as his hips jerk up against Simon’s. 

“I smell like stale sweat and motor oil,” Simon says, breaking their kiss. 

“Yeah,” Soap exhales, lowering his arms to grab Simon’s hands, like before on the motorcycle, and drags them from where they hold his waist to cup his ass. “I like it.”

“You like the way I smell?”

“Always,” Soap says and bites his lower lip between his teeth, looking up at him from under his lashes. 

“You right little tart,” Simon says, and pulls Soap against him from where his hands are digging into the flesh of his ass, brushes his fingertips along the tops of his thighs as he teases the inseam there. 

“You have no idea, do you,” Soap says, arms coming up to brace against Simon’s wide chest. He bunches his hand in Simon’s shirt and yanks Simon down until they’re nose to nose.

“I stole one of your shirts in Chicago. Touched myself every night for a week with my nose pressed against it facedown in my bed,” he whispers, and kisses Simon sweet as syrup. 

“Do you still have it?” Simon asks against his lips. 

”The shirt? Yeah.”

”I’ll suck you off in it later,” he says. 

Soap moans low in the back of his throat, eyes closed and forehead pressed against Simon’s. He leans forward to nuzzle Simon’s neck, sniffing unashamedly. He pulls the collar of Simon’s shirt aside to mouth the place where the bite mark he had left in the hotel room in Istanbul has mostly faded into the vague shape of his teeth. 

Simon can’t help his soft moan at that. “Fucking hell, yes,” he growls, cupping the back of Soap’s head and tipping his own to the side to give him better access. 

Soap laughs into his skin and brings their mouths together again, pressing into him hard. Simon goes boneless when Soap shuffles back to hop onto the island countertop, wrapping his legs around Simon’s hips to drag him closer. 

He’s just beginning to grind his dick in wicked little circles against Soap’s through their pants when he catches another whiff of his sweat and pulls away.

“Can I fuck you in the shower?” 

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus, do you even need to ask?” Soap pushes against his chest to put some space between them, unzipping his leather riding jacket and dropping it to the floor, white T-shirt not far behind. Soap’s hands are going for the zipper of his dark jeans when Simon sees something metal catch the light on Soap’s chest. Before he can stop himself, he reaches out thumb the piercing through Soap’s nipple. 

“Oi!” Soap exclaims. 

“How long have you had these,” Simon asks, incredulous. He reaches out to cup Soap’s other peck, giving it the same treatment.

“Few years.” Soap shrugs.

“How come I’ve never seen them before,” Simon asks, eyes finding Soap’s face.

“I take them out during the day when I’m deployed, put them back in at night before bed to prevent them closing. I’ve been hurt too many times wearing them while sparring.” Simon nods dumbly, like he knows what Soap’s talking about.

He stoops to pull Soap’s right nipple into his mouth, using his hand to pinch the fat there and give him a decent bite. He pinches and pulls Soap’s other nipple, flicking it lightly, careful not to be too rough with the metal bar through the tender skin. Soap moans and pushes his chest out, grabs the back of Simon’s head to hold him where he’s latched while he suckles and lathes his tongue in long, wet stripes. He uses the tip of his tongue to lightly scoop the piercing in a flicking motion, which causes Soap’s hips to thrust forward so that he almost slips from the counter. As he pulls away, he drags his bearded cheek against Soap’s nipple and watches a wet spot darken the cotton of his briefs where his dick is poking nearly out of the waistband, hard and insistent. 

Simon pulls him down suddenly from the island to turn him around and grab Soap’s hands, placing them flat, palm-down, on the marble countertop, trying to temper his strength so he doesn’t hurt Soap. He pulls Soap’s briefs down his thighs with a deep rumbling groan, licking his way up from the inside of Soap’s thigh as the muscle jumps at the sensation of his tongue.

When he gets to the cleft of Soap’s ass, Simon spreads him wide, ogles the twitching furl of him, and spits on his hole. Soap cries out, nearly a scream, legs trembling, supported by Simon’s hands and pinned by his gaze. He pulls away, stands up and turns Soap to face him again, cock jutting out from the nest of dark wiry hair that starts from his navel and trails down to frame his gorgeous cock, thick at the base and tapering slightly towards the tip. When Simon looks in his eyes, there’s only a thin ring of blue. 

“That was worth the wait,” Simon says. “But if we don’t get in the shower, I’m going to eat you out right here in your kitchen.”

“You could,” Soap says. “I would let you.”

“I know,” Simon says, and shoves Soap towards the door of the bathroom. Soap reaches for the hem of his shirt, pushes him out of his jacket and yanks it over his head, runs his hands over Simon’s pecs, brushing against his nipples and grips his chest hair to pull him along until he’s got Soap caged against the pocket door. Simon reaches behind Soap’s head and slides it open, careful not to topple Soap as he backs him into the bathroom, looming, not breaking eye contact. He flicks the light on. 

The bathroom is all luminescent white and teal tiles and concrete facades, with a walk in shower enclosed in glass in the far corner. A double vanity and wall-length mirror are next to the toilet, adjacent to the shower and across from the bathroom door. The overhead lights are low and cool and the shower is swathed in dark blue shadows. 

Soap pulls away and goes to turn on the water. Steam begins to fill the room as Soap holds his hand under the spray to test the temperature. Simon watches him, ogles openly at the cut of his calves and thighs and the pert ass atop them. He takes the opportunity to strip out of his jeans and pull his socks off. He’s stepping out of his briefs when Soap turns to look at him. He glances up to meet Soap’s eyes and sees Soap’s lips parted on an ‘O’ as he watched Simon, eyes dark and intent. 

Soap pulls him under the spray, tries dropping to his knees in front of Simon, but Simon grabs him by the elbow, turns him around to push him face-first against the glass, kneeling behind Soap with the water at his back. Soap’s hands come up to brace himself, smearing handprints in the steam. Simon runs his fingers up and down the inside of Soap’s legs, spurred by the breathy gasps and soft moans he hears above him. Simon bends to kiss the back of one knee and hears Soap’s forehead thud against the glass. 

“Christ,” Soap groans. He shoves his hips back in a gentle rocking motion, doesn’t even seem to realize he’s doing it. 

“Not quite,” Simon says and spreads him open, dropping kisses and bites from the cleft of his thigh, into the meet of his ass, until he’s almost nipping at the center of him, lips and whisper-light against his skin. Thinks, he’s going to be covered in beard burn by the end of this.

“Ghost,” Soap whines.

“Try again,” comes Simon’s reply. He swipes his thumb over Soap, feels the twitch of the tight furl pull at the pad of his finger. 

“Simon,” Soap cries. 

He’s a mess before Simon’s even gotten his mouth on him, legs shaking with each touch and pass of his thumb. He bites down on the curve of Soap’s ass, hard, just to make him shout, “Simon!” again, trembling and shocked. 

“Sorry,” Simon whispers. 

“No you’re not,” Soap says, straining, like he’ll fall to pieces at any moment.  

“You’re right, I’m not,” he says. 

Simon kisses the skin just next to his hole again, using his thumbs to hold him open. Soap reaches behind to put his hand on the back of Simon’s head, threads his fingers into the short hair there. 

“Don’t stop,” he says. Simon doesn’t even pause to tease him any longer, just nips at the core of him, followed by a long, wet swipe of his tongue from just behind Soap’s balls up to his hole. He moves back down to suckle his perineum, licks back up and sucks at the sensitive pink skin there, wet with his drool. 

