#and ghost will pretend to reprimand him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yeyinde · 2 years

Note

okay wait now we need a second version where the reader does leave with ghost and he walks her home and he's all shitty about the drunk flirting and she's like "bruh it was just flirting, if you would make a move i wouldn't need to make you jealous" 😌

ask and you shall (eventually) receive~ 🖤

i hope you enjoy this!!

"What? He's been keekin' you all night." There is a divot between his brow. When he turns his head, the fairy lights behind make his stubble look darker. "Yer aff yer heid!" Soap’s Version

It's all words.

Thin, hollow: they're empty ones bereft of meaning. They roll over you—a gale rocking you from side to side until you're dizzy with that awful little thing that clings to your pericardium, refusing to relent.

Hope.

Yearning (in English this time, if only just for him).

It clots there, taking root until you're a little queasy. A little unwell. The alcohol, perhaps, or—

He sits by Laswell, head angled down to murmur low in her ear about things that shouldn't matter right now when everyone is alive, and safe, and back together. But of course they do. They always do.

You wonder if they ever rest. If they ever take a moment's reprieve from the endless death and carnage that bulldozes your life until it's in shambles. Until the only thing that remains is broken chunks that reek of smoke and petrol.

It feels impossible.

He hasn't looked up once, despite whatever nonsense Soap might be on about. Untouchable. A chasm.

Ghost is a shoreless island in the distance. Rocky and steep.

Sometimes, if you stand on the furthest point of the beach, you can almost see the land peeking out from under the sea. Hazy. Shrouded. It sits amid the crashing waves, out of reach from everyone.

Soap pulls you back in, a few clipped words shared back and forth, and everything else melts away. This is easy.

This, being: drunk on expensive scotch (thank you, Captain Price; and oh no, thank you, I don't don't want a cigar) as you share snapped banter in a small pub. Vacant, of course, save for the six of you, and the barkeep. A man who offers little more than a nod at you when you mutter about the washroom, and swats at Price when he comes for peanuts and pretzels.

It's easy to pretend, you think, that the honeycomb eyes, a bashful grin, and hands that feel like the sun are what you want.

Easy, and yet—

You wonder if he's had anything to drink.

(You wonder if he'd keep his gloves on while he held you—)

You snap something at Soap, something you hope is witty and charming, and maybe if you play your cards right, you won't end up alone in a foreign land tonight. That, maybe, he'll let you close your eyes, and pretend—

It's ground out, raked through coals. "Soldier."

He makes you dizzy. Makes you want, yearn, makes you—

It falls into nothing, until your head is full of him: blood hell, Christ—

Never said I wasn't.

It feels like more of a reprimand than anything else he'd tossed your way thus far. A warning, maybe. Don't get too close. You know what you're in for.

Don't make him into the fairytale he isn't.

"And you, soldier?"

You're drunk. Too drunk. Head gummy and full of sin.

"Should leave," you say, casting a glance toward the mosaic window. A cross hangs in the distance. An augury. "Maybe go to church."

"Aye, lass. Think someone ought to get you home. Lt?"

You pull the last swallows in your cup before Soap has the chance to take it away from you. Liquid courage, you think, wilting under a black stare. A looming, uncharted island in the distance.

"C'mon," he says, words a shade away from being a command. "Haven't got all night."

You don't point out that it's nearly three in the morning—devil's hour in the company of a ghost—and wisely hold your tongue when Soap leans down, whispering: you can spend the night with me, hen.

"We're leaving." A growl, now.

It jars you. His voice is unlike anything else you've ever heard: gravel and ash; gunfire booming in the distance. It sits low, like the words are dragged up from the depths of his chest, and sounds like smouldering embers.

Your hands shake around the glass. It knocks against the wooden counter when you set it down, a hair too hard. You're crumbling. Slipping into waters that have no bottom. Rough, frothing. The white foam clogs your throat, drenches in you until you're weighed down, and sinking fast.

In over your head. No way out. The island is too far away.

His eyes are sharper than you've ever seen them. A yawning abyss. You wonder if something would snap at the tips of your fingers if you got too close.

Soap brows sit arched on his forehead, mouth thinning into a small line. "Alright, bonnie?"

"Gonna go home," you smile, tired. Wobbly. "Gotta get some sleep. Maybe next time, though."

Ghost's stare has never felt so heavy.

You stumble out of the pub behind him, pointedly ignoring the glance Gaz sends in your direction—the phone in your pocket already buzzing with texts that will make you whimper in the morning (saw you with Lt, mate. What the fuck? I mean what the bloody fuck?). This is normal, you think. Everyday. Mundane. Saturated in the ordinary.

Except—

Sometimes, your life doesn't make any sense. How you can go from coldly planning a man's—mens—murder to walking down the wet streets of Glasgow, head full of your Lieutenant.

The church peaks in the distance. The light spills, bathes it in yellow. The tolling bells call you an idiot.

Your head drops, eyes skirting toward the indomitable man beside you. Idiot, indeed. You can't help yourself, though. He's a magnet. A beacon.

A current sweeping you out to sea.

He says nothing. Hands tucked into the pockets of his black jacket, hood pulled down low. Those haunting eyes roam the corners, surveying the alcoves: always ready, always on-guard.

It's a stifling thing, this silence. Oppressive. Crushing.

Your throat itches with the urge to shatter it, to break it down until there is nothing left of it. Where it can't echo inside your chest like the brutal burn of rejection, and doesn't make your mind reel, an endless spiral of why and how and—

What can you do differently to make it a reality?

No man is untouchable. Not really. There had to be others in his life. A man like Ghost—

It's just impossible, isn't it?

Does he go to a brothel when the urge wells? A pub? Does he have dalliances with other agents he'd met in the field? Ones with battle scars, the taste of gunfire on their breath, and firm hands on their rifle? Is there someone already waiting at home for him, tucked inside a place no one else can reach them? The only inhabitant on an island in the middle of the sea.

What is his type?

And how can it be you?

Queries. Questions. They burn through you.

What if you just went for it? Is that what he likes? Someone who looks him in the eye, and says take me, I'm yours.

You open your mouth to ask, but are stopped in your tracks by the stare fixed on you. Breath caught in your throat. Lungs bereft of air. You splinter.

"S—sir…?"

"What?" It's harsh when it's ground out of his teeth. A snap.

"Are you angry?"

His eyes slide down to you, lidded and heavy. "Negative."

You huff. "Lying to me, now?"

"I've been called many things, Rookie, but a liar isn't one of them."

The grit in his voice makes you tremble. Makes a heat spume inside of you, not unlike the scotch from earlier.

Or—

Maybe it is the scotch. Your head is a slurry; a mess. The world around is shrouded in a sheen, a gloss, that makes the lights smear, and the cobblestone below quake under your feet.

"Are you—" jealous feels too strange in conjunction with Ghost. To the man who, as close as he is beside you, has never felt further away. Stupid Soap and his stupid words.

"Am I what?"

You mull it over. Let the word sit between your incisors to gauge the fit of it. It doesn't quite fit when you roll it around. Doesn't belong together.

(Like him, you.)

You stifle it.

He makes a noise, impatience, perhaps, and the word leaks into their terse air between you before you snap your jowls shut.

"Jealous?"

His eyes slide to you again. The whites glow under the street lamps. "Jealous?"

You feel a little silly. A little stupid. You blame it on the scotch. On Soap, and his keekin' you—

But—

You feel the words pool on your tongue, but you can't stop them from trembling out.

"I could have went home with Soap—"

"Why didn't you?"

It stings. The rejection hurts something fierce, but it's swallowed down.

(In for a penny…)

"You pulled me away. I could have been fucking him right now, and instead I'm wandering around Glasgow—"

Tonight feels as good as any to get your heart wrecked. Loose lips sink ships, after all.

"You might be fucking him, pet," his voice is a snarl, a feathered growl. "But you'd be thinking of me."

It punches into you, and makes you gasp, aloud; the sound echoing over the wet brick surrounding you. Your feet stutter when it's ground out, left to rot in the air. You jerk your head up to look at him, eyes wide. Heart-hammering in your chest.

He stops, too, hands now hanging by his sides, curled into loose fists. His chin is tipped down, liquid eyes boring into you.

You—

You've never seen a sight more damning. One more ready-made for ruin.

He makes you feel a low grade fever burning in your veins. Stupid, intoxicated.

You don't know where to go from here. Thinking of me. He's right. Of course, he is. It feels like a fractured mess when it tugs on the corner of your lip, a slowly unease smile. Distance, you think. You're an island far away from hurt.

Rejection. The brutality of his words—they can't reach your shores.

"And you'd be at home, getting thought of but not fucked." It's shakier than you'd wanted it to be, words a slow tremble. Then, a whisper: "You wouldn't even know."

"I would." He takes a step, another. His stare never wavers. "Just like I knew the first time you touched your little cunt to the thought of me. Couldn't look me in the eye for a week, pet."

"That's—"

It's true. You remember the time—all of them—and the realisation that he knows (he knows, he knows, he knows) burns into you. A knot of discomfort pools in your core.

There is embarrassment, of course there is. Shame, too.

But you're too drunk, too blootered, to think straight. Too raw, and cracked. You're a vanishing island. Water lapping at your inlands.

More hollow, thin words: "why did you take me out?"

"I gave you the option," he corrects, his voice is flat. It carries at the end, and leaves no room for any argument or protests.

It's true, after all.

You drop your chin, hands shaking. It's a bludgeon to your gut.

(How can it be you—?)

Stupid.

The false bravado quivers under his stare. A step backward flattens your spine to the wall of some long-closed Tandoori shop. The bricks are still wet from the rainshower that fell earlier. The cold dampness bleeds into your flesh. Goosebumps prickle.

More liquid courage, you think, hands balling into quivering fists by your side.

You lift your head. In for a penny, right?

No island is truly unreachable. No man, either.

All of this— something —with Ghost is drawn together into this single moment. The distance. The uneasy feeling on the nape of your neck when he's behind you. The want. He's been keekin' you all night. You look over and catch his stare. Feel it on your skin like a brand.

(Ready-made, always.)

It all has to mean something. It has to.

"Is that why you stare at me?"

His eyes are embers. The glow from the streetlights make him look like smouldering ash. Demonic. It thrills you.

"No, pet."

He leans in close, his body a shadow over yours. A tower. You can't see anything except the fill of him spreading out around you. Black. Endlessly so. Your perpetual night. The embers spark, blazing, when he bores into you. A wildfire in the distance. Atavistic fear brims.

Stay away from the fire and the being that can hurt.

His hand presses into the concrete beside your head. There is nowhere to run.

"I stare at you because I keep thinkin' about those little fingers trying to fuck yourself silly, and how desperate you must be knowin' it isn't enough."

You shiver—a whole body chill that has your teeth chattering together at the punctured words that drip, tainted with your demise, from his mouth.

The air in your lungs is noxious. It spumes inside until your knees quake, threatening to drop down into that unfathomable abyss that gapes below. The yawning maw of a man who wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into you until nothing remains. Rucked into the currents, it sends you careening out to sea until your fingers cling to the side of that untouchable island, begging for respite. Salvation.

It's a plea, a whimper: "you should have asked to take me home."

He offers none of it. His hand stretches out, and in the cup of his palm, he promises only ruin.

You shouldn't take it. Don't make him out to be the fairytale he isn't.

But the look he levels you with, ravenous hunger tucked inside the tenebrose of those spiralling depths, has you reaching out. A moth to a flame. The roar of the Styx in your head. You can't resist.

(You wouldn't even try.)

"I already am."

—Gaz regrets sending the text when he wakes up the next morning to a detailed commentary on all the ways his Lt absolutely ruined you

— he refuses to look either of you in the eye for weeks after

—this is completely irrelevant and feel free to roast me for it, but! my hc of a jealous!Ghost depends on where he's at in the relationship

—in the beginning: he doesn't trust, he does his job, and he's distant; but if he feels it, he'll close down. total distance. silence. he's mean about it, too. waspish. he'll try to push you away. cold hearted bastard to a T.

—but later?? oh, boy. that's when the Looming™️ starts. the, oh hey lemme go talk to that cutie over there - oh, wait. what the fuck that is that thing behind them and why does it look like it wants to eat me alive?! he's still mean, of course, but now he has a reason to snap. a reason to stand as close you as physically possible so everyone knows just who you belong to. and if he catches you flirting, i mean. rip, b. 🥹

#simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost riley x you #requests #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #simon riley cod #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #lord its me again #they caught me simpin

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h0rnyauth0r · 2 years

Text

mild enemies to lovers and a there’s only one bed here trope. with ghost. those are my only thoughts. (also, i apologize for not posting. i’ve been going through a lot :/)

word count: 2.7k

minors dni, thank you

fem reader, and all of my other usual tws.

the wind whistles loudly in your ears, a heavy snowstorm having blocked off your vision. it’s freezing, boots and heavy coat only able to provide a minimum amount of comfort as you travel through the deep snow.

you can hardly see. not only that, but the snow makes every single tree and pile around you look the same as the last. you’re not sure how long you’ve been traveling for, having been separated from your team.

hope begins to bubble up in your stomach when you notice a small shack in the midst of darkened trees, no lights present and a seemingly better shelter than the outside.

your footsteps feel heavy as you approach it, a certain level of anxiety making you rethink the choice for just a moment. but it’s unlikely that anyone would’ve found this, even after hours of walking outside it still seems abandoned.

your radio had been lost long ago, falling out of your hands and being lost in the midst of piles of snow. you wanted so badly to call out for someone, anyone to keep you company as you pull the door open.

it seems empty at first. until your body is thrown onto the ground with a harsh thud and you groan out in pain. there’s a knife held to your neck as you lock eyes with- your lieutenant?

you’re confused now, noticing the way he grunts and moves away from you. eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you close the door behind you, noticing the smallest fire ever surrounded by spare stones.

you didn’t realize that anyone else was separated from the group, noting the way he faces away from you and opts to pretend as if you’re not there. you’ve almost forgotten that you’re not on good terms with the lieutenant, who seemingly hates you.

you butt heads often, both hardheaded people who won’t back down. eventually the arguments became too much for captain price, who you recall threatening to discharge both of you if you keep it up.

it had been a few weeks since your last interaction, a small argument that’d resulted in your mission failing. to say you’d been reprimanded was an understatement, ghost was furious with you.

that was when he began to ignore you, not that you minded. now, though, it’s hard to ignore him when you notice the heavy breaths escaping his lips and the way he keeps a steady grip on his side.

your eyebrows raise, suddenly becoming aware of the blood that has spilled onto the floor in small areas. your eyes fall onto the small medical supplies left on a bloody piece of fabric, seemingly unused.

