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#that's literally it it took two syllables for me to react

inquisitorius-sin-bin · 7 months

Note

5, 11, 23, 34

Thank you for asking!

5. have you ever made a playlist about something you were writing as an elaborate means to procrastinate when you could have been actually writing and if yes drop a link, son

I love music but am the absolute worst at making playlists. It's more like a song or two here and there that reminds me of a piece. I made a feeble attempt at a Ride or Die playlist just now but it makes basically no cohesion.

I will say the plot of Ride or Die is more or less hinted at heavily in the song Kaisarion by Ghost (which is also, obviously, the name of Dralla's dactillion). It's about environmental destruction and loss of autonomy from an oppressive outside force.

And of course, what happens to Dralla in the end is... fairly explicitly written in the song.

Then Ghost treated me again, putting out another song (I See No Evil) that quite literally repeats our most beloved Pau'an's name (from this work).

I Tsi-no evil, eh?

And I've mentioned before that I can so perfectly hear the Plainsmen throat singing similar to music from The Hu.

11. what’s something neat you’ve learned while doing research for something you were writing? also, how much do you worry about doing research in general?

I got really lucky when I was searching for plausible ships for the Pyrefalcons to use in Fly or Fall. I needed a formidible fighting/cargo vessel that could plausibly be on Utapau around this time period, that the former Grand Inquisitor would know a bit about piloting, and it needed to be able to handle a crew of at least 5 with bunks and sonics and whatnot.

Then I found this gem:

Okay, so even if these Gozantis were blown up, the Separatists at least had them in circulation over Utapau at some point, and it's feasible Wandering Star could have stolen one for their own purposes. The Grand Inquisitor was repeatedly shown on Admiral Konstantine's Gozanti during Rebels. He might have known enough about flying one to get by, and the plausible layouts I've found were definitely suitable for the work.

Also I once did some research for a dogfight I wrote between a Porax-38 Starfighter and the TIE Prototype Advanced v1. And honestly, the speeds these vessels are capable of in-atmosphere are insane. Marshall did some math, and realistically we never see these ships moving at speed because the TIE would get to maximum speed from a standstill in 0.01093 seconds. That's within 2.4 meters of forward travel. 20 consecutive TIE's could reach their top speed before a human could even react to the first one, and in that time it would have travelled over 2 football fields. Yet the Porax is listed as being 60X faster???

I see now why Porax fighters were mostly piloted by droids.

Which, of course, had interesting implications in the chapter. Given a certain Wandering Star character's predilections towards droids...

23. how do you deal with writers block?

Normally I make writing a habit and try to get through at least a few sentences every time I open the document, regardless of how I'm feeling. But I'm going to be really honest here. As far as I'm aware, not a single person is up to date with my works. I have received absolutely 0 feedback for the last 7 chapters I have written. Numbers like this are extremely discouraging for something a pour my entire heart and soul into.

And as a result, I haven't written more than a paragraph or two in weeks. I'm strongly considering stopping completely, which is why I try to do things like this to drum it up in myself to continue again.

34. how do you name characters and places?

Some of them come to me from dreams and whatnot. But for most of them, I like to use some kind of system. In Ride or Die, for example, we know Plainsmen are named after their fathers from whom they receive their marks, and borrow characters and syllables from other significant people to their parents' lives. I took a different approach with the dactillion, giving them latin-derived names because they are self-named, and the red robes of Pau'an and their armor shapes remind me of Roman aesthetics.

For places... much like names, I try to think of cultural influences and match phonetic sounds to other places on planet. But I never use name generators. I just come up with something with the right sound and mouthfeel for the character.

Like Reegale, it's like a hick accent mispronouncing "Regal". Which, given his history, is appropriate. It fits the sounds of other Pau'an names, but matches his story as the failed bastard son of a powerful gangster who is more of a common thug than his father. He has this warped sense of morality that makes him almost "gentlemanly" among his fellow gang members. But he's deeply too flawed and rash to really be a noble.

So yeah! Thanks again for asking! Here's hoping I can find the strength to keep writing through the tough times.

#ride or die fic #fly or fall fic

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aquagirl1978 · 2 years

Text

Ikemen Prince Headcanons - How the Suitors react to a sick MC

I'm not feeling well today, but I wanted to write something so I thought I'd put this together for Chevalier's faction plus Rio. Let me know if you'd like me to post this for Leon's faction.

Leon's faction headcanons can be found HERE.

Chevalier Michel

“Cheva-- ?” You croaked out his name, the few syllables causing a coughing fit.

Chevalier approached your bed and clumsily stroked your forehead, the heat burning through his glove.

Unfortunately, due to his position, shirking his responsibilities was not a luxury he could afford. Instead, he had to settle for tracking down a servant, and telling them to make sure you were monitored, ensuring all your needs were satisfied.

Once his daily meetings were over, he returned to your room with a pot of hot tea, a bowl of chicken soup (that he might have prepared himself), and a book tucked under his arm.

After you were finished with your meal, he sat in the bed next to you, coaxing you to rest your head in his lap as he read to you, his fingers stroking your hair.

Clavis Lelouch

“I think I’m sick, Clavis,” you whined when your boyfriend entered your room.

His face fell; first, because he had a full day of mischief planned for the two of you, but then he came right to your side, kneeling by your bed, taking your hand in his and asking what he could get you.

Clavis was quite dutiful – if you wanted something sweet, he had the kitchen prepare it immediately. He made sure you were kept comfortable in your bed, with only the softest blankets covering you.

He did have to leave your side momentarily to attend to his duties, but when he returned, he regaled you with stories of the mischief he caused his brothers.

Nokto Klein

Nokto rolled over in bed, your coughing waking him up.

“Did I wake you?” Your voice was hoarse and raspy; Nokto knew immediately you were not well.

He pulled you into his arms, inviting you to rest against his chest, tucking the covers tightly around you.

It was still early in the morning, and he wasn’t exactly sure how to take care of someone when they were ill, as he never looked after himself in the past, but he certainly was not attending to any of his duties today; work can wait while his lover was ill.

He didn’t want to leave your side but did step out briefly when breakfast was being served to collect a tray for you along with a pot of your favorite tea.

When you needed some rest, he wrapped you in his arms again, and you took a nap together.

Luke Randolph

“Oh, hi Luke! Ah, ah choo!”

Luke’s eyes widened, quickly scooping you up in his strong arms, and marched you back to your room.

He tucked you into bed, placed a quick kiss on your forehead, and scurried off.

When he returned, his arms were ladened with so many treat – honey cakes, honey galettes, and a host of other sweets. He wasn’t sure what you might like, so he brought some of everything.

Later, he had a servant come to the room with a piping hot pot of tea and honey. Honey cures everything, doesn’t it?

Rio Ortiz

“Rio! Don’t come any closer, I’m sick!”

All Rio heard was “I’m sick” and he dropped everything. Literally. The book he was holding had fallen to the floor with a thud.

Rio rushed to your side and inquired about your symptoms. Sneezing? Here’s my handkerchief. Feeling feverish? Have some food – or do you starve a fever? Rio didn’t care, food makes everyone feel better.

Your room was immediately off visits to any and all visitors – except Rio, who made it his sole duty to take care of your every want and need.

When it was time for bed, he tucked you in and kissed your forehead, promising to see you first thing in the morning.

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikeprince #ikepri #chevalier michel #ikepri chevalier #clavis lelouch #ikepri clavis #nokto klein #ikepri nokto #luke randolph #ikepri luke #rio ortiz #ikepri rio #headcanon

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markosmate · 3 years

Text

to the dark side

Pairing; Marko x Emerson!Reader

Summary; Moving to a different state with your younger brothers and mother just to live with your grandfather was hard enough, but falling in love with a vampire and then watching your brother do the same thing? Much different story.

Warnings; strong language + mentions of blood

au:// Part 5 losers, have the whole thing mapped out from here hehe I’m excited for y’all to read everything :))

Part 4 - Part 6

“Be one of us.” David’s words echoed a couple of times through my head. My eyes flickered between Marko and Michael, wondering why drinking from this bottle initiated someone into the group - yet also wondering if Michael was going to accept this invitation they were giving him.

David held the bottle up and out towards my brother, in a silent sort of offering. As Michael stood to make his way closer to David, the other three boys started softly chanting his name in a mocking fashion. My brother grabbed the bottle from David’s hands, and slowly turned it in between each of his own. Star came up right behind him, and began speaking to him in such a low voice that I could barely hear her from where I was sitting.

“Don’t. You don’t have to, Michael.” She pleaded softly and I could my eyes roll involuntarily. Was this her way of trying to tell him not to be peer pressured? It sure didn’t seem like she cared about pressuring him when she was letting her boyfriend lead him to the edge of a cliff.

“Michael.” David whispered along with the boys, eyes piercing into the side of Mike’s head.

“It’s blood.” Star’s voice was louder this time, like she wanted everyone to hear what she had exposed to him. But, after the whole maggots and worms play - he didn’t seem to want to fall for another one of the group’s tricks.

He chuckled nonchalantly and nodded his head in a sarcastic manner. “Yeah, sure. Blood.” And then he raised the rim of the bottle to his lips and took a few big gulps of whatever it was. The boys let out a few scattered cheers, Paul even pumping his fists into the air in celebratory manner.

But the celebration was short-lived, as the four boys’ gazes turned back to me. Marko moved forward quickly, snatching the bottle away from Mike’s grasp before he could chug down all of it and moving towards where I was sitting. He crouched down in front of me before offering the bottle to me with a sly smirk creeping up on his lips.

“Drink some sweet thing. Be one of us, just like Michael.” I still hadn’t the slightest clue what that was supposed to mean - why would drinking some cheap alcohol out of a home-made bedazzled bottle make you automatically apart of the group? The way they were putting things wasn’t making any sense, but I could overlook that for right now. Because in this moment, Marko was looking at me with such hopeful eyes that I almost couldn’t pick up on the deceit hidden underneath it. But I felt like I’d do anything he asked me to, so I reached forward to take the bottle from his hand.

The boys watched on with excited eyes, eagerly anticipating my next moves. I glanced over towards Star, who had Laddie by the shoulder and was leading him away as she watched Michael with a disappointed gaze. Maybe it was blood? Maybe that’s why she looks so shaken right now? Because Michael had drank some even after she warned him not to? I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind - I was probably just overthinking - and raised the rim of the bottle to my lips.

The substance came pouring into my mouth and it burned it’s way down my throat. It tasted nothing like any alcohol I’d ever drank before - it was so much stronger, but at the same time so much more addicting. I wanted nothing more than to keep taking swigs of whatever it was but before I could even process what was going on, the bottle was tugged gently from my lips.

The boys all cheered, their shouts echoing through the cave, as Dwayne and Paul began chanting Michael and I’s names. All of my previous rational thoughts of staying far away from these boys and any of the trouble that came along with them were long out the window by now.

The substance I had drank gave me a drunk sort of feel and all I knew was there was a hot dude giving me what seemed to be alcohol and all of his friends cheering my brother and I’s names around us. David yelled out a “Bravo!”, reaching over to take the uncorked bottle from Marko to hand back to Michael.

Paul let out a loud laugh and momentarily stopped his cheering to lean over and clap me on the shoulder. “You’re one of us, girl! Let the good times roll.”

I wanted to be by Marko’s side, but David had beaten me to it. “Give me a ride, Marko.” The curly blond sent me a quick, mischievous grin before standing up and making his way behind David, beginning to push him around the fountain on the wheelchair.

I didn’t know what they meant by that, but they all kept saying it over and over so it had to mean something other than a cheesy initiation. I ignore the feeling in my chest that I had somehow just made a horrible mistake, and continue on partying with the others. I’m just overthinking it after all, these dudes are cool, what could go wrong honestly?

The answer was a lot. A lot could go wrong. David announced that we all had somewhere we needed to be, and Michael and I blindly followed the boys out of the cave and back up to the top of the bluff. I’d gotten on the back of Marko’s bike without a second thought, and soon the five bikes were racing through the slim trails of the woods once more.

It didn’t take long before they pulled up next to some train tracks - David, Dwayne, and Michael parking their bikes on one side and Marko and Paul parking their bikes on the other. I climbed off with a little stumble, still feeling the tiniest bit dizzy from drinking whatever alcohol was in the bottle that they gave me. The boys began walking on the tracks, out and over the bridge.

“Perfect timing.” David led in the front and Marko grabbed one of my belt loops to pull me into his side as he threw his other arm around Dwayne’s shoulders.

“What’s going on?” Michael’s voice echoed.

“Michael wants to know what’s going on.” David teased the slightest bit. Paul laughed a bit as we walked farther out onto the bridge. “Marko,” He spoke again. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” Marko grinned. “What’s goin’ on, Paul?”

“Wait a minute, who wants to know?” Came Paul’s genius reply - quickly followed by,

“Michael wants to know!” From Dwayne, who had finally spoken up for the first time that night.

“I think we should let Michael, and Ivory,” David paused slightly to begin including me in on their hazing. “Know what’s going on.” The platinum leader stopped a few feet ahead of the boys and turned with Michael at his side, before leaning forward the slightest bit to wrap a cold hand around my wrist. He tugged me gently away from Marko’s hip, bringing me to stand next to him and my brother to watch the three others of the group.

“Yeah.” Paul sung out, body practically buzzing with what I could only assume was excitement for what was to come. David tilted his head with a small mischievous smile and spoke once more.

“Marko?” I turned my head back to look at said boy once more with furrowed eyebrows.

He wasn’t looking at me however, instead opting to stare only at my brother. He lifted his hand and twirled his fingers in a small sort of wave before grinning wickedly. “Goodnight Michael.” Before he dropped with an echoing “Bombs away!” I gasped, my head whipping around to look at David yet his expression hadn’t changed a bit.

Michael’s jaw hung open in pure confusion, only confirming that he too had seen what I had. Paul stepped forward with a similar grin and looked between Michael and I quickly. “Bottoms up, man. Yeow!” He dropped just as suddenly, and was quickly followed by Dwayne who only shot us silent finger guns before dropping down the same opening in the bars that the previous two had. I stared, absolute shock and fear cursing through my blood. Had they just literally jumped to their deaths right in front of us? They couldn’t have, how would that make any sense?

David moved to step in front of us, and with a hand on Michael’s shoulder he leaned in the slightest bit to speak. “Come with us, guys.” Before he, too, stepped off the edge and dropped through the bars. With one short glance at my brother, who was too busy staring at where David had just fallen to notice I was looking at him, I rushed forward and kneeled on the edge to stare down into the fog. A huff of relief left my lungs and I laughed breathily as I stared down at the four boys hanging from the support beams.

The four cheered a bit, finally making some noise once Michael leaned down next to me, curiosity ultimately getting the best of him. “Hey, Ivory!” Marko called up with a grin on his lips, attention then momentarily taken from me as Paul swung his legs up to kick at the shorter boy.

“Michael and Ivory Emerson!” David’s rough voice cut through the other boy’s cheerful shouts. “Come on down!” He taunted, his laugh afterwards cause the nerves in my body to go haywire. I never thought I’d genuinely come face-to-face with the expression about all of your friends jumping off of a bridge, but here we were now.

I grinned at Michael and clapped him on the shoulder teasingly before moving to climb down onto the bar across from Paul. My arm strength wasn’t nearly as good as Michael’s, but adrenaline was coursing through my body at such a rate that I didn’t care. “There ya go, girl!” Paul laughed loudly kicking at my legs this time instead of Marko’s. I reacted just as quickly, kicking back at him in a competitive manner as the grin on my face grew. I saw Michael climb down in front of David out of the corner of my eye as Marko began to shout once more.

“Yeah, let’s play a game! Let’s play a game, baby!” He dragged out each syllable of the last word and my stomach flipped a few times at his voice, but I needed to focus more on not falling to my death than whatever it was he was getting at.

Paul laughed along with his friend. “Welcome aboard, Michael.”

David’s chilling laugh echoed once more, and the wind carried his voice to me though I could tell he was only really speaking to Michael. “Fun, huh?” Suddenly the tracks above us began to vibrate, and not long after they began to viciously shake as the horn of a train blared through the night. I felt my stomach squeeze uncomfortably as the boys continued their obnoxious shouts. I glanced over in Marko’s direction for some reassurance only to see him pulling himself up once through the bars before dropping down to hang once more with a mocking grin on his face. He wasn’t looking at me though, his attention was over towards Michael who I could vaguely hear shouting, “Jesus Christ!”

“Yeah!” Paul laughed, suddenly letting go of the bars and falling into the fog below. As if this entire thing wasn’t insane enough, I felt my heart drop. “Oh my God!” I cried, looking down to see if I could spot him but there was still only fog below us. My arms were burning, and I knew there was no way I’d be able to hold on much longer - never-mind try and pull myself up and over the bars to safety once the train passed.

Marko caught my eye and he sent me a wink, eyes sparkling as if he knew something I didn’t. “Don’t be scared, Ivory!” Then he let go as well, yelling out as he fell the same way Paul did.

“Jesus Christ!” Michael’s voice met my ears again, as suddenly Dwayne fell from my side as well, yelling on his way down.

“Guys!” David yelled to the both of us. “You’re one of us! Let go!”

“And do what?” I shouted at him incredulously, was he fucking serious? Were the other three dead right now? And now he was telling us to let go too?

“You are one of us, Ivory.” He assured once more before falling into the fog as well.

“David!” Michael screamed after him. The train finally passed, and the bars stopped shaking in our grasps. I looked over at my brother with wide eyes, how the hell were we supposed to get ourselves out of this one? I watched as he tried to pull himself up to no avail, and right as I went to speak to him I heard shouts from below us. It was the boys - they were alive! How the fuck were they alive?

I glanced over to Michael who was trying to pull himself up once more and felt my grip begin to slip drastically. “I’m gonna let go.”

“What?” His voice was strained and he glared straight into my soul. “No, are you insane? You’ll die!”

“I can’t hold on anymore, Mike. And they survived somehow, there’s gotta be water or something below.” And before he could even begin to protest more, my hands slipped from the bar. I screamed as I fell, the thick fog enveloping me completely and all my senses seemed to be blocked out.

I could vaguely hear my name being whispered over and over again and I was almost completely positive that I had blacked out and was just hallucinating this excruciatingly long fall. Right before everything went dark, a pair of arms cut my fall short as my eyes fluttered closed.

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ladyartemesia · 4 years

Text

The Challenge

◐ PART II of The Alpha ◐

◐ PART I ◐ SERIES MASTERLIST ◐

Pairing: Alpha Jimin x Omega Reader

Rating: (for this chapter) Mature (rating will go up)

Warnings: mentions of ritual combat, sexually suggestive language, ABO sexual dynamics, discussion of marking, mating, and claiming

Word Count: 1100

You fell to your knees, uttering the one word that would complete the ritual and seal both your fates.

“Alpha.”

Then all hell broke loose. Noise and movement erupted on every side.

“Oh my goddess, Yoonji is gonna be so pissed she missed this!” Min Yoongi whooped loudly from across the circle.

Your forehead furrowed in confusion as chaos escalated around you. The blindfold was still in place as you were technically not permitted to remove it till the ceremony was officially dismissed.

What is happening? What’s wrong?

Suddenly the chief elder charged into the fray, waving his hands wildly like a spastic pixie.

“My brothers and sisters we must - er - strive to consider this unexpected turn of events as-“

“What have you done?!”

You recognized that voice - your mother - hissing frantically in your ear. She must have breached the circle to get to you.

A hand (probably your mother again) wrapped around your elbow, yanking you roughly to your feet and you yelped in pain-

“STOP!”

The person manhandling you froze immediately. Silence crashed down like a hammer.

“...Take your hands off my mate.”

The words were spoken softly this time, but there was no mistaking the weight of an alpha command. The grip on your arm fell away without hesitation.

Unease began to churn heavily in the pit of your stomach.

You didn’t recognize his voice.

You had no idea who your mate was.

Jimin could feel his heart pounding violently in his chest.

The first moments after your scent invaded his senses had been euphoric... but reality pierced his lust-addled haze when your mother began dragging you away from him. And when you cried out-

He reacted on instinct alone.

Jimin could count on one hand the number of times he used an alpha command, but seeing you in distress had pulled it from him effortlessly.

The weight of several hundred stares poured over him in the oppressive soundlessness that followed his outburst.

Then-

“Luna rex provocatione.”

The words cut confidently through the air - each syllable dripping with strength and authority - much like the man who spoke them.

Kim Namjoon had issued a formal challenge.

“Well... That was a flaming disaster.”

Jimin rolled his eyes.

“Thank you, Taehyung. Your grasp of the obvious remains unparalleled.”

The chief elder hauled Jimin and his family into the council chamber immediately after Namjoon’s challenge. Taehyung had simply followed along because he was nosy.

“So what happens now?” His hand ran absently through his hair as he addressed the pack’s interim leader. “What does the challenge mean?”

“You’d know if you hadn’t skipped Alpha Camp every year,” Taehyung interjected.

Jimin just barely resisted the urge to strangle him.

Alpha Camp was an annual training session that involved all the alphas holing up in a cave at the top of the mountain to have profound discussions about “the great burden of leadership” in between fighting each other for fun and eating poorly cooked meats.

Jimin shivered. He attended one time and immediately decided that he’d rather be tossed naked into a hornets nest than endure another second of Alpha Camp.

“Yes. Well. Tragically my grandmother in Seoul took ill-”

“Every year?”

“She’s quite fragile.”

“If that is all-” the chief elder interrupted with a pointed look at both of them, “the situation we find ourselves in is rare, but not unheard of. Still... it’s been nearly two hundred years...”

His eyes rested on Jimin with something that looked suspiciously like sympathy before continuing.

“Luna rex provocatione is quite specific. Namjoon intends to fight you for the right to mate our Luna.”

Jimin’s wolf snarled viciously.

“Over my dead body.”

“I think that’s the idea.”

Taehyung again - but this time Jimin was too alarmed to be irritated.

“It-It’s a fight to the death? I have to kill him?”

The chief elder looked incredibly uncomfortable.

“Technically... no. You do not have to kill him. You simply have to force a surrender. However...”

Everyone in the room leaned forward unconsciously.

“However?”

“In order for the Luna to accept a new mate, her old mate must die. You do not need to kill him ...but he does need to kill you.”

“Will someone please tell me what happened back there?”

“I was about to ask you the same question!”

The veins in your mother’s forehead were throbbing so fiercely they could be seen from space.

You sighed and aggressively massaged your temple in an effort to build patience. The seething matriarch of your family had never been a particularly bad mother - but she hadn’t been a particularly good one either.

Still...

She was your mother.

“Aunt Isa,” cousin Seokjin soothed diplomatically from the corner, “perhaps we should all just take a deep breath and consider the situation.” His gaze met yours supportively. “After all... our Luna completed the ritual correctly. She followed the scent of her mate and acknowledged him-“

“Who?” you cut in impatiently, “Who did I acknowledge?”

The corner of Seokjin’s lips twitched a bit in the ghost of a smile.

“Park Jimin.”

Your jaw literally dropped.

No wonder everyone had lost their collective minds.

“But... but Park Jimin hates me. He never speaks to me! He won’t even look at me.” You paled. “What if he rejects me-”

Jin snorted.

“Oh I wouldn’t worry too much about that. No one who saw the two of you today-” he cleared his throat significantly, “I mean he seemed pretty into it.”

Bile and doubt burned bitterly at the back of your throat.

“... That could just be pheromones. I’m telling you Jin, he’s never bothered with me like the others. I barely know what he looks like.”

That wasn’t true.

Park Jimin was a living, breathing work of art with plump pink lips and a backside most women would commit murder for.

You knew exactly what he looked like... what he smelled like...

Heat twisted deliciously in your gut.

And he’s mine.

“It doesn’t matter anyways,” your mother’s voice interrupted unpleasantly, “because Namjoon is going to kill him.”

“How are you going to force a surrender?” Taehyung asked quietly. “Have you ever tried to compel another alpha?”

Jimin shook his head. It was common for alphas to unleash alpha commands on one another to sort out which of the two was more dominant, but he had never cared one way or the other.

“Has anyone ever successfully compelled Namjoon?”

He already knew the answer, yet he found himself asking anyway.

Taehyung gulped.

“Never.”

If you are already in the taglist, then I will automatically tag you for the next part! If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know.

And also please tell me what you thought of this update 🥺 Feedback really does fuel my writing and hearing from you means a lot to me!

#park jimin #bts #BTS Jimin #bts park jimin #Jimin smut #park Jimin smut #ficswithluv #magicshopnet #bangtanidx #networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #BTS smut #alpha Jimin #BTS ABO #abo #alpha #omega #werewolves

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qlala · 3 years

Note

Is it cheating to submit a fic request for the pride post you just made? I neeeed the whole thing (I'm on my laptop, but insert the big gay eyes emoji)

fjskdgjslg "big gay eyes emoji" you know what? just for you. just for you i have written this. i'll clean it up and upload to ao3 later but for now: have 2.7k of len dragging a sunburnt, tipsy, and glitter-covered barry back to his apartment, and happy pride!

Len wasn’t the type to begrudge anyone a good time, especially when the good time involved loud music, leather harnesses, and throwing water bottles at cops. Central City’s annual pride parade came as close as it got to challenging that attitude; families, fellow queers, and queens descended on the city waving more flags than the United Nations after a hurricane, all decked out in color combinations that Len hadn’t been able to keep straight since the ‘80s.

The end result was the kind of crowds that could make a grown man feel claustrophobic in the middle of a city block, and that was without the visible haze of alcohol wafting off the whole event.

But what the parade lacked in personal space, it made up for with one very important commodity: unattended wallets.

The flock of sunburnt twinks in denim cut-offs made Len’s job almost too easy—a hand on a sweat-slicked lower back, a flash of blue eyes, and most of them wouldn’t have noticed their wallets going missing if Len had dangled their IDs in front of their faces afterwards. (While there were plenty of women dressed in just as little clothing whom Len certainly wouldn’t have minded getting within robbing distance of, he’d found queer women as a group to be less enthusiastic about uninvited touching and more enthusiastic about wallet chains, even when three sheets to the wind off of canned rosé.)

He’d taught a dozen visiting suburbanites the importance of not keeping valuables in their back pockets by the time he spotted a familiar profile in the crowd.

His usual red getup wasn’t much more modest than some of the outfits Len had already seen, but even knowing the shape of that body didn’t prepare Len for seeing Barry Allen stripped to the waist, bright-eyed and flushed and shimmering all over with a fine dusting of glitter. Len noted, on auto-pilot, that it didn’t seem like he’d put any of the glitter there himself; he was standing dangerously close to a drag queen throwing handfuls of the stuff on anyone who got within arm’s reach of her. It set the sun refracting off every dip and plane of muscle across Barry’s chest and stomach. Barry’s hair, already wild and dark at the roots with sweat, was full of it.

Len’s feet were carrying him closer before he gave himself permission to move. Barry managed to drag Len into his orbit at the best of times; visibly tipsy and dripping sweat, Len would’ve had better luck resisting the turning of the earth.

Up close, Len could take that Barry had lost his shirt somewhat recently; the slight touch of pink spanning his shoulders and chest had nothing on the serious flush across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. He had a spray of new freckles as well. They were barely distinguishable under the haze of glitter stuck to his skin, but Len noticed them at once, the change unmistakable on an otherwise unchanging face (not a scar to be seen, even after three years of running into burning buildings and jumping in front of bullets; Len was equal parts frustrated and relieved).

It looked like someone had painted a few strokes of color across one of his cheeks at some point, but it was smudged to hell and back. The back of one of Barry’s hands was stained a tell-tale matching purple, and Len could only guess at what it had been at the start of the day.

He stepped into Barry’s space as easily as he had the rest, taking care to keep Barry between him and the source of the glitter, and hesitated for the briefest moment with his hand above Barry’s spine. He’d never touched Barry like this, skin to skin; the gloves had never come off between them, metaphorically or literally. Kept things neat.

Nothing about Barry was neat right now. He turned even before Len touched him, and the movement brought Len’s hand into contact with his side instead. It took everything in Len not to pull it back in a flinch, and he met Barry’s curious glance with a tightly-controlled smirk.

He’d expected Barry to step back, maybe add a bit of blush to those already-pink cheeks. Instead, Barry’s eyes took a belated second to focus, and then he gave Len a face-splitting grin.

“Snart!”

That time, Len did have to pull backwards to avoid Barry dragging him in for a hug. To think he’d been concerned about a hand.

Barry didn’t seem the least bit put out, smiling loose and easy like Len hadn’t iced him to the door of a bank vault the last time they’d seen each other. He hadn’t taken Barry for such a cheerful drunk—he seemed inclined toward melodrama on a good day—but Len would take it over any of the alternatives.

“Barry. Fancy seeing you here. And so much of you, at that.” He let his gaze slide down his bare chest and stomach, pulse ticking up at the warm brown of his nipples and the sharp vee of his hipbones that invited his gaze further down.

“You’re overdressed,” Barry disagreed. He wasn’t quite slurring, but there was a careful deliberation in his tone that told Len it was a near thing. He took a step closer and peered at Len, suspicion evident in those pale green eyes. “And… sober.”

“I’m not here to score. Perks include keeping my shirt on.”

For the briefest second, Barry looked almost disappointed. But it was gone in a blink, confusion taking over. He glanced down at himself, puzzled. Then his expression cleared, and he looked up with another easy-going smile. “I got hot.” His gaze dropped again, to Len this time, and he licked his lips. “Aren’t you… you gotta be hot in all that.”

Len was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and thin jacket, and it hadn’t hit eighty degrees all week. But he wasn’t in the mood to argue with drunk logic. And besides, another scan of the nearby revelers had made something unpleasant begin to scratch insistently at the inside of Len’s chest, and he tapped Barry under the chin with one knuckle to bring his attention back up.

The contact startled both of them—Len’s control had slipped, something he could not afford to happen around Barry Allen—but Len recovered first. “Where’s the rest of your team of do-gooders?”