He eats Soap out like he’s been starving for it, lapping and flicking, pulling away to spit on his hole again and push it inside, hooking his thumb just past the tight ring of muscle to pry him open and slip his tongue in too. Soap writhes on his face, shoving his hips back as he pulls Simon’s hair, forcing his tongue deeper. 

“I think you can make me come like this,” Soap moans. “Oh fuck that feels incredible.” Simon reaches around to encircle the base of his cock between his thumb and forefinger, a poor man’s cockring. He pulls away and stands, still holding Soap’s prick firmly in his hand. He strokes Soap from base to tip, tortuously slowly. 

“We need a condom,” Simon says, dragging a hand up Soap's side and around to his nipple left nipple, then his right, fingering the piercings, then trailing his hand to Soap’s chin. He tips Soap's head to the side so that he can crane for a dirty open-mouthed kiss. “Be right back.”

“No,” Soap choked out. “We don’t need it.” He’s searching Simon’s eyes. 

“You test recently?” Simon asks, rutting against the cleft of Soap’s ass, his prick rock hard and leaking, still stroking Soap’s dick so, so slowly. “Has he?” he adds after a beat. 

Soap nods furiously. “The first day I got back to the RAF Station after Turkey, König dragged me to the clinic. We’re both clean. I can show you the letters, they’re in my nightstand–”

“I trust you,” Simon says, shocked by the truth of those words which extend far beyond this moment here between them. 

“Unless you want to,” Soap offers. 

Simon shakes his head. “There’s been nobody else,” he says.

“Nobody? As in–”

“Just you in the last handful of years. Got tested maybe four years back, after a one night stand in SoHo. That was the last time, and I was clean, but I don’t have any proof of that with me.”

“I trust you,” Soap repeats. 

Soap’s put a bottle of silicone lube in the shower caddy, always prepared like any soldier worth his salt. He retrieves it and squirts some on his fingers before tossing it to Simon, leaning forwards against the tile wall and reaching behind himself to put on a good show as he works one, then two fingers inside his body.

“Was doing this before I picked you up,” he says, watching Simon slick his own cock with the lube. Simon crowds in close, slips a finger in alongside Soap’s. He’s hot and silky, tight as he clenches down. 

“All right,” Soap says, pulling his fingers free and reaching for Simon to pull his hips flush against his ass.

“I want it known,” Simon says, practically humping Soap, bowed over his back to speak into his ear, “that you asked for this.”

“Yes,” Soap moans. “Please, I’m asking for it, yes, yes.”

Simon abruptly knocks his legs open wider and digs the fingers of his right hand into Soap’s hip hard enough to leave finger shaped bruises. He uses his left hand to clutch the base of his cock, slapping it once, twice, three times against Soap’s hole before he starts to push in, the resistance giving way to slick, silky heat. 

Soap arches, head hanging between his shoulders as he moans, trying to hold himself up and push his ass back onto Simon’s cock at the same time. Simon moves until he’s flush against Soap’s ass, buried to the hilt.

“Fuck, that’s deep,” Soap says, face scrunched at the feel of him, raising his hips to get Simon as close as possible.

“Fuck back on me, that’s it,” Simon says, not thrusting yet but letting Soap grind his hips in little circles, the skin of his hole stretched tight and pink around his shaft and pulling obscenely with each movement of his hips. Soap looks over his shoulder at him, eyes wild, lips red and parted, expression pleading. 

Simon’s control falters and he snaps his hips forward, does it again in short, powerful bursts that have Soap rocking up onto his toes. His finesse devolves from there, becoming something brutal and animal, the room filling with the wet slap of their bodies as Soap keens from pleasure and Simon grunts, inhuman, from the force of his own thrusts. 

Soap’s arms give out and Simon takes the opportunity to shove him face first against the shower wall. Soap shoves back on to his cock even as Simon’s hips snap against his ass impossibly hard. Simon can hear Soap’s ragged breaths, punched out of him each time Simon thrusts all the way in, grinding against his prostate as best he can. He’s fucking Soap mercilessly, staking some type of claim, consumed by it, mindless in his pleasure seeking. His cock is so hard inside of Soap, the hot line of it spearing in and out in a blur of motion. 

He feels Soap tighten around him, muscles squeezing to hold him in place on the next series of grinding thrusts, something about the angle lighting him up and making him wild. He tosses his head against the tile, and Simon reaches around to find his leaking prick. Soap stops him with a hand. 

“Like this, I can like this,” he gasps, tightening. So Simon slides his hand up to Soap's nipple, fondles his tit, rubbing the pad of his finger against the puffy skin of his nipple, nail catching on the bar of the piercing on a flick. In the next instant, he feels and hears rather than sees Soap come on a shout that reverberates off the tile and concrete, shakes the glass.

The clench of Soap’s muscles around his cock as his ass throbs in time with the pulses of come Simon imagines shooting from his bobbing cock onto the shower tiles is bordering on painful, and yet Simon can’t help but chase that edge. Soap’s still coming around him when Simon’s thrusts grow tense and slow, devastating in their brutality. The fire burning in his gut goes supernova and he feels his cock start to pulse in Soap’s ass, come slicking the way and making his thrusts slide home that much deeper. His movements become sloppy, his faculties destroyed. 

Over the roar in his ears, he hears Soap moan.

“Fucking come in me, yeah that’s it. Give it to me. Jesus Christ, Simon.” The words send a primal rush of satisfaction zinging down his spinal cord, and out through the head of his cock 

The supernova ebbs into an overwhelming rush of pure feeling; a bonfire of love and wild joy that temporarily lowers his inhibitions. He feels as though he’s about to cry, completely open to Soap then. Would tell him anything, leans forward and bites Soap’s shoulder to keep the confession on his lips inside.

Simon holds Soap close while they catch their breath. His softening dick slips out of Soap, but he doesn’t move away. The storm of endorphins is starting to abate but the pleasure remains. Simon feels liquid and brainless as Soap turns to face him, placing his hands on Simon’s waist and tilting his face up for a kiss. In Soap’s arms, Simon realizes he’s trembling. He clings to Soap’s shoulders and kisses him so long it feels like hours have passed, the shower water now lukewarm.

“Are you okay?” Soap whispers against his ear. He nods, but doesn’t move. “I think we should get out now.” Soap continues. 

“I s’pose,” Simon mumbles into Soap’s neck. 

“Do you want me to clean you up?” Soap asks, voice low and gentle. Simon knows without being told that it’s something Soap wants–something he maybe thought he’d never get. But right now Simon wants that too, and he nods. 

Soap lathers him with his own shampoo and body wash in the spray of the tepid water; even washes his face and feet, while Simon watches in sleepy amusement.

“You’re good at that,” Simon says when Soap has finished. He’s swiping the same washrag he had used to clean Simon down his own chest now.

Soap just hums, smiling up at Simon almost shyly. Simon crowds in close, hand drifting down to Soap’s ass, fingers pressing between his cheeks and against his slick hole. 

“Allow me,” he says, and takes the washrag. 

-

Later, when they’re under the covers of the massive plush bed upstairs, Soap's wearing nothing but the shirt he stole from Simon, who’s only in a pair of black briefs where he lays between Soap’s spread knees.

He gets Soap hard again and sucks him off. It’s slow and dirty, drool catching in his beard and dripping from his chin as he takes Soap down to the root. Soap braces his feet against the sheets and thrusts into his mouth, chases his own pleasure, careless of Simon’s for once. After Soap comes on his mouth and chin with Simon’s hand stroking him through it, Soap lays on his side with Simon spooned up behind him, thighs clamped tight and as smooth as velvet around Simon’s cock. 