“you got hurt?” your voice comes out softer than you’d anticipated, hearing him grunt out a ‘yes’ as he sits with his back against one of the walls of the shack.

he lifts his gloved hand from the wound, and you see that there’s a bullet wound on the right side of his waist. you quickly approach him and sit down in front of him, pulling out your medical supplies.

when you pull out the proper materials, you give him a look. “wanna lift your shirt?” you ask, hearing him huff in an annoyed manner.

he hesitantly listens to you, untucking his shirt and lifting it up to reveal the wound. you wince when you look at it, noticing that the bullet is still in his skin. you grab onto the tweezers from your medical pack, leaning down and watching closely as you try to gently take the bullet out.

he groans out quietly as you pick the pieces out, noticing the bleeding begin to pick up. you turn to your right and grasp onto a piece of gauze, looking up at him.

“this is going to hurt.”

he nods, watching as you stuff the wound with some of the gauze. he winces, fingers digging into the wooden frames at the bottom of the wall behind him.

you continue cleaning and bandaging the wound, eventually being finished. looking up, you notice his eyes already looking at you. you look away and decide to stand up and stretch out a little.

after yawning, you look down at him. “you need to get some rest. i can watch out tonight.” you say, watching him shake his head.

“i don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s only one bed here. you can take it.”

you look over towards where his finger points, immediately becoming flustered. there is only one bed. and it’s small. you’re not sure how either of you will get rest with the circumstances.

you try to think about how the night can go, cheeks heating up at the thought of sharing a bed with him. “w-we could potentially share a bed. it could be an efficient way for us to keep warm. you’ve lost a lot of blood so your temperature regulation isn’t going to work properly.”

you know he’s likely to say no, watching the way that his eyes look between you and the bed several times. but to your unsuspecting self’s surprise, he begins nodding his head.

you nod back at him, looking to the tiny fire that seems to be slowly going out. “did you eat anything?” you ask, hoping that you don’t sound like you care all that much.

he shakes his head, and you take off the bag that had been placed on your shoulders. you know he was probably too busy concerned with his wound to think about food, but luckily you’ve got just enough rations for the two of you.

after you’ve eaten, the fire is almost out and ghost is adding whatever he can to keep it going. but you’re both tired, and soon enough that small fire isn’t going to suffice.

that’s when you both begin to take off the bulk of your gear, setting it down close to the bed in case you need to leave in a hurry. you notice the way he decides to keep a knife and his pistol ready, appreciating the small gesture.

neither of you speak as you both climb into the small bed, eyes slamming shut at the feeling of his body pressed against yours. you decide to try your best to ignore the way that your heart rate picks up and the way you feel flushed.

“you’re stiff.”

his voice is right in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. fuck, he’s hot. you try to relax, but jump when his arm softly lays around your waist. it’s even harder when he pushes up against you more, his body mildly shaking from the cold.

you inhale sharply. “i’m trying to relax, i’m just having some trouble.” your words are shaky as you speak, biting down on your lip when his hips bump into your ass a little.

after a few minutes, you are able to calm yourself. but his body hasn’t stopped shaking, and you can feel it intensely. he’s freezing and you can’t really do much about it other than hope that your body can warm him up even a tiny bit.

“are you asleep?” you ask in a whisper, feeling dumb for asking. he obviously isn’t with the way his body is shaking.

“nope.”

you decide to turn your body so you’re facing him, becoming flustered with the close proximity. his eyes look into yours as you slowly move your hands onto his body, feeling him back away for a moment before leaning back in.

your hands rub against his coat, hoping to warm him up even a little bit. for a few minutes, his breath is all you can hear as your hands roam across his chest to try to help him.

there isn’t much more you can do though, especially once his hands grip onto yours to stop your movements. when you look up at him, that’s when you see the look in his eyes.

you’re not good at reading him, but you can clearly see when lust fills someone’s features. his eyes are lidded, filled with emotion you’ve never seen him direct towards a single soul.

you wish his mask was off, wanting so badly to know what’s underneath. you want to kiss him until you pass out, but you’ve never accepted that until now. the thought flusters you even more, looking down at where his hands grip your own.

he lets go of you, opting to use his hand to raise your chin up. “close your eyes for me.” he’s barely speaking as he says that, and you can feel his hot breath escape through the fabric of his mask.

your eyes flutter shut, blackness taking over your previous vision. after some brief sounds of fabric being moved around, you feel a featherlight pressure on your lips.

he’s kissing you, you realize. holy fuck. you don’t hesitate for a second to kiss him back, lips moving against his own as your hands find their way to his hair.

you notice that his mask is fully off, opting to keep your eyes closed tightly. there’s no way you could betray his trust now, not when he’s kissing you so good.

it’s almost dizzying the way his lips and tongue devour your mouth, sending a burning desire into your groin. your thighs rub together for a moment as you struggle to feel any sort of friction.

you find your fingers gently tugging on his hair, the force of his movements becoming more aggressive as his hands dig into your waist. one hand slowly slides down your body, reaching your crotch as he slips a hand into your pants and rubs you through your panties.

you moan against his lips, biting down on his lip for a moment. his fingers brush against your clit perfectly, making your hips buck forward and you let out small noises.

despite how small the movements are, you can still feel an orgasm building up in your core as you grind against his hand. it’s almost embarrassing how desperate you are for him.

his lips pull away from yours as his fingers lift out of your pants. you decide that it’s probably best if you move your hands away from his head, hands falling down onto his chest.

you keep your eyes closed but listen to the sound of him pulling his mask back on, feeling disappointed but understanding where he’s coming from.

“you have no idea how badly i’ve been wanting that.”

the sentence makes you feel flushed, face turning hot as your eyes open and you see his staring down at your now swollen lips. you smile the smallest amount as his words really go through your head, not realizing just how much you didn’t hate him.

“i’ve been wanting that and more, for a while now.” you say, noticing the way his eyes meet yours and show everything he hasn’t said. you want him so bad now, fingernails digging into the coat he’s wearing.

neither of you say anything as he lifts your body up with ease, your hips planting on his own as he lays underneath you. your breathing picks up as your hips push against his, feeling a large bulge brush against your aching clit.

his hands grab onto your hips as you grind into him, head leaning back as you let out small moans. your eyes clench shut as you move against him faster, biting your bottom lip hard.

you can’t handle just this anymore after a few minutes, looking back down at him and quickly deciding that you’re going to fuck him now. you want to ride his cock until he fills you up with his cum, until you’ve milked him dry.

“you want this, right?” you ask, noticing the way he nods quickly.

you decide to pull your pants off, needing to lean against him during the process. cool air hits your bottom half immediately, a shiver roaring up your spine.

you decide to let him keep warm by not forcing his pants off completely, unzipping his pants and sliding them down just enough to free his cock. but your eyes are wide when you actually see it, not expecting him to be packing so much.

you slide your panties to the side as you grind against his bare cock, eyes meeting with his as you bite your lip. your pussy starts to drip from the stimulation, and that’s when you decide to carefully sit on his cock.

the stretch of his cock filling you up makes you moan loudly, breathing strained as the tip hits against your cervix. your pussy is burning a little from his size, and you stay still to adjust to it.

you look down at him and notice the way his eyes look over you, falling down to where your bodies meet. his hands dig further into your skin as he stares, before he’s looking back at you.

“go on now, pretty. ride me.”

his voice has you clenching against him as you start to grind against him, his cock slowly sliding in and out and hitting your insides perfectly. the moans you let out are quiet as you pick up the pace, the tiny bed creaking beneath the two of you.

as your hips rock against him, he starts thrusting up into you too. the action makes your mouth fall open, eyes shutting as you move faster. your hands move to his chest, trying to speed up even more as you feel yourself getting closer to your peak.

one of his hands slides down to where you’re connected, slowly circling your clit and pressing down hard. your walls spasm against him, making him groan out quietly.

“fuck, you’re such a good girl.”

his hips slam up into you faster now, the force causing a squelching noise as you feel your orgasm brushing up quickly. once it hits, you loudly call out his name as your body shakes and convulses against his own.

“gonna fill you up.” his voice says in a strained tone, and you look down at him and force his mask up. his movements halter but you smash your lips into his in the moment, his thrusts beginning to speed up more.

at this point, his pace is almost inhuman as he fucks into you with such a force that you’re moaning out against his lips from overstimulation. he bites down on your bottom lip and tugs hard, making you cry out and pull back.

tears begin streaming down your face, so much happening at once to the point where you feel as though you can barely handle it. his cock is slamming against yout cervix repeatedly, sending a sharp pain up your spine that feels so very good in the moment.

“you’re so fucking good.”

you feel his nails break open your skin as you feel his cum fill you up, hips slapping against you as they stutter roughly. his whole body is shaking from the force of his orgasm, the hottest grunts escaping from his mouth.

you breathe in heavily, eyes looking down at his lips in admiration as you lift your hips up and unsheathe his cock from your overstimulated pussy. you notice that his pants are wet from your interaction, quickly tucking his cock away to prevent him from getting too cold.

“i enjoyed that a lot.” you say, moving your panties back into place and feeling his cum ooze out slowly. the thought of his cum inside of you makes you feel needy again as you put your pants back on.

you yawn louder than anticipated, hearing him let out a puff of air. it’s probably the closest thing to a laugh you’ll hear from him. your eyes fall onto his, noticing the way he pulled his mask back down and lays there with his pants still unzipped.

“i’ve been wanting you for a long time, y’know.”

you flush under his gaze when he says those words, deciding to climb into the tiny bed and lay as close to him as you possibly can. his body feels warm now, heart beating quickly as you rest your head on his chest.

his hands find their way in your hair, running through it gently as you feel yourself grow more and more tired. you’re so out of it after fucking him that you can barely think.

“simon… i think i’m in love with you.”

the words leave your mouth just as you fall asleep, completely unaware of the fact that they were said aloud and not just a thought. he hears you, but doesn’t respond.

his response is shown in the morning, when your bodies are clung to one another and curled up together. the cold doesn’t seem so bad after all that has happened anyways.

*****

also, thank you for 200+ followers! i appreciate every single one of you <3

#ghost x reader smut #ghost smut #smut #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #cod smut #call of duty smut #call of duty #cod #x reader #ghost x reader #female reader

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dawnofh · 1 year

Text

141 dealing with a rookie who ‘accidentally’ committed insubordination against their Sergeant [Headcannon]

Price

Just run for you life, leave the military, change your name and live in Antarctica.

This man has zero tolerance when it comes to insubordination. Will knock on your door softly and ask you to meet him in his office.

“I’d like to ask about today’s field mission. The one your Sergeant was in charge of.”

Starts off calm, too calm, creepily calm. All the while he has this smile on his face. This calm smile.

Asks you for a very detailed explanation and can stop you at any time to ask, “So what did you do?”

He’ll take a breather, inhaling sharply. Maybe lighting a cigar to calm down before he slams his hand on his desk.

The yelling will begin while Price fights the urge to smack the shit out of you.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, Private. Did you or did you not go against direct orders?” “Sir, please-“ “I ASKED A QUESTION. I EXPECT AN ANSWER.”

Might have to fight back tears and an trembling lip if you’re a crier. You better not cry.

He’ll do that parent thing. “Can you tell what the orders were? Okay….So why did you go against them? … Well, what have we learnt today, Private? …Yes that’s very good and what will you do next time this happens?….Excellent.”

Might come off as condescending if he’s really pissed.

If it’s your first offence he’ll let you off with a light slap on the wrist by making you write lines ‘I will never disobey my superiors again’ type of energy and expect to write a 1000 worded apology note to your Sergeant.

If it’s your second offence, be prepared for physical labour. You’re on clean up duty for 5 months.

There is no third offence. Never.

Price’s anger only lasts 2 weeks, he forgives and forgets. Will treat you normally how he would any other day. Just never let it happen again.

“If this occurs once more then I will break your goddamn teeth so you won’t have a fucking cheek with your superiors anymore. Do I make myself clear, Muppet?” “Crystal clear, Sir.”

Ghost

*Stare intensifies*

Will lean on the wall during practice, watch you until you notice him, points to you and then uses his thumb to point at the door, “Outside. Now.”

You probably got snitched on by your superior, they could’ve snitched to anyone but thanks to your dumb luck they snitched on you to Ghost. Fucking tattletale.

Asked for your explanation first, he usually takes the sides of the rookies first. He knows that higher ups can take advantage of the newbies and lower rankings.

You really try to leave out details, “And then the car exploded.” “How did it explode?” “I’m not sure, Sir, but it exploded somehow. It could’ve been the Russians…?” “Private, your mission was in Japan. There were no Russians.”

You may or may not have said a couple of other things to your Sergeant before and after the mission…and yesterday…and a second ago before you were training.

You try to play innocent and pretend this is your first offence because truth be told you where petrified of Ghost and the skull mask didn’t make things better for you.

Depending on Ghost’s mood he might just be understanding and say he use to behave the same when he was a rookie, “Wait, you also punched your Sergeant in the face?” “You punched your Sergeant in the face?”

Will reprimand you, not as bad as Price will but enough to make sure this never happens again.

If he yelled at you, you may or may not cry. Don’t cry in front of Ghost either. He doesn’t like crying children, especially crying rookies. Might actually give you something to cry about.

He’ll make sure your Sergeant keeps tabs on your behaviour and if you so much as act up in the slightest, you’re getting snitched on again.

Ghost puts you in your place by doing that parent finger pointing thing every time he catches you lacking.

“You’re on thin ice with me.”

Soap

“Did you really say that to him?“ “Yes, Sir.” “It’s okay I would’ve done it too.”

100% supportive, he’s number 1 when it comes to insubordination.

Is playful with his scolding, practically puts on a show to make whoever you insulted feel better, “I’ll make you wash the windows of the jet with a spatula. Now behave, okay? Go touch some grass.”

Like Ghost, he takes the sides of the rookies and lower ranks first. He’s had his fair share of abuse of power when he was young.

Commits insubordination against Ghost religiously.

If your insubordination got others hurt he’ll be tough on you. But other than that he honestly doesn’t care.

He sees a lot of himself in you.

If he does yell at you you’d stare at him blankly, “Speak English, Soap.”

If it’s insubordination to him he’ll be salty about it. Asks Ghost to deal with you.

Soap wouldn’t mind getting back at your Sergeant if the offence was justified, both of you would scheme about it. In the end you both simply douse the Sergeant in syrup and leaves.

“We make a pretty good team. Let’s do this more often.”