“Lost ‘em.” Judging by the return of Barry’s crooked grin, it was an accomplishment, not a concern. “Cisco said the shot was too strong, but I didn’t wanna go. He’s the d…” He faltered, brows pulling together as he frowned. “S’the designed. Designinated, superhero, anyway. Shh!”

He shot a pointer finger toward Len in a movement that Len clocked, alarmingly, as intending to be pressed to his lips, as if he were the one who’d been chatting about Vibe’s secret identity. Len had three years of dealing with the Flash to thank for being able to catch Barry’s wrist in time to stop him, and he glared at him for the attempt.

But Barry only gave him a crinkle-eyed smile and twisted his hand in Len’s grip to clasp his wrist back. “S’so good to see you here. I didn’t think…”

“Don’t tell me you had me pegged for straight.”

Barry made a frankly insulting noise halfway between a scoff and a hiccup and tilted Len a condescending look.

“Speedster, remember?” he asked, far too loudly, even for a crowd currently screaming along to a pop song that’d been bad enough the first time Len’d heard it in 2000. “I see it when you...” He let go of Len’s wrist to make a gesture with two fingers, parting them in a V and sweeping them up and down Len’s body, the muscles in his forearm shifting distractingly under Len’s hand. God, the kid had to be a hundred degrees. “When you check me out. In the suit.”

Len smirked. “It’s cute you thought I was being subtle.”

“You’re cute,” Barry muttered, childish and sulky, and Len took it for the compliment it wasn’t.

“You had a point, Barry.”

Barry still looked displeased with him, but his brow was furrowed again when he met his gaze. This close, it was impossible to ignore that Barry had an inch or so on him. “About what?”

“You didn’t think…?” Len prompted him.

Barry stared at him blankly, and Len rolled his eyes and let go of his wrist.

“Get out of the sun, Barry,” he said. “Find a park bench. Wait for your little friends to come find you. Shouldn’t be hard—you’re as red as your suit.”

Barry either ignored his last comment or didn’t hear it. “Iris is here somewhere,” he said, possibly to himself. “She’s…” He twirled his finger absently beside his head. “Curly, today. And… bikini.”

Len strongly considered abandoning Barry to his sunburn to go find out for himself. But Barry was beginning to sway a bit, and a man closer to Len’s age than Barry’s was giving Barry’s toned back a speculative look from a few feet away, and Len gave in to the unsettled feeling gnawing at his ribcage. He refused to call it worry. It was annoyance—or, at the very least, the feeling was annoying him, which was close enough.

“As much a sight for sore eyes as that would be,” he said, allowing a magnanimousness he didn’t feel to color his tone, “I doubt Miss West ran away from her group and got heatstroke. Unlike some people”

Barry didn’t look the least bit chastened, lips curving up mischievously in a way that drew another couple interested looks. Len needed to get them both out of the crowd before he started breaking noses.

“Tell you what. Give Cisco a call, tell him you went home. My bike’s on Kingsbridge, away from the parade route.”

Barry’s smirk sharpened. “Trying to get me out of here, Snart? I thought you weren’t here to score.”

Len gave him a flat look, ignoring the decidedly interested way his body was reacting to Barry’s tone.

“You can barely stand.”

Barry’s eyes glittered at the challenge, and Len realized his mistake.

“Barry—”

He hadn’t even finished biting out the second syllable when the world spun out from under him, the noise and the heat and the press of the crowd swallowed up in a hair-raising charge of yellow lightning. Exactly two and a half seconds passed in a blur of movement, just long enough for Len to realize Barry was supporting the back of his head with one too-warm hand. Then the world came skidding to a stop around them. Barry’s momentum carried them both forward several feet even after their new surroundings materialized, and they very nearly went straight through a window again before Barry seemed to remember how to stop.

Len considered pushing him out the window anyway for the stunt. True, he’d been itching to get another taste of that feeling, the ozone snap-drag of Barry’s power like a live wire under his hands, but he’d rather have waited until Barry could pass a breathalizer.

He realized Barry still had an arm around him and shoved him off. It did nothing to dim Barry’s self-satisfied grin, and Len had to look away or risk giving into the interested once-over Barry was skimming over his body again.

“Pretty sure the point of a designated driver is not doing that.”

Barry followed him when he took a step back. Len made a calculated decision, decided the risk of touching Barry again was worth it, and pressed his fingers to the middle of Barry’s chest—right where the Flash insignia would be on his suit, his brain offered unhelpfully—and pushed him backwards, hard.

Barry unbalanced and wheeled back a step. Then the backs of his knees hit the edge of the couch, and he toppled, satisfyingly, back onto the dark leather cushions.

It was a nice couch. The whole apartment was nice, actually. Len could’ve drawn a perimeter of possible locations based on Barry’s speed and how long it had taken them to reach it if he hadn’t already known the address.

“Sit,” he said. And then, with a smirk: “Stay.”

Barry rolled his eyes. “Gonna have to ask nicer than that if you wanna boss me around in bed.”

The way he threw it out there, easy as anything, almost made Len miss a step as he turned away. He wasn’t going to lay a hand on Barry, not when he was drunk on sunlight and skin and whatever concoction Cisco had apparently cooked up for him. But hearing him say it, like they’d already gotten all of the messy parts out of the way—it set off warning bells in Len’s head, flashing past all the possible off-ramps he would’ve taken if Barry had ever tried to have the conversation in a more linear fashion.

“You’re drunk,” Len said, which was a coward’s answer, and behind him, Barry made a vague noise of agreement.

“Probably,” he acknowledged. “You could stick around ‘til I’m not.”

Christ. Len didn’t trust himself to look at Barry again, not when he knew he’d find him sprawled out and shedding glitter all over what had looked like a very expensive couch. “Stay,” he repeated, and went off to find the kitchen.

By the time he got back with two glasses of water, the problem had solved itself; Barry was out cold on the couch, his painting cheek pressed to the throw pillow he’d curled himself half-around. He was shivering faintly in the air conditioning, all cooled sweat and goosebumps, and Len resigned himself to the now-familiar impulse to help him that stirred in his chest. He put one of the glasses down on the table and, not trusting his hands, knocked his knee into one of Barry’s where it was bent close to the edge of the couch.

Barry buried his face into the pillow with a noise of displeasure, and Len said his name again.

“Last warning,” Len said. “Ten seconds, you find out if I put on steel-toed boots today.”

Barry groaned, and if the sound hadn’t made Len’s pulse skip, the easy shift of muscles in Barry’s arm as he pushed himself up to sitting again would’ve done the trick.

“Water,” Len said, unnecessarily, as he passed him the glass.

Barry took it with the tips of his fingers, as if it were something personally offensive to him, and took a single, polite sip before putting it down beside the other with no small amount of distaste. Then he glanced between the glasses, and up at Len, a dirty spark already lighting behind his eyes again.

“Don’t get your hopes up. They’re both for you.”

Barry let out a breath with audible annoyance and dropped back against the couch cushions to glare at him.

Len felt a modicum of sanity return to him. This, at least, was familiar ground: Barry, frustrated, asking for too much, too soon. True, it had always been about the hero business until now, but Len knew a pattern when he saw one. Give Barry an inch, and he always took a mile.

Len gave Barry one last, appraising look. He looked ridiculous, all self-righteousness and bare skin. There was only one break in the otherwise even coat of glitter, there on Barry’s side: faint, but unmistakable, the outline of Len’s hand on his waist. The feeling in Len’s chest coalesced into something pleased and possessive. He met Barry’s glare with a slow curl of his lips, then gave him an inch.

“Call me when you’re sober, Barry,” he said, letting his voice slip into the Cold drawl just to watch Barry’s eyes go dark. “And you can show me how well you sit up and beg.”

He could see the impatience radiating off of Barry’s frame, the effort it was taking him to stay on the couch instead of closing the space between them.

“Call your friends,” he reminded him. “Enough people got a look at your face today without the CCPD splashing it on every milk carton, too.”

In the elevator, Len reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the thin black wallet he’d liberated from Barry during their sprint across the city. Two and a half seconds: child’s play. A little extra incentive for Barry to track him down in the morning, not that Len thought he needed it. He flipped it open, noted the deer-in-the-headlights picture of Barry on his driver’s license with amusement, and then thumbed open the bill compartment.

Len smirked. Barry wouldn’t miss a few dollars; he owed him for the dry-cleaning it was gonna take to get the glitter out of his jacket, anyway.

#coldflash #leonard snart #barry allen #the flash #my fics #is 10 pm on a tuesday peak posting time? no! is it when i finished this? yes!#also this is blatantly nyc pride sorry #write what you know etc

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themilky-way · 3 years

Text

on a foreign planet

gif credit: santigarcia

pairing: din djarin/the mandalorian x reader

summary: din isn’t too fond of touch, but after a particularly cold mission, he realizes just how important it might be.

warnings: uh is me being touch starved a warning bc if so oh boy

author’s note: got the cot inspiration from 1) the literal fucking cot scene-you know what i’m talking about and 2) miss birbs’ lovely fic @whirlybirbs

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from what you saw, it had been a faulty mission on tatooine. the minute he stepped off the lift of the crest and set out to look for something was the minute your gut tightened in an all too familiar feeling. you came to know it like the back of your hand-living and occasionally partaking in conversation with the mandalorian the leading cause. you learned to trust that ache and never questioned it despite many efforts to do so; desperate attempts to urge him to not leave the safety of his ship were made, and sometimes a laugh threatened to escape because of how silly you must’ve sounded. the mandalorian never listened and never would, so all you could do was prepare the emergency kit stationed within the cabinets of the cockpit.

he’d bust in whenever you’d least expect it. a weary hand clutching the side of his abdomen or a limped gait indicated he needed some form of assistance, and the responsibility was almost always yours. most of the time he never said a word, as was his usual demeanor, and just situated himself on the floor near your bed, his back leaning into the mattress. he knew you’d do it-care for him and restore his health-and now it’d be no different.

“i’ll be back before sundown,” din informed. his armor seemed to glisten more in the early morning rays than it did in the evening, an odd comparison you made when he entered the cabin. he stood proudly at the door, as he definitely should, wiping his pistol with a small rag and inspecting its crevices and compartments to ensure its performance. then he looked up.

you were sitting-cuddled, more like-in his pilot’s chair with the baby pulling on the strings of din’s blanket from the ground. short, high-pitched sounds came from him to gain attention. this isn’t yours, he wanted to say, but was stuck with the only language he knew: gibberish. “feel free to keep my blanket by the way,” the mandalorian assured, “you’ll need it for the blizzard tonight.”

“what blizzard? i thought it was just desert here,” you inquired, sitting up a bit in bewilderment. the blanket slid over your legs at the sudden motion, falling over the child still tugging at it. it covered his tiny head all the way to his tiny toes, outlining his (rather large) ears and torso. “maker,” you huffed after hearing a muffled, yet complaining coo, “what’s up with you today?” lifting the sheet with one hand, you brought the baby along with you and positioned it on top of your leg. “there. take a nap, will you?”

when you finally got the opportunity to look away, you captured a glance of din exiting the craft with his equipment in hand. you didn’t expect anything less; his attitude was meant to be cold and harsh. he didn’t have to say good-bye every time he left for a mission or tell you good morning whenever he woke up, yet you’d be lying if you said that the absence of these aspects didn’t take a toll on you. hell, a friendship would've been nice considering all the time you’ve spent with one another, but what you received would have to suffice.

it wasn’t often that you were left alone. somehow, and for some strange reason, the man who so earnestly follows his creed never lets the child or you out of his sight. it was fun at times; you bought the weekly groceries while din scavenged for an alien for its monetary value. a win-win.

“i’m gonna go in that room...” you pointed to the small door of the cot, “...and i’m gonna sleep for a while, okay?”

the child looked at you and gurgled a reply. it began pointing its ears forward as a cat would if it were content. his stubby hands, which were hard to differentiate between that or paws, reached upward to indicate his wish to be hoisted. “you wanna come with?” you asked quietly, and a set of miniature teeth that were barely there flashed in a wide grin.

the plan wasn’t to doze off for more than two hours. the siesta wasn’t meant to last through the whole evening either.

the quilt (that wasn’t rightfully yours) was too warm for you not to fall asleep. the baby cozied up in the junction of your arm and elbow with its fuzzed head against your shoulder. your legs and torso were contorted to accommodate the limited capacity of the bunk; it wasn’t the best position per se, but it did the trick.

on his way back from an assigned trade, the mandalorian’s field of vision turned foggy. a gloved hand that was possibly blue with the frost clung to his belongings in the same manner as when he’d left. to discard the items and shield himself from the falling snowflakes was what he wanted to do, but each slow, deep tread of his boots promised a closer distance to the comfort of his plane. snow developed into sleet as he neared the engine, with the droplets of water trickling down the “T” of his visor serving as a fun game of ‘which drop will reach the bottom first?’ it was childish in itself and not in the slightest bit appropriate for his current conditions.

when the sleeve of white beneath his shoes became metal, his back straightened with a few cracks (one of his perks, he liked to say). his brain was running automatically, directing his steps and turns to where he could find one fragment of peace: the cot.

he knew you were inside. the visibility his helmet equipped him with was astonishing; a single click of a button and the steps you took during his leave would be all his to analyze and detail. the same trembling hands from before reached for the latch and opened the door of the compact room. he tried to speak as clearly as he could without arousing a scare in the child or you, a free palm gently grasping and shaking your ankle.

“hey,” he whispered. “canyouwakeupplease?” it came out rushed and scrambled, his teeth chattering in between syllables.

“din’ika?” you slurred, voice heavy with sleep. “what time is-okay, why are you holding my feet?”

“needed s-something to wake y-you up,” din shivered. he took a step back, and for the first time that day, you fully saw him. there wasn’t much light in the space besides the one light coming from the cockpit but the shape of his beskar helped diminish your fatigue.

“maker, din, you’re freezing. get inside.”

he didn’t hesitate or fight your suggestion as he typically did. instead, with some trouble, he gradually squeezed himself inside the little space as you slid up the mattress. you swallowed a giggle when the top of his head hit the ceiling because, well, it’s funny.

“don’t l-laugh at me, i’m c-cold,” he said.

“i know you’re cold,” you smiled.

din made the choice to sleep on his back, while your option was to lay on your side and the baby in the middle. it wasn’t horrible. the three of you could live with it.

a few minutes followed before you felt the cold leather of his fingers encircle the tips of yours. the sensation was new; an experience that wasn’t in the script for him. he was afraid of how you’d react. is this too tight? too clammy? i’m wearing gloves, it doesn’t even matter. no wait, yes it does.

the thoughts stopped as abruptly as they came. he felt the air surrounding the room span across the skin of his wrist, and then the top of his hand. it flowed beyond that to the beginning of his fingers until his covering was completely off.

your hand was warm and it fit so perfectly in his when you melded it together. a sharp breath hitched in his throat, unaware of how to speak and how to act. in this moment, din’s instinct demanded him to turn away and be who he was presumed to be, but that was nearly absurd now with his hand wrapped in yours.

“is this okay?” you spoke softly.

he squeezed his eyes shut as if it would dissipate him from existence, trying to overlook your breath fanning into the opening of his suit. “yes. is this alright with you, too?”

“yeah. it is.”

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars #star wars fanfiction #pedro pascal #all my fics w din include hand holding LMAO #it's cuz its cute #my writing!

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phonecallwithsatan · 3 years

Text

The Louvre

a.n.: I just finished my APUSH homework so of course all my attention goes to Tumblr HEHEH I love it. A little backstory on this one; I have been trying to find out where exactly this particular show this epiosde is from for maybe my whole life. Literally, I saw a part of this episode when I was maybe six or seven and I can’t get it out of my head. Keep in mind that I’m only 16, my whole lifespan so far has been me trying to think of where this episode came from. Finally, I cracked it. It’s from Bones. ENJOY <3 LMAO 1k word angst but its funny LMAO IDK minor swearing :)

Reader walks home to Spencer sobbing on the couch over a TV Show that always makes him cry.

✭

You had spoken to Spencer over the phone before coming home and he sounded fine, truly. He sounded like his normal self. He even started to explain a new book he had finished today after work.

You had been on the phone for the whole visit span at the supermarket. You had to hang up because it was time to check out. Your call log stated that you two-- more or less he-- had been talking for two hours.

And with all this information, you still did not expect to walk in on your boyfriend hysterically crying from a TV show.

When you walk into your shared apartment you’re greeted with the kitchen to the left and a plain wall to your right. When you look forwards, you get a view of the couch from the back and a television facing that.

You slammed your bags down and saw Spencer sitting on the middle of the brown leather couch.

This is the sixth time you’ve caught him crying at the storyline of a TV show. Last week it was Grey's Anatomy. Earlier this week it was Chicago Med. And now it was Bones that made him sob.

“Damn it, Spencer!” You walked over to him and saw him curled up on the couch now sobbing even harder because of your reaction. “This is the second time this week!”

He looked up at you and you never knew how to react to those eyes. You would expect him to be more nonchalant and immune to emotion because of his profession, but it just didn’t withhold when it came to medical TV shows.

“y/n, I can’t.” He was barely able to choke out a few syllables. He broke down once more after those words, closing his eyes and putting his head in his hands.

You took a deep breath and recognized Doctor Brennan on the screen after turning to the left to look at the TV. Spencer’s wails played in the back.

You took the remote and put it on pause.

“No!” Spencer yelled and you were in complete disbelief. You let a laugh slip out and continued to stare with wide eyes and an open mouth. You handed him the remote.

“You don’t understand,” he began to explain but it was a bit hard to understand because every word was covered with sniffs and sobs in between them.

“All this young girl wants to see is the Louvre,” he sniffs once again and his voice breaks when he looks at the TV. You were still in complete shock.

“And look, y/n.” He pressed play and his hand flew to his mouth. Tears began to fall again. “Angela is making that happen.” He broke down but kept his eyes glued to the screen.

You watched as the young and dying girl views the Louvre in Paris through a VR set that Doctor Montgomery created for her.

You tore your eyes away and watched Spencer go into a back-breaking hunch that always left you confused. He was still crying, just quieter this time. You slowly sat down next to him and relaxed so he wouldn’t be so stressed.

He spoke up again and you put a hand on his shoulder. You’ve learned to listen and calm him when a TV show hits him too hard with emotion.

“She- Amy!” The ‘Amy’ in his sentence was so strained with outburst emotion. You just continued to attempt to soothe him. “Amy.” You nodded.

“Amy, sh-she was given a cancerous leg transplant, y/n. And she is only fifteen, and she wants to fall in love and visit the Louvre in Paris, and she can’t y/n, because of him! The t-transplant. And look,” he points to the screen. The finger that was pointed was shaking.

“Angela- Doctor Montgomery, I mean. She made it for her and just, just watch y/n.”

The girl-- Amy, as Spencer insisted earlier-- was virtually walking around the museum in France. Spencer shook his head and you pressed your lips together so you wouldn’t let a laugh escape. You covered your mouth with your hand.

You weren’t laughing at the show, of course. Everyone feels remorse. But rather for the overreaction from your boyfriend. Keeping touch with your emotions is important and healthy. Early on, you had to explain to Spencer that suppressing emotions is unhealthy. This however, is an overreaction that you’ve never witnessed before. Ever.

“Well, Spencer,” you removed your hand from your mouth. “Aren’t you happy that she got to see the Louvre at least?” You rubbed his shoulder and moved your head down to get a better look at him. The credits began to roll and he looked at you. He was so puffy.

“Hmm?” You mused and he nodded. Slowly, at first. He started to hiccup too, just like a baby.

“Yeah, you have a point.” He was very quiet and the sobs stopped. Now just a light tear fell down.

“Stop getting yourself worked up over these shows, Spence, please.” He closed his eyes and his bottom lip jutted out. He nodded again and he looked like he was on the verge of tears again.

You stuck out your arms and he fell into you, pushing you back into the couch with Spencer clinging to your body with his head on your shoulder.

He sniffed once more and you began to play with his hair a bit. You knew he liked that.

“Ugh,” his voice was a bit muffled, “I have to stop watching these shows.”

You laughed and kept him close to you. It seemed like the only way he would calm down.

#spencer reid #spencer x y/n #spencer x you #spencer #spencer x your name #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #reid x y/n #reid x you #reid #reid criminal minds #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction

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dragonotaku-justineverything · 3 years

Note

How about... Jaune reacting to Yang wearing a sexy cowgirl outfit for him.

My input for the whole “Cowgirl” craze that took over the internet at the start of this year.

Enjoooooy~!

“Y-Yang! What are you wearing?!”

“Ohhhh nothing much, Lover Boy~.”

That was the understatement of the year for Yang. Her outfit was very much something. She wore a bright yellow cowboy hat; a pair of very tight jean booty shorts that showed off almost all of her thick, smooth and flawless thighs. It left little to wonder about her ass. From her knees down was covered by yellow leather boots to match her hat. And to finish it all off, Yang had on a cowgirl top.

Which is to say, she was wearing just a bikini top with a white and black cow print design that seemed to be a size too small on her since it squeezed into her tits a bit.

And the whole outfit had Jaune’s face redder than he’d ever been before. It had also quite literally knocked him off his feet when he saw it, given that he’d fallen back onto his bed in shock. “I-I thought you said you were slipping into something more comfortable?!”

Yang pulled up one side of her bikini top a bit with her thumb and let it snap back down onto her fat tit, causing them to jiggle in a wonderful way for Jaune. “This is more comfortable for me though. Kinda snug, but still very freeing~.” Yang looked down at her large chest and bounced on the balls of her feet, making her chest bounce up on down with her. Yang looked up from her girls at Jaune, who seemed only a ‘little’ entranced by her bouncing tits. Yang kept gently bouncing, just enjoying how Jaune’s eyes were locked on her bouncing tits. Her gaze drifted lower though when something caught her attention. She stopped bouncing and smirked. “Geez Jaune, those jeans of yours are looking pretty uncomfortable for you. Maybe you should take them off, don’t cha think? Ya know, so you can get more comfortable like me~?”

Jaune’s attention snapped away from Yang’s bouncing marvels and he looked her in the eye. Then like the genius he was, he said something very intelligent. “....Bwuh?”

Yang rolled her eyes at her adorable idiot. Seriously, no matter how many times he saw her completely naked or how many hours he spent pounding her pussy, no matter how forward HE could be with HER sometimes, she could still get him to turn into a blushing mess with a brain of mush. Though, she had to admit she thought it was honestly kind of cute, and she never really got tired of doing it to him~. She decided to help her boyfriend out, “Jaune, just take your jeans and boxers off already.”

Jaune seemed to snap back to consciousness and his hands scrambled for his belt. As soon as it was done, his button and zipper followed. Just as he dropped his pants and the undergarments under them to his ankles, two powerful hands shoved him in his broad chest and knocked him over. Thankfully his bed behind him caught him. He propped himself back up a bit on his elbow and looked ahead of him too see Yang kneeling down at the edge of the bed. She had moved her hands to the inside of his knees, gently pushing them apart, and pressed her face right up against Jaune’s fully erect cock. She gently rubbed her soft cheek up along Jaune’s shaft, the entire time maintaining eye contact with him..

Jaune loved what he was seeing as Yang finished rubbing her face along his cock and put her head directly above it, but never stopped looking him in the eyes. “Gods Jaune~. I know that I’m the cowgirl here, but I think you’re the one that needs to be milked~! Oh well, I guess it can’t be helped with you.” Yang let out a dramatic sigh, but with the sultry look she was giving Jaune, it sounded more dreamy than exasperated. “Guess I better get to work~.”

Before Jaune could utter a single syllable, Yang took his entire seven inch cock into her eager mouth. Her lips locked around it in a tight seal as she went straight to the base with practiced ease. Jaune threw his head back with a throaty moan as Yang stopped right there, her tongue teasing the underside of Jaune’s cock. For a solid minute, Yang made sure his meat was nice and slick with her spit before finally pulling back off him to breathe clearly again for a second. She didn’t leave Jaune hanging though, moving her right hand to start slowly stroking his now saliva slick shaft. As she took her time catching her breath and softly jacking him off, she looked back up to Jaune’s red face. “Wadda think Lover Boy? That feeling good enough for you~?”

On his end of things, Jaune was struggling to think. So much had happened in the last two minutes he honestly wasn’t even really sure if he was even awake at this point. It took him a few seconds, during which Yang never stopped stroking his shaft, but he was finally able to utter out a few syllables. “Y-y-es.”

Yang smirked up at her boyfriend, feeling quite smug as she could practically see the smoke coming out of his ears as his poor brain was probably getting fried. “Good. Then how about I finish what I started hmmm~?” Yang chuckled happily as she repositioned her head over Jaune’s cock once more and lowered her lips back down around the still slick head. With her lips now back around her boyfriend’s dick, she started going full force again.

Her wild mane of blonde hair bounced wildly with each of her head bobs. “Gua! Gua! Guuuug!” And she had no problems at all about making some noise. In fact, as Yang deepthroated Jaune once again, letting out loud dramatic choking sounds while doing so, it was obvious that she was trying to make noises as lewd as possible.

Though even with the constant slurping, gagging, choking, and moaning from Yang, Jaune barely paid any attention to it. He was scrunching his eyes close as pure pleasure started to drown him. He placed his hands gently on top of her head just to keep himself from falling back, but was still careful of her hair. “Y-Yang! I-I’m gonna-!!”

Jaune didn’t finish that sentence, but Yang didn’t need him to. Yang hooked her hands underneath Jaune’s thighs and pulled him forward and pushed her head down, making sure that there was no way Jaune could pull out as he came.

Yang let out a moan of bliss as she tasted Jaune’s cum land on her tongue. What could she say, she loved how her boyfriend’s cream tasted. Not too salty at all for her. And he had plenty to give her cause he kept cumming for at least ten seconds.

Though he did stop eventually and Yang released Jaune’s cock from her mouth. Yang didn’t even pause for a moment before swallowing her mouthful. She smirked smugly up to her boyfriend who was still blushing and now even panting slightly. “Yup, guess I was right. You were backed up a bit.” Yang stood up off her knees and stretched her body out, her cow print top straining to contain her girls when she pushed her chest out. She breathed out slowly and looked down at Jaune still sitting on the bed.

His eyes were still watching her every move. He’d stopped panting though, his high slowly coming to an end. “Y-yeah. Guess I was.” Jaune thought for a moment, then spoke up again. “What about you?”

Yang audibly blinked twice when she heard him ask that, before a smug grin spread across her face. “Aww. You’re always thinking about me aren’t you Jauney? Even when you’re balls deep in my throat~.”

Jaune blushed and looked to the side. “W-well it’s only fair…”

Yang laughed and moved towards him. She put one knee on the bed next to lap and then another on the other side. She planted her ass down and was now happily straddling her blushing boyfriend. “I love that about you, buuuuuuut…” Yang started to grind the cow print fabric over her pussy down on Jaune’s cock, which was much softer than it had been a minute ago. “I think our little friend needs a few minutes. So looks like you’re gonna have to use that mouth of yours~.” Yang reached behind her and undid the strings to her top, then tossed the black and white garment to the side and let her girls free.

Right in front of Jaune’s face.

Yang let her arms come back and rest on his shoulders, her fingers playing with his hair on the back of his head. “Come on Jaune, you should start sucking. I wanna be miiill-!”

Yang’s teasing was cut short when Jaune dove right in and put his mouth around her right nipple and started licking and sucking it eagerly. He lifted his left hand up between them and took a handful of her other tit. As he slurped away at her nipple, his hand squeezed and rolled her boob in every way he could.

This got some happy squeaks of pleasure from Yang, who kept her grinding along Jaune’s dick. She had to get him hard again quick. Yang wrapped her arms behind Jaune’s neck and pulled him closer to her breasts. Jaune barely seemed to notice and just kept playing with them as if nothing happened. As Yang felt the cow print fabric beneath her start to get soaked with her arousal she thought, ‘I am not letting go of you until I give you a proper ride cowboy~!’

I’ve had this ask for a while, but it seems fitting to post it now considering the year of the cowgirl is taking the smut world over in a storm of cow prints and milk makers right now.

#rwby #jaune arc #yang xiao long #jaune x yang #dragonslayer #ask #non sfw #lemon #darksayiangoku

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peaceoutofthepieces · 4 years

Text

chapter 16

The Stars Look Very Different

Social Media AU

previous chapter

this isn’t proofread because I literally just finished it so...I hope you like ❤️

tag list: @yellowballoon @cleocc @skaming-myself @boldlydeepestcupcake @pduwd @notallthereyall @gingerhead007 @groeneweiden @nyttvera @painfully-oblivious @zoenneforever @curiouskopf @engelkeijsers @xiaomailab @honeyandsinn @lauren-bk @saraben00 @tailsbeth @boysrunaway @howlingsaturn @menamesniall

~^~

Sander was nervous.

Really, nervous was an understatement.

He’s gone through the whole day with an erratic heartbeat and sweaty palms, counting down the hours. He was sure he would combust before the time even came. The only thing that stopped him was the idea of Robbe waiting for him, growing more and more restless as the minutes passed, eventually leaving on his own. Sander couldn’t have that.

More than anything, he was excited.

It pricked and sparked under his skin, urging him onwards, incredibly impatient. There was nothing in his head but Robbe. He was struggling to comprehend it. It didn’t seem possible that he was being allowed to see him again—that Robbe himself had requested it. None of it seemed possible. None of it seemed real.

It was also the only thing that was clear to Sander. His feelings for Robbe, his desire to see him, his need to talk to him at all times.

It might not have been real, but as long as Sander got to live in the fantasy long enough to see this night through, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He had to admit, though, that he cared a little when Robbe finally came into sight and he short-circuited for just a small moment.

Was he really going to do this?

“Hey, Robbe!”

He was.

Robbe found him in an instant, eyes catching and lips tweaking up in a smile. They held their usual element of danger, and it left a thrill thrumming through Sander’s stomach. But there was something else, hidden behind the glint. Something softer, curious. Something that almost resembled excitement. It set the thrill on fire.