Simon bunches the fabric of the shirt in one fist and uses it to rock against Soap, the soft, lightly furred skin between his legs growing slick with sweat and precome. He pulls away suddenly to wank himself off, coming on Soap’s ass with a growl behind his bared teeth. He smears it into Soap’s skin with the head of his cock gripped tight in his fist. When he's done marking Soap, he cleans them up with the stolen shirt. Makes Soap put it back on when he’s done. 

Soap falls asleep first, almost immediately after Simon had finished wiping him down, limbs loose and pliant. His head’s pillowed on Simon’s chest where he snores softly, arm slung over his stomach and holding him close. Simon stares at the ceiling, mind racing but feeling a bone-deep ache of satisfaction. His arm tightens around Soap almost without thought. 

He hears a phone buzz on the nightstand next to him. On reflex, he reaches for it with his free hand. 

It’s Soap’s phone, lit up with a message from König. 

"I just really miss you.” the message preview reads. 

Guilt lances through his chest. He’d forgotten about König, or had foregone thinking about him so he could instead focus on what he'd wanted, which was Soap all to himself. The idea König has maybe given up spending time with Soap so Simon could take his place, that Soap had been forced to choose between the two of them, sits heavy in the pit of his stomach. Trying not to overthink it, Simon opens the camera of Soap’s phone, snaps a selfie that’s mostly Soap’s face where it’s pressed into his side and the corner of his own jaw and cheek. He opens König's message to Soap, tries not to read any other texts in their chat history. This time, he knows who he's texting and what he's going to say. 

He sends the picture to König with the caption “You should be here. -ghost ” 

König responds a moment later. “With Johnny?” 

Simon replies, “With us both.”

[sunnys567]

Friends in strange Places Ch. 6 Pt 2

What if Vlad was good instead of evil? Link to chapter 1:

Friends in Strange Places Chapter 1, a danny phantom fanfic | FanFiction

FANFICTION.NET

Summary: Vlad comes over to The Fenton's house for the first time since telling Jack and Maddie about his ghost half and Tucker asks Valerie out on a date.

Word Count: 8600

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It was Danny's turn to do the dishes after supper that night.

"I'll wash, you dry tonight?" Maddie offered as Jazz went upstairs to study while Jack headed down to the lab.

"Sure." Danny said, setting the pile of plates he was carrying in the dish water.

Danny watched as his mom scrubbed a plate.

"So how was school today?"

During drama class, no one had noticed that some ghost with floofy pants that only spoke in iambic pentameter had shown up instead of Trevor that day. Danny had spent the next hour struggling to find a way to suck their Romeo into The Fenton Thermos without anyone noticing.

"Pretty average." he shrugged.

"That's good to hear." Maddie smiled.

Danny watched her scrub a plate.

He thought about the conversation they'd had in the helicopter. He'd said he'd tell her what was going on soon.

That had been months ago.

He could tell her now.

The thought made Danny's heart speed up dramatically.

"Are you keeping up with your homework alright?" Maddie asked "We haven't had any calls from Mr Lancer lately, but I know you had that rough patch at the start of the year."

"Don't worry, I've been doing better. Jazz has been giving me study tips." Danny responded mechanically.

"I'm glad to here that." Maddie smiled "I know how much of an adjustment high school can be. I'm glad you at least have Jazz to show you the ropes. Ugh, I don't know how your father always gets so much cheese stuck on his plate." Maddie rolled her eyes as she grabbed the scouring pad.

Danny's mind was too occupied to pay attention to what Maddie was saying.

He couldn't tell his mom he was half-ghost while they were doing the dishes. That was way too big a bombshell to just drop like that. Besides, it was probably better to tell her and Dad at the same time, get the revelations all out of the way at once.

Danny sighed to himself.

It was logical reasoning, but Danny still felt like a coward. He wanted so badly to tell them, to just get it over with, but it never felt like the right time.

His mom handed him the wet plate to dry.

"Did I tell you Vlad's stopping by tomorrow?" she said.

Danny almost dropped the plate.

"R-really?"

"Yup. Sometime around four, he said."

"O-oh. Th-that's...cool." Danny didn't notice that he was drying the air above the plate instead of the plate itself.

"Are you alright, Sweetie?" Maddie raised an concerned eyebrow.

"Huh? Oh yeah, fine, fine, totally fine. I was just wondering, um..." Danny rubbed the back of his neck "Do you think it might be kind of awkward with you three? You know, with the whole, finding-out-Vlad-has-ghost-powers thing?"

"Oh don't be silly, Danny." Maddie laughed as she handed Danny another plate.

"It's not weird for you and Dad? You know, since you're ghost hunters?"

"Vlad's not a ghost Danny, he's our friend. I mean, sure, none of us expected...this to happen, but your father and I can adjust. I mean, we did choose a career path where one has to be prepared to deal with the unexpected, so we've been managing our mindset."

Danny's mind flashed to that night in the kitchen when he'd seen his mother sobbing with her face buried in her hands, his dad's arms wrapped around her.

Now she spoke so collectedly it was hard for Danny to believe he was talking to the same person.

"That being said," she continued "Things are really going to depend on Vlad's comfort level."

"What do you mean?" Danny asked.

"You saw how he was at the end of the trip, Danny. The poor dear had himself tied up in knots for years, worried about how Jack and I would react to his ghostly properties." Maddie sighed "I do have sympathy for him, of course, but sometimes I just can't believe he honestly thought we'd turn on a friend like tha- GHOST!"

In an instant, Maddie whipped out an ecto blaster and shot at the plate she'd just pulled out of the sudsy water. Danny instinctively ducked and pulled the dishtowel over his head as the ecto blast bounced around the room a few times before dissipating.

"Ope, never mind, that was just a weirdly shaped guacamole smudge." Maddie laughed as she put away her blaster and continued scrubbing the plate. "Anyway, I suppose we'll have to tread a little carefully tomorrow, but I'm sure things will go smoothly once we get everything out in the air."

"That's great to hear, Mom." Danny said, clutching the dishtowel around his head.

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

"So did you tell them yet?" Sam asked as soon as she saw Danny approaching their table.

"Couldn't you at least wait for me to sit down?" Danny said as he took the seat across from her.

"Okay, you're sitting now, did you tell them yet?"

"Sam!" Danny threw back his head in exasperation.

"So that's a 'no'?"

Danny rolled his eyes.

"I haven't told them yet, and I don't know when I'm going to, but I'm stressed out enough without you pressuring me!"

"Okay, okay, I'll stop asking." Sam relented "But don't you think we should at least start discussing the plan?"

"The plan?"

"You know, like when you want to do it, who you want to be there, that sort of thing."

"Uh..." Danny's brain completely blanked "I think I'll just figure all that out later."

"You know, it might help your stress levels to at least start to get a plan in place."

Danny didn't agree. Just thinking about telling his parents made him feel queasy.

"Do you want Tucker and me to come over some night? Would that help?"

"I don't know." Danny couldn't keep the irritation out of his voice "Why are you even so invested in this Sam? I thought you were against me telling my parents at all."

Sam took a deep breath, gathering patience. Couldn't Danny see she was trying to be supportive?

"Danny, it may not be what I'd do in your shoes, but I know this is important to you, and you seem pretty stressed out about it, so we're just trying to help. Tucker, back me up here."

But Tucker wasn't paying attention to the conversation. His eyes were locked on the empty seat by Sam.

"Valerie not joining us today?" he asked.

"Doesn't seem like it." Danny shrugged.

Sometimes Valerie would join the trio for lunch, but most days she went to the library to do homework. She said she liked to have it out of the way in case there was a ghost attack after school.