Gaz

Let’s it slide. He’s committed a shit load of insubordination offences against Price and somehow gets away with it.

Probably gets into trouble because he didn’t correct your behaviour.

“Alright, Solider. There’s a time and place for everything…now is not the time nor place.” He speaks to you like an older brother would.

Is actually calm when he speaks and remains calm until the very end unlike Price. Very good at deescalating situations and talking people down.

Has to now convince your Sergeant not to murder you in cold blood.

“I’m going to need you to explain what happened with you and your Sergeant last week.” “Wouldn’t you like to know, Weather boy.”

You might just make him throw hands.

Don’t worry though, he’ll make the next two weeks hell for you and if that doesn’t solve your attitude problem then expect to repeat the entire training process to become an SAS solider again.

Gaz will respectfully put you back into place.

“You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes. I hope this will be a lesson to you, Rook.”

#cod mw22 #cod x reader #cod headcanons #kyle gaz garrick #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #captain john price #ghost headcanons #soap headcanons #gaz headcanons #captain price headcanons #141 headcanons #cod x gn reader

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nomsfaultau · 4 months

Text

The Lambs Wolves Wear part 6

Dark SBI AU where Philza’s human children were replaced by monsters. Start of ficlet is here.

It wasn’t unusual that “Technoblade” was late to meals. Philza wasn’t entirely sure if he needed to eat anymore. The hoard of spirits using Technoblade as a conduit assured Philza the body of his real son was technically still alive, but it didn’t change the fact his child looked less alive every day, pallid skin and sunken sockets. “Technoblade” was rather diligent in feeding the body they possessed, though often grew distracted, consumed with ghostly obsession. “Technoblade” had taken it upon themselves to farm the land, and with armies of ghosts set upon the task, there was little use for Philza. He was left to domestic upkeep, shaved down into nothing more than a sweet and nurturing caretaker. Hopefully such a docile persona would cause them to underestimate him.

Technoblade was stolen from him, but not truly gone. Perhaps it could have been some relief. Only his darkest nightmares could begin to fathom what the fates of his other children were, and yet he could still embrace Technoblade. It didn’t change the gut feeling that he was cradling the icy corpse of his son. Philza wasn’t sure if he could handle realizing he was watching his dead son’s carcass laugh and walk alongside him, puppeteered by ancient specters. No. The real Technoblade had to be in there somewhere. He had to.

“Technoblade” hadn’t come back from the barn yet. Philza frowned as he dished out stew, then ordered “Tommy” to fetch his brother. While Philza only pretended to care if the others ate, he needed to believe Technoblade’s body was still alive.

The demon whined about waiting to eat, then hmph’d and crashed through a window, morphing into a dark stallion as he raced for a distant barn. Philza flinched at the shattering glass, then sighed as Wilbur began to weave yet another illusion to ‘fix’ the broken window. Sometimes Philza wondered how much of his life was distorted into the image of a happy normal family, pasted over with magic to hide the real damage.

A sound like distant thunder cracked through the air. Suddenly he could see the towering true form of the demon that stole Tommy, hissing and recoiling as dark waves of an undead legion poured out of the barn, attacking everything in their path. War unfurled from the barn.

Ah. So the façade was finally over. There was a grim relief in relinquishing the fragile peace. It was too soon, he still didn’t know where all his children were. But Philza was prepared. He’d been covertly stockpiling the means to defend himself for a long time now. These creatures wearing his children wouldn’t kill him that easily.

“Tommy” scrambled back from the ghosts that charged at him. Powerful claws slashed through the ranks, but their fury was ceaseless and phantasmal. “Tommy” turned tail and scampered back to the house. A blur of his form, and a bristling raccoon burrowed around Philza’s shoulders, shaking and bleeding.

“He’s crazy,” the demon hissed, ringed tail puffed up. “I tried to help him like you taught me to,” “Tommy” insisted, expecting reprimand. “He attacked me! And he was rude! He wouldn’t die even when I tried to kill him!” Philza pressed a kiss to the injured raccoon’s forehead, ignoring the sulfuric smell. Only a little longer must he pretend to love them. He coaxed the demon and changeling into resuming lunch, promising to handle it.

And then Philza prepared to finally kill the thing festering inside Technoblade’s body. It would have to be fast, before the others realized they were next.

Ghosts poured out of the barn, the restless legions of the slain pouring out upon the land they once tilled. Philza gripped his iron sword, praying the clumsy holy runes he’d scratched into would be enough against the undead. And then Philza charged in, flashes of blessed metal carving through the ghosts. It caught the spectral blows of swords that otherwise would have cut him to ribbons. He plunged into an army. Flashes of searing cold scraped through his form, numbing his soul. Still he sliced his way through the ghostly legion, fighting to the heart of the war. The world was a blur of darkness, but a trail of blood guided him to where ancient armies poured out of his child.

Spectral hands ripped at him, though he warded them off best he could with his Prime-blessed blade. His sword was torn out of his cold-numbed hands, too rigid from the rime crawling up them to pick it up again. And yet Philza pressed on, weathering the arctic shadows cutting to his core. In the heart of the darkness, “Technoblade” curled into a haystack, shuddering as waves of undead soldiers clawed their way out of him.

The hoards descended upon Philza, shrieking and ripping into him. Frost struck through him, brutal in its cold. Philza stumbled, struggling to pass through the gale of spirits to the body they possessed. His heart began to freeze inside his chest, sluggish as it tried to join the host of the undead. He reached for the boy, fighting with everything he had, and slammed the binding tag onto him.

The spirits screeched as they were suddenly ripped backward and shoved back into “Technoblade”. It snapped to silence abruptly, the spell tag having done its work. The ghosts couldn’t leave their vessel now. Philza panted, each exhale no longer spilling condensation. His fingers were still numb even as the soul frost melted, but he stumbled over to his dropped weapon, dragging it as he slowly approached the shaking boy. Blood trailed toward “Technoblade”, staining the hay he curled in.

Philza pointed his sword at the hyperventilating ghost. “Give me back my son.”

“Technoblade” didn’t seem to hear him, mumbling over and over to themselves. “Don’t hurt him don’t hurt him don’t-" the monster began sobbing as he raised the sword.

And Philza realized he wasn’t going to be able to kill them. Not when they begged for mercy in the voice of his children. No, not when they shared his home for months, when they looked to him for guidance to mold them into gentler lives. “Technoblade” putting down their swords in favor of plows, “Tommy” learning to be careful in his affections, “Wilbur” slowly realizing he might be loved for himself and not the child he replaced. They all called him father long past when the deception was broken.

His heart howled. He wanted the monsters that destroyed his children dead. And yet Philza couldn’t do it. He couldn’t.

The sword clattered to the barn floor. “Technoblade” whimpered and struggled at his approach, kicking out wildly. Philza wrestled them down, catching the hands clawing at him. “Technoblade” was a bloodied mess, a gash crossed over an eye and digging down his collarbone to his heart. “Don’t hurt him dON’T HURT HIM PLEASE—“

And suddenly, Philza remembered that “Technoblade’s” last vessel had been murdered.

Philza brushed “Technoblade’s” hair from where it fell into the wound. “Shhh, it’s okay. If I wanted you dead, you would be.” It soothed the strategically-minded spirits a little. Philza would exorcise them in a heartbeat, but then he’d have to deal with the others and in that time Technoblade could very well bleed out. Never mind the fact he still didn’t know where the other children were.

He peeled out of his jacket and used it to soak up the blood, murmuring assurances. Slowly “Technoblade” began to calm, realizing they weren’t being attacked. Shakily, they explained that they’d accidentally hurt Technoblade’s body when tilling, and panicked, sure they’d be finished off while weakened. They kept apologizing for hurting the body, like Philza couldn’t see how deeply the ghosts cared for their vessel. Carefully, Philza removed the binding spell tagging the spirit, shoving it into a pocket for later. “Technoblade” reached dark hands for him, clinging on for comfort.

Foolishly, Philza thought that was all they did, till too late he saw the shadow and whirled to find his sword hovering over him in a phantom grasp. “Technoblade” examined the runes Philza scratched into the metal. “You have been scheming against us,” they said almost levelly. Red eyes pinned him from within dark sockets, staring up from where “Technoblade” clung to his chest. A spectral hand clawed at the fabric covering his hammering heart, poised to rip it out. He’d let his guard down.

Philza was silent, realizing he’d revealed his intent far, far too soon. “…I’m not a foolish man. You’re a warrior, are you not? Would you deny me strength? We all know I’m nowhere near you boys’ equal.”

“Technoblade” pressed the sword hilt back into his palm. “True. A far better man than any of us. Few soldiers are strong enough to stop fighting.”

Next>

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thecameronchronicles · 2 years

Text

More Than Friends

TW: Dark Rafe! Extreme sexual content and language. Coercion, angst, and guilt sex. Minors DO NOT ENGAGE!

SUMMARY: If you had a dime for everytime you ended the night crying into the shoulder of your best friend, his polo or button up sodden with your tears, you could have paid for college and then some. And this night was no different. After you spent over two hours sorting through outfits to appear classy yet fun and demure yet of age, you decided on the delicate lace top and skinny jeans complimented by your natural makeup and loose locks. All the while, this culmination was witnessed by the man whose arms you found as your only comfort. Your best friend, Rafe Cameron. Although the majority of the Outer Banks saw him as a hot-heated rich kid who needed to be knocked down a peg or two, he was always different with you. But tonight..that difference would be possessive-even frightening.

WORD COUNT: 4300

More Than Friends

“I just don’t get it! This happens EVERY time!” You relieved yourself of your recent pace, pulling yourself out of your heels and barefoot on the hardwood floor leading to the bed, where your best friend of nearly a decade just sat dazed in his own thoughts.

“They seem interested for like an hour and then something makes them pretend like they don’t even know me! Not to mention the guys who just ghost me! I mean, I only have less than a month until college, I don’t have time to waste on jerks like that-” But with your rant only came Rafe’s silence. It was somewhat expected as these conversations were ones you usually had with his sister, Sarah. The best you usually got had been some backhanded comment about how you were annoying. Instead, he just sat in silence, almost as if he was in deep thought, or even in the midst of being reprimanded.

“Maybe there's just something wrong with ME…” You continued still, giving him an easy path to throw some smartassed remark that you were used to. Whether it was the way you still wore braids well into your adolescence or how you could hardly drive without getting into some sort of an accident, you could always count on his remarks. But yet again, he continued in his own haze.

“I’ll just go find Sarah…” You breathed in approaching annoyance, half berating yourself for believing that you would find the mend to your bruised self esteem in Rafe. He was the kind of friend that was good for a laugh and would throw the first punch in your defense. But the one-on-one emotional heartfelt conversations were more for his sibling. And yet, you allowed him the chance to aid your frustration with him by walking slowly to the door, waiting for him to comment. But alas, you were able to reach for the handle without so much as his deep breath heard at your back.

Until suddenly his large hand came to the break of the door, keeping it closed, his body closer to you than it had ever been. You couldn’t help but chuckle as he managed to dramatize everything, usually leaving him as a victim to his own naivety of self-awareness. But when you raised your eyes to him, his secondhand now falling to your other side, your gaze found a shift in his expression. There hasn’t been a day since you first shared a pack of crayons in kindergarten that he looked at you with anything but adoration-maybe a few occasions of sibling-style annoyance. But in this moment, nothing but darkness captivated his usual blue irises, now turned black.

“Rafe?” You questioned, your voice smaller than anticipated as he licked his lips for a moment, his head remaining down just before he spoke, those dark eyes lifting higher beneath his curtained blonde locks.

“I can’t let you leave.” Your stomach twisted at his words.

“Wwh-what do you mean?” Having half expected you to push him across the room or rival him as you did as if it was a talent, his tone altered to something resembling contentment as he readjusted himself more comfortably in front of you.

“I’ve watched asshole after asshole try with you and none of them deserve you…” Your head tilted into a compassionate ‘awe’. Before your eyes came to note the torn nature of his knuckles that connected pieces of a puzzle you weren’t aware were needing assembly.

“Did YOU punch Drew?”

His silence and tensing of his jaw supplied the answer he wouldn’t grant you.

“I actually liked him! He talked about more than surfing and college!”

“So he has more than two brain cells-doesn’t mean he deserves you-”

“So because you want to, what, protect me, you beat up the guys I go out with?! God, are you twelve?!” Your eyes suddenly froze as this realization deepened. “Last week with Chase…you threaten him or something? The week before that with Jonathan? Are you intimidating all of these guys? Threatening them to stay away from me?”

“They don’t deserve-”

“If you say that one more time-” He grew sheepish before you, gaze kept dark as it peeked from beneath your assumptions. You shook your head in disbelief.

“I know you’re intense about things…But THIS is too far! God…you don’t own me…” This final remark sent something within his chivalry towards you to not only snap but reverberate.

Before you could leave the room, which had been your goal as you reached for the door once again, he had you by the arms and in the direction of the bed. Once upon a time, you would have been found in his arms, even over his shoulder, in the infantile game of tag being extended into your teenage years with pool parties and moments of sheer joy and teasing. But with this, it was possessive-even painful. And you ignored those little flickers of fire that shot throughout your body in the excitement it left behind.

“You’re right.” He hovered over you, back flush with the bed, as you rose high enough on your elbows to showcase some form of dominance, but he kept you where he desired with his arms on either side of your hips and his knee between your legs.

“Because if I did…” He moved closer to you, hot breath teasing your quivering lips. “You wouldn’t dare go against me-”

You scoffed. “Why? What would the big bad Rafe Cameron do?” He clenched his jaw tighter as you continued to tease him, believing once again he was just being dramatic. But the kindness he had shown you for the better part of a decade was lost in the grip he held on your jaw.

“I’d fuck you until you remembered how unpleasant it would be for you to disobey me.” You tried to ignore the heat developing between your legs, the sudden latch of your panties between your thighs, as you found this sudden shift in him to be all too alluring.

However, you knew anything between you and Rafe beyond a platonic relationship would be a disaster. You were polished and organized where he was arguably lazy and in a constant downward spiral whether it was with his dad or his illicit addictions. This was what kept you from acting on those impure visions you held of him when you came into your own as a young woman-the pulsing between your legs that purred for attention, and you quelled once or twice before deciding it was better as a fantasy. But now…it was all too real.

“Let me go…” You warned as he lifted his knee higher between your legs.

“I’ve watched you flash your ass for those guys Sarah brings around…the desperation-when I can give you what you need…” The way his knee rubbed between your legs sent you in a sudden shift upwards as you gasped.

“Stop it-” You demanded, his eyes only darkening further to your confused rejection in contrast to your lips parted in anticipation and eyes dilated with excitement.