Robbe hopped down off the wall when Sander came close enough, cocking his head as he examined him. Sander felt a little ridiculous, suddenly, wearing his leather jacket and Doc Martens, while Robbe wore his usual ensemble of hoodie and sweatpants and his signature brown coat. He was beautiful, all russet curls and doe eyes and smirks. Sander carefully bit down the urge to tell him so.

Though he was very tempted to see how Robbe would react.

“Nice,” Robbe commented, finally, simply. He turned and took a few steps backwards, nodding his head to the side in a gesture for Sander to follow.

This time, Sander didn’t question him.

“How did you get out past Lucas?”

Robbe shrugged. “Didn’t have to. He’s gone out with Jens.”

Sander’s brow furrowed. “You didn’t give them any explanation?”

“Sander,” Robbe snorted. “They might not even come back. And if they do, they’ll assume I’m asleep and continue on in their own little bubble. Don’t worry.”

Sander focused on the two syllables of his name in Robbe’s light, lilting voice and didn’t worry about it. “Are you at least going to tell me if it’s far? You could’ve told me to where walking shoes.”

Robbe snuck another glance at him and shook his head. “What would be the fun in that?”

Sander groaned in response and Robbe finally took pity on him, rolling his eyes.

“It’s not far. You’ll manage. You have longer legs and everything.”

Robbe finally grinned, and though it was teasing and left Sander narrowing his eyes in response, it also sent his heart flapping around in his ribcage. He didn’t care where they were going or how far it was. He was already with Robbe, and that was already enough.

Still, he was glad when it didn’t even take another ten minutes of walking before Robbe turned off into a darker street and beckoned Sander after him once more. Sander followed slowly, lightening his steps. The air seemed to grow quieter, even though they had already been walking through mostly empty streets. They were rounding a large brick building, plain and worn with all the windows dark, looking as if it hadn’t seen life in years. Robbe went right to the back door before taking a paperclip out of his pocket and sliding it into the lock.

Sander’s eyes widened and he took a step closer to him. “*Robbe.”

“Shhh,” Robbe hissed back.

Sander lowered his voice to the same tone. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m opening the door.”

“Robbe,” Sander tried again. Robbe ignored him, continuing his work, and it only took a few seconds before the lock popped and he swung the door open.

He looked around at Sander and raised his brows, holding the door open and sweeping his arm through. “Babies first.”

Sander pulled a face at him and didn’t move, sneaking a hesitant glance into the darkness. Robbe slipped his phone out of his pocket and shone the small flashlight through the door.

Then he held out his hand.

Sander stared at it, pulse kicking up. Robbe wiggled his fingers. Sander reached out to grasp them.

Aside from the tight squeeze Robbe initially gave, his grip was unexpectedly light. Sander hadn’t quite prepared himself for the gentle touch, or for the uptick of Robbe’s lips seconds later. Devious and sparkling, maybe, but pleased nonetheless. He took a small step backwards into the dark and rugged Sander with him. “Come.”

Sander went.

The building was cold, and Sander was glad for the thick hoodie under his jacket and the warmth of Robbe’s palm, pressing closer against his as he guided him through an empty room. Sander shuffled his phone out of his own pocket, but Robbe stopped him before he could turn on the torch. He waved his own light at another doorway, and Sander watched on, intrigued, as he swung it open with ease. Sander was left mourning the loss of his touch as he turned around to shine the torch on the wall, illuminating a light switch.

He gave Sander a cheshire grin and flicked it on.

The ceiling hummed with energy before six long overhead lights flickered to life, dull and dirty but enough to illuminate the expanse of the larger room in a yellow glow. The larger room that was filled with statue upon statue, sculptures filling the spaces in between. It was the sides of the room that took Sander by surprise—where painting upon painting lay stacked together, all in different styles and mediums and colours, all eye-catchingly beautiful.

Sander stared and stared and forgot that Robbe was watching him. He forgot to school his expression out of the automatic awe it fell into, lips parting and eyes widening and heart hammering. It was something right out of a dream.

“How?”

Robbe was examining him closely, he knew, but Sander still couldn’t look at him, still hadn’t taken everything in. “It’s just an old warehouse. This stuff has been here for years. I think it’s all pieces that got kicked out of the museums, some others from the college, some that people just wanted to store and then forgot about. Just, left here. All abandoned.”

Sander finally looked at him to find that he was now examining the room, gazing upon the art with something akin to sympathy. “All beautiful,” he said quietly.

Robbe looked back at him, and a new understanding passed silently between them. “You’re an artist, aren’t you?”

It was really unfair, how Robbe had managed to do this. Sander had worried, in brief moments before speaking to Robbe, if his feelings were misplaced. If he’d fabricated his own fantasy into a little too nice of a picture, of the reasons for his intrigue were unreasonable. It had only gotten worse, last month, the month before; but the feelings had stuck.

Then Robbe had come to him, and he’d left Sander even more smitten than before.

“You wanna admire, then?” Robbe raised a brow.

I’m already admiring.

Sander took a few careful steps towards the closest sculpture, a twisted mass of wires that he couldn’t quite figure out but enjoyed nonetheless. He did a slow lap of it before moving on, to a sculpture of a man curled around himself, body locked tight and head bowed, hidden. Sander crouched down next to it, allowing himself to reach out and skim his fingertips over the ridges. “I wish I had my camera.”

“Wait.”

He looked up and watched Robbe reach into his pocket, before he pulled out a small disposable camera. He held it up, then tossed it to Sander before stuffing his hands back in his pockets. Sander examined the object and laughed. “Cute.”

Robbe rolled his eyes, but he’d spent the past ten minutes smiling.

Sander ducked his head to hide his own grin and snapped a photo of the statue.

He took his time wandering around the room, and Robbe let him, following quietly. Sander would admire, and Robbe would joke (“it’s metaphorical, how he’s standing under an invisible weight”; “he’s taking an invisible shit”), and it all felt too easy. It was all too good to be true.

Robbe pushed the camera down when Sander pointed it at him, and while Sander expected to be told off, Robbe merely said, “Don’t use it all up yet. I have one more surprise.”

Sander blinked at him and was granted another grin. His heart fluttered as Robbe retook his hand.

“Come.”

Robbe led him to the corner of the back corner of the room, where it opened into a small hallway. They walked to the end and turned into a stairwell. Robbe let go of his hand and winked at him before leading the way down. Sander allowed himself to admire him as he followed, cataloguing all the bumps and shadows of his curls, how his coat swallowed his thin shoulders but his sweatpants hugged his legs. Then his thoughts turned silly, turned to thinking about how he wanted to hug Robbe himself, and he shook himself out of it before the other boy could notice.

There was another door at the bottom, heavier than the others, and Robbe had to press his whole side together to shove it open. Sander did his best to bite back his laugh. Robbe glared over his shoulder at him anyway.

Once Robbe flicked on this light switch, however, all thoughts of laughter left Sander as his breath wooshed out of him.

This space was a maze of gray, stone walls overlapping and interconnecting.

Or it would be, if the entire space wasn’t covered in dozens of pieces of brilliantly bright graffiti.

“Robbe,” Sander breathed. “What?”

Robbe waved at the space, watching him carefully. “You’re an artist, but this is your favourite kind of art. Isn’t it?”

Sander could have kissed him.

He swallowed, and then his lips were curling into a grin. They stared each other down, and Robbe’s eyes widened in understanding just a second before Sander took off, racing for a gap in the walls.

“You’re such a child,” Robbe yelled after him, but he was already chasing.

Sander laughed and kept going, whipping around corners and whizzing past bright bursts of orange and blue and red and green and every colour in between. He didn’t even bother pausing to take it all in. It was already enough to know he was surrounded by it, encased in the whirl of colours, and that Robbe was right behind him.

Until he wasn’t, because he was right in front of him.

Sander skidded to a stop, breathless, and reveled in Robbe’s hands catching his chest, in the laugh spilling out of him as he looked up at Sander. He liked Robbe most, like this. Softer, brightened, smiling. When it became obvious that he wasn’t pushing Sander away, that he’d taken a moment to trust him enough that he didn’t have to hide himself.

The smile smoothed out slowly as Sander continued to stare at him, and he grew suddenly more serious, tongue poking out to lick over his lip for a split second before he dropped his hands from Sander’s chest.

“You didn’t believe that I know you as well as you know me, right?” Robbe asked.

Suddenly, it clicked.

“Well, for example,” Robbe started, “I know that you’re also a bit of an insomniac. I know you’re an art cliche, and you especially like graffiti, even though that just might be a thrill thing. Your best friends are Noor Bauwens and Lucas Van Der Heiden. Noor is your best best-friend while Lucas is almost like an older brother, who is also dating my best friend and who I also now live with because of reasons. You’re a tease. You do this weird little snort instead of laughing and it would be funny if it wasn’t so cute. You never take off your ring.”

He nodded at Sander’s hand, and Sander brought his hands together to twist the ring around his finger before looking back up at Robbe. It shouldn’t have been possible, with them having been already toe to toe, but he seemed even closer than before.

“And I don’t know this yet,” Robbe continued quietly, eyes dropping to Sander’s lips. “But I’m willing to bet that you’re a fucking good kisser.”

Sander’s breath stopped.

It was hard to think, with Robbe looking at him like that, with Robbe so close, so he kept his thoughts simple. He ran through all their texts messages, the ease with which their conversations flowed, the lightness of the jibes passed between them. He ran through their first proper meeting, when he could do nothing but stare at Robbe and hear his blood rushing in his ears, thinking that it was too soon even as he berated himself for not meeting him sooner. He ran through the months before that, when all he could do was watch Robbe from afar and tamp down the need in him, the desire to seek that thrill more than he wanted to do anything else.

He ran through this night up until now, when the nerves were spilling and spiking through each of his veins before he set his eyes on Robbe and it all slipped away. When he’d finally understood their plans, and he hadn’t bothered to hide his surprise or his overexcitement that always came with setting his eyes on art. When he’d thought of muting his joy to a more acceptable level, so as not to affect Robbe’s possible feelings for him, and then he’d quickly tossed it aside.

He didn’t need to hide either, with Robbe. He didn’t have to be nervous. With Robbe, he was enigmatic and unabashed and alive. He wasn’t a problem to solve or a case to crack or a pity project.

With Robbe, he was known.

Robbe’s hands moved to his cheeks as Sander’s found their place on his waist, and Robbe pushed up on his toes as Sander leaned down and their lips met in the middle.

And Sander breathed.

It was nothing and everything like he’d imagined. Meaning he’d expected defensive, edgy, tight-lipped Robbe to be harsh and he wasn’t, and he’d expected it to bliss and it was.

Robbe’s lips were soft and slow, but demanding, taking everything Sander had to give and still going back for more; though he gave just as much in return. His hands had found their way around Sander, one sliding into his hair and the other wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him in until they were pressed together from head to toe.

It still wasn’t close enough.

Sander was vibrating. Sander was floating. Sander was on fire.

He was dying.

He’d never felt more alive.

Sander—Sander was kissing someone.

Sander was kissing Robbe.

Sander was kissing someone and that someone was Robbe and Robbe was kissing him back.

They parted for air. Well, Robbe did; Sander didn’t need it. Air wasn’t important. Getting his lips back on Robbe’s was. Robbe allowed it, and Sander hadn’t even realised his lips had turned up in a grin and that Sander himself had mimicked it, and that kissing was quite impossible when one didn’t have complete control over their mouth.

Then Robbe scratched through his hair, and made a noise like an aborted giggle, and Sander pulled back to rest their heads together and sneak a kiss to his nose.

Robbe’s nose wrinkled in response, so Sander kissed it again.

Robbe nudged their lips together once more, brief, and then mumbled, “Thank fuck I was right.”

Sander snorted. “Would have been a deal-breaker for you, would it?”

Robbe hummed, tilting his head side to side, but he kissed Sander again and Sander forgot to care about anything else.

~^~

next chapter

#sobbe #rosander #robbe x sander #wtfock #sobbe social media au #the stars look very different #tslvd

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fireladybuckley · 3 years

Text

You Set My Heart on Fire (Part 4)

or: The 5 times Buck tries to hide that he’s in love with his best friend and the 1 time it all comes out.

Fandom: 9-1-1 Pairing: Buddie - Evan Buckley (Buck) x Eddie Diaz Word Count: Part 4: 1632 Summary: Buck struggles with his realization that he’s in love with his best friend, constantly getting flustered, turned on, or full on heart-eyes around Eddie, until it all eventually comes crashing down in the best way.

Chapter 4 summary: Stuck on a treadmill while Eddie lifts weights nearby nearby, Buck tries to pace himself and ends up failing miserably.

Read it on Ao3

Read Part 1: here Read Part 2: here Read Part 3: here Read Part 5: here Read Part 6: here

Beta’d by the absolutely amazing @firemedicdiaz <3

Chapter 4: Buck Tries to Literally Outrun His Problem

The fourth time it happened, Buck tried so hard to hide it that he nearly passed out.

Maddie had gotten him a smart watch for his birthday and he’d been dying to try out the fitness features. So that day at work he strapped it on, fiddled with the options, and hopped onto the treadmill to test it.

The watch let out a small beep every time his heart beat to keep track of his pulse, and Buck settled into a nice easy jog, listening to the steady beeps and slowly increasing his speed, interested to see how much his heart rate elevated based on how much effort he put into his stride.

Buck had escalated to a light run when he glanced up and noticed that Eddie had entered the workout area and was setting the weight on one of the chest press machines. Buck groaned internally as he watched Eddie pull off his hoodie and sit down in a black tank top on the machine. Eddie looked up, and upon seeing Buck glancing over at him, gave a little smile and wave, which Buck returned, swearing profusely under his breath. Buck looked away as his watch started to beep faster, despite the fact that he wasn’t running any faster, and tried to control his breathing.

Buck resolved to not look at Eddie, to just focus on his own workout, but once Eddie started using the machine and there was the regular thunking sound of the weights lifting up and down, occasionally accompanied by Eddie’s grunts of effort, Buck couldn’t help but let his eyes stray in Eddie’s direction. This was definitely a mistake; the second Buck laid eyes on Eddie his heart rate quickened, and Buck heard the beeps increasing in response.

To explain away the rise in his heart rate, Buck began to run a bit faster. Unfortunately, his eyes kept wandering back to Eddie, even though he kept trying to look away. After a moment he gave up trying to resist and watched Eddie as he ran. Eddie’s face was a mask of concentration and Buck bit his lip as he watched Eddie’s arms strain as he pulled on the machine, raising the considerable weight behind him.

Buck’s heart rate increased again so he increased his speed to match, still at a comfortable pace as his eyes travelled up Eddie’s arms to his sweaty face and back again, watching his muscles tighten and relax as he moved. It was incredibly sexy, both from a visual perspective and also Buck was incredibly turned on by just how strong Eddie was as he watched the stack of weights rise and lower over and over. After a while, Eddie stopped his reps on that particular machine and Buck looked away quickly as Eddie stood, not wanting to be caught watching him.

Buck shot a sideways glance over at Eddie after a few moments and saw that he’d gone to the bench press and was attaching the weights to it. Buck grabbed his water bottle and tried to take a sip as he ran, dribbling some of it down his front and glad that Eddie hadn’t seen as he reached up to wipe his chin. By the time he glanced back, Eddie had settled himself on the bench and began slowly lowering the bar to his chest. Buck watched, captivated, feeling lust shoot through him once more as his heart rate elevated again.

Cursing under his breath and praying Eddie wasn’t noticing these constant increases in his heart rate, Buck forced himself to look away and began to run faster. The cycle continued for several more minutes; Buck found the willpower to look away, sped up his run,and then his willpower crumbled and he looked over at Eddie again, which inevitably lead to another increase in his heart rate as he took in just how attracted he was to Eddie and it pounded through his brain like his feet were pounding the treadmill.

Eventually, Buck was running at nearly full tilt and his watch was beeping so fast he couldn’t keep track anymore. He had finally stopped looking over at Eddie, forced to concentrate to be able to maintain his speed. His feet slammed into the treadmill belt over and over, and he was quickly starting to tire, running out of breath, sweat pouring down his face as he attempted to keep pace with his racing heart. He didn’t know how he was going to get out of this one; he could slow down and stop, but Eddie might notice that his heart rate was faster than it should be. But on the other hand, if Buck kept this sprint up, he was not going to last much longer and he’d be eating floor when he lost traction and fell.

“Buck! Slow down!”

Buck looked around to see that Eddie had sat up on the bench and was looking over at him in concern, clearly having noticed that he was running like his life depended on it. When Buck didn’t respond, Eddie got up and walked over to him, shaking his head.

“Are you going for a record or something, man? You need to slow down, your heart rate is way too fast.”

Eddie gestured to the watch beeping on Buck’s wrist and Buck kept on running, trying not to concede defeat, but knowing that he had no choice but to slow down. As embarrassing as this could be, it would be worse to go flying off the treadmill because he couldn’t keep the pace anymore. Nodding because he was unable to speak through his ragged breath, Buck hit the buttons on the treadmill to slow himself down, first into a slower run, then a jog, then a walk.

Finally he came to a stop and shakily stepped off of the treadmill, holding tightly onto the bar beside it as his chest heaved, his legs like jelly. Eddie grabbed his water bottle and handed it to him, and Buck gratefully shot some into his mouth, still breathing hard and holding himself up. Eddie watched him closely as he tried to catch his breath, the beeps from his watch filling the silence around them. Buck reached down and pried the buckle of the watch open - difficult to do with shaking hands - and stuffed the finally quiet watch into his shorts pocket.

“You okay?” Eddie asked, his tone cautious as he watched Buck’s face closely. “You were running pretty damn fast.”

“Yeah, just… wanted to push myself,” Buck gasped, still holding onto the treadmill railing for balance as his heart thumped uncomfortably fast in his chest, still breathless. It was mostly because of the running, but Eddie standing so close to him was not helping.

“Well, your heart rate was too high, you should sit down.”

“Oh, I think that th-thing’s broken,” Buck said, attempting to sound casual, before remembering that Eddie knew he’d just gotten it as a gift and it was brand new.

“Uh huh. Let me be the judge of that,” Eddie responded in a slightly sarcastic tone. Before Buck could react, Eddie had grabbed Buck’s forearm in one of his hands and settled two fingers over Buck’s radial pulse point. Buck immediately panicked internally, both because he knew Eddie was on to him and also because the feeling of Eddie’s hands on his skin was driving him mad. But Eddie was gripping his forearm tightly enough that Buck would have to wrench himself hard to get away, and he’d already flinched away from Eddie several times in the last week or two; he didn’t want to give Eddie the wrong impression, like he didn’t want to be touched. He and Eddie had never been weird about casual touches, and he didn’t want to ruin that now.

“It’s still pretty fast,” Eddie murmured, his voice low as he focused on counting the beats below his fingers, glancing at his watch. Buck swallowed hard and thought “I wonder why that is?”, looking away from Eddie’s face, wishing he could sink into a hole, unable to control his racing heart.

“That's it, I’ve decided. Enough running for you today. You need to have some lunch.”

Eddie’s voice was authoritative and Buck nodded, obeying without a second thought as Eddie gestured for him to move out of the workout area and pointed at the stairs. Buck obediently moved over to the stairs, figuring it was just best to do what he was told. He was still feeling a bit shaky from how fast he’d been running and he didn’t trust himself to take off to the showers alone just yet. Buck followed Eddie up the stairs and flopped down in a chair as Eddie told him to sit, watching as Eddie moved over to the fridge and pulled out some leftovers for them to eat.

Buck’s heart skipped several beats as a smiling Eddie brought him a plate of food and set it down in front of him. Buck did his best to eat his food as he tried not to look too closely into Eddie’s eyes, fearing he might get lost forever and make the confession that was always just on the tip of his tongue. They spent the next twenty minutes or so in what appeared to be amiable, general conversation, but in actuality was Buck falling more deeply in love with Eddie with every syllable the other man spoke. By the time a call came in and they were forced to abandon their nearly empty plates, Buck was feeling light-headed with that wonderful, floaty feeling of falling in love for the first time, and couldn’t stop himself smiling all the way to the call, despite the looks everyone kept shooting him, wondering what he was so damn happy about.

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

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kinglazrus · 3 years

Text

Until Death Do We Part

Truce gift for @anthropwashere! Sorry I'm late, but I hope the wait was worth it!

Summary: For someone who fights ghosts, literal dead people, on a near-daily basis, you would think Danny could handle death better than this. He faces mortality every day, every time he goes ghost. So why can't he face this? Why is this any different than any other day? Because it was his Valerie, and he saw it, and he couldn't stop it. Because it was his fault.

(links to ffn and ao3 on my bio)

Warnings: gore and blood, panic attacks, murder

Word count: 24011

By the time the ambulance arrives, Valerie is already dead. The fight is over, Spectra and Bertrand long gone, and Danny—in human form—cradles her head in his lap. He doesn't know who called the ambulance, or when. Everything after Valerie's fall is a blur. He remembers a scream, his own most likely, and Spectra's victorious cackle, but not her retreat. The citizens had fled at some point near the start of the battle. How long was he holding her before someone returned, saw what happened?

After years of dealing with ghosts, the people of Amity Park had formed a simple routine. Run from the fight, don't get in the way or put yourself in danger, wait for the noises to end, wait a few minutes more, then trickle out of hiding once you know it's safe. The entire city knows the choreography by heart, follows every step with military precision. It's one of the main reasons no one has died during a ghost attack before. At least, until now.

The ambulance's wailing sirens cut out abruptly. Danny barely registers their absence, focused entirely on Valerie's face. If he lets himself get distracted, he might be tempted to look lower, at the wound that took her life a gaping mess of blood and shredded organs in the middle of her chest, covered by his jacket. Don't look at it. Don't think about it. Keep your eyes up.

People talk about peace in death, but he only sees agony on her face. Blood smears her lips, fills her mouth. Her wide eyes stare up at him, dull and empty. Shaking, Danny passes a hand over her eyes, trying to close them. As soon as he removes his hand, her eyelids slide back open. He tries again. They still don't close.

One of the paramedics comes up to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, kid. It's not... it's not like the movies. That's not how it works." The paramedic glances back at her partner, a helpless look passing between them.

"I called dispatch," her partner says, speaking softly, but still loud enough for Danny to hear. "Coroner's on the way."

She nods, then turns her attention back on Danny. "I'm sorry but you need to let her go."

Danny squeezes his eyes shut and sobs. Oh, god. Oh, god. He doesn't know what to do. He can't let her go, can't leave her, but she won't stop looking at him with those dead, accusing eyes. Another sob tears through him, and another, each cry ripping him to smaller and smaller pieces. He presses a hand to his mouth, clamping down hard as if he can force the sobs back down his throat if he pushes hard enough.

Belatedly, he notices the taste of copper on his tongue. Danny scrambles away from Valerie, her head dropping with a thump that makes the paramedics wince, and barely makes it two feet before his stomach heaves and he pukes in the street. A hand rubs his back; a soft voice whispers empty reassurances. When Danny finishes puking, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and gasping for breath, he leans back on his heels and looks up at a paramedic. Blinking through his tears, Danny catches her nameplate, C. Vaughan.

"Hey, you're okay," she says.

Danny stares at her incredulously. Okay? How is any of this okay? Valerie is dead. His mind is still reeling. Despite seeing it happen, some part of him can't believe it's real. Someone died during a ghost attack. Not just someone, but Valerie. And she wasn't killed by any old ghost, either. Nothing is okay, and it never will be again.

Because Danny Phantom killed Valerie Gray.

—

It takes nearly twenty minutes for the coroner to arrive. That whole time, Danny refuses to move or even talk. He doesn't approach Valerie's body again, but he can't walk away either. A handful of cops—he's not sure when they arrived—have set up a perimeter around the scene, keeping curious onlookers back. Looking over the line of people crowding against the police tape, disgust swells in Danny's gut. They're treating it like a show, pointing and whispering. Danny, grinding his teeth, glares at them, wanting nothing more than to blast them down the street.

In the throng, he catches a glimpse of Lance Thunder's perfectly coiffed hair.

The scrape of boots on asphalt pulls his gaze from the reporter, and he looks to his right. Vaughan approaches him, a water bottle and a cloth in her hand. She offers both to him. "You should get yourself cleaned up."

Danny stares at the offering blankly.

"Unless you want me to do it for you?"

At eighteen years old, Danny's entire face goes red at the thought of someone cleaning him like that. He snatches the items from Vaughan's hands, soaks the cloth in water, and scrubs at his cheeks. By now, the blood has long since dried, dark red streaks stretching across his cheeks. He remembers how warm it felt when it first splattered across his face.

Danny flinches, hands freezing. It takes him a moment to compose himself, shoving the sensation to the back of his mind, before he finishes scrubbing.

"Careful, or else you'll start peeling for skin off." Vaughan laughs weakly at her joke.

Danny doesn't even crack a smile. His face still feels dirty, but the cloth is more pink than white now, and it doesn't seem to be getting any darker, so he must have gotten all of it. Unsure of what to do with them, he offers the cloth and bottle back to Vaughan.

She takes them, then sits on the curb beside him. Her presence is neither comforting nor annoying, she's just there, a warm body next to him, soaking in his misery.

"It's never easy, finding a body," she says.

Danny holds back a snort. Right. Finding. As if he didn't watch it happen. As if it wasn’t all his fault.

"You're the Fenton boy, right?"

"One and only, last I checked."

"Marty called your parents." She nods toward the ambulance. For a second, Danny thinks she means her partner, the other paramedic, and he's confused about why they would call his parents. But then he realizes she's motioning to the cop standing beside her partner. Every few seconds, Marty the Cop glances his way. "I told him to back off for a bit, but he's gonna ask you a few questions about what happened before you can go."

Danny frowns. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you just found a dead body, and that's a horrible experience to go through, but it also means a bunch of strangers are going to ask you questions about what happened, and I think you should know what's happening before you get into it."

"I didn't find her."

Vaughan raises an eyebrow. "But dispatch said–"

"I was there. I was with her. We were friends."

Vaughan goes silent. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, letting it out slowly. "Oh," she says, packing so much emotion into one soft syllable. Pity, distress, world-weary exhaustion. A hint of anger. Hearing it makes Danny flinch, leaves him winded as if she punched him. Just another ache on top of all his growing bruises. He gets the feeling he's not the first kid she's had to deal with who watched someone die, and he probably won't be the last.

"Yeah," he says.

"Was that your jacket on her?"

Danny nods.

"That was a good thing you did. I can't imagine what's going through your head right now, but I think she would have been happy to have someone with her at the end."

Bracing his elbows on his knees, Danny clutches his head. Vaughan's trying to comfort him, but he finds no solace in her words. She has no idea what she's talking about. The look in Valerie's eyes at the end, seething even as the light drained out of them. His presence brought her no comfort, and he won't be forgetting that any time soon.

Vaughan nudges Danny. "Marty incoming."

He looks up and sees the cop approaching them, beady eyes narrowed on Danny. Marty the Cop keeps a hand on his belt, fingers drumming against his thigh. Inches away from his stun gun, Danny notes. Real quality cops in Amity Park, he thinks.

"Daniel Fenton?" Marty asks.

"No."

"Funny. I know your parents, and I hope you'll be a lot easier to deal with than they are."

"Marty!" Vaughan hisses. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Hey, just saying. You know how the Fentons are."

"Have some compassion you heathen."

Marty rolls his eyes. "Daniel. We don't have a procedure for something like this, but I'm gonna need you to come down to the station so I can get a statement. Your parents," he sneers, "will meet us there."

"But Valerie..." Danny trails off. The coroner already has her in a body bag on a stretcher. They're in the middle of loading her into the van, taking her away. Danny watches, numb. A protest nearly rises to his lips, but he holds it back. What does he think that's going to do? They can't leave her in the street, and he can't sit here forever. She's gone and nothing's going to change that.

Marty taps his foot impatiently, staring down at Danny.

Danny waits until the coroner slams the van's back door before answering. "Okay. Let's go."

—

The interrogation room is cold, the metal table raising goosebumps along Danny's arm as he leans against it. Marty brought him here "for privacy." Danny thinks the guy just hates his parents and wants to see him squirm. Danny relishes in disappointing him, far too numb to react to the sombre setting.

"Name?" Marty asks.

"Daniel James Fenton." Danny answers.

"How did you find the deceased?"

"I– I was there. I watched the fight. Um." Danny scrambles for an explanation. "I got stuck in the street, and I saw it."

"Can you describe what happened to me?"

"She and Phantom were fighting some ghosts. I didn't see exactly, but something happened, and Valerie fell off her board. And she–"

"Are you confirming the deceased's identity?"

Danny stares at Marty, confused. The cop had to see her face. She hadn't been wearing her visor when it happened, her head exposed for anyone to see. A good few seconds pass before Danny realizes his mistake. To Marty, Valerie wasn't anybody, just a face behind a mask. Only now does it dawn on him that none of those bystanders were looking at Valerie Gray, a high school student killed tragically. When they saw the body, they saw Red Huntress, a local hero brought down by a foe.

"Yeah. Her name is Valerie Gray. She's a senior at Casper High." Danny says.

Marty's eyes widen minutely. "Your relationship with her?"

Danny starts to say friends, then stops. Would she call him a friend now? He settles on, "Classmates. We were classmates."

Before Danny's eyes, Marty's whole demeanour changes. "Shit, kid," he says. He frowns and rubs his eyes, sighing in a way that makes Danny think of Vaughan. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have had to see that, and I shouldn't have– just, sorry. I know it must be hard, but can you tell me what happened?"

Danny spares a moment to collect himself. "She, uh. Something happened and she fell, and one of the ghosts. They, it could shapeshift. And it st–stabbed her." Danny swallows, trying to wash away the bitter taste the lie leaves in his mouth. He almost wants Marty to call him out on it, point out the way his fingers twitch or how his gaze jumps around the room as a subtle tell.

Tell me I'm lying, Danny thinks. Make me tell the truth. To his disappointment, Marty just hums and writes Danny's words in his notepad.