The idea of not having any homework after school did seem pretty sweet, but Danny didn't know how a person could stand seven straight hours of school without a break. The idea made his brain melt.

"Ah. Well," Tucker stood up "I'm gonna go now. I've got something I needed to do before lunch ends. See you two later!"

Tucker grabbed his bag and headed for the cafeteria exit.

"I see he left his tray for us to take back." Danny remarked.

"Thanks Tucker." Sam rolled her eyes "Any idea where he was going?"

"Uh...nope!" Danny thought about the conversation he and Tucker had the other night "No idea!"

"Hm." Sam was too occupied watching Tucker leave to notice Danny's terrible acting skills. "Well, while it's just us, I wanted to ask you for a favour."

"What's up?" Danny was glad for the change in topic, but he had learned a long time ago to not say 'yes' to Sam's favours until she told you what they were.

"Don't tell Tucker I'm aro."

"Aro?"

"It's short for aromantic."

"Oh. Yeah, sure no problem. I'd never tell anyone something like that without permission. If anyone understand- wait, do you like, specifically not want Tucker to know?"

"Yup."

That was weird. Sam was usually very open about her identity. You didn't have to talk to her long to find out she was an 'ultra-recyclo vegetarian'. Or what that was. In great detail.

"Why?"

"Because discovering this about myself has been really eye opening. So many things have clicked into place and I really feel like I understand myself and the world a lot better now that I know I'm aro."

"Okay, what's that got to do with Tucker?"

"Look, Tucker's my friend, but this is very important to me, and I know he wouldn't take it seriously."

"People taking you seriously never stopped you from sharing your views before. Very loudly, might I add."

"It's not my fault if people can't handle the dark inconvenient truths of this world. But this is different. It's not a debatable opinion or a style choice, it's an unchangeable part of who I am. If Tucker tried to turn this into a joke, I might strangle him with his own beret, and I feel like you'd be pretty sad if your best friend got murdered."

Despite Sam's joking, Danny couldn't help but take what she was saying very seriously. He knew Sam and Tucker weren't getting along the best right now, but apparently both of them had decided to start keeping things from the other.

When had things gotten so bad?

"Tucker would take this seriously if you told him how important it is to you." Danny insisted.

"Yeah right. He never takes anything seriously." Sam flipped over a piece of lettuce with her fork "Besides, he's probably itching to get back at me for teasing him about Valerie so much."

"What? I don't think he cares that much."

"He seemed to care a lot when he tried to goad me in the RV."

"Well if you're really worried about that, maybe you should apologize to him." Danny suggested.

"Come on Danny, you know how Tucker is." Sam said, stabbing some vegetables onto her fork "He'd just turn my apology into a joke like he does with everything."

"Okay one, he doesn't turn everything into a joke, and two, I'm literally a ghost and your favourite colours are black and dark black. Can you blame Tucker for wanting to lighten things up a little?"

"I like purple too." Sam grumbled.

"Look, I've known Tucker a long time, and I know sometimes he doesn't think about what he says, but his heart's in the right place, and if you just talked to him directly and told him he was bothering you in some way, he will listen."

"Sure Danny." Sam said as she took a bite of her salad.

Danny sighed. Why'd he have to be friends with the two most stubborn people on the planet?

"Can you just think about it?" he asked "You two are friends. You really should have a little more faith in each other."

"Yeah, I'll mull it over." Sam said.

She didn't sound totally sarcastic. Dany supposed that was a start.

"So," Sam said "Did you remember to bring in your book report?"

"That's due today? I thought Lancer said Friday!"

"No, it was definitely today."

"Oh man, oh man," Danny began digging through his bag "I still have to write the conclusion!"

"Okay that's not too bad," Sam said, handing Danny a pencil "There's ten minutes of lunch left, you can get something passable if you hurry."

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

Tucker checked around the doorframe to the library again, silently debating whether or not he should go in.

On one hand, he didn't want to interrupt Valerie's study session to ask her out. He knew how annoyed he got when people interrupted him when he was working. Not to mention whisper-asking someone out wasn't the most romantic gesture.

On the other hand, Valerie might stay in the library up to the last second of lunch, so if he waited much longer he might not have enough time to properly ask her.

Tucker sighed as he checked his watch. Maybe it would be better to do this another-

"Hey Tucker." Valerie said, emerging from the library "What are you skulking outside the library for?"

"Valerie! Just the girl I wanted to see!"

Tucker was relieved to see Valerie, but it didn't last long when he remember why he'd wanted to see her alone in the first place.

"Oh yeah?" she said.

"Yeah, I um," Tucker cleared his throat "I had something I wanted to ask you."

"What's up?"

"I was just wondering if you maybe wanted to um...maybe go out sometime. With me."

"You mean...like a date?"

"Uh, yeah. I mean, i-if you're interested, that is. Like, no pressure or anything." Tucker adjusted his glasses.

"That..." Valerie smiled "Yeah. I would like to do that."

"Really?" Tucker felt his heart leap in his chest.

"Yeah. I'm don't have anything I need to do today. Wanna meet up at seven?"

"Yeah!" Tucker beamed "That sounds great."

"Cool. I, uh, I'd better get to class. See you then!"

Valerie waved and quickly walked away so Tucker wouldn't see how wide she was smiling.

Tucker waited until Valerie was all the down the hall. Once he was sure she was too far away to hear, he let out whoop and pumped his fist in the air.

"She said yes!" he squealed "She actually- I'd better get to class." Tucker cut off his own celebration "Ms Ramos probably wouldn't that I was just got a date with Valerie."

Tucker started running down the hall, his heart doing little skips all the way to fourth period.

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

"Hey Mom! Dad!" Danny called as he shut the door "We're home!"

"Oh, hey kids!" Maddie called back "We're down in the lab! Would you two mind joining us?"

Jazz and Danny looked at each other before starting down the basement stairs. When they got to the lab, they saw their parents putting some devices into a cardboard box. More boxes were piled on the floor next to them.

"What's with all the boxes?" Jazz asked.

"Well, since Vlad's coming over today," Maddie said "We figured we'd move some of our more...sensitive equipment into the garage and out of the house."

"Really?" Danny's eyes lit up.

"Yup." Jack nodded "We'll bring 'em back to the lab after Vlad leaves, of course. But while he's here we'll keep them out of his vicinity. For his comfort and safety."

"Oh."

Jazz glanced pityingly at the deflated Danny.

"Think we should add this to the box?" Jack held a glowing green rock up to Maddie.

"The ectoranium? Well, I hate to leave something so valuable out in the garage, but our research indicates it can be excruciatingly painful for ectoplasmic entities to touch, so we'd better not risk."

"That's a good point Madds. Oh, I know! Danny! Take this to Ops Center! It'll be more secure there!"

"Uhhhh..." Danny stared at the rock his dad was holding out to him.

"Oh, don't worry about what your mother said son," Jack waved his free hand "Ectoranium only hurts ghosts!"

"Yes! But," Jazz lunged forward and grabbed the rock from her dad "Danny's just sooo tired from school. He can't carry this all the way up to the Ops Center. Just look at those noodly arms."

"Hey!" Danny said.

"But honey," Maddie said, perplexed "You, um...both went to school today."

"Yeah, well, Danny did this thing in gym class. It's, uh, a thing they make the freshmen do. You know, the ninth grade..."

Jazz gave Danny a look that said Please help, it's your skin I'm trying to save here!

"...run?" Danny lamely supplied.

Jazz gave him another look. This one said Seriously? That's the best you could come up with?

"Ninth grade run?" Jack scratched his chin "Well since it was only running, You should still be able to help us carry this stuff Danno."