“I’ve had to listen to you whine about those other assholes…Watch them put their hands on you…on what’s MINE-”

“I’m NOT yours!” You were silenced by him taking hold of our jaw once again, now pinning you back onto the bed.

“You will be. Tonight. Right now. I’m done being patient…” His simple words set you in preparation to object, before you found him slipping his middle finger up your dress and bypassing your panties.

“No. I don’t want this-” You lied, more worried of the aftermath of what it would mean for you than the truth of the lust building into a coil within your stomach.

“For someone who doesn’t want this…you’re fucking soaked for me, babygirl…” Your lips parted at his words, eyes coming up into a roll that you interrupted with your stubbornness.

“Rafe-” You warned as he only smirked wider.

“You’ve said my name a lot in ten yars…bout time I make you scream it-” Before you could object, you were on your stomach and your dress was suddenly over your hips. The cool breeze caused by this shift made you shutter as he pulled you against him, your spine outlining his toned physique.

“Please, don’t-” You whimpered, his middle finger now plummeting into your depths, the satisfying squelch of your deception confirming the real truth of your desire, making him kiss your neck with approval.

“You don’t want me to stop…Not when I can make you feel so good…” A second finger, the one adorned with his gold brushed signet ring pulled you into a gasp as he continued to pleasure you.

“I can make you feel so good if you’ll just let me…” He seemed almost caring, even soft, in his remark as you bit your lips to keep him from learning how deeply his touch affected you. Those feelings you repressed had overfilled to the surface, verifying to him of your lust for what you claimed was indifference.

“You want me to make you come…I’ve been thinking about it for so long…” As you went to speak, he interrupted you by the sudden turn of your head to look at him, fingers on the back of your neck.

“All you have to do is say yes and you’ll never think of any other guy whose talked to you, let alone touched you…You’ll only want me-”

“No…” To this, he withdrew his fingers and lifted them to your lips.

“No? Then why do you taste so sweet for me baby?” He forced you to taste yourself, the moment leading eroticism well against your denial.

“Aren’t you gonna share?” He took his fingers back between your folds, pulling more of your release to his lips, a satisfying pop validating his words once again.

“God, you’re so tight, too…Better than I imagined…” His hand came to your hips, pulling your skirt up once again as your hands quickly apprehended how he tried to force it into ascension. Suddenly a knife from his back pocket came to your cheek, the cold blade teasing your skin and making you whimper in fear of not knowing how far he would go.

“I’ve been patient, ribbons…” A name he had given you since you wore a set of crimson ribbons to a barbeque one summer, now so sinful on his lips wearing your lust. “I’m not waiting anymore…” Using the blade, he cut only a small slit in the front of your dress before tossing the weapon to the floor and tearing the rest of it to expose your lingerie to him.

“Shit…” He drew out his curse with a deep breath and an eventual groan, his hands descending between your breasts to feel your racing heart.

“Say yes…” He breathed into your ear, his hands returning between your legs, small circles torturing your aching clit.

When you remained silent, he lowered his middle finger inside of you, quickly followed by his ring finger, as his thumb took over for the neglect of your clit.

“Say yes and I swear to God I’ll make you scream my name in pleasure…But stay silent, and I’ll only use you for my own…” You swallowed hard, slightly curious to know how far he WOULD take things.

“Tell me you haven’t thought of this at least once…Tell me you’ve never been wet thinking of me and touched yourself, getting off by saying my name…” His fingers returned to your hair, continuing to pleasure you as he pulled you to face him once again.

“Because I’m going to put all your fantasies to shame…” With the grip still on the back of your neck, he bent you forward.

“Last chance…Just say yes…” He breathed in breathlessness, the sound of his belt leaving little to question what his intentions had been. The war raged within you to decline or accept. If the latter, it meant a change, he wouldn’t be able to blame tonight on being drunk, high, or simply riding the effects of another episode of being hot-headed. But it was the realization of how he was stone cold sober and doing this out of pure desperation, something you had wanted for the better part of your friendship, that sent the little whimper from your lips.

“What was that?” He questioned with a grin heard in his grimace.

“Yes, Rafe…Please-” The growl that left his lips acted as his own endorsement as he suddenly had you on your back, looking up to the man you’d always craved but kept at arm’s length. The way you had dreamed of his torso perfectly manicured by hours spent in the gym and a diet plan keeping him cut lean and not too bulky, was made reality as he pulled his shirt in a single motion. However, you weren’t allowed a true moment to appreciate him before he pulled you to the edge of the bed.

“I’m so glad you spoke up, babygirl…I didn’t want to hurt you…Now I get to make you feel good…”

“Rafe-” Before you could respond, he was buried between your legs, his nose brushing your clitoral hood as his tongue ran attentive stripes between your folds. Once moaning in approval, those licks turned to penetration to your opening, quickly replaced by his fingers as his tongue moved back to your clit. The combination of sucking and biting was the perfect display of how you felt for each other; angst and pleasure.

“Oh my God!” He grinned against your thigh to your sudden religious outcry, something he pulled from you in continuation with his name as an echo along with your groans.

“Rafe! I’m gonna-” But to this confession, he withdrew from you, sending you to glare at him.

“Why…Why did you stop?” But to this, he only moved over you, kissing you quietly with compassion you wouldn't have expected from him prior to now. The way his fingers remained in your hair as he pulled you upwards were enough to leave you dizzy before realizing he pulled you forward for a purpose.

“Don’t you think I deserve a little something? Having to watch you in those little bikinis and daisy dukes?” You were enslaved by his guilt, licking your lips as his Adonis belt led to a cusp of public hair, just enough to send your stomach into summersaults for what was beneath.

“Be good for me, yeah?” His eyes fluttered to the feeling of your fingers wrapping proudly around him, the way you took a hold both dominant and caring, before kissing his tip. The shudder of a chuckle sent him to shuffle before you until you became motivated in the way he collected your hair within his grasp, prepared for how you would please him.

“Fuck!” He grunted at the sudden sheathing of your mouth accepting him in denial of your natural reflex. The grip in your hair was painful yet manifesting an endorsement from you as you wanted to enact the same torment he had done to you; bringing him so close to his orgasm to have the power to then take it away. Because of this, you were enthusiastic with the twists of his base, generous with your tongue, and ignorant of your own tears that he found as beautiful beads of evidence of how you belonged to him. But when he began to tighten in sloppy thrusts, you pushed him forward and into a stumble before wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Licking his lips for a moment, he took a moment to compose himself by the surprise of your inexperience proving useless against his deepest desires made a reality. Cock twitching at the sight of you teary eyed, at waist level, and breathless from his impressive girth, he lowered himself over you, hands indenting the bed at either of your sides to make you sink deeper into the slate duvet at your back.

His fingers found the back of your neck rather quickly, keeping you uprightt by this grip alone, as you remained in a breathless silence in wait for his next erotic action.

“You really want to know why I beat up every guy who looks at you? Why do I threaten them?” You remained silent, able to piece two and two together, but also basking in how your stubbornness seemed to bring you pleasure against him.

“Because nobody gets to know how good you feel…” He looked between the two of you,the small space merely a few inches, as he carried the head of his cock between your folds while keeping you half upright to witness along with him.

“NOBODY gets to be inside of you but ME…” He grunted, extending every glorious inch, well beyond average, past your previous protests.

“Ah-” You inhaled sharply, his width stretching you beyond what was comfortable as he began his thrusts, taking you in short inclines and expected declines as your hips became flesh with one another.

“And. Nobody. Gets. To. Hear. You. Moan.” Your eyes narrowed to him as he only laughed, well aware he had been victorious in his objective for the night. And yet, somehow, there was something silent behind his eyes that told you he was only beginning.

“Poor girl,” He patronized with a chuckle. “If I would have known how badly you needed my cock, I would have fucked you so much sooner.” He forced you closer into him.

“See how you’re taking me-so FUCKING well…SO GOOD-SHIT!” He breathed lust into each of his words of praise before releasing you to rest on the bed behind you. Yet comfortability wasn’t something you were allowed as you felt him pull your leg over his shoulder as he held himself over the headboard, allowing it to scuff the wall at mercy at its back.

“I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

“I’m. Not.” You struggled, half endorsing him to do harder and deeper as you basked in how feral your rebellion made him. But instead, he only laughed.

“You will be when you’re dripping my cum-” He spoke against you, falling over you completely, delving into you in depths you weren’t aware you held. Your body reacted immediately, every nerve trembling at the feeling of him. To make matters worse, his thumb came to your clit, rubbing those circles that suddenly had you bucking against him.

“Not mine? But pretty fucking desperate to cum on my cock…Maybe I shouldn’t let you…”

“Rafe-” You breathed, half whining as he smirked.

“Tell me you want it. It’s so much sweeter after you denied me…” You kept your lips pressed as his thrusts and fingers increased in velocity. You could feel your orgasm fast approaching, the involuntary clench of your velveteen walls selling out your attempts to keep this detail quiet from Rafe as he threatened to slow.

“I-”

“Did sucking my cock make you unable to talk? Use your words baby…use ‘em and I’ll let you cum like a good little slut-”

“I’m not a-'' He cut off the defense of your character, now pulling your second leg over his shoulder, removing his circles from your clitoris to hold you down and use every ounce of tension, passion, and aggression in his collection of deep and powerful thrusts.

“You are tonight. For me, you’re whatever I want you to be.” He paused for only a moment, one hand now set on the wall above you as he compiled a string of saliva and allowed it to fall over your mound.

“You’re so close, baby, I can feel it…Just tell me what I want to hear.” Your fingers clawed at his thighs as he became annoyed at your defiance, once finding it cute, now finding it as motivation to prove yet another point to you. Turning you on all fours, he lifted you up just enough so your hips would be aligned with his cock, that he teased between the folds now dripping his saliva and your impossibly wet cunt.

“Ribbons, I’m losing my patience-” His hand moved in a large circle over your exposed ass, his breathlessness the only sound in the anticipation of what was to come.

“You want to cum, you have to use your big girl words for me…”

You mustered every ounce of defiance you could to look back at him with a snicker.

“I don’t need you to make me come, Rafe-” To this, he buried himself inside of you, no longer caring for your pleas or the way you fought him. Holding the back of your hair in an uncomfortable pull, he suddenly pulled you upwards until your spine was flush with his back. Pistoning into you at an ungodly pace that fit his ego, his fingers returned to your familiar and now swollen heat.

“If you don’t want to tell me, I’ll just make you cum until you’re too fucked to care-” Your heart rose to your throat at the thought.

“I’m thinking three times-” Your objection was silenced to the way he was suddenly rubbing you nearly raw, yet somehow perfect in pressure and pain. As if he could read your body without you acting out his effect, he retracted when discomfort arrived and replaced it with a new wave of pleasure. At first it was his lips on your neck, then his fingers twisting your nipples until they were stuck erect, and finally, it was the sharp slaps to your ass that he now began in tempo to your dwindling attitude.

“That’s one-” He vocalized upon feeling you cream over him, having done so silently to try and cover the fact he had made you cum in record time. Yet you weren’t allowed even a breath as he continued over your stimulated clit.

He no longer moved within you, instead, just focusing primarily on his fingers to drive you to the edge. The way he twisted and pulled at you, one finger penetrating your core had you already spilling over into a second release that made you fall apart in his flexed arms. Your head was reliant on his shoulder, set back at rest for having been spent now twice, and he paused before the third.

“You don’t want to admit you’re mine?” He flipped you over onto your back, allowing you the reprieve of his absence, only to feel him withdraw and return inside of you in effortless retraction and returned penetration.

“I’ll just fill you with every drop of my cum until you can’t deny it.” He thrusted once more, sending your eyes rolling to the very back of your head.

“You’ll be dripping ME for days…Anybody even tries to touch you-” He laughed, pulling you over his lap as he guided you into the perfect bobbing motions to ride him as he saw fit.

“You like riding my cock?” When you didn’t answer, he took the back of your neck and slowed his thrusts, pulling you into a stretch you still hadn’t adjusted to from his size-making you question if you ever would.

“I’m not stopping until you answer me…I don’t care how sore or how much you beg-and crying…” He shook his head, “That does something entirely different to me-that shit only motivates me…So fucking answer me or I’ll-”

“Rafe-please…” Your teeth chattered to the delusional bliss just within reach behind his slowed motions.

“Please what?”

“Oh God, Rafe! Please, I can’t take it anymore…” You whined, every ounce of strength fading in the gentle caress of his hand brushing a tear from your cheek.

“I know you can. And you will. Until I’m done with you.” His tone turned increasingly more harsh as he had you bouncing on him once again, the moans and pleas blurring into the stars behind your eyes as his thumb returned to your clit.

“Want. You. To. Come.” You managed to utter.

“What was that baby girl?” He teased, simply wanting to hear it again as your eyes pulled open in a deflate of your dominance.

“Come for me, Rafe…I want you to come…”

“Good girl.” He growled, the request sending his head into your shoulder, rising up to bottom outside inside of your aching core, where he supplied his release in the ropes in sudden eviction from his cock, speaking your name as he held you as deep against him to ensure he painted your interior with what he had been concealing for the last decade. Licking his lips, he kissed your motionless mouth before taking a moment to bask in his effect on you.

“Rafe?” You called to him as he withdrew from you slowly, still managing to make you wince from the overuse of your entire feminine anatomy. He turned to you, half expecting a slap, before you moved close to him, fingers soft on his shoulder.

“Next time…I get to be in control…” You excited him in a way he had never known before.

“NEXT time, huh?” You slowly nodded.

“What are friends for?” You brayed in almost a singsong fashion, attempting to slide off of the bed as he took hold of your hand.

“Nuh uh. We aren’t friends after THAT. You’re MINE.” He kissed you again, this time with possession; tongues and teeth.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He inquired as you moved to the direction of your abandoned clothes, motion to them as he questioned.

“If you can walk, I’m not done with you yet. Besides, I said three times…”

“I DID.” You answered, almost annoyed.

“You thought I meant YOU?” He chuckled.

“No. I’ve had to spend the last ten years watching you try for everyone else. Now you know what I am capable of…” He leaned back down to you, bent over so his palms were on either side of you as you remained sitting upright.

“And I’m not done with you yet.” Your mind ran rampant with what more he could possibly do to you. But of the question of what next position or collection of words spoken in vulgarity, one thing was for certain.