"I'm sorry I had to bring you down here," Marty says when he finishes. "Your parents should be here by now."

Danny nods.

Marty doesn't move, staring intently at the table.

"Are we... are we done?" Danny asks.

"Huh?" Marty looks up. "Oh. Yeah, you can go." He still doesn't move.

"Okay..." Danny stands up, shoving his chair back. The metal legs screech on the concrete floor, but Marty doesn't react beyond a reflexive wince. On his way out of the room, Danny hears Marty mutter.

"A high school senior? Damn."

Danny doesn't stick around after that, quickening his steps and hurrying out to the bullpen. As he nears, he hears a commotion, raised voices.

"Where's our son?"

"Sir, he's just being questioned right now."

"Questioned? What for? He's not a criminal."

"It's the procedure, please, sit down."

"It's ghosts is what it is, and that's our business!"

At the end of the hall, Danny lurches to a stop. "Dad!"

Jack turns toward his voice and beams. "Danny!" He puts down the cop he was harassing, setting them back on the floor. Danny's surprised no one tried to cuff his dad for that stunt. Then again, Jack is a good foot taller than the tallest person here, and at least twice as wide. He engulfs Danny in a crushing hug, thick arms wrapped around his shoulders. "They told us something happened with a ghost and the Red Huntress."

"What were you doing out of school, young man?" Maddie scolds from behind Jack. "You can't afford another tardy."

"Valerie's dead," Danny says.

Danny can't see his parent's faces, not with his own pressed against Jack's chest, but he feels Jack tense and hears Maddie gasp.

"Oh, sweetie. That poor girl." Maddie's hand finds its way to Danny's head, brushing his hair softly. "I'm so sorry. What happened?"

"There was a ghost–"

"A ghost!" Jack releases Danny and steps back, pumping his fists. "Damn ghosts! Which one did it? We gotta get 'em, Mads."

"Of course, dear. But perhaps we should take Danny home first?" Maddie gives Jack's arm a placating pat and tilts her head towards Danny.

"Please?" Danny's voice is soft and pleading to his ears. All he wants right now is to collapse in bed and shut everything out for a few hours. He'd take days if he could manage it, but with his family, tough luck. A part of him hopes no one tells Jazz any time soon, at least not until he's unconscious.

They head out to the RV, Maddie and Jack claiming the front seat while Danny curls up in the back, thankful for the meagre amount of solitude it provides him. His parents' murmuring voices wash over him, lulling him into a daze as they drive—Maddie at the wheel, thank god.

Danny barely believes Valerie's gone. He glances out the window, half expecting to see her streaking across the sky on her board, a blur of black and red. Not even an hour ago, they were exchanging taunts and banter as they beat Spectra and Bertrand back. Neither ghost was much of a fighter. Together, he and Valerie should have taken them, easy, but all their guns and ectoblasts couldn't stop the mental hits from catching them. Out of all his enemies, Danny's never feared anyone like he fears Spectra.

Pariah Dark and Dan? They might be three times his size and ten times as strong, but he knows how to fight ghosts like them. A well-placed hit, a lucky shot, and victory is his. But Spectra? She leaves scars so much deeper than any ecto-burn, ripping him open and dragging every flaw to the surface. Too weak, too pathetic, too confused to fight against her, she overwhelms him more often than not. And now... every taunt she's ever tossed his way comes to mind.

I'm sure you're only half the monster your parents think you are.

Everyone's afraid of being weak, but I've never seen someone meet those expectations so well!

Not everyone is cut out to be the hero.

Turns out, Spectra was right all along.

—

Maddie pulls up outside Fenton Works, idles long enough for Danny to step out of the RV, then peels out with the sound of shrieking treads. "Let's get that ghost, baby!" Jack bellows. And then they're gone, around the corner and out of sight.

Watching the dust settle over the road once more, Danny isn't sure what to feel. He's pretty sure that normal parents wouldn't just leave their freshly grieving son at home alone so they can go hunt ghosts, but when have his parents ever been normal? At this point, Danny doesn't think he could function with regular parents. Growing up, he wished Maddie and Jack were less Fenton, but after nearly two decades, Danny knows how to deal with Fentons. He knows how to be alone when his parents set out seeking vengeance on the local spectres.

Danny heads inside, kicking off his shoes at the door, and instinctively goes to set down his backpack, until he remembers it's still at school, probably in Lancer's classroom. Unless Sam or Tucker grabbed it for him. He flexes his empty hand before letting his arm drop to his side. It's Friday, anyway. He has all weekend to get his backpack back, no matter where it ends up.

Danny goes straight to his bedroom, flopping onto his bed. He should change out of his clothes, still smeared with Valerie's blood, but he doesn't have the energy for it. The thought of getting up and digging through his drawers makes his limbs heavy. But sleeping in the shirt Valerie bled out on... that thought has Danny lurching out of bed. He fumbles about in his laundry basket, grabbing a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. In seconds, he's stripped off the bloody clothes and dressed himself in, at least relatively, clean new ones.

The bloody clothes get shoved under his bed. Out of sight, out of mind. And right now he wants to be out of here. A few hours of sleep where everything else can just fade away sounds great right about now. Finally, Danny slips into bed, pulling his covers up to his chin, and lets sleep take him.

—

Snow crunches under his boots. The afternoon sun glints off the sparkling surface, nearly blinding him. He has to squint and shade his eyes to see properly. Even then, it hurts. Danny shivers, drawing his arms in close. He puffs out frosty clouds with every breath, crystals of ice hanging in the air for a moment before they melt, droplets falling to the ground.

Scanning his surroundings, he tries to find some kind of marker. A building, a sign. He'd even take a tree, anything that isn't snow. But no such luck. It's a flat white field in every direction, stretching well into the horizon.

"Great," he mutters. Of course, he's lost. He can't even remember how he got here. Flying, maybe. Chasing a ghost. Looking down at himself, he sees his familiar white and black jumpsuit, so he already went ghost.

Danny shivers again, his whole body trembling. His jumpsuit might be great against hazardous ectoplasmic materials, but the black boots and gloves, designed for lab work, provide little warmth. His fingers and toes are already numb. The heavyweight fabric making up the rest of the suit is a little better, but not much. He can't remember the last time he felt this cold. Not since before he got his ice powers, at least. Back then, it felt like a blizzard raged within him, full of furious winds and freezing air.

This feels like sinking into the bottom of a frozen lake, where there's nothing to feel but cold and crushed.

"I can't stay here," he says, receiving no answer. Not surprising. Who would answer him out here? Sighing, he gives the horizon another speculative glance and picks a random direction. No matter what way he goes, he has to find civilization eventually, especially if he flies.

Danny takes off into the air, makes it two feet up, then plummets back down and faceplants in the snow.

It takes him a moment to realize what happened. When he does, he jerks his head back, spitting out snow, and stares at the imprint of his face in the ground. Glancing at his chest, he checks again to make sure he's in ghost form. Jumpsuit? Check. Ghostly aura? He can't tell, thanks to all the snow. Even the white of his jumpsuit blends into the field. If anyone is out there, all they would see of him are the black pricks of his boots and gloves.

Pushing himself back to his feet, Danny tries again. And again. And again. Each time earns him the same result, a moment of weightlessness at the apex of his jump, followed by a lurch as he drops back down. After the fifth try, Danny finally admits it. He can't fly. If he wants to go anywhere, it has to be on foot. Dreading the trek ahead, he sets off.

With every step, the cold digs in a little more, sinking its sharp claws into his chest. Breathing hurts. Every inhale he feels ice coating his mouth. Every exhale, crystals sting as they drag across his tongue. Blood wells in his mouth, tinting the mist leaving his mouth pink.

Still, Danny presses on. He can't tell how long he walks for. The sun stays rooted to its place in the sky, almost directly above him, shining pale and blue. He's gotten used to staring at the bright snow, at least, able to keep his eyes open without them hurting, so that's a bonus. Squinting into the distance, Danny finally sees something. It glitters, bright and blue, although that might be the sunlight. Either way, it brings a relieved grin to Danny's face. Bolstered, he takes off running.

At first, it looks like a giant mass, but the closer he gets, the better he can make it out. Spires of ice, hundreds of them, protruding from the earth, like a giant's icy fingers poking through the grave. They sharpen into needle-thin claws at the tips, far above his head.

Danny slows when he reaches the first one. It's as thick as the Fenton RV and taller than any building in Amity Park. He can't help but feel awed, tipping his head back as he stares up to the top. Something tells him this isn't a natural formation. He looks at it and sees an awesome display of power.

"Jealous?" a voice whispers in his ear.

Danny spins toward the noise, but the space beside him is empty. He backs away, eyeing the open air with suspicion. "Who said that?"

Something rushes at his left side. He stumbles back, bumping against the ice, and nearly tumbles into the snow. "Who's there?"

"Imagine what you could do with this kind of strength."

Danny swings at the voice. It cackles and flies away out of reach, but not fast enough for him to miss completely. His knuckles skim something, telling him this isn't in his head. It's real. It's real and he can fight it.

"Just let it out, you'll feel better."

Danny snarls and lunges after the voice. He chases it through the spires, spitting curses and swinging his fists. Every hit misses, but he gets tantalizingly close, feeling cloth and skin brush his knuckles more than once. He loses himself deeper and deeper into the maze, kicking up snow, slipping on the ice.

All the while, the voice taunts him.

"If only you had this power. No one could stand up to you, could they? But you're just so weak."

"I'm not weak!"

Stale breath wafts across his face. Danny recoils, lips curling in disgust at the smell. The figure, inches from him yet still unseen, whispers, "Then why couldn't you save her?"

"Shut up! Shut up! Leave. Me. Aloooooooooooo–" Danny's cry pierces the air. It reverberates throughout the icy maze, shaking spires and cracking the ground beneath his feet. Jagged fissures split the ice, shattering the spires into pieces. All around him, they fall in chunks, smashing against the ground.

The wail echoes long after his breath runs out and the spires have crumbled, leaving him in a field of ruin. He gasps, hungry for air, chest tight and mouth numb. Something drips off his lips. Red drops litter the snow at his feet. Reaching up, he touches his mouth and his fingers come away bloody. It spills down his chin rivulets, fills up his mouth and lungs until he's drowning in it. Choking, Danny stumbles forward. His foot catches on a chunk of ice and he falls forward, barely catching himself on his hands. Blood sprays from his mouth.

"Pathetic."

Danny raises his head. Everything's blurry, but he can just make out Spectra's dark form in front of him.

"No wonder you died," she sneers. Turning her head, she glances at something off to the side.

Danny follows her gaze and sees a single spire still standing, this one far shorter than the others were. He swallows, struggles to take a breath. It comes out raspy and wet. Pushing through the agony, he crawls forward until the spire is inches away. The white of his jumpsuit is stained red, looking more like Valerie's old suit than his. Reaching out, Danny lays his hand on the spire. His reflection doesn't reach back.

Trapped in the ice, lips blue from the cold, Valerie opens her eyes.

—

Danny's head is thrumming when he wakes. The room spins. Blood rushes in his ears. He feels his heart beating against his temple, his chest, his throat. It takes a good minute for everything to settle down, leaving him flushed and dizzy. He throws an arm over his eyes, the fading image of Valerie's glare piercing the darkness.

It was just a dream.

Danny scrubs his face and pushes himself upright, sparing a glance at his alarm clock. Nearly eight a.m. He slept through the whole afternoon and night, and yet exhaustion still drags at him. Too bad, he won't be sleeping again any time soon. Not if that's what waits for him.

As his pounding heart finally quiets, slowing to a steady pace, he hears a soft buzzing. Danny's head swivels, his gaze searching the room for the source. It must be his phone, but he left that at school with his backpack yesterday. And yet, there it is, sitting just inside his bedroom, leaning against the wall by the door. His friends must have brought it for him after all.

He grabs his backpack and digs through the main pouch, finding his phone soon enough. Sam's name appears at the top of the screen. He hesitates before hitting the answer button.

"Hey, Sam," he says.

"Danny! I wasn't sure if you'd be awake. When you didn't come back to school, we thought you had gotten hurt during your fight, and we couldn't call you to check."

"Not quite, I guess." Danny makes a noise, not quite a laugh, less than a groan.

"No one answered the door when I dropped off your bag, so I left it in the flowerbed and texted Jazz. I just found out what happened."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Um, Tucker's with me, actually. Hold on."

Sam goes silent for a moment. As she's distracted, Danny sets his backpack on the floor again and backs up to his bed, dropping on the mattress with a bounce.

"Okay, it's on speaker."

"Hey, Danny," Tucker says.

"I texted him as soon as I heard. We're on our way over now, but I thought we'd call first. See if you were, you know. Okay."

"I'm–" Danny falters. Of course he's not okay; how could Sam even ask that? What does she expect him to say? I saw Valerie die, and it's all my fault, but sure, I'm great! "No, Sam. I'm not."

"Man, I'm sorry you were alone. We should have gone with you," Tucker says.

Danny pales. "No! Oh, god, Tuck, no." He runs the scenario through his head. Sam and Tucker by his side when it happened. Sam and Tucker dead, just like Valerie. If not dead, then... witnesses to his lowest moment. He wouldn't be able to look them in the eyes if they had been there. He's not sure he can look them in the eyes now. "It's better for you that you weren't there."

"But not for you! We should have asked if you needed our help before you left. Maybe we could have–"

"No. You couldn't have known, Tuck. Look, I thought it was the Box Ghost or something, not..." Danny presses a hand to his eyes and takes a sharp breath through his nose. "It doesn't matter. It happened. She's gone."

In the silence that follows, Danny perfectly pictures Sam and Tucker trading worried looks.

"Danny." Sam takes over. "It must have been horrible."

"Yeah, it was." He can practically hear Sam grimacing at that.

"It must have been horrible," she repeats. "It shouldn't have happened. And you never should have seen it. We're still sorry we couldn't be there for you."

Danny squeezes his eyes shut. Why, why are they apologizing? Why are they being nice? They should be screaming at him for letting Valerie die. Four years of ghost fighting and he loses someone now when he's supposed to be at his best, his strongest. Not only couldn't he save her, but he's also the reason she's dead. If anything, Sam and Tucker should have been there in his place, then Valerie would have survived.

"Guys, it's... it's fine."

"No, it isn't. We can talk when we get there if you want to. It might help."

"Actually, I think I want to be alone right now." Guilt pricks Danny's heart, but he means it. He doesn't want to talk about it, and if they're just going to pity him, then he doesn't want his friends with him. At least not right now. "Maybe tomorrow or something."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I just. Need time to myself, to process," he says.

"Okay, if that's what you need."

"Just don't shut us out, okay, man?" Tucker says.

Danny nods, then remembers they can't see him and promises just as much. "I'll be okay."

Sam and Tucker say their goodbyes, neither of them sounding confident. Danny hangs up before they can apologize to him or offer any more condolences. He doesn't deserve their pity.

Tossing his phone away, he stays rooted to the spot for a moment, trying to swallow down the tightness in his throat. It doesn't help much. Instead, pressure builds behind his eyes, and no matter how much he tries to fight it, the tears come unbidden. He cries quietly, biting his tongue to stay silent, like a child fighting not to be heard. He doesn't hear the usual clangs and bangs signalling his parents' presence—perhaps they're out hunting for Valerie's killer once again, unaware he lies in their own home—but Jazz could be here; it was the weekend. He doesn't want her to hear him and come knocking on his door.

So, he turns and falls onto his side, shoving his face into his comforter, and makes as little noise as possible as his entire body shakes. Jazz says crying is supposed to make you feel better, once you're done feeling terrible. Somehow, he can't imagine any good feelings coming from this. The tears stop soon enough, leaving him with a pounding headache, puffy eyes, and, just as predicted, feeling no better than before.

As he struggles to pull himself together, rubbing the tear tracks from his face, he hears footsteps outside his door. He pauses, holding his breath, hoping they will pass by.

They don't. A light knock comes.

"Danny?" Jazz whispers, her voice soft enough that he can barely hear her through the door. For one terrifying moment, he thinks he heard her after all, but then she goes on. "Are you awake?"

He doesn't answer.

Jazz waits for another second or two, then leaves. Danny lets out the breath he was holding and sags in relief. He will have to talk to her eventually, but for now, he wants to be alone. Assured that he will get his wish, for a little while longer at least, he crawls back into bed. With the nightmare fresh on his mind, he has no plans to fall asleep again, and settles on staring at his phone, grabbing it from where he tossed it away by his pillow. Today is a day for being numb.

—

Danny stays in his room all day. At noon, Jazz comes around again, knocking on his door and asking to be let in. He turns her away.

"I just want to be by myself right now," he tells her.

She gives in easily enough. "Okay, that's fine. But don't forget to eat. I'm going to the library and I'll be back later."

"I won't forget," Danny says. And he doesn't. He thinks about it, a lot, but he doesn't have the energy to go downstairs and raid the fridge for food. There might be something in the cupboard, some crackers he can snack on with little effort, but even then, the prospect of heading all the way downstairs stops him. One day of wallowing won't hurt. He's gone longer without food the few times he's gotten stuck in the deepest parts of the Ghost Zone.

Sam and Tucker send him a few texts throughout the day. Word has spread fast about Friday's events. Practically the whole town now knows that Valerie Gray was the Red Huntress, and that Fenton boy was there when she died.

Danny doesn't like Amity's rumour mill, never has. More often than not, the churning gears spew out harsh words about his family. He's heard everything from jabs at his father's intelligence—completely incorrect, Danny would like to see anyone else design a ghost portal—to sly suggestions about Danny's parentage—thanks, Vlad, for gleefully fuelling those—to whispers about how neglectful his parents supposedly are. He can't entirely argue against that last one, but he still doesn't like to hear it.

Horror fills him at what things they might be saying on Valerie's death.

As night approaches and Jazz returns home, Danny has barely moved from his bed. He got up once to go to the bathroom and ended up huddled on the bathroom floor for a good hour, afraid to look in the mirror, plagued by visions from his nightmare. Jazz knocks on his door again, and, again, he feigns sleep, pulling the covers up over his head. Good thing, because this time, instead of walking away when he doesn't respond, she opens the door and peeks inside.

"Oh, Danny," she says. Danny struggles to keep his breathing even as she walks closer, her steps signalled only by the creaking of his floorboards. The bed dips when she sits on the other side, at his back. Her hand rests on his hair, nearly making him flinch.

"I hope you know I'm here for you. It's only been a day, but don't lock yourself away in here. It won't make you feel any better."

He wonders why she's saying all this when he's asleep, as far as she knows. If he hadn't been awake, her words would mean nothing to him. He scowls into his pillow, suddenly decided that they do mean nothing to him. If this is her version of helping, comforting him when he isn't even awake to hear it, then he doesn't want her help. Danny's glad when she leaves.

Sometime later, he's not sure how long, Maddie and Jack come home, too. They make far more noise, or Jack does, stomping around downstairs, grumbling his disappointment at catching no ghosts. They come to check on him, too, but unlike Jazz, they stay at his door, saying nothing, slipping away when they realize he's 'sleeping'.

Danny almost laughs. Sleeping, right. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Valerie falling, hears her scream. Relives the moment over and over again with Spectra's laughter echoing in his ears. If these are the kinds of things plaguing him while awake, he doesn't want to know what else lies waiting in his nightmares, especially after last night. He sits in his room, curled on his bed, and stares at nothing. More than once, he hears Jack and Maddie groaning about the ghost they failed to catch.

"We'll get them, Mads. Don't you worry. No rotten ghost can escape the Fentons for long!"

"That poor girl. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened."

Then why didn't you try and stop it? a traitorous part of Danny's mind whispers. If you knew, why didn't you save her?

A more rational thought breaks through the bitter hisses. And what could they have done? Hunted ghosts more than they already do? Built a permanent containment system so Danny could keep his enemies locked away forever? Put a shield around all of Amity Park to keep the ghosts out?

Yes.

Danny stairs up at his ceiling, blinking slowly as he ponders that revelation. Yes, they could have. If they thought ghosts were so dangerous, if they expected someone to die at their hands eventually, then they should have done something, anything, to stop it. Make something to ward ghosts away, arm citizens with protective gear and weapons, close the fucking portal. They had so many options and they did nothing.

Danny has never hated his parents before. Been mad at them? Yes. Embarrassed by them? Definitely. But hated them? The feeling is so foreign, yet it rushes quickly to fill his entire being, a burning rage that has him clenching and unclenching his fists, holding back a blast of ectoplasm. Furious accusations ring through his head. Why didn't you; how couldn't you; you could have stopped this!

They could have stopped it.

They could have stopped him.

Danny chokes on bitter laughter. It's not funny, but he can't help it. His parents are putting in all this effort to find Valerie's killer, but little do they know, he's living right above their heads. Maybe if they looked at him with the same accusing eye they cast on Jazz whenever she acts a little out of the ordinary, they could have prevented Valerie's death long ago.

He resists the urge to call out, "I'm here! Come get me!" As much as he wants them to turn their weapons on him, the image fills him with terror. It's bad enough staring at them from the bad end of a barrel in ghost mode, but doing it as a human? Telling them he had killed someone? He wants someone to hate him, to scream at him, but at the same time, he can't stand seeing the betrayal in their eyes, realizing that he'd been a ghost all along, the one thing they hate above all else.

Danny whimpers. This is pathetic; he's pathetic. Forget hating his parents, he doesn't think he's ever hated himself this much before. But it still doesn't matter, because it won't bring Valerie back.

—

There's a shadow in Danny's room. He finds it the second day after Valerie's death, when he's nearing forty-eight hours of no sleep. He hasn't tried since yesterday, too afraid of his nightmares, occupying himself with his phone instead. Hell, he even picked up his textbook at one point, when playing games got too boring.

He hasn't eaten yet, despite Jazz's efforts, and barely had anything to drink. Stomach cramps come and go, but the headache stays with him, a combination of dehydration and exhaustion as the fortieth hour without sleep slips by. It's no surprise, then, that he doesn't notice the shadow right away, not until it's solid enough to block out the glow-in-the-dark stars on his wall even though he stares right at it. Each cluster of stars, lovingly placed by his hand, forms a constellation. Together, they mimic the night sky, as well as plastic stars in a square room can mimic the infinite expanse of space. Danny knows the patterns by heart, can trace them with his eyes closed. When he sees two of Cepheus' stars are gone, he realizes something's wrong.

Dragging himself out of his trance, he rubs his eyes, scratchy and dry from staying open so long. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, and even then, he has to strain to see... something. It doesn't look like much; a dark cloud blending into the shadows of his room. The shape isn't human, or even ghostly. Just there.

Reaching over to his bedside table, Danny switches on his lamp. Soft orange light fills the room, illuminating the corner. The shadow is still there.

"He–" Danny's voice cracks. He swallows, grimacing at how dry it is. It's been a while since he had something to drink, or eat for that matter. "Hello?" he tries again, once it doesn't hurt to talk.

Anyone else might feel ridiculous talking to a cloud, but Danny's had entire conversations with less. You get used to that sort of thing when you talk to ghosts more than living people.

The cloud doesn't respond or react in any way. Hesitantly, Danny scratches ghost off the list of possibilities. Some kind of Ghost Zone anomaly? Not impossible, considering he lives ten feet above one of the only stable ghost portals in existence. A ghost messing with him? His ghost sense didn't go off, but it only works when an actual ghost is nearby, not an offshoot of their powers.

He can only think of one thing ghost-related that might show itself to him now of all times. He doesn't want to feel hope, but it swells in his chest anyway, bubbling up his throat until a single name bursts from his lips. "Valerie?"

The shadow quivers.

Danny clambers off his bed. "Valerie? Is it really you?"

When he gets close, the temperature plummets. A shiver seizes him, cold fingers curling around his spine.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to!"

Something cracks. Danny cries out as pain shoots up his back. He crumples, falling to the floor. It burns the same way sticking your hand in a bowl of ice water burns. He thinks he might shatter any second.

The shadow drifts closer.

"Stay back!" Danny shouts. Rolling onto his stomach, he crawls away, each movement sending searing pain up his back. Fighting back gasps of pain, he manages to drag himself up with his bed and turns on the shadow, still formless, but he has no doubts about its identity now. Valerie's hateful gaze stares out from the darkness.

Danny flees. It hurts, both running from her and just running. Every step feels like someone is driving a dagger deeper and deeper into his back, but he doesn't stop. He darts down the hall to Jazz's room and bangs on her door. Going ghost doesn't even cross his mind. He just needs someone else to see, needs to know this isn't all in his head.

"Jazz!" he shouts quietly.

Jazz rips the door open, a relieved look on her face. "You're out of your room." She takes in his panicked expression and turns serious. "What happened?"

Danny grabs her hand without saying anything and drags her to his room. "Look in the corner."

Jazz stops just in front of his door, glancing back at him; Danny has to prod her back to get her to step forward. She peeks her head in first, moving slow and deliberate. A few more steps and she slips into the darkness of his room. Danny bites his lip, afraid to go after her, slumping against the wall instead. Standing up hurts. Moving hurts. Everything hurts. He tries to slide down to the floor, but that hurts, too, and he resigns himself to standing perfectly still, waiting for Jazz's reaction.

She sticks her head out of his doorway. Rather than looking shocked like he expected, she stares at him with worry. "There's nothing here."

"What?" Danny jerks forward, biting back a wince of pain. Shooing Jazz back, he takes her place, clinging to the doorframe as he leans inside. The corner of his room is empty. A quick scan reveals no shadows out of place. "But..."

"Danny, are you okay? You haven't come out of your room in two days; that's not healthy. Have you been eating?" Jazz raises a hand to his forehead, but he flinches away from her touch.

"It was Valerie. I saw Valerie's ghost."

"Did you ghost sense go off?"

"Well, no. Not really. But it was her!"

Danny hates the way Jazz stares at him, a trace of a frown on her lips, her gaze critical, judging him, analyzing every twitch.

"Danny, you're distraught."

"No shit I'm distraught! Valerie's haunting me, apparently!" And she should. She has every right.

"Is she haunting you, or are you haunted by her?" Jazz asks.

Danny reels away from her, scowling. "What?"

"You're exhausted. You haven't been eating. Have you even changed your clothes since yesterday? Of course, you're thinking about Valerie, but you need to think about yourself, too." She reaches out again.

This time, Danny slaps her hand away, staring at her in disbelief. His lips curl back in a snarl. "That's not what this is. Jazz, I killed Valerie!"

"I know it feels like that, but it's not your fault. Just because you couldn't save her doesn't mean you did it."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I do, Danny. Stop shouting, you're gonna wake Mom and Dad."

"No, I'm not shouting. You're not listening to me!

"Danny!"

His chest heaves. Breathing through his nose, Danny struggles to contain himself. The hall goes deathly quiet without their voices to fill it.

Jazz's face crumples. She rubs her eyes, wet and on the verge of tears, and stretches toward him once more, but gives up. Her hand hovers for a moment, then drops limp at her side. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled. But you need to sleep. You've been in her room alone for too long. Have you even talked to Sam or Tucker today?"

He meant to. He honestly did, having promised the day before to see them today. But when the time came, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He ignored their texts and calls

"Get some sleep. You'll feel better after, and then we can talk tomorrow, okay?" Jazz says.

Tomorrow. He has school tomorrow, doesn't he?

"Goodnight, Danny." But Jazz doesn't leave right away. She shuffles her feet, contemplating something. Before Danny can react, she pulls him into a hug and kisses his forehead. "I love you, little brother."

She lingers for another second, then slips by him and heads back to her room. It isn't until Danny hears the sound of her door closing that he realizes she was waiting for him to say it back. Guilt rushes through him, briefly. He could go say it now, but... he doesn't. He trudges toward his bed instead, pausing just before he reaches int. Turning his head, he peers over his shoulder. The corner is still empty. His gaze slides to the tall mirror beside his desk, leaning against the wall rather than hanging from it.

Slowly, and with shaking hands, he pulls up his hoodie to expose his lower back. There's no mark. It doesn't hurt anymore, either, stopping sometime while he was shouting at Jazz. He didn't even notice.

Danny shakes his head. "You're just seeing things. You're tired. It's been... rough." Valerie's bloody torso flashes through his mind. He hunches forward, a shudder running through his body. "Fuck." He grabs his head, tangled hair catching on his fingers. His scalp stings as his nails dig in, but he doesn't care.

Eventually, he lays down, too tired to hold himself upright. He still tries to fight against sleep's tempting hold, gripping his arms so tight it hurts, clinging to the pain to keep him awake. No matter what, he won't let himself fall asleep.

—

Shards of ice slice his tongue and lips as he breathes. In, out, they glide across his mouth until all he can taste is blood, the shards slowly shredding his throat. He tries to grip his chest but finds a gaping wound instead, wider than his fist. Inside, his heart thumps weakly. One of his lungs, ripped open and slowly filling with blood, sags through the hole. Blood and gore spill down his chest, staining the snow all around him. All at once, he's drowning and bleeding out. Which one will kill him first? He doesn't know.

The lonely spire looms ahead of him, Valerie still trapped inside. She's wearing his jumpsuit. Looking down, Danny sees he's wearing hers. Or maybe he's Valerie, and Danny is the one caught in the ice. Drowning, bleeding, freezing to death.

"Why didn't you save me?" Valerie asks the reflection.

He gurgles in response. Unable to move, he watches, helpless, as his heart stops beating.

—

Danny jerks upright so fast that he tumbles out of bed, smacking his face on the hardwood floor. He barely registers the pain, too busy pressing his hands to his chest. The panic doesn't fade until he feels his pounding heart, strong and steady. There's no hole in his chest, no blood in his lungs. He swallows, pressing a hand against his mouth.

It was just a dream. He fell asleep on accident, that's all. He's fine. He's not hurt. There's no blood. Right as he finishes that thought, he notices the scarlet splatter on his floor.