Danny took a step towards the boxes, but froze when something started beeping.

"Uh, actually" Jazz said loudly "Running is an exercise that works the entire body, and The Ninth Grade Run isn't just a run! It's more of a triathlon, so Danny really shouldn't be carrying anything right now! Don't you two remember when I did The Run? All my muscles were sore for, like, a week!"

"Oh, are you feeling sore Danny?" Maddie asked sympathetically. "You don't have to help move stuff if you're not feeling up to it, Sweetie."

"Yup!" Danny said "Jazz's right, I'm really sore everywhere. Sorry I can't help move this stuff, but I'm going to go upstairs and rest for a bit. Um, ow, ow, ouch." Danny exaggerated a limp as he climbed the basement stairs.

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

Danny was sitting on his bed reading comics when he heard a knock on his door.

"Come in." He said.

The door swung open, revealing a disgruntled Jazz with globs of ectoplasm tangled in her hair.

"What-"

"Don't ask. Is The Fenton Scalp Scrubber in here?"

"Yeah," Danny picked up what looked like a hand vacuum with mini scrubbers all over it from his nightstand "That ghost Youngblood decided he was obsessed with paintball the last time I fought him. Except instead of paint, his shots were filled with compressed ectoplasm. Catch!"

"You owe me for this one." Jazz said, catching the device with one hand "Also 'Ninth Grade Run'? Was that seriously the best you could come up with?"

"Hey, you're the one who started the cover up story! You didn't really give me much to work with!

"I'll tell you one thing," The Scrubber buzzed as Jazz switched it on and began running it meticulously through her hair. "I'll be glad to finally not have to ad-lib these excuses anymore once you tell Mom and Dad. The only thing that makes me cringe harder than watching Mom and Dad fall for the nonsense I come up with is watching them fall for the nonsense you come up with. Speaking of, have you come up with a plan for telling them yet?"

"Er..." Danny held his comic up in front of his face "I'm still thinking."

"About..."

"Y'know...how to, like...tell them."

"You haven't thought about it at all, have you Danny?"

"I have thought about it. I'm just still trying to figure out when and how I want to do it."

"Danny, it's been well over a week."

"I mean, this is kind of a big thing, Jazz."

"I understand that, but I can't help but feel like you're putting this off. You do want to tell Mom and Dad, right?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then what's with the stalling?"

"I'm not stalling! I'm just trying to figure out the right way to do it."

"There's no perfect way to-"

"I never said it had to be 'perfect'." Danny threw his comic aside "Ugh, why does everyone keep bugging me about this? They're my ghost powers! I'll tell Mom and Dad when I'm ready."

"This affects the rest of us to, Danny." Jazz said "I know you have the most at stake, but we're all anxious about it. I'm not going to drag you downstairs and force you to tell Mom and Dad right this second, but I'm not leaving until we've discussed some sort of-"

Jazz was interrupted by sharp gasp from Danny, a tell-tale puff of mist escaping his mouth.

"Aw darn, a ghost, guess we gotta continue this conversation later." Danny shrugged as he transformed.

"Danny, you can't avoid facing this mental block forever. Even if you won't talk to me about it, at some point you have to sit down and ask yourself-"

"Gotta go! See you Jazz!" Danny yelled as he flew out the window.

"Jazz! Danny!" Jack called from downstairs "Vladdie's here! I saw him out the window! Come down and say hello!"

Jazz glanced at Danny's open window and sighed before heading downstairs to greet Vlad. That kid was quite the headache sometimes.

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

Angela Foley narrowed her eyes.

"Your teeth are brushed?"

"Yup."

"Glasses are clean?"

"Yup."

"You're sure that's what you want to wear?"

"Mom!" Tucker rolled his eyes "Valerie and I decided this would be a casual date."

"But it's still your first date, Honey." Angela straightened Tucker's beret "I'm so excited for you! I just want everything to go as smoothly as it can."

"And I appreciate that, I really do, but-"

Tucker was interrupted by the basement door flying open.

"Did he leave yet!?"

"No Maury, he's still here." Tucker's mom told his dad "But he was just about to. I told you he had to be gone by six thirty."

"I know, I know." Maurice shut the door and walked over to Tucker and Angela "I was at a critical juncture in my Enterprise model and I lost track of time. You know how it is with level fives. Anyway," Maurice dug in his pocket and handed Tucker a twenty dollar bill "Here's a little something to mark the occasion."

"Oh, cool! Thanks Dad."

"You're welcome Son." Maurice continued to smile, but his expression shifted to a more more businesslike one "Now, have a good time and make sure you treat Valerie right. And compliment her appearance at least once. I know you two aren't doing anything big, but if there's one thing I learned from my older sisters, it's that first dates are ripe for self-consciousness, especially in teenagers, so a little pick-me-up in that regard can go a long way. Speaking of, you're not looking too bad yourself, kiddo. I see you cleaned your glasses for the occasion, excellent. Always good to show you're putting in an effort, even if it's not a serious date. You know, I remember my first-"

"Ugh, not you too!" Tucker opened the front door "Look, I already sat through Mom fussing over me, and if I go through all that again with you, I know I'm going to be late, which is not how I want to start off my first date!"

Tucker swung the door shut behind him. Not five seconds passed before the door opened again and Tucker stuck his head back inside.

"That being said, I do appreciate how much you two try to support me and take an interest in my personal life, but I've really got to go now, so I love you and bye!"

Tucker slipped back out and shut the door for real this time, a bit more gently.

"They grow up so fast." Maurice wiped an imaginary tear from his eye "You remember your first date?"

"Timothy Matthews. Freshman year. Same age as Tucker. If that kid treats that lovely girl even remotely like Timothy treated me, I'll flay him alive."

"Come on Dear," Maurice laughed and put an arm around his wife's shoulder "You know he won't. That kid's got a good heart."

"I know." Angela put her hand on top of her husband's "We can just heat some leftovers for dinner tonight. Did you want any help with that model?"

"Absolutely." Maurice beamed.

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

Tucker knocked on the door. He gave his outfit one last lookover. It was just the same stuff he usually wore, since he and Valerie had agreed to keep this date low-key, but he'd still made sure to pick out a stain-free sweater and rip-free pants. It was still a date, after all.

The apartment door opened to reveal a very tall man. He gazed sternly down at Tucker.

"Um, hi," Tucker greeted him nervously "You must be Valerie's dad?"

"I Just want you to know young man," Damian Gray's voice was deep and threatening "That if you hurt my Valerie in any way, I will-"

"Come off it Daddy," Valerie pushed passed her dad with an 'over it' look on her face "You're not funny."

"Aw, Valerie." Damian's voice was suddenly much softer "You ruined it. I really had him going."

Valerie rolled her eyes, but she was smiling affectionately.

"Did you really think I was just going to stand there and let you scare my date away?" Valerie crossed her arms.

Tucker felt a small jolt of giddiness when Valerie referred to him as her date.

"No," Damian smiled back "I suppose I did raise you right. You kids enjoy yourselves. And be back by ten."

"Eleven?" Valerie smiled wide and fluttered her eyelashes.

"Ten thirty, and that's as good as you're gonna get Val. It's a school night."

"Fine. Love you Daddy."

"Love you too Babygirl. Have fun and be safe."

Damian closed the door, leaving Valerie and Tucker alone in the hallway.

"So," Tucker felt his cheeks heat up "We're going on a date. You and me. That's...that's pretty wild."

"Yeah." Valerie bashfully tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "So, where are we going?"

"I...uh...didn't think that far ahead." Tucker was instantly pulled back down to earth. How had he forgotten such and important detail? "We could...do a movie?"