You were now definitely more than friends…

#rafecameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafecameron #rafe cameron smut #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks smut #obx #obx fanfiction #obx smut #drew starkey #outerbanks #netflix #obxsmut #obx fic

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delicrieux · 2 years

Note

HI! could you write a Morpheus x nightmare!reader, basically she hates being a nightmare and while Morpheus was trapped she was trying to help people instead, the opposite of corinthian, and when he eventually comes back his feeling for her are new and strong so he's conflicted and doesn't know whether to punish her for leaving the dreaming or make her a dream?

HAUNT | endless drabble series (autumn edition)

summary: what is it to go against your nature? the question is relevant for the two of you pairing: dream x nightmare!f!reader a/n: this is so slay. used prompt 15. nightlight

masterlist. ☕. reqs are open for the september prompts! make sure to check out the autumn features as well! <3

You hate him. He had molded you from starlight and bones, dirt and leaves and pebbles polished by the tides of a river. You hate him in a way that only a mortal can hate God - with a hopeless, devout passion, with the scorn of righteousness and fear of abandonment. You hate him because he had made you a haunting thing: a thing found obscured by shadows in a dark corner or the foot of ones bed, an eye peeking through the crack of a cupboard or a vaguely body-like shape draped over the curtains by the window. You’re the cold spot in a warm room, a slammed door in an empty house, the ghostly touch in the back of one’s neck. A nightmare.

While Lord Dream had accounted for many things, he had not for the shared trait among those the world deems monstrous - want. Want of free will, want of self, want of the ability to change. This, of course, is a terrible flaw. What would happen to balance if nightmares began dreaming?

You had been content with scares, but soon you noted that you often visit those who don’t deserve you - ones that are stressed, confused, scared, much like you, of what the future may or may not bring.

You started to slip away from your role, like any bored actor. You appeared to those that had the darkness to match your wraith appearance, and to those that you knew did not need to see you, you were kind. You manifested in forms of warnings, comfort; as a guide in a maze or a wise mage in a castle ready to gift advice. Frightening, still, but approachable, a well of archaic knowledge and love under a harsh, unpolished shell.

Your improvisations were entirely unneeded, and Lord Dream made clear of that. Whilst other saw a terrifying image, he saw one of his own. He never raised his voice and never showed outward disappointment. He regarded you in a careful, masked way one may dare to admire something out of reach. You hate him more for it. His reprimands were harsh. When he disappeared, you despised the vacancy he left behind.

You think of the nightlight, the mesmerizing dance of sand that melts into light. In the dark it’s the most profound and the most beautiful; it shimmers beneath your feet, tangled into the grass, and stars glimmer bellow and above you. It feels like standing on a mirror.

He’s changed, haggard, with slumped shoulders and disheveled hair. You imagine he would become frightened of you, too, after not seeing you for so long, after not sensing something amiss when you appeared unnoticed. Haunting you do well, even he once admitted that. His little terrifying joy.

Emotions conflict on his features, and you can’t decipher them anymore. The years have chipped away at his calm demeanor, revealed something raw underneath. You think he may finally punish you for all of your transgression - the list is lengthy. You had been busy playing pretend whilst he was busy being locked away.

“Is there,” He breaks the silence. The Dreaming falls into a defeating hush, holding onto his every word, “anything you desire?”

It’s a strange question, one that makes you take a small step back.

“Be honest with me, ghost.” His voice is rasp, tired, lovely. You hate him, “I won’t hurt you.” He swallows, shuts his eyes for a moment, “I...it was never my intention to do so.”

He sounds honest. You imagine this pain would feel more of a sinking ache rather than a unexpected, sharp prick of a needle. You had seen it on Earth, where they’re all so wonderfully complex. But you don’t possess such depths. You’re hollow, translucent.

You dip your head gently, still anxious of punishment, “...I only ever had one wish, Lord Dream.” You pace your words cautiously, ready to disperse into the same starlight that born you once you’re done, “I wish to dream.”

“For that to happen you would no longer need to be a nightmare.” He says, approaching slowly.

“I know.” You admit, “And I wish for it, still.”

“What would you appear as, then, as a dream?” He questions, finally close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of him. It seeps through you.

“I would appear as I am now, as a woman - a presence that brings comfort, that’s warm and solid, that needs not hide and feed on fears. Instead of standing in the dark I’d hold their hand and gently guide them through it; I’d encourage them; I’d help them understand what they’re unwilling.” You look up, find his gaze, and it pins you down, “And after seeing me they’d awake well rested and happy. No longer crying. No longer terrified of the dark. I would no longer be frightening. I’d get to live with the rest in your palace. I’d--” belong, “...I’d like that, Lord Dream.” You bow your head once more, “Though I know it’s impossible and I apologize--”

His hands land on your cheeks and lift your head up. The stars glimmer.

Lord Dream doesn’t smile, nor does his expression shift, but it feels as if he’s trying to convey something wordless. You’re unable to understand. You recognize the look from humans but you can’t imagine what it feels like.

“...For what it’s worth,” He mutters. You feel sand gliding down your neck, your shoulders, merging and meshing and building something new, “you were never frightening to me.”

You love him.

hope you liked it <3

#the sandman #the sandman x reader #dream x reader #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #imagine #imagines #reader #xreader #autumn features 2022

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wuahae · 8 months

Note

juyeon + the mansion at the top of the hill + 11:43pm (But does the time really matter… ill let you decide .) - ari

[23:43] / the mansion at the top of the hill

the moon hangs low tonight, the silver light weaving between the trees as it casts a gentle glow through the mansion windows. the cold from outside almost penetrates into the mansion itself, moonlight providing no warmth on a pitiless autumn night—almost.

a single lit lamp held in your hands, your slippers shuffle across the carpet as you make your way down the empty corridor. the wick burns steady, flame flickering as it reflects off the pool of oil swaying about with each step. it was a common occurrence, this sort of thing. at this hour, all the servants had already gone to bed, tired after a long day of work and ready to reset for the next, which meant it was only you roaming these halls. quiet, lingering, waiting.

your bedroom at the end of the corridor is an unassuming sight. a single door leading into the room, the inside is almost just as simple—a vanity placed in the corner, and a small desk placed alongside the wall, and a large bed sitting in the middle of the room. shutting the door quietly, you place the lamp by the bedside and watch silently as the only source of light casts long shadows throughout the room. the owl hoots, the wind whistles through the rustling of leaves, a branch knocks against the glass.

a part of you still feels it, even with so many years distancing that night from your present. there's still a weight on the other end of the mattress sinking in beside you, the faint phantom of a touch hovering over your skin, a shiver running along your spine as you breathe in a shaky breath and feel yourself shudder on its way out—

"juyeon," you call, soft, and even the wind outside falls to a hush.

if you looked in the vanity mirror, you know you would see his reflection staring at you from behind, so familiar he would be almost solid enough to touch. but you know if you chased that rabbit trail, if you let him lead you to where he wanted you to go, if you turned to face him head on, he would disappear without a trace.

(the flame on the candle flickers; only one shadow remains.)

"i'm sorry," you start, and somehow, it feel like that's all you've been doing, recently. apologizing, and then repeating the same mistakes over and over again. "i took a long time to return, didn't i? i didn't mean to, there was just a lot to handle at the estate today." fiddling around with the trinkets on the vanity, the perfume bottles clink together as you rearrange them, crystal glass cool against your fingertips. "it's an important day tomorrow, after all."

you glance up, and the ghost meets your eyes with a reprimanding look.

"don't look at me like that," you retort, head instinctively trying to snap back before you stiffen and stop yourself midway. you swallow hard. "you know it's not that simple."

it is, juyeon counters silently. you know better than anyone how simple this really is. he doesn't say anything though, he never does.

(look at me. look at me. look at me.)

if he really wanted you to truly let him go, then he'd find a way to make it happen—he always did. you like to imagine you're not the only one complicit in this, that some part of him still wants to remain by your side too.

the clock on the wall ticks, the minute and hour hand aligning perfectly at the top. juyeon's silhouette flickers, like a ripple in the water. it's been officially one year since he's died, and you're still trying to hold on and pretend that you can still touch him.

sometimes, you wonder if it's even him anymore, or if it's just the memory of him you've latched onto. but you've decided it doesn't really matter, in the end. some version of him, however dead it may be, was better than being without him at all.

"good night, juyeon," you whisper. the disappointment in his gaze forces you to avert your eyes tonight, too. just like every night beforehand. the first time it happens, it's a mistake; everything that happens afterwards is a choice, and even with the guilt viscous enough to suffocate, you can't really find it in yourself to care anymore.

("i think i died with you," you'd told him, one night. you've been trying to make true of that every night since.)

there are two ghosts haunting this mansion—you've made sure of it. if you look close enough in the mirror, you can see the faint outline of your figure rotting alongside him. this is the burden you've chosen to carry, the hole you've dug for your own burial.

the candle is blown out with a single whoosh.

#sorry i talked about this w u already but this is Not as good as i would like it but what can i do ......#i've been rocking back and forth with it since .#juyeon x reader #tbz x reader #1k event!

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copiousloverofcopia · 2 years

Note

Hello <3 I had a bad day and I don't feel so great. When you have time would you be able to write a Terzo/Reader something? I don't really care what it is but just something reassuring would be nice. Spice or no spice is fine. Thank you if you do choose to do it <3 (no mention of pregnancy though if that's okay)

💕I am so sorry that you had a bad day, and that it took me a bit to respond. Here is your request, I hope you enjoy and if you want the SPICY sequel for it just anon me an ask with a 💖with what reader type male/female you want!!!!!

I absolutely don't just write pregnancy related content...just happens to be a specialty lol so feel free to request whatever.... I only include it where its asked!!!

Bad Day

also available on AO3!

You sat in the cloister, feeling the beams of sunlight warming your cheeks. Your day had been trying to say the least, and all at once the gravity of the day hit you like a ton of bricks. You needed some air–to breathe. What better place than your go-to spot to unwind.

You kept your eyes closed tight, preferring to focus on the warmth kissing your cheeks when suddenly you felt a squeeze on your shoulders. Slowly you opened your eyes, the feeling all too familiar to you. When your eyes readjusted to the light, you could make out the most handsome face you'd ever seen, it was Terzo.

"What's wrong amore?" he asked you, eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed together in concern. There was something about him when he looked at you that set your heart aflame. The love you felt for him was like no other–a true and sublime feeling others could only dream of. You knew you had to say something, Terzo would know how bad you had let it get if you remained silent.

"It's nothing?" you replied, your only musterable response not enough. He knew that 'nothing' was indeed 'something'. Your Papa already had so much on his plate. For weeks now he had been helping to transition the Cardinal to be Ghosts front man. Part of your upset stemmed from just how much you missed him.

You didn't want him to know—to be yet one more that he needed to worry about. You tried to hold it back, but the urge to break apart was becoming far too great. You sniffled back your tears and Terzo absolutely noticed.

"Amore, I know you and I know that if you are out here by yourself with that look in your eyes something isn't right? Tell me what troubles you." Terzo pleaded, his concern for you growing. He sat down beside you on the bench, the sounds of the wind rustling in the trees and the chirping of birds filling the silent space that lingered around you. You let out a sigh, there was no trying to pretend now.

"I had a bad day is all. I don't feel so great and honestly I miss you—miss spending time together." you confessed, sniffling back once more, a single solitary tear escaping the rim of your eye. Terzo, pulled you to face him, your eyes glossing over in tears.

“Amore, I know it's been hard on you with everything, especially with me helping the Cardinale, but it won't last forever. We will make it through this—together.” Terzo said, pulling you to his chest, the smell of his cologne filling your senses. You melted, the comfort of his embrace fading away the tension you’d built up inside. His arms were the safest place you knew. When you were with him, the world could burn down all around you and you would still feel protected.

"I know, I love you so much. With everything today…well it just made the fact that we've been a part so much as of late, harder to deal with. It's not easy being without you." you cried quietly, wiping away the tears with your sleeve.

"It has not been easy for me either tesoro. I miss your touch, the smell of your shampoo when I kiss your head, your smile. All day I sit in that stuffy office—hearing Copia whining over who will watch the rats while he's gone and other nonsensical things. I have been reprimanded more than once by Imperator…I daydream…my mind always finds its way back to you." Terzo chuckled.

"Is that so?" you laughed through your tears. Smiling back at Terzo, he smirked once more watching you laugh. Another thing about you he treasured.

"Oh I know so…" Terzo began, giving you that devilish wink. His demeanor changing and his eyes running over you, "...amore, why don't I take you back to the Papal suite and—-show you how much you mean to me, sí?" Terzo purred, bringing his lips to the shell of your ear. Tracing the edge with his tongue, sending a flush heat throughout your body.

"I think that would be nice." you smiled, adjusting yourself where you sat. Terzo's advances always managed to leave you breathless and fully aroused. Damn he's good, you thought to yourself, Terzo bringing his lips along the line of your neck and down to your collarbone. He stood up from the bench, extending his hand to you and that devious look in his eyes.

"Well amore—lead the way."

#you asked i answered #ghost #ao3 writer #ren writes #terzo #papa iii #papa emeritus iii #gender neutral reader #reader insert #papa iii x reader #ao3 fic #ghost fic #ao3 fanfic

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hina-hina · 1 year

Note

I feel like this is such a weird request but would you do König x Soap x Ghost X Reader hcs? enemies to lovers 😭 I've had this idea for so long but ic write for the life of me

I love this request sm. I mean, why pick just one of these boys. All is good=￣ω￣=

I hope I did this right... ＞︿＜Thank you for requesting!!

|| König X Soap X Ghost X Reader Enemies to Lovers ||

Warnings: Polycule, some angst, non-graphic injury,

Gender-Neutral!Reader // Romantic

(Had to use two gifs because I couldn't find one of all the boys together)

So the requester specifically asked via dms that the boys be in a relationship before meeting reader, so that's the vibe we're goin with

(also lets pretend König is in the 141)

So, imagine the boys had already been together for a while, each of them balancing each other out perfectly

And then, you join the 141 as a new recruit from selection

Now, Ghost is immediately suspicious because he just isn't the biggest fan of newbies

He only got more annoyed when he saw how headstrong and reckless you were

He already had his work cut out for him with Soap, he didn't need another person under his command he had to fear not following direct orders

To add to this, your showboating only encouraged Soap to be more reckless in an attempt to one-up you

Which only made him more mad

And then there was König, who was infuriated by your behavior in the field because you always talked over him and rushed ahead

He was also slightly jealous of your sniper status

So, this would lead to plenty of arguments between you and the three of them

But it would also spark arguments between them and cause some relationship troubles

So Price, In a last ditch effort to remedy the infighting, he sends the four of you on a mission together

This became a very bad idea very quickly

You and Soap began your usual teasing which turns into you trying to show him that your better which spurs him on

This ends in Soap getting badly hurt

Your demeanor immediately changes, catching Soap with little difficulty as he crumbles inward

And we've already established that Ghost is a very protective person

And this just sets him off

He starts tearing into you while you guys seek temporary shelter in an empty building

König is angry too, but he is just anxiously attending to Soap in the corner to really join in on the reprimanding

Ghost doesn't really mean to be so mean, but he was just scared

He pushes down the thought that he wasn't just scared for Soap, he was also scared for you

He could see that you felt bad, that you had regretted what you done but he just kept yelling which only caused you to get more annoyed

This accumulated with you shouting at him, without thinking very much about what was coming out of your mouth:

"You want to kiss me so bad it makes you look fucking stupid!"