Danny's stomach lurches. Scrambling to his feet, he rushes to the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind him. He barely makes it to the toilet before his stomach heaves, acid burning his throat as it makes its way up. There's nothing in his stomach to throw up, but that doesn't stop the heaves from coming, dry wretches tearing at his throat. Nearly a minute passes before Danny finally stops, able to catch his breath at last. Blood and bile swirl in the water and the sight of it almost has him throwing up again. He looks away from the bowl and scoots back to the wall, unable to take the smell, but unable to stand. His legs tremble too hard.

Shaking fingers rise to his mouth and touch his lips. No ice. No cuts. The only taste on his tongue is vomit. Danny swallows, and the motion makes his nose ache. Wincing, he raises his hand a little higher. His nose is bleeding, not his mouth. He swallows again and rubs his nose on his arm, leaving a bright red streak behind.

Danny can't bear to look at it. He's used to blood, especially his own after fighting for so many years. But right now it makes his stomach churn. It makes him think of that fight, of Valerie and watching her fall. He swallows again and breathes, heavy, through his mouth. His nose feels stuffed and warm, and it's definitely still bleeding. Rather than taking care of it right away, he closes his eyes and shudders. It happened so fast. He barely had time to move, much less to try and catch her. By the time he realized what was happening, it was already too late. He saw her body plummeting, and then...

Phantom blood sprays across Danny's face, hot and thick. He jerks back, thumping his head against the wall. His cheeks grow warm. Blood drips from his nose onto his lips, and the taste of copper fills his mouth. Valerie's blood is everywhere. On the ground, on him. Soaking into his gloves and staining his face. Danny wheezes, struggling to take in air. His chest heaves, and he can feel his body going through the motions, but it's like the air disappears somewhere between his mouth and his lungs. No matter how much he gasps and gulps, it's never enough. His lungs burn. His head aches. The bathroom tiles are slick and red, and the whole room tilts around him.

Fighting back a sob, Danny crawls forward. He grabs the counter and drags himself up. His legs, quivering, barely hold him, but it's enough. He fumbles with the sink tap, twisting it hard and nearly yanking it off the faucet. Over and over, he splashes water across his face. Scrubbing around his nose hurts, but he keeps going, rubbing furiously to get rid of all the blood. He doesn't stop until the water, on the coldest setting, makes him shiver. By then, the front of his shirt is soaked, and his hair is dripping wet.

Leaning over the sink, Danny takes a moment to breathe. It comes easier now, the air finally reaching where it's supposed to go, although his face still hurts. After a moment, he looks up at his reflection. His nose is a little red, but there's no more blood on his face.

Danny's cheeks flush. It was never Valerie's blood, just his own. He feels ridiculous, embarrassed, for getting so panicked over a bloody nose. Shifting his gaze to the floor, he sees only a few small spots on the tiles, not the seeping puddle that plagued his imagination.

"You're being stupid, Fenton," Danny says. "And now you're talking to yourself. Like an idiot."

He washes his face one more time, using warmer water and less frantic movements, as if that erases the panic he felt moments ago. Cleaning up his mess doesn't take long. Wipe away the spots on the floor with a few squares of toilet paper; toss that in the toilet and flush it away, along with the vomit. A quick swipe with the hand towel takes care of the water on the counter. He squeezes out his hair and strips off his shirt, too, bundling it up in the towel, and chucks both in the hamper. He's too exhausted to clean the blood out of it now, especially with the prospect of school looming over him. Maybe he'll get to it later. Or, worse comes to worst, he can just throw it away if the blood won't come out.

Before leaving the bathroom, he presses his ear to the door, listening for movement outside. He can't hear his parents. Chances are they already left, out for ghostly blood in the pre-dawn hours. It doesn't sound like Jazz is home, either. It is Monday, and she likes to leave early for college, spending the whole day on campus to focus on her work.

Holding his breath, he eases the door open and peers into the hall. Empty. He almost smiles, thankful no one was home to hear his breakdown, and shoves the door open the rest of the way.

Jazz stands on the other side of it, arms crossed. "Danny. We need to talk."

He grimaces. "Do we?"

"I could hear." She gives the bathroom a pointed look, a flash of guilt passing over her face; it's gone soon enough, almost too fast for Danny to catch it. "Whatever you're doing to yourself, you can't keep doing it. Hiding away and keeping everything locked up won't help.

Danny opens his mouth, then closes it. What do you say to someone who heard something so private when you didn't want them to? "You were listening?" Immediately, he decides that was the wrong thing to say. As soon as the words leave his lips, Jazz's shoulders sag and she gives him a pitying smile. He should have played dumb.

"It's okay to cry. You saw something terrible, and you're hurting. I'd be more worried if you didn't cry. But don't think I forgot what happened last night. You're allowed to be alone, of course, but shutting everyone out isn't healthy. Especially not if you're... seeing Valerie." She wrings her hands, a familiar nervous habit. She does it every time she's about to launch into one of her psycho-babble spiels and isn't sure if it's welcome or not. Well, it isn't.

Danny's eyes narrow. "Unhealthy?"

"Personal space is good, but total solitude after a traumatic experience can be damaging. I don't want you to be alone."

"Unhealthy?" he repeats. "I think ki– I think watching Val-Val-Valerie." He swallows down the stutter, cursing how much his body still shakes. His mind, a jumbled mess, can barely string two words together, much less deal with Jazz right now. "I think that watching Valerie fall. To her death. Is unhealthy. You know? I think that's a little fucked up, don't you?"

Jazz steps closer, reaching out, but seems to think better about it a second later, drawing her hands back. "Danny, just listen to yourself. If you need time, that's okay, but don't forget that I'm here for you."

"It hasn't even been two days!"

Jazz flinches away from his shout.

"I'll be fine." Danny lowers his voice but keeps the hard edge in his tone. "Just let me deal with it however I want to. If I want to talk, I'll talk to you, okay?"

"Danny, don't be like this."

"You're gonna be late for class, Jazz. And so am I." Danny turns away from her. "I have to go get ready."

She steps after him, but Danny doesn't turn back, shutting his bedroom door and locking it behind him. He hears Jazz make a distressed noise, halfway between a whine and a groan. After a moment, she thumps down the stairs. The front door doesn't open, meaning she's still in the house, but Danny will take what he can get. If he leaves quick enough, it won't matter.

He dresses fast, replacing his sweatpants with a pair of jeans, but keeps his hoodie on. He hasn't taken that off for three days, now, but it smells fine to him. And it's dark enough that you can't see the blood from his nose.

Danny scrubs his eyes. He may have preferred not sleeping at all, but he can't deny that he needed rest. Although, he at least would have liked to choose to sleep. Last, he remembers from the night before, he had no intentions of falling asleep. Danny frowns. Why didn't he want to sleep? Besides the obvious nightmares. Wasn't there another reason?

He runs his hand over his upper arm, gently brushes the bruises there, struggling to remember why he did it in the first place. He presses one of the purpling spots, wincing at the way it throbs, then freezes. The shadow.

Danny's head snaps up and he zeroes in on the corner of his room. It's empty. Cepheus' constellation meets his gaze unbroken. In an instant, he wilts with relief, shoulders slumping and head dipping down. He must have imagined the whole thing, exhausted as he was. Thank god. Now is not a good time for strange shadows in his room.

He gladly shoves the entire debacle into the back of his mind and rushes out of the house before Jazz can catch him again.

—

Danny miscalculated. Avoiding Jazz is easy, thanks to school. Not that he wants to go in the first place, but he can't afford to skip, and there's no way Jazz would protest against him going, not with his bad grades. So, school doesn't have Jazz. But school does have Sam and Tucker, who Danny has been ignoring.

Peeking at his phone, Danny winces at the overwhelming amount of missed calls and unanswered texts. He feels guilty for not answering them, but... he didn't want to. He just wanted to sit in his dark room and forget. Even now, that's all he wants. If it weren't for Jazz and his already disappointing attendance record, he would still be at Fenton Works, curled up on his bed. Which probably isn't good. His sister is a psych major, he knows harmful behaviour when he sees it. Primarily because Jazz points his harmful behaviours out all the time. You throw yourself into danger too much. You're stretching yourself too thin. You need to take a break.

He sneers at the sidewalk. Right. A break. Because that would have kept Valerie alive. Not that Danny's presence did anything to save her, either. He bites the inside of his cheek, not hard enough to draw blood—he doesn't want that taste back in his mouth for a long time—but enough to be distracting, cutting off that thought before it can go any further.

Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Valerie's gone and that's it. There's nothing more to it. She's gone and she's not coming back. For someone who fights ghosts, literal dead people, on a near-daily basis, you would think Danny could handle death better than this. He knows most of his enemies were once living, breathing people who died in tragic ways. Danny was once a living, breathing person who died in a tragic way. He just skipped out on the "stop breathing" part of things.

He faces mortality every day, every time he goes ghost. So why can't he face this? Why is this any different than any other day?

Because it was his friend, and he saw it, and he couldn't stop it. Because it was his fault.

Danny cups his mouth and chokes on a sob. He doesn't want to do this here, in the middle of the street. Or at all, if he could just not. But apparently, the rest of him thinks this a great time to breakdown, because the tears come unbidden, spilling over his cheeks. Ducking his head, he hurries forward. The faster he gets to school, the faster he can lock himself in the bathroom, or the janitor's closet, or anywhere without prying eyes.

The tears blur his vision, turning his feet into red smudges against the grey sidewalk. He doesn't dare lift his head, just in case anyone sees him. Thankfully, he doesn't need to watch where he's going to make his way to school. After four years, the route from Fenton Works to Casper High is firmly etched into his brain

Danny wipes some of the tears away with his sleeve when he reaches the school grounds, pausing to compose himself as much as he can. After a few deep breaths and swallowed sobs, he feels well enough to storm the student body. With any luck, he can hold himself together long enough to make it to the bathroom.

Before he can step from the sidewalk onto the schoolyard, someone grabs Danny and pulls him aside. Stunned, it takes him a moment to realize what has happened, even as Tucker's arms wrap tightly around him.

"Dude, we've been so worried." Tucker squeezes Danny tighter. His voice is thick and watery. "Jazz said you wouldn't come out of your room, and you wouldn't answer our texts. Just– god, it must have been so awful. Man, I can't imagine."

Finally, Danny registers what's happening. Tucker's hugging him, and crying into his shoulder. This is bad. Tucker shouldn't be doing that. Tucker is... Tucker is good, and Danny did something horrible. Tucker shouldn't be comforting him.

"I–" Danny falters. Inside, he's screaming. Say it. Say it's your fault. Make him hate you. You deserve it. "Tuck, you–"

He can't say it. Instead, Danny reaches up, grabbing Tucker's arms, and carefully pulls them off his shoulders. He steps back, squeezing Tucker's wrists once, before letting go and looking away.

"I'm okay. You, I know you liked her. And she was our friend. How are you?" Danny asks.

"Dude. You liked her too, and you were actually there. You're not okay."

Danny bites his lip, unsure how to respond to that. It's true, but he deserves this. Tucker doesn't. "But you–"

"Guys!" Sam—when did she even get there?—cuts him off. "Just be sad together, okay?"

Danny glances at her, then away, then back again, shocked. Her eyes are red. In all the years they've known each other, he can't remember ever seeing Sam cry, even when she broke her ankle fighting Technus that one time. The most she did then was swear up a storm before punching the ghost barehanded. It didn't exactly do much to Technus, but Sam looked damn proud of herself afterward.

Right now, she looks downright distraught. Danny wonders how many of her tears were for him, and how many were for Valerie. They may not have gotten along a lot of the time, but they were still friends. He hopes she cried for Valerie more, although he'd rather she not cry at all. He doesn't know what to do when a girl cries

"But," Sam shares a glance with Tucker, one Danny doesn't like, "seriously, Danny. Are you okay? We heard how it went down."

Danny pales. Did they know? How? By the time anyone else arrived, he already had Valerie in his lap, her skin cold as ice.

"It was Spectra and Bertrand, right?" Tucker says. "They said that one of them... well, they..." He motions vaguely around his torso.

"Tucker!" Sam slaps his hands down.

Danny looks away again, hiding the relieved look on his face. They don't know. Guilt and shame quickly wash the relief away. He should tell them. Or Valerie's dad. Danny rubs his eyes, a new tension pressing down on him. He hadn't even thought of Valerie's dad.

Did Marty the Cop call him? He must have, after Danny left. By then, Mr. Gray may have already seen the news. God, that must have been horrible, turning on the TV to see Lance Thunder reporting his daughter's death before he even knew about it. Although Sam and Tucker hadn't known until the day after. Maybe Mr. Gray remained ignorant, too, until Marty could break the news gently. He hopes so.

"Danny?" Tucker reaches out and touches Danny's shoulder.

Danny steps away. For a moment, he's glad he's not looking Tucker's way. He doesn't want to see the hurt expression on his best friend's face.

"I'm okay," Danny says because he doesn't know what else to say.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shakes his head, perhaps a little too aggressively.

"It might help," Tucker presses. "Doesn't Jazz say–"

"Fuck what Jazz says."

Tucker and Sam recoil at the harsh words. Danny feels another stab of guilt but doesn't apologize. It's only been three days and he's already such a mess. The thing in his room yesterday, the nightmare, his panic attack in the bathroom this morning. That’s what it was, wasn't it? A panic attack? He's had them before, but not like that. Usually, he feels empty and distant, like there's a gaping hole growing inside him, slowly swallowing him up. This time, Valerie's the one with the hole in her chest, and it's left Danny a shaking mess.

"You don't have to tell us anything," Sam says. Her tone is soft and understanding, as if she understands any part of what Danny's going through. "But if you ever want to talk about it, we're here for you."

"I don't," Danny says. "I can't. Just drop it, please?"

Sam and Tucker share another look, just as bad as the last, but say no more. A small mercy in Danny's eyes. He gives them an hour at most before they bring it up again, and that's being generous.

"Okay. But I'm sorry we weren't there," Tucker says.

An hour was very generous.

"It doesn't matter now. It's better you weren't there." Danny runs a hand through his hair, only able to meet Tucker's sad stare for a moment. He still wishes he had made it into the school before Sam and Tucker found him, but their little confrontation drove back his tears, at least. Now, he can't quite figure out what he's feeling. Sad? Yes. Guilty? Always. A little angry, too, but he doesn't know why. His friends haven't done anything bad.

A sourness fills Danny's mouth, making his lips pucker. Bitter feelings squirm through him, like a worm eating its way through an apple. He can't control it, but he's constantly aware of its wriggling presence. Talk about being a bad apple.

"Class is gonna start soon. Let's just go inside." Danny turns his back on them and sets off, ignoring the sting behind his eyes. The faster this day gets over with, the better. Then again, he's not looking forward to sleep tonight. He should go for a long flight instead, or maybe dip into the Ghost Zone to visit his allies, as few as they are. Anything to keep him from having more nightmares.

Danny keeps his head ducked as they walk. Sam and Tucker fall into step beside him, their elbows brushing his from time to time. He doesn't pull away, but only because the hallway is cramped and there's nowhere for him to pull away to. Eager to escape the crush of teenage bodies, he heads straight for Lancer's classroom, skipping a visit to his locker even though there are books inside that he needs. His only plans for class today are to duck his head and get through it without any more crying, and books won't help with that.

Sam and Tucker stick with him, much to his disappointment. He hoped they would break away and stop at their lockers, giving him a short reprieve from their presence. Unfortunately for him, they seem content without their books for now, or they already grabbed them before Danny arrived. The last thought doesn't sit well with him. It means they were lying in wait outside the school for his arrival. While he knows they worry about him, he doesn't enjoy falling into traps, no matter how emotionally supportive they're meant to be.

The halls are still full, thrumming with chatter, by the time they reach Lancer's classroom. It will be a good few minutes before the warning bell rings, so most students haven't bothered moving away from their lockers, instead gathering in tight-knit groups. Before stepping into the classroom, Danny pauses, lifting his hand, and gives the hall a once over. He's not surprised by what he sees. Curious, pitying eyes staring at him. Hands cupped around mouths, carrying whispers between friends. Valerie's name floats in the air.

"Did you hear–"

"–found her–"

"Totally gutted."

"–the Red Huntress all along."

Danny looks away all too quickly, their stares too heavy for him, and hurries into the shelter of Lancer's classroom.

Lancer looks up when they enter, his eyes widening in surprise. "Mr. Fenton?" His chair squeals when he pushes away from his desk too quickly.

"Yeah?" Danny shuffles his feet. Lancer has this way of looking at Danny like he knows much more than he should. It sets him on edge on the best days. Right now, it makes Danny's heart pound, each thump beating out a damning he-knows, he-knows, he-knows.

"You're here?"

"Uh..." Danny glances at the clock. "I know I'm earlier than usual."

"No, no, I mean." Lancer shakes his head. "Are you...?" He looks between Sam and Tucker. "May I speak to Mr. Fenton alone?"

Danny hopes his nod doesn't look as eager as it feels.

Lancer waits until Sam and Tucker leave, closing the door behind them, before turning to Danny.

"Daniel," he starts, then hesitates, which is never a good sign. "How are you?"

Danny opens his mouth, the words I'm fine already resting on his tongue. At the last moment, he pauses. Lancer looks concerned, yes, with his furrowed brows and tight frown, but it's different from how everyone else has looked at him. Not like Jazz trying to tell him how feels and what he should do. Not like Sam and Tucker pretending they understand when they don't. A far cry from his parents, who have barely spent two minutes with him since it happened.

Lancer doesn't elaborate, doesn't try to placate him. Doesn't offer shallow words of comfort. He simply asks.

"I–I'm, I'm not okay," Danny says.

Lancer nods as if he expected this. He probably did. "I saw on the news that you found her. You went through something traumatic, and I can't begin to understand that. Am I right to assume you aren't ready to talk about it?"

Words fail him, his tongue weighed down by relief. He nods vigorously instead.

"I thought as much. With that in mind, no one would fault you for not coming to school today."

Danny's mind goes blank. He stares at Lancer, blinking owlishly, as confusion fills his gaze.

"Your mental health is more important than school," Lancer goes on when Danny doesn't say anything. "I can speak to the other faculty members about your absence. And if you want to take a few more days, you can have your parents call the school. I'll make sure this doesn’t affect your grades."

Grades are the last thing on Danny's mind right now. "I can really do that?"

"After the Storm, Mr. Fenton, of course you can." Lancer sounds as surprised as Danny feels. "Mental health days are important. I've spoken to your parents about them a few times at parent-teacher conferences. Have they never mentioned it?"

"No."

Lancer frowns. "Well. You know about them now."

Danny stares down at his feet, amazed. He can just... not come to school if he isn't feeling well? And not just because he's injured or sick? And Mr. Lancer is encouraging it? Danny looks over his shoulder, catching Sam and Tucker spying through the classroom window. They offer him shaky smiles and hesitant waves.

Danny turns back to Lancer. "I really don't have to be at school today? Or tomorrow?"

"Or even the week. Not if you aren't ready for it. Some people might tell you otherwise, but as your vice principal, I fully endorse taking time off after such an experience. Should I tell the other teachers you'll be absent today?"

"Yes! Please, yes. I can't be here right now. It's... too much." Surprisingly, admitting that doesn't make Danny feel weak.

"Would you like me to call your parents to pick you up?"

"Mr. Lancer, I'm eighteen. I don't need my parents to pick me up."

"Whether you're eighteen or eight-hundred, it helps to have someone with you when you're dealing with something like this. Seeing as Jasmine should be in class, and both your friends are here, I think your parents suffice."

"Jazz is at home, actually," Danny says, leaping at the excuse. "No class today. Her professor is out. I'd rather walk home, but she'll be there, so it's okay."

Lancer purses his lips, then nods. "Alright, I'll let everyone know. Please take care of yourself, Daniel."

"Thank you, Mr. Lancer, I will." Danny rushes out of the classroom, eager to leave the school grounds before the bell rings. He brushes past Sam and Tucker on his way out.

"Hey, Danny, wait!" Tucker calls after him.

Danny doesn't want to stop, but he also doesn't want to be an ass, so he slows down instead, letting Tucker catch up. Sam stays back by Lancer's door.

"Where are you going?" Tucker asks as he falls into step with Danny.

"Home. Lancer said I could take a mental health day."

"Oh." Tucker falters. Danny doesn't wait for him, forcing Tucker to jog to catch up again. "Do you need one?"

Danny glares at him.

"Sorry, that was. Right. Yeah. Of course." Tucker flushes. "I mean, you said you were okay, and I want to believe you dude, but if you need a mental health day... Well, you know."

"Tucker." Danny finally stops, only inches from the front door. "Can you do something for me?"

"Yeah?" Tucker smiles.

"Leave me alone. No offence, but I need to be alone right now. It's hard."

Tucker's smile shatters. "Oh. Uh, yeah. Sure thing, man. I get it. Just don't take too long, okay? I'm worried."

Danny smiles, eyes empty and mouth wide. "Everyone is." With those final words, he leaves the school, and Tucker, behind.

—

Instead of going home, Danny wanders. He has no particular destination in mind, only knows he doesn't want to go home yet. Something is refreshing about walking aimlessly through Amity Park. By now, he's more used to seeing the streets from above rather than ground level. Everything looks familiar, but a little off from what he knows.

It reminds him of fourth grade when he missed the bus one day and his dad had to drive him to school. They took the most direct route, complete with hairpin turns and broken speed limits, arriving at the school well before Danny's bus did. But for Danny, the strangest thing about that day was seeing the school from a different angle.

Normally, the bus drove along the main street in front of the school, pulling into the drop-off zone by the doors. Jack drove Danny around the back, skirting around the soccer field, and pulled up alongside the school around the corner from the drop-off. That side of the school, facing the side street, was opposite the playground. As a fourth-grader, Danny had no reason to go to this side of the school. He almost didn't recognize the building when his dad pulled up, distracted by the unfamiliar windows and the narrow wedge of grass between the wall and the sidewalk.

Seeing Amity Park from the ground makes Danny think of that day. Everything is recognizable, but foreign at the same time. Outside ghost hunting, he doesn't have a reason to explore most of the city besides his usual haunts. Trying to navigate the familiar streets from an unfamiliar angle provides a welcoming distraction as he searches for landmarks he knows. Antennas on rooftops, billboards looming overhead, cornices encasing the highest floors.

Danny is eying a fresco on top of a stout three-storey building, unsure if he's seen it before or not, when his ghost sense goes off. The shiver seizes him for a moment, and he has to push down a wave of panic. He’s not sleeping, it's just a ghost. There's no reason to panic. He berates himself for being scared of something less tangible than the freaking Box Ghost. A simple nightmare is far from the scariest thing he's seen over the years; but, for some reason, it affects him in a way no ghost ever has.

Danny shakes his head. The ghost. Focus on the actual threat. A quick scan of the street to make sure no one's watching, then he dives into the closest alley, ducking behind a dumpster. Not the most glamourous place to transform, but it works.

"Going ghost!" he calls, pumping himself up. The transformation rings spark around his waist, quickly growing to their full size, and split apart with a sizzling hiss. His jumpsuit overtakes his everyday clothes as the rings spread. The rings rise above his shoulders, passing over his raised fists. Bloodstained gloves appear on his hands.

The world goes grey around him, his vision tunnelling. Danny gapes at his gloves. Blood. Valerie's blood. It's everywhere. On his gloves, his chest, his face. Seeping across the ice. Danny drops to his knees, gripping his head as the alley fades around him. Spears of ice circle him. Valerie's body lies in front of him, twitching. Blood bubbles from her mouth as she struggles to breathe, a futile effort thanks to the hole in her lungs.

Danny tries to staunch the flow, so panicked he drops his transformation, but it's not helping. The wound stretches wider than his palms. He presses too hard, his hands slipping in the blood. His palm touches something firm but it’s neither flesh nor bone. It thumps. Danny jerks back, yanking his hand out of Valerie's wound.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" he cries. His tears are lost in her blood. He never knew people had so much blood in them, but now it's everywhere, and all Danny sees is red.

He meets her dull gaze, watches her eyes fluttering. Valerie's lips move, but no sound comes out, barely even the wheeze of air. Blood bubbles at the corner of her lips. She chokes and bleeds out all at once, and Danny can't do anything but hold her.

—

Hunched over on the asphalt, Danny hacks and coughs, clutching his stomach as bile dribbles from his lips. Valerie is gone, was never there in the first place. He lets out a soft cry of pain, all thoughts of the ghost abandoned. This is all so wrong. Things were never supposed to turn out this way, and now, Danny can't even transform without panicking.

"Valerie." Danny's voice cracks as he sobs into the pavement, the rough ground pressing against his forehead. The alley reeks of garbage and vomit. His whole body hurts. It feels like he's being torn apart inside, and that's still only half the pain Valerie must have felt. She deserved so much better.

Distantly, Danny hears the wail of the Fenton RV, the sound of the rumbling engine filling up every crack and crevice of the street. His mother's voice echoes over the loudspeaker. "You ectoplasmic evil-doer! Suffer for what you did to that poor girl!"

A voice in Danny's mind hisses, I am.

He rolls onto his side, unable to stay hunched over his own sick puddle, but too weak to do anything more. A traitorous part of him thinks maybe he should have talked to Jazz after all, but a louder, more insistent part screams no. She can never know what he did. None of them can. They should hate him, but he can never tell them why. He couldn't live with himself if they knew. He can barely live with himself now.

Danny listens to his mother scream at the ghost, silently hoping that, whoever it is, they escape his parents' clutches safe and sound. He hears the boom of the Fenton bazooka, but no cries of victory or shouts of pain. Small mercies.

A shiver runs through him. Something black flickers in the corner of his vision. Danny thinks he's about to fall unconscious, familiar with the dark spots that often precede it. The flickering doesn't stop.

Danny's breath catches in his throat. Achingly slow, he turns his head to the mouth of the alley. The shadow hovers there, and it's slowly drifting closer. Danny tries to scramble back, but his trembling arms can't hold his weight. His shivers grow stronger, making his teeth chatter and his fingers go numb. He hugs himself, fighting back the chill as the shadow approaches, but it forces its way through him. A puff of glowing blue hair leaves his mouth.

"Oh, wow! The ghost boy, cowering before the power of corrugated cardboard vengeance!"

Danny starts and twists toward the intruder. The Box Ghost—of course it's the Box Ghost—is poking his head out of the wall, smiling gleefully down at Danny. He comes through all the way, revealing the Fenton RV's overhead speaker in his arms. At least that explains where his mother's voice has gone.

"That's not cardboard. And it's barely square," Danny wheezes. His gaze flickers back to the alley's entranceway. The shadow is gone.

"Well, it's mine now and you can't have it back." The Box Ghost sticks out his tongue and raises the speaker above his head. But rather than chucking it at Danny, he sets it on his shoulder and floats closer. A strange look crosses his face, one Danny can't immediately decipher. The Box Ghost's brow pinches and his eyes narrow, lips pressed into a firm line.

He's being serious, Danny realizes.

"Something awful happened, didn't it?" the Box Ghost asks.

"What?"

"Only something great and terrible could bring down the sworn enemy of me, the Box Ghost!" He lowers his voice to a more conversational volume. "And not everyone gets haunted by such twisted shadows."

Danny snorts. "That's awfully philosophic coming from you. I'm surprised you didn't squeeze a portent about the glory of boxes in there."

The Box Ghost simply frowns. "You are a strange child. I hope your shadow leaves soon so I may battle you again, at full strength! As all rivals do!"

"Wait, what?" Danny sits up. "What do you mean?"

"Farewell, weirdo!"

"Wait!" Danny shouts, but the Box Ghost is already gone. Danny stares after him, bewildered. "It's real?" The empty alley provides no answer. Danny draws his knees in close and cranes his neck, inspecting the alley. Nothing stands out. No shadows where they shouldn't be. No hidden wraiths. But the Box Ghost's words nag at him. The shadow is real after all.

One sighting he can brush off as exhaustion. Two he can blame on the mental stress. But the Box Ghost knowing it's there without seeing it? He couldn't ignore that. Maybe only real ghosts could see it, see her. She could be anywhere, and Danny wouldn't know.

He scrambles to his feet and backs against the wall. The back of his neck prickles, but he can't tell if it's real or his mind playing tricks over him, tripped into overdrive by his panic attack and the Box Ghost's unsettling words. As he scans the alley once more, something shifts in the corner of his eye. Danny peels away from the wall, jumping into a ready pose, fists raised, feet apart, fully prepared to fight.

A plastic bag. A plastic bag stuck under the dumpster, fluttering quietly in the rank alley breeze. Danny flushes and lowers his fist. If a damn grocery bag is enough to set him on edge, then he's really losing it. It's not even noon yet, but he thinks he's had enough of his walk for today. Getting some real sleep might do him some good, nightmares be damned. Or he could raid the medicine cabinet for some sleeping pills when he gets home. There might be some leftover from his dad's last prescription.

Plan set, Danny shuffles out of the alley. He barely makes it three steps along the sidewalk before the Fenton RV comes ripping around the corner. A tangle of sparking wires rests over the windshield, marking where the speaker had sat before the Box Ghost tore it out. Maddie stands on the roof, defying all laws of physics as she stays firmly rooted despite how erratic Jack drives. A Fenton Bazooka rests on her shoulder, the barrel smoking.

"We might need to circle the block again, honey. I don't see it," she shouts down to Jack.

Danny ducks behind a nearby mailbox, hoping his parents don't see him, but it's futile. From her place on the RV, Maddie has a perfect view of the street. When she turns toward Danny, he catches the exact moment she sees him, her grip on the bazooka slackening. She stomps on the roof of the RV, then braces herself as Jack slams on the brakes.

Maddie pulls her goggles down. "Danny, sweetie, what are you doing here? Don't you have school?"

"Uh, I, I'm," Danny stutters. It's the first time he's seen his parents since the police station. They look the same as ever, which he should have expected, but somehow, he thought they would be different the next time he saw them. Glaring at him from the bad end of a bazooka, perhaps. But instead of raising the gun and pointing it at him, Maddie sets the bazooka down and hops off the RV.