"Eh...to be honest, a date where we sit there and don't talk for two hours doesn't really sound like the greatest first date."

"Huh, I never really thought about it like that. Why is a movie always the go-to first date on TV then?"

Valerie shrugged.

"Okay, we could...uh..." Tucker totally blanked.

This wasn't good. Despite being the one to ask her out, Tucker had no idea where would be a decent place to take Valerie on a date, and he was beginning to panic.

"You kids should go to bowling!" Damian called through the door "They've got snacks, and Valerie's a great-"

"Dad!" Valerie interrupted sharply.

"Sorry! I'll be quiet now."

There was an long moment of silence.

"Bowling does sound pretty good, actually." Tucker said "Amity Lanes does make pretty good hot dogs."

"You know what, why not?" Valerie smiled "I do like bowling, and it has been a while since-"

"See! I do have good ideas sometimes!"

"Dad!"

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

"Okay," Maddie turned to Jack, her hand on the door knob "Remember what we talked about."

"I know, I know," Jack waved his hand "No talking about ghosts or ghost powers until Vlad explicitly says he's comfortable with it."

Satisfied, Maddie opened the door.

"Hello Jack, Maddie." Vlad greeted them, formal as always. "It's wonderful to see you again."

"Hey Vladdie, come on in!" Jack wrapped his massive arm around Vlad's shoulder's and practically dragged him inside "And don't worry, we're not going to ask you any questions about your powers or even talk about ghost stuff until you say you're comfortable with it!"

Jack finished his sentence with what was probably intended to be a comforting smile.

Maddie facepalmed.

"That's...great to hear Jack." Vlad returned a smile that was much more strained.

"How about we go sit in the kitchen?" Maddie said, gently inserting herself between Vlad and Jack "I just put the kettle on."

"Yes, that sounds rather lovely."

Maddie didn't miss the stilted way Vlad spoke.

When they got to the kitchen, they found Jazz moving some books off the table and into her bag.

"Hello Jazz," Vlad greeted her "How have you been?"

"I've been good Mr Masters." Jazz swung her bag over her shoulder "Mom, Dad, I'm going to the library. Danny's in his room, sleeping. Do not wake him up. Enjoy you're visit."

She grabbed her keys and marched right past the adults and out of the house before anyone could respond.

"She's certainly...efficient." Vlad remarked.

"Well," Maddie said "Guess its just us. Ope, there's the kettle!"

"Have a seat Vladdie!" Jack said, sitting at the table as Maddie poured the boiling water into a teapot.

"Y-yes, of course." Vlad said, sitting down opposite Jack.

Maddie set the tray with the tea stuff down at the table.

"So Vladdie," Jack said "How ya been since we last saw you?"

"Oh, um, I've been well."

"That's good to hear." Jack smiled.

Despite his upbeat tone, Maddie could tell Jack was feeling the tension as much as she and Vlad were.

Maddie sighed to herself. She was trying to be sensitive, but if someone didn't address the elephant in the room, the whole visit was going to be this awkward.

"So, Vlad." she said, sitting down at the table "We didn't really get the chance to talk much after...after that ghost attack at your cottage."

"Oh," Vlad immediately tensed "I-I mean, well, you know-"

"Listen Vlad," Maddie cut off his rambling "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but I really think it would be a good idea if we talked about it. Maybe cleared the air a little? If we're being honest, it's pretty much all Jack and I have been thinking about this past week, and I have a feeling you're in a similar boat."

"I mean," Jack said "I wasn't going to say anything, but she's not wrong V-man."

Vlad sighed and his posture slipped a little, a subtle surrender.

"Alright." he relented "What did you want to know?"

"Um, well..." Maddie glanced at Jack. His expression mirrored hers. Of course, they both had a million questions, but where to even start?

"So...this all happened to you because of the proto-portal accident in college?" Maddie said.

"Yes. That's correct."

"Right, right." Maddie nodded "You did say that back at the cottage."

"Yes. I did."

Maddie grasped her hand together tightly, unsure how exactly to proceed. That had been a pretty dumb question, and Vlad could definitely tell, but she was very aware how tense this conversation was, and she wanted to be careful with what she asked next, try not to go too fast and-

"So when did your ghost powers first show up? Was it right when you got to the hospital?"

Maddie's blood pressure spiked as Vlad flinched. She was torn between giving Vlad a comforting look and glaring at Jack. He wasn't an unkind person, quite the opposite, but sometimes he just did not think! Sure, someone needed to get the conversation going, but did Jack have to go right for the throat?

"Unless you don't want to!" Maddie added hurriedly.

"Oh yeah, you don't have to talk about it if...how does Jazz put it? 'It brings up too much trauma'." Jack nodded.

"We understand if it's too painful."

"No, no, it's...alright."

Vlad cleared his throat and shifted slightly in his seat.

"I can't remember exactly how many, but I'd only been checked into the hospital for a few days when my, erm, abilities first manifested."

"How did they manifest?" Sure, Maddie had just wanted to scold Jack for his pressing question, but he wasn't the only one who had trouble keeping the scientist at bay sometimes.

"Well, I'd been suffering from a fever that kept increasing in intensity as time went by, and...I'm not exactly sure how to explain it, but I suppose I reached some kind of breaking point eventually. I was forcibly transformed into my, er, ghost form and I let out an enourmous burst of plasma energy. Did quite a bit of damage."

"How did you avoid getting caught on the security cameras?" Jack asked.

"The hospital hadn't implemented cameras yet. Wasn't the most well-funded facility."

"Ah, I guess this was back before they all had them." Jack nodded.

"Yes. There was one nurse who witnessed the whole ordeal whom I feel quite bad for, though."

"Oh dear." Maddie put a hand over her mouth.

"Yes, he was a nice young man, but I played dumb and had him convinced he'd hallucinated the whole ordeal. Didn't really have an explanation for the damage to the room, but I doubt he even tried to tell his superiors it was because his patient had turned into a monster and blasted fire everywhere." Vlad sighed "I was acting in panic, but I do regret the way I dealt with him. If I ever do find that nurse again, I'll make sure explain things."

"But what about you?" Jack asked.

"Excuse me?"

"How were you doing when all that happened? You must have been scared out of your wits, Vladdie. All on your own...Maddie and I could've been there for you, you know! We tried! We really did!"

"Jack, I told you, I didn't tell anyone what had happened. I barely even knew what was going on."

"Yeah, but we could have figured it out together! You were just stuck in the hospital by yourself, scared half to death because of my goof up." There was a pain in Jack's voice Maddie rarely heard "Oh Vladdie, I knew my mistake had cost you, but...I never really knew just how much."

Vlad was stunned. Maddie reached over and put her hand on top of Jack's.

"Dear, you can't blame yourself. We all worked on that prototype." she said softly.

"Oh please Madds. We all know I have a bad habit of rushing into things. I try to be careful, but I just get so excited sometimes and don't think! Maybe if I'd just-"

"No Jack." Vlad spoke up "I knew the risks I was signing up for. We all did. We all knew how dangerous ghost research could be. Sure, none of us probably expected that becoming a ghost was a possibility, er, well, in this capacity at least, but I knew I wasn't signing up for a normal life when I decided to investigate the paranormal. Would you be angry at me if our positions were switched?"

Jack sniffled and wiped his face with his free hand.

"You know, I've really missed having you around Vladdie."

"And I've missed you two." Vlad hand tightened into a fist on the table "A lot."

There was brief silence as the three of them took it in: after so long, the gang was back together. They were far from as they were, but at least they finally together again.