You freeze, he freezes, even König looks up from where he had been packing gauze into Soap's wound

Even Soap huffs out a delirious laugh, "Quite a bold move, [lad/lass]"

Ghost is secretly glad his mask covers up his blush

Not another word was said all the way back to base

When they get to base, you disappear without a word and Ghost chooses to ignore the insubordination of not waiting to be dismissed

Ghost and König get Soap to medical and his injury is treated

Soap ends up being the one to start the conversation about what happened

When Soap is up and moving, the three of them go on a mission to track you down

So that the four of you can talk of course

They eventually find you and after some groveling they get you to talk

You admit that all the showing off was really just to impress them

Totally not because you find them all super attractive

This leads to you apologizing to each of them for trying to show off and getting Soap injured, for teasing König, and for not listening to Ghost

Ghost would sigh harshly, looking away as he reluctantly apologizes for how mean he was

Soap would jokingly say, "You've still yet to apologize for the kissing comment."

And you would freeze thinking you've offended them by trying to inch in on their relationship

That is, until he continues with, "I mean, i was the one who got hurt. Aren't you supposed to kiss it better."

Que lots of blushing

Ghost would cheekly say, "Well, they gotta kiss all of us to make it fair. You want a kiss too, König?"

König would jump at being suddenly acknowledged but would nod all the same

The night would evidently end with Price being right, the four of you did make up

Or should I say, kiss and make up?

He just didn't take into consideration that his plan would really work

Now that the four of you are together, you no longer feel the need to show off and your true potential really shows

They're all really proud of you :)

(Would you guys want a part two with more relationship headcanons...?)

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raamyun-and-rambles · 1 year

Text

If You Forget Me

unedited. angst-ish.

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

((ᴹᶦᵏᵉʸ ˣ ᴿᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ))

"ᶦⁿ ᵐᵉ ⁿᵒᵗʰᶦⁿᵍ ᶦˢ ᵉˣᵗᶦⁿᵍᵘᶦˢʰᵉᵈ ᵒʳ ᶠᵒʳᵍᵒᵗᵗᵉⁿ ᵐʸ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᶠᵉᵉᵈˢ ᵒⁿ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˡᵒᵛᵉ, ᵇᵉˡᵒᵛᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃˢ ˡᵒⁿᵍ ᵃˢ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᶦᵛᵉ ᶦᵗ ʷᶦˡˡ ᵇᵉ ᶦⁿ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵃʳᵐˢ ʷᶦᵗʰᵒᵘᵗ ˡᵉᵃᵛᶦⁿᵍ ᵐᶦⁿᵉ"

ᴾᵃᵇˡᵒ ᴺᵉʳᵘᵈᵃ ⁽ᴬⁿ ᵉˣᶜᵉʳᵖᵗ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰᶦˢ ᵖᵒᵉᵐ, ᴵᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵒʳᵍᵉᵗ ᴹᵉ

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

You wonder sometimes if you should have tried harder.

Had you set aside your needs and worked harder to meet his would Mikey's hand still be interlocked with yours? You remember his warmth as if it was yesterday and the mild scent of honeyed syrup on his lips as chaste kisses are pressed against yours.

You wonder briefly - in the midst of your sleep hazed stupor - if he ever thinks of you still. You wonder if he finds the ghost of you beside him whenever he gazes into a mirror. You wonder if he remembers the way you call out his name, sweet and lovingly, even when you reprimand him each time he comes home bruised from yet another scuffle - you tend to him with care nonetheless and the smile that slips past your lips don't go unnoticed as he retells an exaggerated version of how he valiantly fought against his opponents.

You don't doubt him though - you never once did.

Does he remember how he used to love you?

Does he remember how it felt like to be loved by you?

Sleep no longer finds you as you start to toss and turn in bed, the blanket strewn across your figure suddenly feels too hot and the empty space that lays next to you makes the bed feel much larger than it actually is.

It was easy to fall in love with Mikey.

It felt like home.

You were enamored by his childish glee and carefree smiles just as much as you were drawn to his heart and strength as a leader. Pride swells in your chest whenever his eyes lock with yours in a crowd of bustling gang members - as if silently announcing to you 'I'm here' 'I'm with you' 'It will always be you'.

But now you know it wasn't the case and bitter bile threatens to rise in your throat.

Because if it was he wouldn't have left you so easily. He wouldn't have told he loved you in the sweetest tone you've ever heard the blonde muster and he wouldn't have smiled as sweetly when you said it back the night prior to his disappearance.

Draken was the first to inform you, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"Mikey left. We can't find him anywhere."

Had you really meant that little for him not to confide in you?

Had it been your fault? Were you lacking as a lover?

Now - in the darkness of the night - you could only wonder and let your thoughts run to him. Perhaps the both of you really were still just children, simply trying too hard to pretend to be something you're not. Too little for the world to be able to comprehend it and much too young to understand each other in the way you were meant to.

Your gaze wanders to the window - at the blanket of stars and the moon that hung in the sky. You don't know how long you've been awake at this point, much too lost in your thoughts to even bother counting.

Perhaps tonight again -

Perhaps tonight -

You can take comfort in the fact that you're at least still sleeping under the same sky.

"Goodnight, Mikey."

#mikey x reader #tokyo rev x reader #sano manjiro x reader #manjiro x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers fanfiction #tokyo revengers #reader insert

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underforeversgrace · 1 year

Text

definition of insanity (is doing the same thing)

Words: 11,694

Complete

Warnings: Dash centric fic, multiple references to bullying, suspected depression, and suspected self harm (no one actually hurts themself)

Summary:

AO3

It was only eight AM, yet Dash was quite confident in his feeling that this day was going to be absolutely perfect. Today was his sixteenth birthday and absolutely nothing bad could happen today.

It didn’t hurt that he was the most handsome, popular, and athletic male in the entire school. What could possibly go wrong on a day like today?

Dash grinned as he lounged right inside the front doors of the school. None of the teachers would reprimand him, no one wanted to risk losing the income the sports he played brought in, especially with how often walls and windows had to be rebuilt in the ghost central of America. His day was made all the more amazing when the nerd he’d been waiting for finally ran in, not noticing Dash.

Fenton ran too close beside Dash - this kid really did not have a single bone in his body concerned with self preservation, Dash had long since learned.

“Just who I wanted to see!” Dash yelled, grabbing Fenton by the back of his shirt collar and slamming him into the lockers beside them. Fenton yelped, in surprise or pain Dash wasn’t sure nor did he care.

“Oh lay off, Dash, I’m already late! Can’t we reschedule for lunch?” The loser whined, not even fighting back where Dash had him bodily lifted off the ground. Dash’s chest swelled with pride every time Fenton did that - Fenton knew he was no match for someone of Dash’s caliber and didn’t even try to pretend he was.

Good. Nerds belong in their place.

“But I had to tell you happy birthday!” Dash sing-songed as he dropped Fenton to his feet before bringing his knee up and slamming it into the loser’s stomach. He grunted, dropping to the ground with his arms wrapped around his center.

Originally, Dash had been quite annoyed to learn he and Danny shared the same birthday. Until he’d learned that he was older (by seventeen minutes) and it meant he would never forget Fenton’s birthday.

And was there a present so sweet as beating a freak on his birthday? Dash couldn’t think of any.

Dash couldn’t help but laugh at the two of them, alone in the hallway, Fenton brought to his knees in front of his superiors. Dash pressed one of his feet against Fenton’s shoulder and pushed, knocking the skinny teen over.

When Fenton looked up at him after that, Dash could’ve sworn he saw his eyes flash green but they immediately returned to their normal blue, hatred practically radiating off the kid.

“See you later, Fenturd!” Dash said, walking away. He couldn’t break his toy too early in the day, after all! That knee to the gut would leave a spectacular bruise already.

Man, life really was great when you had it all.

By the time lunch rolled around, the entire school seemed to have told him happy birthday - either out of friendship or fear. Personally, Dash liked the fearful ones even more. They held a sense of accomplishment, like the state championship Dash had led both the football and basketball team to last year, as a mere sophomore! He was the King of this school and absolutely no one was going to forget that.

Dash only knew of three who hadn’t told him happy birthday, but they were so small as to not even matter. He’d already beaten Fenton to the floor earlier, after all. Those three were the absolute rock bottom of the social ladder.

Still, Dash took great pleasure in body checking Fenton into the wall as he walked by, sending Fenton’s books tumbling to the ground.

“Still graceful as ever, huh, Fentonina?” The jock said with a smirk. Fenton just rolled his eyes, not even seeming to care it was just the two of them.

“I know you’re a little slow in your head, Dash, but you said no to the reschedule, remember? You already got your potshot in this morning.” Fenton scowled.

A single, solid punch to the face was Dash’s only response, feeling cartilage crunch and fold beneath his fist as he broke Fenton’s nose.

“What the fuck is your damage, Dash?” He demanded, voice muffled as he pressed his hand against the red dribbling out of his nose.

“You’re the only one here who’s damaged, loser.” Dash sneered, picking Fenton up and shoving him into his own still open locker, slamming the door closed and spinning the combination dial around to lock him in. He heard what sounded like Fenton banging the back of his head against the locker wall.

Feeling his task accomplished and his victim thoroughly bullied, Dash sauntered off to the cafeteria.

Of course, this is Casper High, so successfully finished lunches were few and far between. Not even five minutes after getting his helping of Questionable Slop, the hunter ghost who’d chased Dash and Phantom last year was there, screaming for the ghost child to show up. One of these days, Dash would figure out why a badass like Phantom apparently spent so much time around the school, he decided as the black and white form of their ghostly hero shot like a bullet through the lunchroom, catching Skulker in the stomach(?) with his elbow and forcing the both of them out the window, shattering the glass spectacularly.

“Now’s your chance, Dash!” Paulina urged to his side. Dash nodded, leaping from his seat, checking his pocket to make sure the paper was still there.

Feeling the soft crinkle of the worn paper where he wanted it to be, Dash marched out where the ghosts had gone. He did, however, use the door eight inches to the left of the window, deciding he did not want to be getting stitches today.

The fight hadn’t gotten very far, Dash realized as he slowly approached, keeping himself hidden behind some bushes.

“Come, whelp! Let your pelt adorn my bed!” The hunter declared.

Seriously, ew. What kind of nut was this guy before he died?

“Skulker, I’ve said it before, and I always hope to never say it again - stop trying to skin me!” Phantom yelled, throwing a green blast of energy with accuracy and speed that would have an MLB player salivating.

Skulker didn’t have time to dodge, catching the blast in his shoulder and getting knocked down. “But it is your birthday, child! What better present could there be than becoming a prized trophy in my collection?”

Phantom froze. “My birthday? You know it’s my birthday?”

“And your first death day!”

Dash scrunched his nose. First of all, hell yeah! He shared a birthday with the coolest ghost/person/thing ever! Second of all, did Phantom die on his birthday? Dash, entirely lacking the common sense of self preservation one should have after nearly a year under siege by ghosts, popped up out of the leaves. “Yo, Phantom bro, birthday twins!”

Phantom whirled around, eyes wide as he saw Dash. “Get out of here!” He shouted.

Deciding now was absolutely the perfect time like the truly brilliant student he was, Dash stepped closer, fishing the invitation from his pocket. “Actually, I-“

He was cut off with a yelp, jumping back as a blast landed an inch in front of his feet.

“Go!” Phantom yelled again before jumping back into battle with Skulker. Dash, not needing to be told twice, ran away and back into the cafeteria.

“Did you invite him, dude?” Kwan asked, practically jumping in his seat in hopeful excitement.

He was very much not pouting as he crossed his arms on the table, dropping his head onto them like a pillow. “No. Skulker interrupted.” Dash’s head shot up at his next thought. “But, dude, guess what Skulker said!”

“What?” Star asked.

“Today’s Phantom’s birthday!”

“Like. Human birthday or… ghost… birthday?” Kwan said, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“Both. And Phantom confirmed it! Today’s his first death day!”

Kwan’s look of discomfort was quickly mirrored on Star and even Paulina. “What happened to him?” Kwan mumbled.

Dash was quiet as the stark realization of what he’d heard settled. It was the biggest question since the ghosts had came - who was Phantom? How did he die? How long has he been dead? No one truly knew - one news reporter had asked him as he had finished evacuating a burning building. Phantom hadn’t answered, but he��d never looked so murderous, green eyes burning so brightly they hurt to look at through a television screen. The Fentons had then reminded people to never ask a ghost about their death or their life - ghosts were not rational on a good day but those topics could trigger higher levels of violence.

It was one of the few times since ghosts had become commonplace that people actually listened to the advice. Powerful as he was, no one wanted Phantom angry at them.

Dash sat up, running a hand through his blond hair. “Now I double need to invite him to my birthday party. It can be his too!”

“Are you sure? He may want to be alone.” Star pointed out.

“But who could possibly want that? To be alone on their birthday?”

“Maybe the kid who died on his?”

Dash grumbled. “Okay, maybe he’ll want to be alone. But I’m still going to invite him.”

“Just don’t push the literally most powerful ghost to ever set foot - er, fly through? - Amity Park, okay?”

He just nodded, not really paying attention to her words. He was going to make sure Phantom had a happy birthday!

The rest of lunch passed without any more excitement (though Dash noticed it was already over halfway through lunch period when Fenton finally came through), though the school got attacked no less than five more times by the end of the final bell. Paulina, the self-proclaimed gossip queen of Casper High, immediately began spreading the rumor that today was Phantom’s birthday and death day, so more people kept sticking around ghost fights to try to talk to him - Dash included, but Phantom always bolted as soon as the fight ended.

He sauntered through the school, looking for his favorite punching bag, deciding to get one last wailing in before they went home. Perfect, alone by his locker again! Today really was an amazing day.

Dash didn’t even bother with a greeting as he ducked closer to Fenton, driving his fist into his side.