Danny doesn't want to tell the truth. Right now, Maddie and Jack are acting the same as they always do, and he didn't realize how much he needed that until now. When he looks at them, he sees the familiar level of parental concern they always bear, which is minimal at best. Thinking about it, that's pretty terrible, isn't it? He watched one of his friends die, and instead of staying at home and comforting him, his parents are out hunting ghosts.

Danny wavers between anger and appreciation. His parents aren't bad, but they aren't good either, are they? He doesn't want them pestering him like everyone else is, but maybe he would at least like them to try. To act as if they care. He knows they do, they do, and it's stupid being mad about something he wants, but he's mad anyway.

Maybe it's Valerie's ghost, or the two panic attacks in one day, but something makes Danny glare up at his mom and say, "Well, I've been a little fucked up since I got Valerie killed, so I decided not to go to school." Acid fills the words as he spits them out, begging for a reaction. He gets one, but not the one he wants.

Maddie steps closer and wraps her arms around Danny. "Oh, sweetie, you should have told us. Does the school know? Do we need to call them?"

Danny squirms out of his mother's grasp. "What?"

"Would helping us catch the ghost that did this make you feel better? Your father and I have been looking ever since we heard," she continues.

"Did you even hear what I said?"

"I know. We should have brought you with us from the start, but we thought you might want some time alone first. She was such a nice girl."

"Mom. I swore. I skipped school. Valerie's dead because of me!"

Maddie drags him into another hug. "Oh, sweetie. I know it feels like that, doesn't it? But just because you couldn't save her, that doesn't mean it's your fault. You were with her at the end, and that must have meant so much to her."

This time, Danny doesn't pull away, too stunned to think of moving. She should be shouting at him, scolding him, not coddling him like some kid. How can she hear him say that and think he's exaggerating?

Jack leans out the RV window, smiling sadly at the pair. "Want us to drive you home, kiddo?"

Danny bites his tongue. Briefly, he considers turning down the offer, but his legs are shaking again, and his mom's hand running through his hair brings him back to sick days in elementary school when she would sit with him all day and watch cartoons. Danny melts, although his anger doesn't disappear; it slinks away to a dark cave, giving up on the fight for now.

"I want to go home," he says.

Maddie hums, shifting her hold from a hug to an arm over his shoulder, and guides him into the RV.

"It'll get better," Jack says.

Danny doesn't answer, curling up on the backseat with his arms around his knees. When he looks out the window, he spots a blurry form in the alley. As they pull away, Danny watches the shadow until it's out of sight. A question forms in his mind.

"Mom, how long does it take for a ghost to form?"

Maddie turns in her seat. "What brought this on?"

Eyes downcast, Danny shrugs.

Maddie hums in understanding. "Well, it depends. Not everyone that dies becomes a ghost. We've done some studies of how long it takes a spectral mass to reach conscious levels after first recording its presence. So far, it can take anywhere from a few seconds to up to a week."

"And until then?" Danny presses.

"We've only managed to properly record one spectre's creation process from beginning to end. But from our notes, they appear to take a lesser non-corporeal form that barely even registers on our instruments until they're strong enough to manifest. Until then, they can't do much. We barely even saw the ghost until it manifested." Maddie smiles at Danny, in a manner that she probably meant as reassuring, but just looks sorry to him. "I hope this helped."

"Yeah." Danny nods. "Yeah, it does."

—

Danny doesn't check for the shadow when he gets home. It might be there, but he doesn't care to check. He refuses to acknowledge it. Instead, he raids his parents' medicine cabinet, finds the sleeping pills, and takes two before collapsing on his bed.

—

Valerie glares at him from within her icy prison. Danny knows it's a dream this time, and he thinks it's a little uncreative of his subconscious to give him the same one three times in a row. He doesn't think sleeping pills can affect his dreams, but he feels calmer this time. Or maybe that's just because Valerie is doing what no one else will: hate him.

"I don't want to be a ghost," she says.

"You're not. You're just dead." Lies. All lies. He knows who the shadow is, just hopes he's wrong.

"How do you know?"

Danny looks down at his lap, unsure how to answer. Ghosts exist for a lot of reasons. Not all of them were once people and not every person who dies becomes a ghost. The ones who do usually have something they wanted to live for. Fame, desire, glory. Boxes. Some part of their mind chose to stay, clinging to that one thing they wanted and couldn't get.

"You would never choose this," he finally says. "You hate ghosts. There's nothing you could want that would make you stay."

Valerie sneers. Her teeth are stained red. "What could anyone want enough for this? Why would anyone choose this?"

"I did."

"No. You didn't want to die; there's a difference. I didn't want to die either. But you took that away from me, didn't you?" Valerie looks down at Danny's hands. Following her gaze, he sees her heart resting on his palm. It beats, barely. Blood seeps from the torn aortas and soaks into his gloves. Holding a heart doesn't feel like he thought it would. Whenever Danny thinks of organs, he thinks of softy, squishy tissue, easy to pierce and crush, but Valerie's heart is a firm bundle of muscle.

Danny squeezes.

Valerie gasps, her hand shooting up to her chest, but there's nothing there, only an empty hole. She slams her fist against the ice. "Give it back!"

Danny tries, he does. His whole body shakes with effort as he tries to push his hand forward, returning what's Valerie's, but his arm won't budge. His hand squeezes tighter.

Valerie gasps and falls forward, both hands to her chest now, scratching and scraping. Her fingers hook around the hole and tug, tearing it open wider. "Stop it! Give it back!" she cries.

"I can't, I'm sorry!" Danny grabs his defiant arm in his other hand and pushes, but the frozen limb barely shakes. "I didn't mean it, Valerie. You have to believe me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!"

Ice creeps along Danny's arm, stretching over his fingers. Beautiful frost ferns grow across Valerie's heart, tinged pink from her blood. He tries to pull them back, shoving his core down deep inside himself where the snow and ice can't hurt anyone, but it's too late. The ice overtakes her heart. Danny's hand clenches one more time. The heart shatters.

Valerie screams. Her shriek pierces the air, shattering her prison of ice. Danny slaps his hands over his ears, trying to block out the noise, but it rings inside his head, bouncing around his skull, stabbing his brain with a thousand tiny needles until blood leaks from his eyes, his nose, his ears. He screams with her, raw and hoarse until the shrieking stops and silence rings out.

—

Danny wakes up cold. Not even an hour has passed since he went to sleep. So much for the sleeping pills.

Despite wearing his warmest hoodie, he shivers. His foggy breath clouds the air in front of him, but it lacks the pale glow of his ghost sense. Instead, it's accompanied by a bone-deep chill that stings his teeth when he inhales.

In the corner of the room, the shadow hovers, darker than the previous night.

—

At sunrise, the shadow fades before Danny's eyes. It takes the pervasive cold with it, leaving him uncomfortably warm, swathed in a pile of blankets that hadn't helped fight off his chills. His eyes burn, but he has no desire to go back to sleep. Moving slowly, he climbs out of bed, stretching his cramped muscles. The blankets slide off his shoulders, leaving him in the same sweater and jeans as the previous day. The thought of changing doesn't even cross his mind.

Danny checks the back alley through his bedroom window and finds that his parents are home today. Other than mild surprise, it stirs no strong emotions in Danny.

A knock at his door pulls his attention from the alleyway. He drums his fingers on the windowsill, pursing his lips as he debates whether or not he should answer.

"Danny? Are you awake?" Jazz's voice is pitched with worry.

Sighing, Danny turns from the window, leaning back against the sill, and answers. "I'm awake."

The doorknob turns. Jazz pushes it open a crack, her bright blue eyes peering through the narrow opening. Danny jerks his head, not quite a nod, but a welcome, nonetheless. Jazz swings the door open and shuffles inside, nudging it closed behind her.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," she says. "I shouldn't have pushed you." Danny remains silent as she takes a seat on his bed. She picks at the pile of blankets, eyeing the unruffled comforter beneath them. "Did you sleep last night?"

"I was in bed," he says.

Lips pursed, Jazz scrutinizes Danny's clothes. "You wore that yesterday, too."

"It's still clean."

"Danny. I don't want to cross any boundaries–"

"Then don't."

"–but it's only been a few days, and this is concerning behaviour. I'm not expecting you to instantly bounce back, but I'd hoped you would at least come and talk to me if it was this bad."

"Jazz. Do you know how often I don't sleep because of ghosts? This isn't that different. And so what if I'm wearing the same jeans? I only have, like, three pairs that aren't ripped or stained."

Jazz starts wringing her hands. "It can take weeks to accept a traumatic event. I don't want you to lose yourself denying what happened. It was horrible, but ignoring it won't change that. Talking will. You have me, and Tucker and Sam. Letting out what you're feeling to people you trust can help. And keeping a routine! It's important to stay grounded with regular habits. Things like not sleeping, not eating, wearing the same clothes over and over. They're signs of you slipping into negative behaviour."

"God, Jazz, you make it sound like I'm some kind of drug addict or something. You want me to talk? Fine! We were fighting Spectra, and Valerie fell off her board, and she got skewered like an ecto-weenie at a bonfire. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Jazz goes completely white. "Danny, no! That's not what I meant."

"Well, it's what you're getting. I'm going to school." He strides past her.

"You can't be serious!"

"See you later, Jazz." Danny slams the front door behind him.

—

He doesn't go to school. Lancer gave him a free pass to skip and he's going to milk that for all it's worth. It's not milking it when you actually need it, his thoughts whisper. Shut up, Danny hisses back.

With yesterday's events fresh on his mind, he doesn't want to go for a walk, either. He slinks around the side of the house and crouches beside the bushes, out of sight from the street and the front door. The dirt is dry and the bushes browning even though it's not even summer yet. Danny's parents might be great at inventing things, but they're shit at taking care of their yard. Not that Danny cares. The bushes provide just enough cover for him to see without being seen, and he only plans on sitting here for a couple of minutes, or however long it takes for Jazz to leave for school.

Danny turns his phone over in his hands. It buzzes a couple of times. Probably Jazz trying to shove more of her opinions down his throat. He debates the pros and cons of checking the messages now or later. Either way, he doesn't intend to answer, so it doesn't matter. Relenting, he flips his phone over and checks the notifications.

The message isn't from Jazz, and not Sam or Tucker either. It's from Valerie.

Danny's blood runs cold. It's not possible. She's dead. She's gone. But she's not.

| Val Is this Daniel Fenton? The contact says Space Boy

Danny blinks as he reads the actual message. He nearly laughs. Space Boy? That was his name on Valerie’s phone? He wipes his thumb across the corner of his eyes before opening his phone and typing out a brief yes.

| Val This is Valerie's father. I'd like to talk to you after school if possible

Danny ducks his head, tapping the phone against his chin. He thought about talking to Mr. Gray, but he hadn't been serious. Of all the people he could see right now, Damon Gray is at the bottom of the list. But it doesn't look like Jazz is leaving any time soon, and he doesn't want to sit in the flowerbed forever.

Before he can regret it, he texts Mr. Gray back.

| You I can talk now. I'm omw

—

The bus ride from Fenton Works to the Gray's apartment in Elmerton takes twenty minutes. Danny sits at the back and stares out the window the whole time. The landscape turns grey and dusty as they cross the river into Elmerton, malls and office buildings replaced by warehouses and empty lots.

The Gray's apartment building lies on the edge of the warehouse district. Despite Mr. Gray's job prospects steadily improving over time, they never moved out of the cramped apartment that carried them through their darkest days.

Mr. Gray answers the door before Danny can even knock.

Danny lowers his raised arm. "Um, hi."

Mr. Gray looks as bad as Danny expected. He hasn't shaved in a few days, and his eyes are dry and red. Danny thinks he must have been crying before he arrived

"Hello, Danny." Mr. Gray steps aside to let Danny in.

They move to the dining room, where Mr. Gray sits at the head of the table, and Danny takes the opposite chair.

"Did Marty tell you?" Danny asks, seeking some reassurance in all this madness.

"Who?"

"Never mind."

"You were there for her."

Danny clenches his teeth and nods. He knows what Mr. Gray is about to say and looks away before he does.

"Thank you."

Danny stiffens. This is so wrong. "You shouldn't."

"I'm sorry?"

"You shouldn't thank me."

"You don't understand. I let her put on the suit every day even though I knew it was dangerous. If I ever tried to stop her, I know she would have done it behind my back. But still. I should have stopped her. I let this happen."

"No!" Danny shouts. He jumps to his feet, slamming his hands on the table. "No, you didn't. No one could stop Valerie when she wanted something, and... and it's my fault. Not yours."

Mr. Gray shakes his head, rising from his seat. "Danny, you made sure my daughter wasn't alone at the end. They told me how she died. There was nothing you could have done to save her."

"Mr. Gray, I didn't just find her. I was there. I'm–" Danny squeezes his eyes shut. "I'm Danny Phantom."

Mr. Gray doesn't answer. The only thing Danny can hear is the ticking of the clock. Eventually, Danny opens his eyes. Mr. Gray stands frozen on the other side of the table, gaping at Danny.

"You..." he falters. "You're..."

"I can't... show you. I haven't been able to transform since, well, since. But I am," Danny says.

Mr. Gray drops back into his chair. He looks up at Danny, then down, then up again. "You?" He runs a hand over his head.

"Mr. Gray?" Danny asks.

"Hold on." Mr. Gray cups his hand over his mouth, muttering under his breath, too low for Danny to hear. His wide eyes dart back and forth across the table. It looks like his whole world is falling apart before his eyes.

With nothing else to do, Danny lowers himself back into his seat. He waits, patiently, for Mr. Gray to finish processing, looking about the apartment for some kind of distraction. Nothing much has changed since the last time Danny was here, nearly a year ago. There's a picture of Valerie and her mom hanging on the wall by the clock. Both of them are smiling widely. It should be a happy picture, but all Danny sees are ghosts that will haunt Mr. Gray forever.

"She really liked you. Did you know that?" Mr. Gray asks.

It takes some effort to tear his gaze from the photo, but Danny eventually looks back to Mr. Gray. "Yeah. I really liked her, too. For a while."

"She hated you, too."

Danny nods.

Mr. Gray sighs, sounding as exhausted as Danny feels. "Being Danny Phantom doesn't make any of this your fault. She might have started ghost hunting to get you, but it ended up meaning so much to her. I'm sure that, with or without you, she would have found her way to it somehow."

Danny bites his lip. He knows what he wants to say, but once he does, there's no going back. Over Mr. Gray's shoulder, he notices a dark spot in the living room, one that wasn't there before. Valerie.

"That's not all. Mr. Gray, there's something you need to know about how Valerie died."

—

An hour later, Danny steps out of the apartment. Mr. Gray closes the door behind him without a word. By now, they've said everything they need to. Danny slumps against the wall and inhales sharply through his nose. He holds it for a second, trying to keep himself together even as the shaking starts. He only manages for a few seconds before he breaks. The tears flow freely down his face as he gasps, sinking to his knees in the middle of the hall.

Rocking back and forth, he wails into the floor. He lets out every pent up emotion in his cries; frustration, anger, sadness, guilt. They fill him up, suffocate him, steal his air, then leave in ragged gasps. He cries until his throat hurts and his tears blind him. He cries until he has no more tears left to spill.

—

Danny calls Tucker that night, around midnight. They haven't spoken since Danny ditched school, and Tucker hasn't even sent him any texts or left any messages—although Sam had. It looks like he took Danny's request to leave him alone to heart. Danny refuses to feel guilty for it, but he also needs to talk to someone, and Tucker is always the first person he thinks of during these times.

Jazz was gone to class by the time Danny got back from Mr. Gray's, and he brushed her off when she got home earlier that evening. His parents, to Danny's complete lack of surprise, have gone back to being their usual negligent selves, putting ghost hunting before their mourning child.

Danny is constantly aware of Valerie now, finding her lurking around every corner, hovering at the edge of his vision, taunting him. He doesn't know what to do. So he calls Tucker.

"What would you do if I did something really bad?" Danny asks as soon as Tucker answers the phone.

"Hello, Danny."

"What would you do?"

Tucker sighs. "I thought you wanted me to leave you alone."

"Tucker. I'm being serious, come on."

Tucker remains silent. A day ago, it might not have bothered Danny at all, but now it makes him squirm. He needs to hear Tucker's answer.

"Okay. I'm sorry, happy?"

"No."

"Why not? I apologized."

"Because you're being a dick, Danny! You're not the only one who lost Valerie, okay? I thought you got that, but I guess I was wrong. I'm sorry I couldn't be there, and I'm sorry you had to see that, but I'm hurting too. I have no idea what's going on with you right now, but going through something shitty doesn't give you a free pass to be an asshole." Tucker's voice cracks.

Guilt twists Danny's gut. In seconds, Tucker might start crying, and it will be all his fault. But he needs to know.

"Valerie is haunting me," Danny says.

"What?"

"I've been having nightmares, and ever since she died, there's been this shadow in my room. I thought it was all in my head, but then I ran into the Box Ghost yesterday, and he mentioned something about a shadow? I asked my parents and they saw a ghost form like that once."

The line stays silent. It stretches on so long Danny thinks Tucker might have hung up, until he hears a shaky sigh.

"Are you sure?"

Danny glances at the shadow. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? Is it a ghost?"

"I don't know. I thought I was just seeing things, but then the Box Ghost, and what my mom said. I'm just, I'm stressed, man. Sleeping's hard, and it makes my ghost sense all weird."

"Weird how?"

"Like," Danny kneads his chest, grimacing, "like there's a block of ice in my chest. It's heavy and cold."

"Are you sure you aren't just... sad? And tired? I want to believe you, man, but Valerie as a ghost? And you just said you're not sleeping. Remember that one time you didn't sleep for, like, four days and you started seeing things?" Tucker dips into a whisper. "Are you sure you just don't want her to be gone?"

"Tucker, listen to me. I know I'm not seeing things. I'm looking at it right now! And the Box ghost said–."

"The Box Ghost says he'll rule the world with cardboard. Look, dude. I want to believe you, but you're not okay, man."

Danny scowls. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"So you're not denying it?"

"Are you going to answer my question?"

"Are you going to apologize?"

Danny doesn't answer.

"We just lost Valerie, man. Don't do this to us."

Danny closes his eyes as Tucker starts crying. He doesn't wail like Valerie did in Danny's nightmares, or gasp and sob like Danny so many times over the past couple of days. Tucker cries quietly, his voice wobbly, breaths short. He cries like he doesn't want anyone to see.

"I shouldn't have called."

"Dude, no. Wait. I'm sorry."

"I just made you sad. And it's not helping. I should just– never mind. I'm sorry, Tuck. I'm so sorry."

"No, you didn't do anything. I'm just sad, man. Of course, I am. But god, you. You were actually there. You’re allowed– okay, you're not allowed to be a dick, but I shouldn't be a dick either. If you just talked to us–"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You should."

"It's fine."

"It's not. Dude, it's not okay."

"Can you just fucking drop it? Whatever, it doesn't matter. Sorry I called. I'll just deal with this on my own."

"Danny, I'm sorry. Please don't–"

Danny hangs up and tosses his phone onto the bed. Calling Tucker was a mistake. It accomplished nothing, except making Tucker mad, and cry. Danny squeezes his eyes shut, lowering his head as his throat tightens. He's so tired of crying. It's a miracle he hasn't dehydrated by now. At some point, he has to run out of tears, right? No one can cry forever. Jazz always says crying makes you feel better, once you're done feeling terrible.

He almost felt good after visiting Mr. Gray. But it didn't take long for the dark feelings to return after he left. Now, he just feels worse and worse each time.

Tipping onto his side, he buries his face in his comforter and gasps. It hurts, tears at his throats, makes the cold in his chest swell and fill his lungs. "Valerie. I'm sorry."

The room grows colder.

—

"I saw your dad." It's the first thing Danny says when he finds himself before the spire again. The snow glistens pure and wide. The ice shines untouched by blood. Valerie's so close to him now, like she's on the other side of a window. The ice warps her image, blurring her edges and tinting her blue, but still. She's almost herself.

"I know," she says.

"Were you listening?"

Valerie reaches out, laying her palm on the ice. It cracks beneath her touch. "Yes."

"And?"

"It doesn't change much, does it?"

Danny lowers his gaze. He knows what he feels, what he did, no matter what Damon says. At this point, nothing can quell the guilt that swirls in Danny's blood. It seeps through him, poisoning his every thought.

"No, it doesn't," he says.

Valerie nods, satisfied, and pulls away from the ice. "Good. As long as you know."

—

Jazz knocks at his door, rapping persistently. He wonders if her knuckles ever get sore when she does that because it's been a good thirty seconds since she started. Apparently, she's resorting to the "annoying older sister" method, since the "therapist older sister" tactic didn't work so well.

Does she know about Danny's disaster of a call with Tucker last night? Danny's friends are, tentatively, Jazz's friends, too, at least when it comes to ghostly things and Danny's health. He wouldn't put it past Tucker to message Jazz, let her know what happened.

Danny swallows before calling out, "What?" His voice still comes out hoarse, probably because he hasn't had anything to drink for a good day and a half, which would explain the headache, too. But he's very busy right now having a staring contest with the increasingly tangible figure in the corner of his room. He didn't bother sleeping last night. Between the nightmares and Valerie's ghost, he would take the ghost.

Tucker's words from last night echo through his head. Are you sure you just don't want her to be gone?

Of course, he doesn't watch Valerie to be gone. But having her ghost isn't the same as having her, and the last few days have proven Valerie's ghost is no good to Danny. Still, he watched her all night, hoping for some flicker of familiarity. A flash of her headband, the dark brown of her eyes, the soft clinking of her bracelets. Proof his dreams aren't a lie. He got nothing. He's still not sure if he wants to see something.

"Danny?"

He blinks. The corner is empty now. Danny turns his head, his stiff neck cracking, and finally notices Jazz standing inside his bedroom. He doesn't remember her entering. He stopped paying attention entirely after he answered her. Had she said anything, or did she take his question as a welcome?

Danny licks his cracked lips. "What?" he repeats.

"Tucker called me a couple of minutes ago."

Danny keeps his expression carefully blank, but inside he panics. Tucker told her. He told her everything. She's going to tell him he's seeing things again, or give him those pitying eyes, or try and tell him this is all a psychosomatic reaction to losing a dear friend.

"There's a memorial for Valerie at Casper High today. He thought you might want to go," she says.

Danny's spiralling thoughts stutter and fizzle out. "A memorial?"

"Some of your classmates wanted to pay their respects. They’ve been planning it for the past couple of days." Jazz sits down on the edge of Danny's bed. Her fingers grip the hem of her sweater, holding back from reaching out. "Do you want to go?"

Danny keeps his gaze down but thinks about the now vacant corner of his bedroom. Staring at Valerie's maybe-ghost all day can't be good for him, as much as he hates to admit it. He groans and rubs his eyes. Agreeing with Jazz is never a good sign.

"Yeah." He drags his hand down his face, letting his arm drop into his lap. Going to school won't be fun, but he will regret it if he doesn't. "I'll go."

Jazz beams. "Put on something clean and I'll drive you."

"This is clean. Relatively."

"Put on something you didn't wear yesterday. You're not getting in my car until you do."

Danny sticks his tongue out at Jazz as she leaves. He's tempted to ignore her command and roll out of bed in what he's wearing, but knowing Jazz, she meant what she said, and she will leave him at home if he doesn't change into something fresh. And Danny doesn't feel like walking to school. Before, he would have flown to school, but he doesn't even entertain the idea now.

With a weary sigh, Danny crawls out of bed and heads for his dresser.

—

The Red Huntress stares down at the auditorium from the projector screen. It's a nice shot, taken during one of her patrols. She stands straight on her board, one hand shading her eyes, the other loosely holding her blaster. Sunlight glints off her visor, masking most of her face, except the part shaded by her hand. With the visor's tint, it's near impossible to tell those are Valerie's eyes unless you know. And Danny has always known.

Even though it's just a picture, Danny can't meet her gaze for long, turning his head and staring down instead. He steps away from the auditorium doors, letting others through. A few whispers float over his head, Valerie's name paired with his, mumbles about his presence at her death, his absence at school. Maybe he should have stayed home after all.

Danny waits until the stream of students thins before raising his head and peeking into the room. About half the seats are full, most of them toward the back. Waiting might have been a mistake. Now, he can't slip unnoticed into the back row as he planned. Danny bites his lip, wondering if he could stand at the back, or if he should leave. He shuffles his feet, turning down the hall toward the entrance.

A few stranglers are still making their way toward the auditorium, some students and a handful of teachers. Lancer walks with them, nudging some freshmen along.

"We didn't know her," one of them mutters.

"I mean, she was the Red Huntress," the other says. "She was kind of badass."

"She was a student who risked her life and died tragically. Be respectful," Lancer chides. The freshmen, cowed, scurry ahead and disappear through the doorway. Lancer, pinching the bridge of his nose, shakes his head and sighs. Danny can't remember ever seeing him so weary. Lancer drops his hands and finally spots Danny.

"Mr. Fenton, you came." His smile is weak but welcoming. "How are you?"

"Not much better."

Lancer nods. "Not surprising. Am I right to assume you won't be attending class after the memorial? It only covers part of the first period."

"Actually... I think I might go." On the way over, Danny told Jazz he could walk home after, and he didn't bring his backpack with him. Until this moment, he had no intentions of sticking around longer than necessary. Ironically, at least Danny sees it that way, it's Lancer's lack of judgement that convinces him to try and stick it out for the rest of the day.

"You know, Mr. Fenton. I'm proud of you." Lancer smiles again. "Remember, you don't have to stay if it gets too much but good on you for trying."

Danny smiles back, although with far less confidence. He waits for Lancer to go on ahead before slipping into the auditorium himself. From the top of the stairs, he has a good view of the entire room. The entire student body doesn't quite fill up the seats, leaving gaps here and there between grades and friends groups. He was right that all the seats at the back are taken, for the most part. A few empty spots peek out at him, but they're all much too close to other people.

Hugging himself, he readies for the long march down the steps to the front of the room, the only place with ample seating far from anyone else. He gives the back rows one last, hopeful glance. Nearly everyone is settled, friends hunched together, trading whispers or staring at their phones, although one figure off to the left is standing. And waving their arms.

"Danny!"

And calling his name?

The dim lighting makes it hard to see, forcing Danny to squint and shuffle closer, until he finally recognizes Sam. Tucker sits to her left, a single space between them, and their backpacks occupy the seats on either side of them, creating a thin barrier between them and the next students.

Tension bleeds out of Danny's shoulders. Without a second thought, he squeezes his way down the row, using his intangibility more than once to slip through long legs and jutting knees. A few people grumble their annoyance, but otherwise, no one calls him on it.

"Jazz texted and said you were coming," Sam says when Danny's close enough.

"I didn't want to miss it." Danny slips by Sam, claiming the middle seat. "Tucker?"

Tucker only spares him a glance before looking forward again.

"Thanks for letting me know. And... sorry. About yesterday."

For one stubborn moment, Tucker says nothing, and Danny thinks it's too late, he ruined their friendship. But then Tucker beams and grabs Danny, yanking him close.

"Dude, I'm so sorry. I was a dick, too. I'm glad you came."

Danny returns the hug, wrapping his arms around Tucker's shoulders and squeezing tight. It feels good, warm. Even if it doesn't erase anything from the past few days, it's still nice to hug his best friend.

"Oh, what the hell," Sam says. She flops onto Danny's back, draping her arms around him and Tucker. "Thanks for not shutting us out, Danny."

Just like that, the good feeling vanishes. The way Sam talks, it sounds like she thinks he's going to talk now, about everything. Everyone says he should, but after his parents, he's not so sure it will go well.

"Uh, yeah. Glad to be back," Danny says. It's only a partial lie.

They separate soon enough, settling into their seats just in time for Principal Ishiyama to walk on stage. As Ishiyama approaches the podium, the auditorium falls silent. Not that there had been much noise in the first place. A few muttering voices. Whispers here and there. It seems the whole school agrees now isn't a time for idle chatter.

"Students." Ishiyama's voice echoes from the speakers. "As I'm sure you know, we've experienced a great tragedy this last week. Valerie Gray, one of your classmates, maybe even your friend, died in a ghost attack. Despite dealing with ghosts for years, we've never lost someone to them before, and her passing came as a great shock.

"None of us knew, but Ms. Gray was a hero. Only now, after her death, have we learned about how much she did for us. She put her life on the line every day to keep the city safe, fighting valiantly for us. Today, we would like to honour that with a moment of silence, and a few words from her friends."

Ishiyama bows her head, signalling the start of the silence. Around the room, a decent number of students follow her lead, but even more sink down into their seats, as if they're settling in for a nap. Danny's glare hardens when he sees this, thinking of the freshmen from before. How many people in this room actually knew Valerie? How many are mourning the Red Huntress rather than the girl behind the helmet?

He thought coming to the memorial might make him feel, well, not better, but less bad. A little closer to okay. Instead, looking out over the gathered students, his stomach twists. This is a free pass out of class for most of them. They don't care, don't know, and they don't want to. Danny seethes, grinding his teeth as hot anger builds inside him.

Ishiyama breaks the silence before he can boil over. "Thank you. Before the first student comes up here, I'd like to remind everyone that a grief counsellor will be on the premises during school hours for the next week. If you need someone to talk to, he will be here. Your teachers will be here. Valerie was a bright girl and a friend to us all. Her death is a tragedy, and it has affected many of you in different ways. Don't be afraid to seek help when you need it."

Sam nudges Danny at Ishiyama's last word, shooting him a small smile. He can't return it.

Below, Star makes her way on stage, replacing Ishiyama at the podium. Danny immediately tunes her out when she starts speaking. The longer he's here, the more he realizes this is a waste of time and he shouldn't have come at all. He grips his armrests, squeezing the hard plastic as a distraction. It doesn't help as well as he hoped. He takes to scanning the room, dragging his gaze up and down the aisles, catching every sign of disrespect. A kid on his phone. Friends with their heads pressed together, talking softly. A dark silhouette standing halfway up the stairs.

The armrests crack in Danny's grip.

"Whoa, Danny. Are you okay?" Sam asks.