"You know..." Jack tentatively broke the silence "I wanted to tell you the last time we met up, but I finished constructing The Ecto Catapult a few months ago."

"Y-you did?" Vlad raised an eyebrow, taken aback "But, why would you bother? That was just some silly idea we had in college."

"Maybe so, but it was really cool silly idea we had in college! Seeing you at the reunion again made me think about it, so one day I just decided to go ahead and build it!"

"Of course, it has just been collecting dust in the corner of the lab ever since." Maddie said "We never even got around to properly testing it out."

"You want to go down to the lab and see it?" Jack asked.

Vlad's eyes widened slightly.

"I...very much would."

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

"Fire!"

SPLAT!

Giant globs of ectoplasm were smeared all over the wall of The Fenton Containment Tank. Jack, Maddie, and Vlad had been down there for over an hour launching ectoplasmic samples of various sizes into the giant glass container.

"Interesting." Maddie said as she scribbled furiously into a notepad "The Ecto-Pult is consistently launching the ectoplasm with enough force to induce splatter, but no matter the weight of the load, the ectoplasm retains enough surface tension to sustain its mass!"

"Even the big pieces on the ceiling aren't dripping!" Jack said "We should've tried flinging ectoplasm at a wall ages ago! There's so much to observe!"

"It's a shame all our attempts to utilize ectoplasm as an effective adhesive have failed so far." Maddie lamented "Despite its incredible mucilaginous properties, it can be pulled apart by hand relatively easily."

"Yes, I've been down that road too," Vlad said "Despite it's incredibly unique structure, the most effective use for ectoplasm I've gleaned from my research is for anti-ghost measures. And energy supplication."

"Oh, we know. Jack and I have been experimenting getting the house running on nothing but ectoplasmic energy!" Maddie beamed.

"Er, that's rather...ambitious of you two." Vlad said, his brow knitting "Seems like there'd be a number of complications to consider, though."

"Eh, it's still only a hypothetical for now." Jack waved his hand "Now, let's see if we can learn anything else from flinging ectoplasm at a wall! Maddie! Grab a sample The Fenton Deep Freeze while I wind this baby back up!"

"Ooh! That'll be interesting!"

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

The two remaining pins sat at the end of the lane tauntingly.

This was a tricky shot. Tucker knew his aim had to be perfect to knock the last two pins down.

He pulled back, swung his arm, and let the ball go. He held his breath as it rolled down the lane...

...and sailed right down the middle of the split pins.

"Dang it!"

"Word of advice," Valerie smirked as she picked up a blue ball from the return "When you get a seven-ten, in-between the pins is the worst place to throw."

"I was trying a manoeuvre!" Tucker pouted as the remaining pins were knocked over by the pinsetter.

"Ah, yes, I see." Valerie nodded "Quite the manoeuvre."

"All right," Tucker said as the new pins were set up "Let's see you do better."

Valerie grinned. She carried her ball to the lane, took a stance, aimed, and threw, her whole body smoothly following the motion.

Tucker's jaw dropped as all of the pins went crashing down. Neon letters spelling out STRIKE scrolled across teh screen above them.

"How was that manoeuvre?" Valerie smirked.

"How'd you do that?" Tucker gaped as the fallen pins were swept away.

"I was on the bowling team in middle school. Shame Casper doesn't have one."

"I'll say!"

"Of course, I wouldn't really have time for bowling if there was a team, anyway."

"What do you mean?" Tucker asked.

"Well, you know, with the whole ghost fighting thing. Gotta be ready at any time."

"Hey, it's not all on you, you know." Tucker said as he lined up his next shot "The four of us are a ghost hunting team. There's always backups if one of us has stuff to do. For instance, Sam's got her poetry thing," Tucker threw his ball as hard as he could "And I play Yarg-A-Loo at the card shop on Mondays. One of us being absent has pretty much never been a problem. Just because we gotta catch ghosts sometimes doesn't mean we can't- NOOO!"

Tucker cried out as his ball rolled into the gutter. All he could do was watch in dismay as his ball sailed right past the pins.

"Ooh!" Valerie cringed "You sure you don't want me to ask them to turn on the kiddie bumpers?"

"Yes, I'm sure." Tucker grumbled.

They bowled many more rounds. Valerie managed to get four more strikes.

"Whoo!" Tucker pumped both fists into the air as he scored his first spare of the evening "Told ya I didn't need bumpers!"

"Nice one. Hey Tucker," Valerie checked her watch "How many frames we got left?"

"Frames?"

"Yeah, how many more are left? I wasn't really counting, but I feel like we should be at least getting close to ten."

"I...don't know."

"Haven't you been keeping score?"

"Keeping score? I don't know how to keep score."

"Isn't that what you've been doing on your PDA?"

"I was just keeping an eye on my messages in case a ghost decided to try to eat the roller rink, or something."

Tucker and Valerie stared at each other in silence for a few seconds before bursting out laughing.

"Y'know," Tucker said "I think at this point we can safely say you won."

"I mean, you're probably not wrong."

"Wanna call it and grab some hot dogs from the canteen?"

"That sounds great."

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

"...but then my mom realized she didn't have the cake!" Tucker was barely holding back laughter. This was one of his favourite stories to tell.

"Wait, but you just said she set in on the driveway to buckle you in, so- oh no!" Valerie covered her mouth in horror.

"Oh yes, my dad backed right over it!"

"No way! Your mom must've flipped!"

"Yeah, both my parents were freaking out. In the end, they went and bought a cake, and told me they'd buy me whatever Lego set I wanted as long as I pretended Mom made it. And that's how I got the Toa Lhikan Bionicle that's on my computer desk."

"Is that the gold one on the rhino?"

"It's a Kikanalo, thank you very much."

"Right, right," Valerie sarcastically patted Tucker's hand "How could I have made such a mistake?"

Tucker looked down. Valerie hadn't removed her hand from his. He looked back up at Valerie and smiled. It took Valerie a second to figure out what Tucker was smiling about, but she was soon smiling back at him.

Both of their cheeks began to flush.

"Here's your hot dog's!" The chipper voice of the server almost made Tucker and Valerie jump out of their seats. They kept their hands together, though.

Valerie recovered first.

"Oh, thanks!" she politely smiled at the server "It's been way too long since I've had one of these!"

"Yeah, there's just something special about Amity Lane's footlongs." Tucker agreed before picking up his hot dog with his free hand and taking a large bite.

Tucker watched Valerie put mustard on her hot dog with one hand. Even though he hadn't known her for quite as long, talking to Valerie felt as natural as talking to Danny or Sam.

And she trusted him too. Sure, she'd been pretty hesitant at first, but it didn't take long for her to see him as someone she could talk to, and Tucker was really flattered that she thought of him that way.

It made him want to share something personal with Valerie in return.

"Hey, I just wanted to say the other day at The Nasty Burger, when you told us you were bi, that was really cool."

"Oh. Um, yeah?" Valerie didn't remove her hand from Tucker's, but there was a hint of wariness in her voice.

"Yeah. And I do realize that might seem a little weird for me to bring up, but I've been thinking that I might actually...uh maybe be bi too." Tucker adjusted his glasses as he spoke.

"Wait," Valerie sat up straighter and her eyes widened "Really?"

"Uh, just maybe!" Tucker said quickly "Like, I get crushes on guys sometimes, but I'm still not really sure if they really count."

"What?" Valerie raised an eyebrow "What makes them not count?"

"I mean, I think in my whole life I've only liked, like three maybe four guys, but I've liked at least a million girls, so I'm definitely into girls, "

"Hey, it's not like someone's gonna arrest you for not liking enough boys. If you say you're bi, then you're bi."