Fenton, quite uncharacteristically, cried out in what sounded like actual pain, catching himself against his locker. That knee to the gut earlier must’ve left an impressive bruise to be hurting that much! Normally Fenton didn’t even bother acknowledging his pain, choosing to egg Dash on. Now, not even a single bit of talk back!

“Happy birthday!” Dash called, shoving Fenton back in his locker. Man, Fenton really did need to eat more, he was way too underweight. Not Dash’s problem, though!

Wiping his hands together and congratulating himself on a job well done, Dash walked away, towards the football field. There was no practice today, but it was a nice day outside, so the A-listers were meeting up at the bleachers.

Once again, however, after only a few minutes of them sitting there, ghosts decided to show up.

They all scrambled out of the way as soon as Phantom’s body collided with the plastic seats, collapsing several.

“Seriously, Plasmius, I am not in the mood!” Phantom snarled as the vampiric ghost appeared in front of him, cackling like a cartoon villain.

“Not enjoying my birthday present to you, dear Daniel?” Plasmius purred in a way that made Dash’s spine uncomfortable. The A-list, now long since used to the ghost fights, hadn’t gone very far away, just the opposite end of the bleachers, sitting down and resuming their chat. Or, they pretended to, they’d learned that listening to Phantom’s fights were troves of knowledge about their mysterious savior.

“You?” Phantom practically screeched, rising back to the sky, green crackling angrily in his hands. “You’re the one who told them it was my… death day and birthday?”

“Oh no, little badger! In fact, they were the ones to tell me it was your death day! I merely shared the knowledge it was also your birthday.”

The teenaged ghost lowered his hands slightly, the ectoplasm wavering some. “They knew it was my death day? How? Only three of us were there!”

Plasmius’s eyes were positively glittering as he responded. “Your screams were heard for miles, I’m told. Not a fun way to go, and by your own hand nonetheless!”

Dash nor the others had time to process that particular bomb before the ghosts moved too fast for human eyes to follow.

In an instant, Phantom was in front of them, highlighted and cast into shadows by the green behind him, falling to the ground as smoke rose from his chest, his suit burned clear through.

“I am so fucking sick of getting pushed around!” Phantom yelled, pushing himself back to his feet. Dash’s eyes widened at Phantom’s words. Despite being a teenager, no one had ever heard the dude swear. Or sound this furious, Dash would’ve been willing to bet.

The white haired ghost stood, not floating, seeming to plant his feet firmly onto the ground.

And then he screamed.

As fast as possible, the entire A-List had their hands pressed to their ears, watching Plasmius get thrown back.

The scream didn’t last for long, Phantom closing his mouth as soon as the other ghost had been knocked away, pulling the Thermos he always wore from his hip and sucking the other ghost in. As soon as he capped back the Thermos, he slouched forward, groaning. A blue ring of light flickered around his waist before disappearing. Odd, that wasn’t a power they were familiar with him having.

“Phantom?” Kwan asked, though his voice was hard to hear. Dash’s ears were ringing so loudly it felt like metal was being stuck in them.

Phantom tensed at his name, turning around to face them, hopping back up off the ground and floating two or three feet up, summoning ice to his hand and pressing it against himself. At his face, though, Dash wondered if he should be fearing for his life. “What the absolute fuck is wrong with you goddamn morons?!” The ghost yelled, anger radiating from him. “Are your heads entirely fucking empty? Do you want to die or are you seriously just that stupid?”

All of the group seemed to wither under his glare, his power a physical pulse in the air as his familiar white aura seemed to expand and contract. Despite the day’s warmth, Dash felt a chill all the way to his bones, frost beginning to form on the bleachers surrounding them.

“Well?” Phantom pushed, even his voice like the crack that precedes an avalanche.

“We…” Dash tried, coming up empty as Phantom turned his full gaze onto Dash, rage and pain burning in the green glow. Dash had never been afraid of Phantom, not even at the beginning. He’d always been so clearly good. Now, however, Dash realized just how easily the ghost could snap him like a twig if he chose to do so. “I wanted to invite you to my birthday party this weekend?”

Phantom stepped closer to Dash, scowling. “You risked death, you got me shot, to invite me to your birthday party?” Dash could feel Paulina shaking behind him, he had no doubt Star was similarly protected behind Kwan. Phantom was terrifying. “And this isn’t even the first time! I’m tired of getting shot for a bunch of pieces of shit like you all!” Phantom came even closer to Dash, dropping down to match the human’s height, noses nearly touching. He grasped both of Dash’s upper arms and Dash could feel the bruising pressure of his grip, felt ice begin to run down his skin. “I would rather die again than spend a single fucking minute with any of you.”

Hatred laced his every word and Dash paled, suddenly genuinely wondering if he was about to die. Abruptly, Phantom pushed him, sending both Dash and Paulina crashing to the bleachers. “Stay out of the way of my fights. I’m done saving you. This is your only warning. Casper High would be better off without all of you.”

At that, Phantom flicked out of existence, the ice beginning to melt as soon as he did so.

“Dash, your arms!” Star gasped, covering her mouth. Dash glanced down at his bare arms, his jacket having long since been taken off. Dark purple bruises were already beginning to form where Phantom had gripped him. On top of that, though, was the clear imprint of reddish burns in the shape of a human hand.

“What just happened?” Kwan asked, staring around at the damaged bleachers as though he’d never seen the aftereffects of a ghost fight before.

“I’m sure my ghost boy didn’t mean it! He’s just having a bad day!” Paulina piped up but it was obvious even she didn’t entirely believe it.

The entire encounter left a bitter taste in Dash’s mouth. He’d never seen Phantom that angry, his powers raging so uncontrollably.

“…did Phantom kill himself?” Dash finally asked, Plasmius’s last words echoing in his mind even as Phantom’s scream settled into memory. They’d always assumed Phantom had been something like them - a jock, the ruler of the school, putting his human enemies down as swiftly as he did his ghostly ones. For the first time, Dash was beginning to doubt that.

“I think it’s time to go home…” Star said, hopping down the bleacher steps. The group nearly immediately disbanded, each heading to their own homes.

Dash’s steps were slow as he walked, jacket pulled securely back on. Getting assaulted by Phantom was not something he wanted anyone to know about or to ever speak of again.

Had Phantom really meant it? All of it, any of it? That Casper was better off without them? Of course not, he couldn’t, Dash was the star of over half the sports teams at the school, surely that mattered. But being done saving them? Had they really gotten him shot that often?

Had he really jumped in front of them to protect them so often, yet none of them even noticed?

A rock seemed to settle in his stomach, a feeling he was unfamiliar with clenching around his heart. Dash paused in front of his house, staring up at it. His parents’ cars were both gone, they must still be at work. He walked up the paved entry path, stopping to sit on the front stoop.

This was absolutely the worst birthday ever. What had he done so wrong that Phantom would apparently rather die than be around him and his friends? Would Phantom ever forgive them? Or had they just damned themselves to living in a city of ghosts without their only good protector?

He ran his fingers through his hairs, sighing. “I wish I could take it back. Do it over and get it right.” He said to the still air, the smell of his mother’s flowers wafting over to him. At least they smelled nice. His arms twinged. They’d been somewhat numb, still recovering from Phantom’s sub-zero grab, but seems they’d finally fully waken up he determined as it felt like fire laying into his skin.

Deciding that he absolutely was not the type of person to talk to himself on his front steps smelling the flowers, Dash went inside and (after researching it some on the family computer) pressed warm compresses against his injury. How in the hell does ice burn? It’s literally the opposite of fire! Which is what burns! At least football season hadn’t started yet, still in the early weeks of the school year. Every time he moved his arms or had any small contraction of his muscles, he ended up clenching his teeth together harshly as new flames seemed to circle his arm.

Deciding he was very much over today and that the pain was rapidly getting worse, Dash went to the bathroom, pulling out an old bottle of pain medication from an injury last year. He’d never really taken them, but he knew they knocked him out like a light.

Maybe tomorrow would be better.

“Wakey wakey, son! It’s time to get up!” His mother’s voice said, grabbing his arm and shaking him. Dash whined something incoherently, tucking his head further under his covers. “C’mon, baby! It’s your birthday! Up and at ‘em!” She called and he heard the sharp click clack of her heels against the hardwood floor as she walked out. Dash pushed himself up, keeping the covers around him like a cloak with a hood as he blearily looked around. A yawn, an eye rub, and then suddenly his brain turned on. It wasn’t his birthday. Was his mom okay? That had been yesterday!

Relinquishing his hold on his very soft and comfortable armor and letting it crumble to the ground, Dash hurried downstairs.

“Happy birthday!” His mom and dad called at the same time, his father setting off one of those little popper things. Was something wrong with both of his parents? The table was set just as it had been the previous morning - confetti pancakes with syrup, a single lit candle stuck into them.

“Are you guys okay?” Dash asked. “We celebrated my birthday yesterday.”

“Don’t be silly, Dash! Today’s your birthday!” His father said.

“Did you two hit your head or something?”

Mom rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. Go check the computer if you want - today’s your birthday. I wasn’t even in town yesterday, I got home last night, remember?”

Dash, determined to help his parents out of whatever fugue state they were in, immediately beelined for the computer. He was, however, entirely stumped when the computer reflected back yesterday’s date - his birthday.

“Told ya so!” His mom sing-songed, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. “You probably just dreamed it, dear.”

Dash hadn’t entirely heard her after she’d gripped his shoulder. He’d tensed, suddenly remembering the injury Phantom had given him, only to be surprised when there was no pain. He glanced back and forth between both arms - unblemished, unbruised, unburned. Had he dreamed the previous day? It had felt so real, though.

Thoroughly spooked, he returned back to the kitchen, pretending to laugh with his parents at his silliness, digging into his pancakes. He changed out of his pajamas and was out the door shortly after.

Something seemed to tingle at the edge of his senses - a feeling he couldn’t place, a sense humans didn’t possess. It spoke of wrongness. On arrival, he made his way to his locker, where he knew his friends would be waiting. He was, however, quite concerned when Paulina began to talk about the awful thing her cousin had said to her last night - something about her hair? - even though he didn’t really care. What he did care about, though, was this was the exact same thing she’d opened with yesterday. There was no way Dash had dreamt it. Was he in Groundhog Day now or something? A freaking time loop? But that was the stuff of fiction!

Then again, ghosts had been, too, until last year. What was the reason for the time loop in that movie, again? Falling in love with his coworker? That wasn’t helpful. As far as he knew, he didn’t harbor any secret loves. He also didn’t have coworkers. Well, maybe the guys on the sports teams? Would those count as coworkers? Hm, he’d have to think on that more later, he decided, as he noticed the time. For the first time that day, a grin had blossomed on his face.

Bullying Fenton on his birthday was absolutely worth the weird time loop.

Like yesterday, Paulina peeled off to her class as he walked towards the front door, lounging in the same place as before. Fenton came stumbling in at the same time, Dash caught him the same way, throwing him into the metal lockers.

“In a hurry, Fen-toenail?” He chuckled.

“Oh lay off, Dash, I’m already late! Can’t we reschedule for lunch?” He protested.

Wow, that was a hard hit of deja vu.

“I have to tell you happy birthday!” Dash laughed, kneeing Fenton in the stomach again, watching him fall to the floor. He decided to mix it up a little - he kicked Fenton, hard, not the gentle push he’d done yesterday. Fenton let out a harsh breath, winded and knocked to the side. Again, he glared at Dash with passionate hate.

His eyes must’ve caught the lights the same way again, appearing to flare green for a moment before fading to blue.

“Later, loser!” He called, heading to class.

Again, Dash collected happy birthday wishes like the taxman collected money - mostly out of fear.

And again, he slammed into Fenton, sending the nerd against the locker and his books to the floor. “Geez, watch it, loser! Do you know how hard it is to get the smell of freak out of this letterman?”

“You didn’t reschedule, you got your potshot in this morning. Screw off.”

With all the elation of a kid on Christmas morning, Dash again broke Fenton’s nose, red spurting like a fountain. Not even waiting for Fenton’s responding quip, he threw Fenton into the locker.

Dash paused before he got to the cafeteria, trying to decide what he should do differently with Phantom when Skulker showed up. Maybe not announcing his presence would be a good idea? Yeah, perfect! Just wait for Phantom to catch the ghost and then invite him to the party! Surely he’d be in a better mood!

Into the lunchroom he went, not even bothering with getting a meal as he waited. Right on time - Skulker appeared, Phantom shortly after and through the windows they went. Much more careful this time, Dash followed, listening to the conversation again.

“Come, whelp! Let your pelt adorn my bed!”

“Seriously, Skulker, I am not in the mood. Fuck off before I Fade you.” Phantom hissed.

Huh, that was… not what Phantom had said on the previous today. Shouldn’t everything be exactly the same, if he doesn’t interfere with it?

Skulker laughed. “Is it your birthday or your death day giving you that much confidence?”

Phantom came to a stand still. “You know that? How do you possibly know that?”

“We heard you die, child!”

“H…heard me…die?” Phantom stuttered, staring at the metal ghost dumbfounded.

“You’ve got quite the scream on you, whelp. Even when entirely human! Every ghost within twenty miles heard you!” Skulker shouted. Phantom was stunned and looked slightly distressed. The hunter smirked, firing a missile at Phantom while he was distracted, blasting him into the tree behind him.

Phantom slumped to the ground and for a panicked moment, Dash wondered if it had knocked him out. Both Dash and Skulker were entirely confused as they realized he was shaking with laughter. Slowly, Phantom rose from the ground, hovering there as he continued to vibrate with mirth.

“Uh… ghost child?” Skulker asked, lowering his weapon. Considering he was made of metal, his expression of sheer confusion still managed to be quite obvious.

“Y’know what, Skulker?” Phantom said, setting his feet on the ground. “I’m actually glad to see you.”

“Are you… okay…?” The metal ghost asked awkwardly.

“No, actually, no, I’m not. I can’t kill my human bullies, even if I do have the urge to snap his fucking neck everytime I see him. But you?” A nearly sadistic grin spread across Phantom’s face. “You, I can beat into a pulp without remorse. Or, well. Scream into one.”

Dash barely had time to cover his ears as he recognized the stance Phantom was getting into, the same one from the bleachers yesterday. Uh, not yesterday? Whatever. Skulker, much like Plasmius previously, was thrown away by the shock waves. Again, Phantom didn’t hold the scream long, just long enough to hit Skulker, who seemed to have lost consciousness from it. Or not? His body wasn’t moving but Dash could definitely still hear muffled shouts from the ghost.

Phantom marched forward to the dark metal, shoving his hand into Skulker’s body, fishing around for a moment before pulling out a little green ghost, who continued to yell.