Danny barely hears her, all his attention on the ghost. Valerie's ghost. It looks more like a shadow than ever, with well-defined edges a strong, humanoid figure. He can almost see Valerie in it. But it still doesn't set off his ghost sense, not properly. A pinprick of cold pierces the heat in his chest, spreading quickly. Goosebumps raise along his arms and his breath carries the faintest trace of fog.

"Hey, uh, Danny? Can you maybe stop making it cold?" Sam whispers.

"It's not me," he says.

"Dude, I don't see anyone else with ice powers here," Tucker says.

Danny risks looking away, shooting Tucker an incredulous look, and points toward the aisle. "You don't see it?"

Tucker leans forward, following Danny's finger. "No, man. See what?"

Danny looks back and nearly jumps out of the seat. She's closer, further up the staircase, standing at the end of their aisle. The numbing cold has spread through his entire body by now. He can barely feel his fingers. His teeth chatter.

The shadow leaps forward.

Danny shoots to his feet, crying out in surprise. Heads whip toward him, but he barely registers them. The shadow leaps again. Danny bolts. He books it down the row, kicking a few knees, nearly tripping several times. Indignant shouts and raised voices follow him as he bursts out of the auditorium. He doesn't check over his shoulder, just keeps running. The cold seeps through his bones, sinks into his core. He feels himself sinking deeper and deeper into an icy abyss.

Moving on instinct, he dashes through the halls until he reaches the locker room. He dives into a shower stall, nearly ripping the tap out of the wall as he turns the water on to the hottest setting. It spews from the showerhead piping-hot, turning his skin red the moment it hits. It burns but the cold still won't go away. Danny tips his head up, opens his mouth, and swallows the water. It scalds his tongue and throat, burning all the way down, but the cold overwhelms it much too quickly.

He doesn't want to step out, not when the water hasn't done its job yet, but his skin is bright red and tender, minutes away from blistering. He forces himself out of the shower without turning it off, stumbling through the door and practically throwing himself against the nearest sink. Hunched over the basin, he swallows down the bile rising in his throat. Somehow, he manages not to throw up, a small victory for a hellish day. Once he's sure he won't be puking any time soon, even though his stomach still feels queasy, he splashes water against his face and looks up.

Blue lips. Pale skin. Face bloody and full of despair. In the mirror, Valerie looms over his shoulder.

Danny whips around, shoes slipping on the wet tiles as he tries to back away. The edge of the sink digs into his back. There's nowhere for him to go, Valerie's pale shade looming inches from him. An arm, or a trail of black mist that resembles one, reaches out toward him. It touches his chest.

Nothing happens.

"You're not whole yet," Danny realizes. It's only been five days since Valerie died.

The shadow ripples. Twisted tendrils burst forth, shooting toward him. They strike his chest and disappear in puffs of smoke, able to touch him but too weak to hurt him. Valerie shrieks. Her voice scrapes against Danny's ears, filling his head and bouncing around his brain, but it doesn't hurt. The lights flicker. The mirrors shatter. The tiles under their feet crack and still, Danny remains untouched. His disappointment overwhelms his relief, crashing through him in waves.

He pushes off the sink and reaches out, stopping inches away from her. "You can't touch me. Yet."

Valerie ripples again. Her form flickers, then she's gone.

Danny runs all the way home.

—

The ice is already broken by the time Danny's dream starts. He called them nightmares at first, but now, they're more like warnings. Promises, even.

Valerie crawls closer. Danny is not afraid.

"Danny," she says, her voice soft and calm, carrying no echoes of pain. She stops in front of him and lifts a cold finger to his chin, pushing his head up.

"Yes?" Danny matches her tone, just as soft, just as smooth. He can't help it. Something about the way she looks at him, the way she speaks. It makes him think everything will be okay.

"I know why I stayed." There's no trace of forgiveness in her gaze, but for some reason, he finds it more comforting than unsettling. As if she understands what he's thinking. She's the only one who knows what he deserves.

"Why?" Danny asks, but he already knows the answer.

"Wait for me," she says.

"I will," he answers.

—

Danny does not go back to school. He locks himself in his room, turns off his phone, and refuses to let anyone in. He made a promise and he's going to keep it. It's the one thing he can do for Valerie, after all. Give her what she wants.

One sleepless night later, on the seventh day after Valerie dies, her ghost manifests in Danny's room.

—

Danny swallows a cry of pain as Bertrand smacks him into the pavement. His great bear claws leave deep gouges across Danny's chest, the wounds leaking ectoplasm. He grits his teeth but doesn't worry. With his abilities, they will be healed by the end of the fight. Which he hopes comes soon. He's missing fourth period with Lancer right now, which isn't a big deal, but he has a math test next class, and he cannot afford another zero.

"Having a little trouble, ghost boy?"

A relieved grin stretches across Danny's face at the sight of Valerie flying overhead. "I don't know, I think I've got it handled." Planting his hands on asphalt, he flips himself up and out of the way of Bertrand's next swipe.

"Doesn't look like that from up here," Valerie says.

"Well, you could always come down and help me then. Prove how much stronger you are." Danny wastes a moment to wink and nearly gets taken out for it. Bertrand roars and pounces toward him. Danny barely leaps out of the way in time.

"Geez, I know you're unbearable, but this is ridiculous."

"Not quite." Spectra's melodic voice easily carries down the street. "I think pathetic is more accurate for your display, Phantom."

Danny scowls. "Shut up, I don't care what you think!"

Valerie swoops down while Spectra's distracted, her blaster spitting bullets faster than Danny can think. Spectra's eyes widen and she drops through the pavement, intangible, to avoid the fire. Danny doesn't have time to watch for her return, trusting Valerie to keep an eye out while he tackles Bertrand again.

The stuffy butler has shifted from a bear into a snake. Venom drips from his fangs and sizzles on the pavement.

"That's not fair," Danny whines.

"Ssssso what?" Bertrand hisses. He coils then jumps.

"Whoa!" Danny grabs his head and yanks it out of Bertrand's path, his neck turning to pale vapour.

"Phantom!" Valerie shouts. "Get your head back on and fight seriously!"

"You don't think I look good like this?" Danny pouts, tossing his head from one hand to the other. Everything blurs and he stumbles. "Okay, wow. Don't do that again." He shoves his head back on, struggling to steady himself as the street spins around him.

"Phantom!" Valerie shrieks in annoyance.

"Yeah, yeah!" Danny twists away from Bertrand's sneak attack, grabbing the ghost’s fang as he shoots by. Yanking hard, Danny swings Bertrand around and slams his head into the ground. "Good snake, nice snake!"

Bertrand writhes, bucking wildly under Danny's grip. He struggles to keep a firm holds on him, but then Bertrand opens his mouth wide and snaps down. Yelping, Danny lurches away, yanking his hand back just in time. He flies up to Valerie and takes to scanning the street with her.

"No sign of Spectra?"

"I can take care of her myself," Valerie snaps.

"Sure, but a little help never hurt, right?"

Through her visor, Valerie's eyes narrowed. "Fine."

"Oh, now this is interesting."

Both ghost hunters stiffen. Danny turns, pressing his back against Valerie's, and searches for Spectra. He can't see her. Neither can Valerie, judging by the soft curses under her breath.

"You don't care what I think, but you care what she thinks, don't you?" Spectra asks.

Danny bristles. "So what?"

"Does she think you're strong? Or weak? Do you want to protect her?"

"I don't need anyone to protect me!" Valerie shouts. Under her breath, she says to Danny, "We can't stay together. We won't find her this way, and we still have her crony. You take the ground, I'll take the sky."

"Shouldn't the ghost take the sky?" Danny whispers back.

"Just do it!"

He rolls his eyes, but complies anyway, dropping back to the street.

"Back for more ssso sssoon?" Bertrand asks.

"I didn't get enough of your pretty face the first time," Danny says. "Those fangs are a real good look on you."

"Ssstop ssstalling."

"Stop being so ugly."

"Real original."

"Bertrand!" Spectra snaps. She sounds closer now, too close for Danny's liking. "Get the girl. I'll deal with our little meal."

"Um, ew?"

A bright green disk flies at Danny out of nowhere. He barely sees it before it hits, exploding against his chest and blasting him back. Danny groans when he hits the ground, carefully patting his chest for injuries. The gouges from Bertrand were nearly healed, but now they're seeping ectoplasm once again.

Above him, Bertrand has changed into a giant wasp. He zips about Valerie, trying to catch her with his stinger. She's too fast for him, but, likewise, he's too fast for her. None of their hits are landing, and they're playing an endless game of chase.

Spectra rises from the ground beside him, her hands glowing. "You might want to focus on me."

Danny scrambles back, disks of ectoplasm exploding behind him. Ectoplasm lights his fists, and he swings, aiming for Spectra's face. She ducks away cackling.

"Do you ever give up?" he shouts.

"Why would I when you make it so easy?" Spectra laughs behind her hand. "I can only think of a few things worse than an abomination like yourself."

Danny falters. Don't let her get to you, he tells himself. "Oh yeah, like what?"

"The only thing worse than an abomination is a weak one. And that's what she thinks you are, weak."

"That's a lie!"

"Really? Then why did she send you down here to take care of my little assistant, while she kept watch above, searching for me?"

Danny can't help it. He slips, falls for it, lets the ectoplasm coating his hands fizzle out as he glances up at Valerie. She's still caught in her game of cat and mouse with Bertrand, but in the midst of her fight, she keeps glancing down, at Danny and Spectra. Watching out for him? Or watching to see if he can do it? If he needs help?

"N-no, you're lying." He knows Spectra lies. She never tells the truth, always twists other people's words and actions for her own gain, but...

"Look at you!" Spectra's not even poised to fight now, standing completely relaxed with a hand on her hip. "Pathetic! You couldn't take us on your own. She had to come help you, and you still can't beat me."

"Liar!" Danny whips and ectoblast at her. It shoots through the air, a blazing green star. Spectra's quick to counter, breaking his attack with a blast of her own. They explode when they meet, a cascade of light and ectoplasm.

"See? Weak. You can't do anything with powers like this?"

"Then what about this?" Danny thrusts his arm out. Ice races across the ground, encasing Spectra's feet. It creeps up her legs until nearly her entire body is coated in it, but all she does is laugh and clap.

"Oh, that's a fun trick. But it doesn't do much, does it?" A swipe of her hand and the ice melts and cracks. She shoots into the air, her aura glowing brighter as she gathers her power. "You're only proving me right, dear. You should just give up."

"Shut up." The temperature around Danny plummets, frost creeping across the pavement. His breath fogs the air.

Spectra goes on. "You can't expect to protect anyone like this. A freak, a loser, and a joke of a hero! You've hit all three!"

Behind Spectra, far above their heads, Bertrand splits into a swarm of wasps and rushes Valerie. He knocks her off her board, and she plummets with a scream.

Danny sees. He sees but he doesn't think. Spectra's taunting words pound in his ears, fill up his head, shove all other thoughts aside and blind him.

"I said. Shut! Up!" He bellows and stomps his feet. A wave of power bursts off him, razor-sharp icicles spewing from the ground, taller than Danny. Spectra easily dodges, flying up out of harm's way as she cackles with glee.

Too late, Danny realizes his mistake.

"Valerie!" he screams, echoing her cry, as he lunges toward her, but it's too late.

An icicle rips through her with a sickening squelch. Her blood sprays across Danny's face, seeping into his eyes and mouth. It's all he can see and taste. Her body hits the ground with a thud, nearly torn in two. Her heart beats against the open air. One of her lungs lays on the ground beside her, shredded to pieces.

Danny drops to his knees. He can't breathe. He can't think. Valerie, Valerie, VALERIE! A scream of agony tears from his throat as his world shatters around him.

—

Valerie doesn't look all that different in death. She wears her Huntress suit, although ferns of frost curl along her abdomen, spewing from a gape black void in her side. Pale blue overtakes the red. Her hair glows orange. Not bad, as far as ghost forms go.

"I always knew you were bad." Her voice carries an echo that swells and fills the room. "I knew you were evil. All ghosts are. And you made me one of them. Danny," Valerie's stoic expression splinters, "how could you?"

"I'm sorry," Danny says, because there's nothing else he can say, nothing that will make up for this. He reaches out to her, but she recoils, lips curling in disgust.

"I never wanted to turn into this. It hurts." Her voice breaks. A wet sob chokes her words. Like she's still drowning in her own blood, forever.

"I know. God, I know. It never stops. It's like your broken inside." Danny grabs his hair and tugs. "There's a void and nothing ever fills it. I didn't mean it, Valerie, I didn't! But I killed you, and I– I'm sorry! If I could take it back, if I could trade places with you, I would. You know I would."

"I know."

"If I could do anything to make better..." Danny lowers his head, shame and regret pressing him down.

Valerie reaches for him. Just like in his dream, she grabs his chin and slowly lifts his head, forcing him to look at her. "Danny."

He knows. He knows. He knows what she's going to say, what she's going to do. He's known all along, since that first nightmare. Maybe he's been ignoring it, or hoping for it. Either way, he won't stop her. He deserves it.

She lays her other hand on his chest, ice gathering in her palm. "Die for me."

—

When Mr. Gray finishes crying, he wipes his eyes and slumps into his chair. "So." The words cracks as it comes out. He pauses to swallow a few times, shuddering visibly. "So. That's how it happened."

Danny keeps his eyes downcast. He knows what's coming next. The screaming, the yelling, the accusations. He will take all of it, already agrees with Mr. Gray even though the man hasn't said a word. It's just a matter of seconds, now.

"You–" MR. Gray starts.

Say it. Say I killed her. Call me a murderer.

"It wasn't your fault."

Danny nearly chokes on his surprise. "What?"

"It was. An accident. You were manipulated, tricked. It wasn't your fault, Danny. I don't want you to think it was."

Danny's mind reels. This can't be happening. Surely, he's hearing Mr. Gray wrong, making up a fantasy in his head, but no. Valerie's father doesn't hate him. The one person who has any right to, other than Valerie. And he... forgives Danny.

"And if I know my daughter, she wouldn't blame you either."

As Danny gets up to leave, only one thought runs through his head. Then you didn't know her very well.

—

It doesn't hurt as much as he thought it would. The impact feels like a punch, a burst of searing pain, then he's gone.

And then he's not. He's in his room, floating on one side of his bed. Valerie stands across from them. Between him, his body sits, held upright by the spear of ice jutting through his chest. Valerie apparently had some shred of mercy left in her. The spear went right through Danny's heart.

The wound is still fresh, still bleeding, dripping down his body's chest. Seconds or days to manifest, Danny's mom said. Isn't he a lucky one?

Valerie eyes him over his dead body, and he follows her stare. In the middle of his chest, swirling frost creeps out of a black void. They match. How poetic.

"You're not gone," Danny says, lifting his gaze back to Valerie.

"No. And you stayed."

"Yeah."

She doesn't move away, and neither does he. They can't, not without the other following. They have haunted each other for so long, Danny stalking her in life, Valerie hunting him in death. Now, it seems, they're stuck together at a stalemate, neither one willing to move first. They're dead now, though, so that doesn't matter. They have all the time in the world.

#danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #phanfi #phicc #tumblroneshots #valerie gray #tw gore #tw blood #tw panick attacks #tw murder #angst #tragedy #there is no comfort here #you've been warned #christmas truce #christmas truce 2020

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wvttvk · 4 years

Text

are u up? — Jeff Wittek

a/n: just a random horny thing I wrote last night, idk lol. smut&language warning. lmk what ya think. 2.1k words. (( are u up? pt2 ))

Fuck.

Your eyes shot open, meeting only the darkness of the bedroom. You were definitely awake now. You sat up in the love sac, rubbing your eyes as they adjusted to the darkness of the room. You immediately noticed the layer of sweat coating your body. You felt uncomfortably flustered, a feeling you were familiar with. As you fought to get out of the blanket you had become entangled in, you climbed out from the giant bean bag you’d fallen asleep in.

Through a crack in the curtains you could just barely see the moonlight casting the fainted sliver of light into the bedroom. It was Natalie’s room, you remembered; memories of a long night flooding your brain. It had turned from a day of shooting for the vlog to a night of drinking at David’s house. The group was exhausted and therefore were drinking like monsters, a drunken mosh pit of hormonal friends grinding on each other. It was probably one of your favorite nights.

Through the darkness you saw Natalie and Corinna in the bed, their bodies forming a V, their legs intertwined to a point. You smiled from the cuteness but also in relief that you hadn’t gotten extremely horny in bed while next to your friends. You stood from the floor, and grabbed a pair of socks from the drawer next to you. You needed to get out of the room, you needed water and maybe some fresh air. You needed a release.

Adorned in a big t-shirt and cheeky underwear, you slid out the room, your phone in hand. Once out of the room you crept into the kitchen, seeing that none of the group were sleeping out on the main couch. You thought to yourself that Jeff, Zane, and Todd were most likely sleeping in the studio or in Dave’s room, so you continued to the kitchen. After making it to the sink with only one injury; a horribly painful stubbed toe, that you reacted to in what you had deemed an impressive manner—only whisper-yelling “fuck” at a moderate volume. As far as you were concerned you were successful in your escape to the kitchen undetected by your sleeping friends.

You leaned against the counter, turning on the cold water. The coolness of the water against your burning skin felt so nice, your hands rubbing against your forehead, cheeks and neck. What had you been dreaming? Even now, you shifted your thighs against each other in hopes to ease the pressure. Your screen lit up next to you.

A message from Jeff. You hated to admit it but damn at the sight of his name you felt the heat in your cheeks begin to bloom. He was sexy, everyone knew it. However, he knew as well as you did, that as a member of the friend group, sex among the friends has shown to be a true road to disaster. So when Todd had drunkenly exposed Jeff for admitting you were hot, you made a decision: you sure as hell didn’t want any drama. Therefore, he was a forbidden fruit. Something that you can look at all you want, but can’t touch. So you tried to steer clear of Jeff. Always keeping him at arm's length, friendly but not too personal. And that worked fine for you.

Opening the text, you felt your heart begin to race again.

are u up?

It was such a simple text but god were you excited to see his name on your phone at 4:34 in the morning. You responded a quick yes before you could talk yourself back to Natalie's room.

You leaned against the counter, your hands scooping your hair to pull into a ponytail. You could feel the hair at the base of your back that had been matted with sweat. The cold of the counter felt good on your lower back through the thin shirt and you let your head fall on your shoulders, the tiredness letting your eyelids flutter closed in resting.

“Hey.”

His voice sliced through the silence around us and my eyes shot open at the shock.

“Holy—What the fuck, Jeff.” You whisper-shouted across the kitchen island, you hand raising to rest on your heart. “You scared me. I didn’t even hear you...” you trailed off, watching as he casually walked through the kitchen grabbing two water bottles and continuing to stand adjacent to you. His arm reached across the empty space, a water in hand. You reached out to grab it, mumbling a thank you. From such a slight interaction you felt your body react to his proximity.

You hated how attracted you were to him, how his slightest move sparked such a chemical reaction from you. Your eyes were glued to his. The warm brown of his eyes looked so beautiful in the light of the moon. His lips were moving but you didn’t hear what they said, you were too locked in on how his eyes raced across your face, occasionally dropping to glance at your body so quickly, you had almost missed it completely.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm” you snapped back to reality, “what did you say?” He took a step closer and your heartbeat dropped to between your thighs. Your legs just slightly shifted tighter and as much as you hoped he hadn’t, Jeff noticed. His eyes dropped lower, rising again to land on your eyes. A smirk was just ghosting his lips and you knew he knew. You just hoped he wouldn’t talk about it.

“I asked, why are you up?” The words had tumbled so gracefully from his lips, the syllables dragging as he shifted in your space. He moved just slightly closer to where you were leaning. There was no way to create distance without noticeably running away from him.

“Oh, I couldn’t sleep, I needed to get some water. And you?” You countered trying to make innocent conversation but Jeff was feeling playful.

“You didn’t get water till I got here.” His face no longer trying to hide the smirk spreading across his lips.

“I was just—whatever,” you rolled your eyes, your cheeks were warm and you knew he was teasing you now. “Why are you up Jeff?” You asked, your arms crossing in front of you.

“Same as you…” he began. When his eyes dropped from yours again, you realized your clothes—or lack of clothes you were wearing. You released your arms trying to remain nonchalant as Jeff visibly checked you out. You cleared your throat again. Your mouth was dry and you know that you were wet, you needed to get out of this damn kitchen.

With the silence and the intensity of Jeff’s stare, you needed a quick escape. So you straightened yourself to Jeff, “Alright well I’m going back to bed...”

You had just barely taken a step into your escape when Jeff’s hand reached out to touch your side. The heat of his palm was against your stomach and his long fingers just skimmed the curb of your waist, he just slightly moved you back to your prior position leaning against the counter, only now his hand was against the thin fabric of your shirt.

He stepped closer, he was completely in your space, his right hand against the left side of your abdomen, trapping you against the counter. He felt so much taller now, his shoulders turning down for him to move his face next to yours.

Your breathing was noticeably uneven as his nose brushed against your jaw, his hot breath rushing along your neck and collar bones. You took in a sharp inhale as you felt the tips of his fingers toy with the bottom of your t-shirt, his fingers skimming across the skin above your underwear.

“I thought you couldn’t sleep.” His lips were at the shell of your ears as he questioned you, his index finger tracing back and forth against the lining of your underwear. It was so hard for you to fight a moan as well as fight the urge to move your hand between your thighs. You couldn’t speak, really. This all was becoming so much, you were horny and you couldn’t sleep, this is not what you had in mind as a way to calm down.

Before you could muster an answer he moved his hand to cup you through your panties. He finally was able to conjure a vocal gasp from you, your hand rising to hold on to his bicep. His face pulled back to look at you, his eyes now dark and filled with something new. “Hmm?” He asked again, the playfulness in his tone clear as he knew you were quite literally putty in his hands.

“I-“ you didn’t even know what to say. He had begun using his middle finger to apply pressure to your center through the thin fabric of your underwear, his teasing was too much. He felt how wet you were, he knew he won, but he needed to hear you say it. You let out what sounded like frustrated whine as you caved. “Please, Jeff.”

He didn’t tease you much longer, with a victorious smile his lips pressed hungrily against yours. His tongue pushed its way into your mouth, brushing against yours in the most delicious way. But you needed more, and you caught his lip between your teeth. Just enough for him to hiss in shock, his eyes reigniting with a fire that matched yours.

His hand that had been cupping you rose to your face, his thumb brushing your lips before pushing into your mouth. Your lips closed around his thumb and your tongue grazed it as he retracted it from your mouth, a raspy and quiet moan sneaking out from Jeff’s mouth.

His smile was dark and confident as he let his hand fall to its previous spot, this time skillfully slipping into the fabric and feeling you for the first time. You let out a moan as his fingers traced against your slit, his thumb finding its way to your clit.

Your moans were muffled into his free hand as he thrusted his digits in and out of you. It was an alteration of lazily connecting your lips and Jeff kissing against your neck, his voice coming out in pants against your skin, sending shockwaves running through you. As his beard pricked your neck in the most beautiful way, and you dug your fingers into his arm, you were euphoric.

“S’good, Y/N.” He spoke against the skin of your collarbones. “C’mon, babe.” You knew you were close, your body was needing a release. With Jeff’s free hand sneaking under your shirt to your hardened nipples, you couldn’t hold out any longer. You came undone with his fingers still inside of you. He was holding most of your weight against the counter and your lips found his. He swallowed your moans and his thumb continued circling your clit as you rode the high.

Your forehead rested on his chest. It was rising and falling beneath you; you could feel his fingers still in you. You leaned off of him as his hand snakes out of your underwear. Looking at his face now, you were bright red. His eyes stayed locked on yours as he lifted his fingers to his mouth, sucking on them. You were shocked at how forward he was and it made the pressure begin to rebuild in the pit of your stomach.

His eyes closed if only for a moment, and you heard him hum from behind his closed mouth. He pulled his fingers from his mouth, his dark eyes burning into yours again. You didn’t know what to say. You were beyond flustered. Before you could do anything, Jeff looped his hand to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a final kiss. Jeff took control of the kiss, making sure that you could taste yourself on his tongue.

He pulled away and you noticed his erection. You stepped forward, your lips pulling into a smirk, ready and almost excited to return the favor but Jeff stopped you. His hand wrapping around your wrist before you could feel his toned chest. Before your insecurities could question why, he spoke, letting his hand rest along your jaw, his thumb brushing against your swollen lips.

“Next time. Now you owe me one.” He said it with a smirk, walking around you. His hand quickly smacked your butt as he passed you, and you let out an airy gasp. Your whole body felt electric. His head turned back to you and he was already smiling, “Goodnight, Y/N.” He rounded the corner with a wink, and he was gone.

“Fuck.”

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kulaykape · 4 years

Text

Ina Kingsley x MC: Receiving Gifts

This is the longest one yet 😳 but I've been wanting to put it out for a while so here it is 😁

Tags: @nydeiri @thepotatobleh

•••

"What, you think I forgot?"

Rarely was Ina Kingsley appreciative of her status as 'Professor Dreamy'. This was one of those times.

Thank god that these Belvoire brats were rich kids. That meant, at this time of year, all the starry-eyed students harboring crushes on her would pull out all the stops for the perfect Christmas gift.

Ina was currently munching on a To'ak chocolate bar. Which, she didn't know what the hell was until Chloe St. James told her it was the most expensive chocolate in the world as she presented it to her. Definitely not worth two hundred dollars in Ina's opinion, but she wasn't about to complain. The benefits of being deemed the hottest professor on campus were far and few between, so Ina was going to take all the dubs thrown her way.

One of those dubs being the Golden Ticket candy bar sitting in a gift bag under her desk. Was it really that well-known that Ina had a weakness for sweets?

A knock on Ina's door made her start, and she scrambled to stow away the overpriced chocolate. "Uh, c-come in!" She called, checking her watch. Only one person ever came into her office at this hour.

"H-hey, Professor K-Kingsley," Aliyah greeted her as she stepped into the office. The first thing Ina noticed was how she was shivering so hard that she might as well have been trying to escape her own skin.

"Aliyah!" Ina stood up and quickly made her way over, "Christ, you know it's in the negatives outside, right?" She cupped the side of Aliyah's neck before she even knew what she was doing, and winced at the biting cold she was met with.

"I d-do now," Aliyah said, tone drier than her lips. She didn't even have the energy to react to Ina's warm skin against her neck, partly because she could barely feel anything. She started to shed her coat, but Ina stopped her.

"Leave that on for now, else you'll be the next boy in the iceberg," she said.

Aliyah's jaw dropped. "Ina K-Kingsley, was that an Avatar reference I just heard?!" She practically screeched as Ina led her to the fireplace by the armchairs. Damn, were all the professor offices pimped out like this? This woman wasn't even tenured.

Ina gave her a small smile. "My geekier side tends to come out when I'm in a good mood," she replied.

Aliyah smiled right back as she plopped down in an armchair, and started to brush snow off her nose. "Uh oh, Christmas fever?" She suggested.

"You could say that," Ina gestured behind her to her desk. Aliyah could see gifts overflowing from beneath Ina's desk, where she'd probably hidden them for the sake of good sportsmanship with the other professors.

The younger woman's smile faltered a bit as she glanced down at her backpack. "Shit," she muttered under her breath. She'd forgotten that she'd be faced with so much competition around Belvoire.

"Aliyah?" Ina asked softly. Aliyah's head snapped up.

"Yeah, sorry," she said as she started reaching into her backpack, and then pulled out two thermoses. She'd start small. But apparently not too small, as a grin practically burst onto Ina's face when she realized what she was holding out. "Merry Christmas?" Aliyah asked, smile sheepish.

"You're the most wonderful person I've ever met," Ina said as she took a mug gingerly from Aliyah. And her tone was joking, but Aliyah still felt her face grow hot (which was honestly a welcomed feeling, seeing as she was a literal ice cube at the moment). This was supposed to be the part where Ina went 'what I meant was…' but it never came.

"Oh god," Ina groaned as she took a sip, "Now I know what heaven tastes like."

Aliyah couldn't help but laugh. It was almost ridiculous how good of a mood this woman was in. "What, the thousand dollar chocolates and pearl necklaces don't do it for you?" She asked. Please say no, she thought.

"It was two hundred dollar chocolate, mind you," Ina pointed out with a smirk. Aliyah jerked back in that sarcastic 'my bad' gesture. "And not to say that I'm ungrateful for them, they just… don't possess the same level of sincerity."

"'Cause they bought it with daddy's money?" Aliyah asked.

Ina nodded, and Aliyah relaxed. "Because they bought it with daddy's money," she confirmed, and the two women shared a laugh as they drank Aliyah's (patented) red velvet hot chocolate. "I'm surprised you haven't left for the holidays yet. Almost nobody is in school these last couple of days," Ina quipped.

"Well, there's not exactly anyone for Leon and me to visit," Aliyah replied offhandedly, not realizing how morbid that sounded to Ina, who frowned. "What about you, Professor 'Anthropology is the love of my life'? You gonna leave this office any time soon?" She asked.

Ina blushed profusely. "Am I really that bad?"

"You're horrible, honestly," Aliyah said, even though her grin translated into 'you're wonderful, and I have the fattest crush on you'.

"I myself am not traveling, but my sister and my niece are coming up from Boston for the break," she said with a wistful smile. Charlotte was going to go insane when she saw her Christmas present.

Wait a minute… present.

Shit!

Ina started in her seat, lurching towards her desk. Then she paused. Aliyah shot her the most confused look Ina had ever seen. "Now would really not be a good time to have a seizure Ina, I'm tired," she said. Ina refused the urge to roll her eyes as she looked at her desk.

Had she brought Aliyah's present? Yes, of course, she'd been keeping it in her desk so she wouldn't forget.

…Should she give it to her right now and send her on her merry way home? (pun intended)

Selfless Ina said yes, she had a little brother and some good friends to spend time with. Selfish Ina said no, keep her here as long as you can. Neutral Ina decided to listen to Selfish Ina for once.