"I don't know." Tucker swirled his pop with his straw. "Sometimes I just worry I'm taking something that isn't mine, ya know?"

"Oh no, some kid called himself bi when he might not technically follow the standard definition a hundred percent!" Valerie said in an exaggerated voice "This is robbing us of all our bi resources! We won't be able to add in a swimming pool at the clubhouse!"

"Well it sounds ridiculous when you put it that way..."

"There might be reason for that." Valerie said, the corner of her mouth cocking upwards.

"Yeah, yeah." "You're probably right. It still feels kind of weird. Calling myself 'bi', I mean. I think I like it, but I'm not a really a hundred percent sure."

"Give it time." Valerie said "You figure it out eventually."

"Danny said something like that, too." Tucker let his head flump onto the table "Why can't someone just tell me what's going on in my brain? This all just feels so needlessly complicated!"

"Trust me, it's worth it." Valerie patted Tucker's hand.

"Okay fine, I'll stop complaining. But you and Danny had better be right about this!"

Tucker lifted his head to see Valerie smiling down at him.

"What?" Tucker asked, smiling back.

"I've just never really had someone I could talk about this stuff with. I mean, I've got some cousins who'd probably be cool, but they don't live close enough for me to see them that often. And my old friends were...well, you know."

"That sounds rough. You know, Danny and Sam are pretty cool, if you ever want to talk with the group. Jazz too. Wait, I don't think you've ever met her. She's Danny's sister, and she gives really good advice."

"I'll keep that in mind, but I like talking with you."

"Because I'm a fellow bi?"

"No, it's because I like you."

"Oh." Tucker smiled as felt his cheeks go warm "I like you too. I like talking to you."

Valerie bashfully smiled back.

The tender moment was broken by what sounded like distant screaming.

"Did you hear that?" Valerie asked.

"It kind of sounded like-"

CRASH!

Tucker was interrupted by a large object flying through the ceiling. Tucker and Valerie jumped apart as it hit their table, smashing it in half.

The object turned out to be Danny Phantom, now lying in a heap in the wreckage of Valerie and Tucker's table.

"Oh hey," Danny waved from the ground. "Didn't expect to run into you two. How's the date going?"

"Pretty good, in my opinion." Tucker said "Thanks for ask- hey wait, do you like, need help dude?"

"What? No, don't worry, I got this ghost handled, you two enjoy your date!"

"Doesn't look like you do." Valerie pulled an ecto gun out of her backpack "Danny, taking down a dangerous ghost is was more important than-"

"No no no no no! I'm good! I got this! She just got a lucky shot in." Danny grunted as he pushed himself up and cracked his neck.

"That's better." he said to himself, floating up into the air "See? I'm good. Seriously, don't worry about me. I'll just call Sam if I need help, you two enjoy your date. Oh, and congrats on Valerie saying 'yes', by the way." Danny gave Tucker a double thumbs up.

"Oh yeah, thanks." Tucker said "You sure you don't want any help?"

"One hundred percent. It's just another one of Romeo's acting buddies, I got this. Just pretend I wasn't even here."

With that, Danny zoomed back out of the hole he'd made in the ceiling, disappearing into the night sky.

Valerie looked at Tucker.

"Does he 'got this'?"

"If he says he does, I believe him. Romeo wasn't a very tough ghost." Tucker picked up his mostly intact hot dog from the floor "Would it ruin the mood if I ate this?"

"I mean, Danny definitely already killed the mood, but I'd still judge you for eating off the floor."

"What? It stayed in the basket the whole time." Tucker said as he took a bite.

Valerie rolled her eyes.

"Also these things cost like four dollars each."

"Good point." Valerie said, retrieving her own fallen hot dog.

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

"Goodbye Vlad!" Maddie beamed "Today was so much fun, we'll have to get together again soon!"

"Yes, very soon. Goodbye Maddie, Jack." Vlad smiled back as he shut the door behind him.

He really meant it. Vlad truly did plan on seeing Jack and Maddie again soon. It had been too long since he'd had that much fun.

Sure, The Ecto-Pult (as Maddie had dubbed it) was incredibly inefficient compared to most modern-day ecto weaponry, but he hadn't realized how much he missed doing research with his friends. The data they'd collected might not have been that significant, but Vlad had left that basement feeling more invigorated than he did after the most productive days in his own lab.

Vlad couldn't stop smiling as he walked down the front steps.

There were still some thing the three of them needed to work out, such as the fact that all of them were hesitant to talk about Vlad's ghost side directly, but today had felt like the first sunny day after a week of rain, and Vlad was willing to work through any amount of awkwardness to have more days like that.

After walking a short distance, Vlad ducked into an alleyway to transform. The Ghost Zone was the fastest way to travel to and from Amity Park, but Jack and Maddie didn't need to know Vlad was using their portal. Not that he thought they would mind, but it was one of those awkward things Vlad wasn't ready to discuss quite yet if he could help it.

"Well," Jack wrapped an arm around Maddie "That was a lot better than the last time Vlad visited!"

"I'll say." Maddie agreed.

Once they'd gotten down to the lab, it was like they'd all forgotten about Vlad's accident and had been transported back to college when they were a closely knit research team and everything was normal.

Of course, in reality their college days were long behind them and things were far from normal. Vlad was still hesitant to talk about his ghostly properties, and Jack and Maddie still felt pretty awkward about the whole situation themselves.

A lot of unresolved thought and feelings still had to be dealt with, and Jack and Maddie knew that fixing things with Vlad wasn't always going to be as enjoyable as today was.

But this was a start. A pretty good start, in their opinion.

[ammg-old2]

Weekly Recap (23rd – 29th January 2023)

Study

Reread & made notes from Hearing Birds Fly (ch 11-13)

Read 4 articles about Mongolia

Read 6 articles

Reread 3 articles

Reading

Reread Iron Curtain: The Crushing of Eastern Europe, 1944-1956 (prologue, ch 1-2)

Read The Secret Race: Inside the Hidden World of the Tour de France (finished)

Read Faust's Gold: Inside the East German Doping Machine (ch 1-8)

Read Sailing the Wine-Dark Sea: Why the Greeks Matter (ch 4)

Read A People's History of the United States (ch 3)

Read King Leopold's Ghost: A Story of Greed, Terror and Heroism in Colonial Africa (intro & prologue)

Read Riis: Stages of Light and Dark (ch 1-4)

Reread The Occupied Garden: A Family Memoir of War-Torn Holland (ch 1)

Read Maybe You Should Talk to Someone by Lori Gottlieb (ch 1-8)

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Read The Giraffe's Neck by Judith Schalansky (finished)

Reread The Colour of Magic by Terry Pratchett (finished)

Read Portraits of a Marriage by Sándor Márai (most)

Writing

Wrote DAI (Emmeline) Step 0b – 873 words

Wrote DAI (Herah – K&L) Step 0 – 4602 words

Exercise

Exercycle – 6.9km

Music

Listened to Haydn symphonies No. 41, 42 & 43 (The Academy of Ancient Music & Christopher Hogwood)

Listened to Cecilia Bartoli “Chant d'amour” – 4 songs

Listened to 2 random pieces

Flat

Dishes (Monday)

Cooking (Monday)

Tidied up desk (Monday)

Lids & food in fridge (Monday & Thursday)

Helped Tracy with cleaning up kitchen & cooking (Thursday)

Shopping list (Friday)

Other

Read 1 short post/article

Puzzles

Special Daily Loop (Tuesday & Sunday)

Special Weekly Loop