Ina cleared her throat as she settled back in her seat, "Sorry about that." Aliyah's brows bounced up in that unconvinced manner as she took a sip of Heaven's Hot Chocolate.

"So, what all did the student body pour on top of you in gifts?" Aliyah asked. She'd heard murmurs around campus of ideas from other students. She wondered if that one guy had actually followed through on buying Ina lingerie…

Ina tapped her chin in thought. "Plenty of chocolate, some jewelry, perfumes, gift cards," her face twisted oddly, and Aliyah was laughing before she'd even said it, "One student got me some… ahem… bedroom wear."

Aliyah was wheezing like a deflating balloon as she slapped her knee. "You can say lingerie, Ina," she managed to say. It's not like I haven't seen yours before.

"I wouldn't go so far as to call it lingerie," Ina replied, before stalking over to her desk and pulling a bag out from underneath. Aliyah started wheezing again when Ina held up some kind of abomination to her. "If I was any less compassionate, I would've thrown it back in his face," Ina said.

For God's sake, the thing was yellow and green. It looked like something that would be sold at Babies R Us, but someone took it and then tried to make it sexy. Ina was holding it gingerly by the hems, like just touching it was messing up her sexual mojo.

"Oh my god, put it away, put it away," Aliyah flapped her hand towards her. Ina laughed as she did just that. "Jesus, did he think he'd come back to school after break to see you wearing it just for him?" She asked.

Ina smiled in good nature. "Well, it's not like he could have known I favor warmer colors," she quipped.

Aliyah smirked under her thermos. "Actually, purple's considered a cool color," she replied. Ina shot her a challenging look from her desk, and Aliyah was surprised to see it lacked the typical sternness of Professor Kingsley. Her brow was arched sharply, and Aliyah swore she could see a hint of a smile playing on her lips…

…Wait, was she playing coy with her?!

"Anyway, you need to try this chocolate Chloe St. James got," Ina said as she sauntered back over, packet of To'ak in hand.

Cheap instincts kicking in, Aliyah leaned away from the forsaken bar. "I swear, I'll deserve to go to hell if I ever eat some two-hundred dollar chocolate," she said.

Ina rolled her eyes as she set a square piece down in front of Aliyah. The younger woman would have gagged if it didn't… you know, actually look pretty good. "You've accumulated enough blessings in your life to deserve a piece of overpriced chocolate, Ali," Ina said.

'Aliyah' was the only term of acknowledgement Aliyah had ever heard from Ina, and so her head snapped up when she stopped one syllable short. She really was feeling loose.

Aliyah picked the chocolate square up off the table, appraising it suspiciously. "If I have to see the devil when I bite the dust, I'm blaming it on you," she said, before popping the piece in her mouth.

Ina leaned forward, waiting impatiently for an explosive reaction. Instead, she was met with the most unimpressed side-eye God could have made possible on anyone's face.

"Wow," Aliyah drawled, "It tastes like chocolate."

"Hard to impress as ever, hm?" Ina asked. Aliyah shook her head as she gulped the piece down.

She wasn't about to admit it, but that definitely was the best chocolate she'd ever had in her short life. By a mile. "I'm actually embarrassingly easy to impress," she admitted, "It's just that overpriced chocolate isn't the right angle."

Ina tapped her chin in thought, narrowing her eyes as she scrutinized the woman before her. A smile slowly creeped onto her face. "Let me guess. A fast food restaurant date where you don't have to pay?" She suggested.

If that had come from anyone else, Aliyah might have actually been annoyed. But since it came from Ina, she threw her head back and laughed. "Well… are you offering?" She asked.

"Would that be a satisfactory Christmas present?" Ina countered.

Aliyah hummed contemplatively, while the little devil on her shoulder screeched 'hell yes!' Hell, Ina could offer to take her dumpster diving, and she'd say yes. "I mean, it'd be rude of me to say no to such a generous present…"

Ina chuckled as she rose from her armchair and started for her desk. Aliyah's gaze followed her curiously. "I'll keep that in mind for another time, then," she replied, "But for now, I'm hoping this will do."

When she made her way back over, she was holding a small gift bag out to Aliyah. Aliyah stared at it, wide-eyed. "You didn't," she said. Ina laughed a little nervously.

"Except I did," she replied, "Merry Christmas, Ali."

With the most cautious touch, Aliyah took the gift. To be honest, she'd gotten into a habit of forgetting that you were supposed to receive gifts as well as you give them during Christmas.

A grin slowly broke out onto her face, that mischievous one that made Ina anxious but also… other less than appropriate things. Aliyah shed her coat before unzipping her backpack, and pulling out a rather clumsily wrapped rectangular package. "Do not make fun of the wrapping," she said sternly.

Ina laughed as she took the gift graciously, "You really didn't have to."

"Except I did," Aliyah replied with a smirk, "Merry Christmas, Ina." She looked back down at the gift bag, shaking it slightly. "Open at the same time?"

"Sure."

"1… 2… 3," Aliyah popped the bag open while Ina tore away the wrapping (Aliyah didn't totally know why, but that made her kinda upset… she'd spent, like, an hour trying to wrap that thing). Aliyah's jaw dropped first, and then she laughed as she pulled the first thing out. "You weren't kidding about getting me a mug," she said as she held the '#1 TA' coffee mug up to the light.

"Of course I wasn't," Ina replied as she tossed the wrapping she'd pulled off on the coffee table. Her eyes promptly widened as she stared down at the half-visible gift.

Aliyah peered up at her nervously. She wasn't sure if that expression was one of positive or negative awe. "Ina…?" She asked carefully.

Ina breathed out a laugh as she pulled the rest of the wrapping off, and held the book tightly. "I can't believe you did this," Ina said, grinning. She held up the copy of The Tailend of Humanity (some old book that mashed sci-fi with anthropology; right up Ina’s alley) with a near reverent gaze.

"What, you think I forgot?" Aliyah replied with a cocky smirk. Chloe St. James and her overpriced chocolate could kiss. Her. Ass. 'Cause Aliyah had never seen Ina smile so wide.

"How did you even get a hold of this?" Ina asked, "There are only twenty copies!"

"Uh, I got one of them, duh," Aliyah replied, "Had to haggle with some guy down on Sixth for a few hours, but it was worth it. Plus, he had a signature in there." Aliyah gestured to the inside of the book cover. Ina had never flipped a book open so fast.

Yep. That was the author's name alright, written in his unmistakable cursive hand. "You really remembered my whole lamentful spiel about losing this book?" Ina asked.

"Well, that spiel included your apartment burning down," Aliyah replied pointedly, "I wasn't exactly gonna forget that." Ina shot her an amused smirk, and Aliyah gave her a wink. "Sooo… is it better than the green and yellow lingerie?"

Ina threw her head back and laughed, before setting the leather-bound book on the coffee table and sitting down next to Aliyah. "That has to be one of the best gifts I've gotten in the past years," she said. Fireworks set off in Aliyah's head. She was honestly winning so hard.

Ina gestured to the gift bag at Aliyah's feet. "There's one more thing in there that I think you'll appreciate," she quipped.

Would she though…? The doubtful persona in her head asked, I mean, you're definitely gonna look like the materialistic one here. Ina told that particular facet of herself to shut the hell up before she could get too far in her own head.

Aliyah raised a brow suspiciously as she picked the bag back up, and it did indeed still have a little bit of weight. "Two presents? You're spoiling me," she said.

"You deserve to be," Ina replied fearlessly. Aliyah's face flushed red as she turned her gaze back to the bag.

Slowly, as if she thought she was taking out the wrong gift, Aliyah pulled out a long, thin jewelry case. The younger woman looked up at Ina with a wide, doe-eyed gaze. "Ina, what is this?" She asked, bewildered.

"Open it," Ina urged her in reply. And Aliyah did exactly that, and holy shit, that was a nice necklace. She actually gasped, and would've been embarrassed for it (and Ina also would've teased her to no end) if she wasn't so busy marveling at the piece.

Aliyah lifted the silver chain out of the case and let it spill into her hands. Jesus Christ, did it look expensive. Ina had gone from Aliyah's chemistry-fired infatuation to her damn near sugar mama in a New York second.

A flicker of recognition passed over Aliyah's face the longer she marveled at it. Her head snapped up and she looked at Ina. "This looks…"

"An awful lot like the necklace you had that Bea Hughes snapped?" Ina suggested, "Well, I didn't remember exactly what it looked like, but I tried to get as close as possible." For a moment, Aliyah couldn't even remember her propriety and say thank you.

Bea goddamn Hughes had some nerve. Aliyah couldn't quite recall what had been said, but she more than vividly remembered Hughes reaching up and snatching the chain clean off of her neck. She was nearly impressed.

But then she also vividly remembered giving that girl a black eye, and threatening to knock her out so hard her soul flew back to Farmsville. Ina had stopped her before she could uphold that promise.

"Here, let me," Ina shifted behind Aliyah, holding her hand out for the necklace. Aliyah snapped back into non-violent consciousness, and fumbled to give the necklace to Ina.

"That necklace meant a lot to me," Aliyah said as Ina brushed the hair away from the back of her neck.

Ina hummed thoughtfully. "I could tell. I'd never seen you so absolutely livid before," she replied as she brought both arms around Aliyah's shoulders. Neither of them were ignorant to Aliyah's sharp intake of breath.

She smells good, she smells really good, why does she smell so good? Aliyah thought as Ina's perfume wafted incessantly into her nostrils. She could feel the warmth radiating off of Ina, the lapels of her blazer just brushing her back. Aliyah wished she would hurry and put that necklace on, before she started thinking with something besides her head.

Ina's fingertips brushed the back of her neck, eliciting goosebumps as she worked to clip the necklace into place. "There. Hopefully it's a worthy enough replacement?" She asked as she shifted beside Aliyah again.

Aliyah touched the necklace, and smiled down at the silver as it winked in the fireplace light. She looked up at Ina again, whose fingers were caressing her hand absently. Dark brown eyes crinkled at her in a subtle, knowing smile. Aliyah was powerless to resist smiling back.

"You're perfect," Aliyah said. Ina's eyes widened. "I-I mean, it's perfect! It's awesome!" She stuttered as her face turned the reddest shade of red on the color spectrum. Aliyah cleared her throat gruffly, ignorant to the small smile plastered on Ina's face.

"I'm glad you think so," Ina replied mercifully, before checking her watch. She frowned slightly as she realized that this Cinderella night was about to come to an end. "It's getting late. You should head home before your brother starts to get worried," she continued.

"He's with my uncle right now," Aliyah replied. Well, not really her uncle uncle, but everybody was your uncle when you were Filipino.

But why did she say that? Ina was either compassionately giving her a way out of this, or telling her to get the hell out now, and Aliyah was a useless lesbian who couldn't tell which one it was. But it only took her a moment to decide that there was one more thing she wanted to do before she left…

"Hey, uh, I've got one more present for you," Aliyah quipped. Ina cocked a brow curiously.

"Oh? And what might that be?"

Aliyah's eyes darted not so subtly to her lips, and Ina had her glasses on, so she saw it. The younger woman bit her lip pensively, but Ina's hand squeezing her granted her the necessary confidence. Slowly, she leaned in…

Aliyah hovered not even half an inch away from Ina's lips, their breaths one and the same. "May I?" She asked softly. Ina's eyes met hers underneath her long lashes. For a long moment, the two of them only stared at each other. Contemplating, waiting.

"Please," Ina finally replied. Aliyah's eyes creased in a hidden smile before she leaned forward, lips just barely brushing against Ina's. Ina's breath caught, and the hand on top of Aliyah's shifted to her waist. "Come here," Ina demanded, pulling Aliyah towards her and crashing her lips against hers.

"Mm…" Aliyah smiled against Ina's lips, dragging her hands up her arms and into her brown hair. Something had cracked in Ina, and Aliyah could see it through the light filtering through now. "Ina…"

After a long, long moment, Ina finally tore away with a gasp. Her eyes stared wide and lost at the floor, as if she’d just committed the indefinitely worst taboo. Aliyah watched her face expectantly...

And like clockwork, it slowly grew cold again.

"I… I can't. I just can't. I’m sorry," Ina said, "Aliyah… I think it's time you headed home."

Aliyah let out a mirthless laugh, practically tearing her hand away from Ina as she stood. Ina winced as the air around Aliyah shifted. She didn't so much as spare Ina a look as she scooped her jacket up into the crook of her arm and slung her bag over her shoulder.

Only when she was at the door of Ina's office did she look back at her. Aliyah’s eyes were glassy with what she would say was frustration. Ina stomach tightened painfully. "You need to figure your shit out, Ina. You're about as decisive as a horny high school sophomore," she spat, “If I wanted to be your little college girl plaything, I would’ve just told you so. This isn’t fair.”

Ina flinched at the sting, and then once more as the door slammed shut behind Aliyah. Neither of them saw the other as Aliyah brushed her fingers over the necklace and let out a sorry whimper, or as Ina ripped her glasses off and threw them across her office.

But, Dammit! They both thought.

~end~

#ina kingsley #professor kingsley #ina x mc #queen b #i love one (1) dorky nerd #that sexting scene left me dryer than a desert

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ggukkiedae · 3 years

Text

❝𝕞𝕥𝕠𝕡𝕚𝕒❞

𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜:

⇢ EPISODE 5-6 (self-explanatory?)

𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜

⇢ conversations written in italics are spoken in english. requests and feedback are highly appreciated!

you hear her voice before the screen even shows her “dinner tiiiiiime”

she was sitting between mark and the empty chair. taemin came and handed her the receipt which she confusedly opened. it was practically as long as her hair

she stared in anticipation for taemin’s matching answers “oppa i swear if you get mine wrong our friendship is over” “well that’s something to remember”

she was laughing when kai suggested making taemin make a mistake on purpose

taemin went ahead and gave her the huge box of individually packed chocopies, and she maintained a straight face “there’s another box of that in the rest of the grocery bags”

she just started laughing when taemin went to deliberate for his second chance bc “chocopie was hannah’s request, no doubt”

she cheered when lucas and baekhyun said taemin matched their food to the, correctly

she got two more coins and just “i can’t believe taemin oppa overtook me”

she offered to cook, but everyone was telling her to sit back and relax while they took care of everything. she looked into the camera with a shrug

“i am so not used to not helping out with cooking”

she settled for walking around, box tucked under her arm, and giving everyone bites of chocopie while they worked. at some point, she stuck one on a stick somehow and roasted it on the fire.

“yah,” kai laughed when he saw what she was doing “what are you doing with the chocopie on the grill?” “i wanted to make smores?” “aigoo do that later in the real campfire, not next to all this raw meat”

she was drawn in to the smell of meat and saw baekhyun give some to mark. she ran over to him and smiled expectantly. baekhyun gave her a piece with kimchi as well

she snuck over to taemin and mark who were working on the kimchi stew.

“can i help with anything” “come here”

taemin just placed an arm around her while he continued to cook with one hand she laughed “you guys really aren’t letting me do anything” “do you always cook in your dorm?” “i live with mark. i have no choice”

taemin dubbed her his official taste tester, and the editing team put a little compilation of her tasting the stew and literally every other food except the spicy noodles

she became silent when they started eating, and you see taemin just piling food in her little bowl

she was still munching on a chocopie that she had hid in her hoodie when they started the liar game

*tuna kimchi stew round*

for the first impression, she said big. for the dance move, she groaned. she ended up pretending to put stuff in a pot then taste “there’s literally nothing else to do???” she laughed when taemin got caught “wait, i genuinely didn’t think it was you”

*cheongdam-dong round*

for the job that comes to mind, she said marketing agent. for how often do you go to this place, she said everyday. she jumped up when taemin said he didn’t go “liar!”. she was laughing at kai’s complaints when he got caught. then they voted taemin out and she was just hitting him in the arm while laughing.

*jopping round*

she laughed when she read the card. for an incident related to the song, she pretended to trip and fall on the ground, and everyone reacted like they related. for express this song in three syllables, she himdeuro meaning tiring. she snorted when taemin said piano and just hid her face in her hands to control her expression. she laughed more when they voted lucas out. “sorry, oppa”. for the last time she heard the song “honestly? yesterday.” “i know mark, he’s probably trying to confuse the actual liar”. she voted for taemin bc she believed in mark. she became all defensive “i told you guys he was trying to confuse the liar. it’s taemin oppa! he literally said piano!” no one listened to her and she just hit her forehead.

then taemin stands up at the end of all the arguing “hannah’s right, it’s me” “see?!!? you oppas didn’t listen to me”

for the camping vans, she was roomed with taemin because they had the highest amount of coins

inside the camping van, she was already lying down and scrolling through her phone when taemin turned the lights off. mark poked his head through the door, though.

“hannah, goodnight” “goodnight, mark”

mark left and taemin asked what that was and she just “we got used to it”

“go to sleep soon, okay?” “yes, oppa”

the next morning, taeyong quietly snuck into her camping van and woke her up. she groggily sat up and followed him out while tying her hair up in a messy bun

she worked silently making french toast while mark and taeyong worked on the soup and the tofu. the screen put a line between her and them showing how she was quiet while mark and taeyong were a little overexcited

she made quite a lot just in case the staff members wanted some, too

“i’m just glad i remembered to text taemin oppa to buy these ingredients at the mart”

mark and taeyong finished cooking and they turned to see hannah sitting on one of the chairs with her eyes closed.

“she’s done already? how did she finish so quickly?”

taeyong told mark to support her head while he set up the table for breakfast.

she went to wake up lucas and kai, but she crawled under lucas’s blanket and curled up. this resulted in lucas lifting her out the camping car

breakfast was otherwise peaceful, and her french toast was a favorite

#hannah.mtopia #superm female member #superm female addition #superm 8th member #nct 24th member #hannah #lee hannah

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daily-dose-of-imagines · 4 years

Text

ᴍᴏʟᴛᴇɴ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴇ | 𝘏𝘢𝘪𝘬𝘺𝘶𝘶!! Hitmen AU! [Kuroo x F!Reader] ɴꜱꜰᴡ

Just a short little drabble with sly boi Kuroo~ ^^

I’m warning you all now, this is-- uhm very very nsfw SKSKSK Idk what my mind was thinking when I wrote this but uh--- yEaH

TW; Choking, Manhandling, Possessive Behavior

» » Admin Ko

»»————-　♔　————-««

You couldn’t remember the last time you were left in rather...provocative situation. Normally, whenever Kenma would assign you missions, they were quick and easy. Nothing like the one you currently faced. How you found yourself teamed up with your boss, you probably would never find out. Yet here you are.

It was supposed to be a simple ‘meeting’ with a client who had not only failed to pay off the debt they owed for purchasing your teams services, but was actively trying to run and hide from the prying golden eyes of your boss. And honestly, you couldn’t blame them.

Despite being a rather lax and understanding boss, Kuroo showed none of those traits when he was on the field. The movements he made, the words he spoke, and the condescending look in his eyes made anyone freeze if they were placed before the terrifying man. The look of a predator.

“Look, I know you’re rather stupid. What, with running your 2 ‘successful’ businesses and what not. But you’re quite bold in thinking that I wouldn’t see this coming~.”

A sinister smirk then stretched across the taller man’s face as he kicked the client from the chair down to the floor. A heavy leather boot immediately being pressed into the frightened individual’s chest as your boss leaned forward.

“And...to think, you’d try to convince one of my teammates to join your pathetic workplace? It’s honestly laughable.”

You froze. It never occurred to you that Kuroo had actually heard the conversation between the client and you. Granted this was a conversation from a previous warning visit. But to hear the harsh and possessive tone laced in his voice sent chills down your spine as you couldn’t help but become a bit flustered at the boss’s attitude.

Why was he so worked up anyway? As far as you were aware, the others that you worked with had faced similar situations as you. So...why exactly did he have to say something like that?

Deciding to ignore the way your stomach flipped at the sight of your boss, you went to put a hand on his shoulder in an effort to calm him down. After all, you both still needed to get the money. If not that, then information as to where you and your team could inquire to next about the fees accumulated from this client.

“Boss. Ease up a bit,”

You began, hoping to divert the irritated male’s attention onto you. Though when it looked like it was going to work, the man pinned on the ground just had to speak.

“Glad to see that besides having a nice body, she has an actual brain---”

The words died on the man’s lips as Kuroo added more pressure. His eyes set ablaze as an almost animistic growl escaped his throat.

“Shut the fuck up.”

An uneasy feeling came over you as you pulled back from the other. A look of wariness crossing your features as Kuroo refused to even spare you a glance. The man beneath him seemed to be suffocating from the pressure of Kuroo’s weight and his piercing stare.

“...Step outside (y/n). I’ll be with you in a moment.”

A promise of a lecture most likely, was the first thought that came to your mind as you gave him a nod before venturing outside. If only it was actually a lecture you’d be receiving. Though of course you couldn’t predict the future. All you could do at the moment, was wish that it would be over soon and you wouldn’t be assigned on another mission with the panther like man.

»»————-　ᴛɪᴍᴇ ♔ ꜱᴋɪᴘ　————-««

An irritated sigh, and a quick glance to your watch as you watched another hour of your life go by with you just staring at the discolored and poster ridden wall before you. As far as you were aware, any sort of warning meetings with Kuroo ended within the hour and the money would’ve been retrieved with a call for a clean up crew to be on the way.

Though why was it taking longer than usual? Before you could even begin to theorize what was going on, the door opened and out stepped the man in question. An oddly calm look on his face as he fixed his leather gloves briefly.

“Did you get the---” Before you could even finish your sentence, you were slammed against the wall. A cry of pain escaping you as you tightly closed your eyes. Your heart began pounding in your chest as you tried to understand the situation before you. Though it was hard to concentrate with the ringing in your head and the sudden breathlessness you felt. Were...were you being choked?

“How many times?”

The words came out fuzzy to you as you let out a breathless, “Wha---?”

“How many times did that piece of shit speak to you like that?!”

Confused, you could only weakly grasp at his arm as you blearily looked up at him. Though again you fell breathless as his eyes seared straight into your soul. Practically burning his mark on it as he kept you pinned to the wall.

“I-I...B-Boss... K-Kuroo, I can’t---!”

Your adrenaline was kicking in, your heart hammering against your chest as you felt the coil in your gut tighten as you cursed yourself. This wasn’t the situation to be getting turned on! Yes, your boss looked incredibly hot right now, but you literally were going to die if he couldn’t control his emotions!

Suddenly realizing what he was doing, he let go. Watching your chest heave as you gulped down lungfuls of air. A strange high coming off of you as you shakily met his gaze. His own boring straight into you as he seemed to still want his answer from you.

Once regaining a sense of clarity, you collected your thoughts as you finally spoke. A slight rasp to your voice as you internally winced at how your voice sounded.

“He...it was every time I visited...sir.”

A sharp click of his tongue and a string of curses came under his breath as he closed his eyes briefly. You stood there, awkwardly waiting as you tried to quell the shake in your legs from the near death experience before you were jolted out of your thoughts when a large hand clamped down onto your wrist. The hold unrelenting as you were suddenly tugged down the alleyway.

“B-Boss?”

Utterly confused, you could only follow him blindly as he didn’t speak the rest of the way towards the now undisclosed location. Within moments, you found yourself in front of a an apartment door. The area where it was being much more higher class than the previous location you had been. Though, before you could even question where you both were the taller male unlocked the door and tugged you in.

Putting two and two together, you realized you were in Kuroo’s apartment. Startled by this, you went to ask him why he brought you here. Instead, you were pinned to his door as his lips were suddenly on yours.

A messy and dominant aura coming from the male as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. Taking advantage of your shocked state to get a much needed fix of your taste before he slowly pulled back.

“You have no idea how much it pisses me off to hear the girl I fucking love is getting treated like some ditsy whore.”

The words punched into your chest as your cheeks flushed at the words your boss said. He...loves you? Of course you had a crush on him. You were sure any of the rookies who joined the Nekoma team could agree on having a crush on the mischievous leader.

Though for you in particular, you grew to have more of a crush on the taller male after witnessing his personality and his mannerisms towards children and those in need. It warmed your heart that besides being a cruel and unrelenting figure in the dark world you both lived in, he still had a kind heart.

Before you could even think, you took this chance into your own hands as you suddenly grabbed at his jacket. A sharp tug and your lips meshed with his in a messy, yet fiery dance. His hands found their way around your waist before suddenly lifting you up into his arms as you let out a startled gasp.

Once again, taking this little change in your actions, he let his tongue dive into your mouth. Exploring and savoring the addicting taste that was you. You let out a soft groan at his play as you were overwhelmed by him. His scent, his touch, his voice. Everything about him had your body reacting in ways you didn’t think were possible.

The next thing you knew, he was pressing kisses against your neck, his hands roughly holding you up by your thighs as he gave them a nice squeeze. Then suddenly, you were thrown onto his bed. Soft black sheets enveloped your form as you looked up at your boss. A breathless look on your face as you watched with wide eyes as he began to slowly strip. A sort of show as his piercing gold eyes never left your wide (e/c).

“K-Kuro--”

“Tetsuro.”

His lust filled voice cut you off as he threw his button down haphazardly onto the floor before crawling towards you. That predatory look in his eyes once again returning as he took in your form beneath him. It was mesmerizing. The way your hair fell against your skin and his sheets. The flushed look that covered your cheeks. The way your eyes held his own in a never ending game of cat and mouse.

“....Tetsuro...”

You tested the name, your lips playing with the syllables as he let out a groan. The way you said his name sending heat straight down to his already strained pants as you slowly brought your arms up to wrap around his neck. Your fingers toying with his hair as you suddenly dropped a sultry gaze to him.

“I want you to wreck me...make me yours. Prove to me that what you said wasn’t a lie...”

And almost as if a switch was turned on, the man above you ravaged you almost immediately. He dove for your neck, already making claim to the soft skin and leaving his marks wherever accessible. his hands began to claw at your clothes. Roughly tugging and desperately peeling the layers away to touch your skin. To get a feel for you.

The gasps and moans that escaped your reddened and swollen lips only urged him to explore more of you as your clothes were tossed into a pile on his bedroom floor. Mingling with his own abandoned ones as he continued kissing lower and lower until he was at your dripping entrance. A seductive grin formed on his face as he grabbed your thighs. The feel of his calloused hands sending another wave of heat into you as you grasped at the sheets beneath you.

“F-Fuck TetsuRO!”

A sharp cry came from you as your eyes widened in utter surprise as your boss began to suck and bite at the sensitive and supple skin of your inner thighs. Already you could feel your eyes water at the stimulation as you trembled underneath his hold.

“Stay still kitten...”

A purr came from the male as his warm breath fanned against your dripping folds. A taunting smirk on his lips as he forced your thighs apart, and the next thing you knew you were crying and begging for release as his tongue delved deep into you. Taunting and teasing every little nook and cranny that he could reach.

Your noises only fueling him further as he kept you from grinding your hips down against his face as you pleaded for him to stop teasing and to give you that sweet release. Of course that never came as he continued to absolutely decimate you with his tongue. The sweet little spots you had hidden away being prodded and teased at as he relished in your desperate sounds.

And just when you thought you were about to cum, the ever mischievous male pulled back as you let out a sob of frustration. Your flustered and tear stained face only further prompted him to lean forward and capture your lips into another kiss as you let out a small moan as you tasted not only him but yourself on his tongue.

The action making you even more embarrassed before you finally decided to take matters into your own hands. If this was the game your boss decided to play. Then so be it. You weren’t going to be the only one to suffer tonight.

Without warning, you pulled him in closer, stealing every breath he took as he let out a low and throaty moan at your sudden boldness. Though the sounds escalated the moment you flipped him onto his back. A victorious grin now on your face as he looked up at you with surprise in those golden irises.

“I’m not the only one being teased tonight, tiger...”

A seductive smirk graced your features as you fumbled with his pants briefly. His cock straining desperately against the cloth of his boxers before you pulled both layers loose. The pair being lost in the pile of forgotten clothes on the floor as you leaned over to his nightstand. A teasing wink being sent his way as you grabbed one of the condoms he had stashed away. With practiced ease, you slipped the condom on before you positioned yourself over his weeping cock. His face suddenly becoming flustered, as he attempted to stop you before you slowly worked his tip against your aching folds. A desperate moan coming from the both of you as you struggled to keep him from bucking up and stretching you too quickly.

Thankfully, you managed to keep his grinding hips down as he let out a breathless string of curses as you continued to ease and work your way onto him. Though the more you did the more shaky and hazy your eyes became as you couldn’t help but let out a wanton moan at how he filled you up. Your walls clenching around him tightly as he let out a sharp curse and a strong buck of his hips.

The action catching you off guard as you squealed. Your hands pressing against his lower abdomen to steady yourself as you gave him a sharp glare. Amused, he let out a breathy chuckle before letting our another colorful string of curses and moans as you began to move. Your body taking the reigns as you began to ride the man beneath you until he was a desperate moaning mess.

Though just as you thought he was about to break, his hands shot towards your own hips as he began to match with your speed. Your flushed cheeks turning even darker as his gaze became practically liquid gold as he watching you bounce on his cock. The both of you nearing your limits as both gold and (e/c) meshed, drowning one another in each other’s hypnotic stares before you both came with a loud moan.

Suddenly you fell forward, collapsing against the sweaty male beneath you as the musk of sex and sweat filled the room. Groaning, you let your eyes slowly flutter closed as Tetsuro pulled out of you. Giving himself a moment to catch his breath before he turned, lazily wrapping an arm around you as he carefully tugged the messy sheet off and onto the floor before wrapping the both of you in the blanket. His molten stare now basking over your sleeping features as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head before he too succumbed to the exhaustion.

A soft whisper danced into your ear before the both of you finally fell asleep though, and it brought a subconscious smile to you as darkness brought you into it’s soothing embrace.

“...I love you (y/n)...”

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #kuroo x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagine #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo #kuroo tetsuro x reader #tetsuro x reader #tetsuro #aged up kuroo #hitmen!kuro #haikyuu au #hitmen au #tw; choking #holy shit what is wrong with me #too fucking spicy man #so much zest

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