“Thanks for reminding me about my Wail. I forgot how quickly it knocked out your suit.” He said, sucking the small ghost up, leaving the metal body in the dirt.

Perfect, now is his chance! Dash walked forward, into Phantom’s line of sight. “Yo! Couldn’t help but to hear we share a birthday!” He called.

Phantom’s eyes narrowed at him. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Huh?”

“That’s unfortunate. I don’t want to share anything with someone like you.”

Dash’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t even done anything today! He’d done better! Phantom didn’t acknowledge him further, instead focusing on the other ghost’s metal suit. Dash watched as he summoned a huge ball of ectoplasm into his cupped hands, letting it grow larger and larger until he slammed it down onto the suit.

Dash held up his arm, protecting his face as shrapnel seemed to fire everywhere, no piece big enough to truly cause harm, but still littering him with small cuts, the spot where Phantom had fired a blackened starburst in the dirt.

“Leave me alone.” Phantom said before flying off.

Dash sulked his way back to the cafeteria. He had done things differently! He hadn’t interfered! Why was Phantom so angry with him? It just didn’t make sense! Dash adored Phantom!

He didn’t mention Phantom’s birthday this time, hoping it would encourage Phantom to not be so flighty after the many more attacks that day - seriously, were the ghosts doing this because it was his birth/death day? - but he still fled as soon as possible.

Dash ran into Fenton several more times that day and Dash hurt him every time - punching, kicking, pushing. He was hurt by Phantom and he needed an outlet for it. He could practically feel Fenton’s anger and hatred rise even higher each time, though still he never struck back, knowing he wouldn’t stand a chance.

He still shoved the nerd into his locker on his way to the football field, an idea in place to make Phantom like him again. An idea he quickly launched into action as soon as Phantom crashed into the bleachers.

“Plasmius, I am this fucking close to snapping if you don’t leave me the fuck alone.” Phantom growled, the sound nearly animalistic, as he lifted himself from the debris.

“Daniel, it almost sounds like you haven’t enjoyed my birthday present to you today!” Plasmius said, still in that voice that gave Dash a feeling of wrongness.

Tuning out the fight, Dash grabbed at Paulina and Star’s arms, pulling them out of the way. They followed, Kwan behind them, as Dash pulled them further away from harm.

“Uh, you good, dude?” Kwan asked when they reached a safe distance and Dash let go.

“More importantly, did that ghost just say it was mi amor’s birthday?” Paulina said, glancing around the large tree they were behind to watch the fight.

“Uhh…” Dash started. He hadn’t actually told any of them about the time loop. His friends, as much as he loved them… well, there was a reason they forced the chess club into doing their homework and Dash did not feel like explaining something he himself did not understand. “Well, you heard Phantom. And all those fights today! Dude seemed on edge and I didn’t want to risk getting in between them.”

Kwan and Star just shrugged, accepting his response. “Paulie, I think you’re right. That vampire dude definitely said it was Phantom’s birthday.” Star said, swapping the topic.

Their conversation was caught off by an explosion behind them. All four poked their heads around the tree, concerned and curious.

Plasmius had been slammed into the ground, Phantom standing over him. Actually standing. He grabbed at Plasmius’s collar, his aura seeming to whip and crack, nearly electrical in sound. He leaned down further over Plasmius and began absolutely wailing on the dude.

No powers, no quick wit. Just a fist repeatedly to the face, green soaking further into Phantom’s white glove with each throw. He didn’t relent for over a minute, finally straightening up, blood (ectoplasm?) splattered across his face, breathing heavily as though he had over exerted himself. Since when did Phantom breathe?

“More like me every day, hm, child?” Plasmius croaked from where he lay, bringing a hand to his face to rub his cheek.

Phantom didn’t say anything, instead slamming his foot down onto Plasmius’s head as he grabbed the Thermos, trapping the ghost he had so thoroughly just wailed on.

“Oh, my ghost boy, you’ve saved us again!” Paulina cried out, running towards him with her arms outstretched, the others following close behind to keep up with her. While the other three stopped, Paulina continued to propel herself forward, jumping for the ghost.

Phantom, scowling and covered in green, sidestepped her, causing her to launch herself onto the ground. “I didn’t even know you were here.”

“I got us out of the way!” Dash proclaimed, puffing his chest out. Star went to help Paulina up, who was staring at Phantom in shock.

“Congrats, you have a single brain cell. Did you expect a cookie?” Phantom asked.

“Well, I, uh… I thought…” Dash stuttered. Yes, he absolutely did expect praise. He shifted gears. “I wanted to invite you to my birthday party!”

Phantom sighed deeply, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Dash, listen to me for a minute, okay?”

“Of course!” Dash said eagerly, ready to cling to every word his hero spoke.

“I fucking hate you. All of you.” Phantom said, staring into Dash’s eyes. Dash felt his soul wither some, that hurt to hear. “I could not care less about you. You lack empathy, general human decency, and any semblance of kindness. I honestly and genuinely do not give a fuck what happens to you. You are a useless waste of space and I’m tired of pretending any different. There is not a single redeeming quality in that empty blond head of yours.” Phantom’s eyes swept over the other three. “None of you are any different.” He returned his gaze to Dash. “And I would genuinely rather die again than attend your party.”

Dash felt like his entire soul was collapsing. The one thing Phantom had said today that was the same - his absolute refusal of Dash’s party.

Bomb thoroughly dropped and detonated, Phantom jumped into the air and flew away, leaving the four A-Listers shell-shocked where they were.

“He… can’t have meant all of that, right?” Star asked, glancing at her friends. “Right?”

None of them had a good answer. Phantom’s hatred was so strong the taste of it lingered in the air.

Again, chastised and shamed, they split up and headed home.

Dash genuinely didn’t understand. He’d done so much better with Phantom today - staying out of his way, getting his friends out of the way. He hadn’t gotten hurt defending them. So why did he seem even angrier?

Dash arrived home as though in a fog - his thoughts all-consuming yet fleeting and faint. Heading straight to his room, he dropped heavily into his desk chair. Finally, well away from watchers, Dash started to cry.

Sure, other people had insulted him before, condemned him for his bullying. But never people whose opinions actually mattered. Phantom was the one person in this world that Dash actually gave a damn what he thought. But this was two days in a row that his hero, the person he most looked up to, practically flayed Dash alive with just his words.

Snippets of things he’d heard over the two days forced themselves to his mind. From the sounds of it, Phantom had been bullied and then killed himself in a spectacularly awful manner on his own birthday. It still just sounded so fake. Sure, that’s always the ‘dangers’ of bullying but it was just a scare tactic, people didn’t actually do it. At least not anyone he’d ever known.

Then there was the swearing. Phantom had always been known as someone who didn’t swear. He had been furious and abandoned the PG language.

It just didn’t make any sense. Dash couldn’t understand Phantom hating him. Cool people just didn’t dislike Dash, and Phantom was the coolest person around (both literally and figuratively).

The rest of the day saw Dash running circles in his mind, unable to accept Phantom’s hate and wondering if tomorrow would be today again. Other than making Phantom apparently dislike him more, there had been no significant changes. And movie logic said something good had to change for the main character before the loop would break.

When he awoke the next day to more confetti pancakes, Dash hoped more than anything this birthday was better than the past two.

Again at the school, Dash dutifully pretended to care about Paulina’s cousin. Once that wrapped up, he again hunted down Fenton. Dash was not having a good birthday and he needed an outlet. If Dash’s birthday was bad, then Danny Fenton’s was going to be worse. So Dash gave him the worst beating of the last three days that morning, not even bothering with banter as he slammed the smaller teen’s head into a locker. By the time he was done beating Fenton, they were both very late for class and Fenton was on the floor, leaning against the lockers, looking slightly dazed.

By the time lunch rolled around again (and Dash shoved Fenton into another locker), Dash had determined that school sucked enough but learning the exact same thing three days in a row was something akin to torture.

…even with learning it so many times, though, Dash probably still wouldn’t remember it come test day.

Dash settled into his normal spot and - when Phantom sent Skulker flying through a window - he remained there. He couldn’t piss off Phantom before the afternoon if he just didn’t interact with Phantom.

A position he continued to hold throughout the day, not even trying to disturb the ghost after the many other fights during school hours.

When he went to the football field (after making sure his favorite nerd had been taken care of), he was extremely confident in Phantom’s acceptance.

This time, though, it was Plasmius who was bodily thrown through the bleachers.

Well. That was certainly different.

“Daniel,” the vampirish ghost drawled, brushing plastic chips off his shoulder, “are you having that bad of a day?”

“Yes.” Phantom replied simply, blasting the offending ghost as Dash pulled the others away once more.

If anything, Phantom was even more brutal when he beat down his target, too, before capturing him. He’d also been injured a lot more, burns on his sides, arms, shoulders.

“Dude, are you okay?” Dash asked, stepping around the tree.

Phantom didn’t really answer, only growling in Dash’s general direction.

“Mi amor?” Paulina asked, moving in front of Dash and reaching for Phantom. “You’re hurt!”

Phantom barked a laugh. If he was going for an insane look, he was absolutely nailing it. Covered in green blood, rips and singed material littered over his suit, he looked more than slightly unhinged.

Dash walked forward, gently pulling Paulina behind him. “Phantom, are you okay?”

“Have you stopped being a piece of shit or grown a heart?” He retorted.

Dash felt his stomach sink. Phantom was still angry with him and he had no idea why. This was the third day in a row like this! And Dash was so over it. “What the hell is your problem, dude?” He asked, clenching his hands into fists.

“What’s yours?” The ghost shot back. Apparently noticing Dash’s fists, he grinned. “What? Gonna hit me?”

“What? No, of course not!” Dash responded, though he desperately wanted to. He was sick and tired of being disrespected by this ghost he held in such high esteem.

“Of course not,” Phantom scoffed, crossing his arms. “Bullies are cowards who only torment those weaker than them. You wouldn’t know a fair fight if it slapped you across the face.”

The other popular kids stayed behind Dash, wide-eyed and speechless at the interaction.

“Phantom…” Dash started, remembering some of the conversations that now never happened. “Were you bullied when you were alive?”

The ghost’s face immediately sobered. No longer looking like a mad man, he now just looked tired. “Yeah. You know what? Yeah, I was.”

“Is that why you’re dead?” Kwan piped up from behind Dash.

Phantom didn’t answer, instead dropping to sit on the ground, dropping his head into his hands. “I didn’t care about living anymore,” he confessed and they heard him begin to cry. “I didn’t care what happened to me and was reckless. And then I died and it still didn’t stop.”

The four of them looked at each other in bewilderment. None of them had actually expected an answer, expected Phantom to be having what appeared to be a mental breakdown. Sat like that, crying into his knees with his arms wrapped around himself, he didn’t look like a badass. He looked like a tired kid. Dash could tell the others were thinking about the sharp increase in ghost attacks today. Dash, however, was suddenly comparing himself to the crying hero in front of him.

He had heard enough the first two times he lived this day to know the ghosts had targeted Phantom specifically because it was his birthday/death day. Dash had targeted Fenton for the same reason. In this scenario, he was more like Phantom’s enemies than Phantom.

“Why are you like this?” Phantom asked. “What do you people get out of injuring and belittling someone else? How do you not care that you may be a catalyst to their deaths? I don’t understand. I just don’t.”

As the ghost continued to cry, the four looked at each other. That same feeling Dash got the first birthday rose up - a rock in his stomach, a pressure in his heart - but a name finally associated itself to the feeling. Guilt. Shame. And, now, a touch of fear. Bullying was supposed to be mostly harmless fun, not that serious. A way to reinforce his position at the top of the high school food chain.

He thought of stories of vengeful spirits - the old, scary stories before myth became real - as he listened to his hero cry. He thought of Fenton - of his escalating anger today, of Dash’s own escalating violence - and suddenly considered what Fenton would be like as a ghost. He’d kill Dash, wouldn’t he? Ruled by anger and vengeance.

Whoever had made Phantom’s human life hell must be incredibly lucky. Phantom had even said he wanted to kill his bully, but refrained from doing so.

Kwan was the one who eventually answered. “I… don’t know.”

Phantom chuckled though there was no humor in it. “Of course you don’t. Your victims are nothing to you other than sadistic fun.” He looked up from his knees, looking at the popular kids in front of him. “And you never even try to be better.” He sighed and returned to his feet. Then he was gone in an instant, flying away in a blur of black.

Dash wasn’t entirely sure what to think of the look on Phantom’s face. He’d been a force of pure terror when he was angry the past few days. But Dash almost felt like he’d rather see that side of Phantom again before seeing this one. No matter how angry he got, he still didn’t lash out. But that sadness? That hurt in the way your parents looking at you in disappointment did. And Dash found he didn’t entirely like that feeling.

“So, like, does anyone else suddenly feel, like, kinda sick to their stomach?” Star asked softly.

“Yeah. I don’t think we can blame it on cafeteria food this time, though.” Paulina answered, nearly meek compared to her usual self.

They separated silently. Is this what people called a life changing event? Had Phantom’s human bully gone through it when Phantom had died?

Unpleasant as it was, Dash was grateful this was the event. Suddenly he was unsure of his belief that bullying didn’t really kill people. And Dash most certainly didn’t want death on his hands - in general or in a city with strong ghostly ties. He had some comfort in knowing Phantom’s death wasn’t his fault.

He fully expected tomorrow to finally come. He’d learned a life lesson, so movie logic said it was time to continue forward.

However, when he awoke the next morning to another birthday breakfast, he was well and truly confused. What else could he do?

Maybe he had to put his lesson to practice? Get through the day without bullying? He wished he knew why he was in this time loop.

That day, he didn’t wait for Fenton at the front door. He simply went to his first period class and learned the same thing for the fourth time. And just like before, he did not take notes. There was only so much change someone could do in a single day (even if that single day took up four days).

His second period class, he shared with Fenton. Every now and again he glanced over at the teen, remembering Phantom. He imagined Fenton with ghost powers, with the ability and drive to take revenge.

He imagined learning Fenton had died and that Dash had driven him to his early grave. More and more came to mind at that thought. The Fentons, grieving a dead son, no longer building the weapons and shields that kept the town safe. Phantom and the Huntress did good jobs, but people still needed to be able to protect themselves until the hunters could arrive. The school, knowing what he did, blaming him for another student’s death. He doubted he’d be able to keep his position at the top of the school with blood on his hands.

The worst image that filtered in was a headstone and a fresh grave, with the name of a teen he knew, a teen he unknowingly convinced that a coffin was better than breath.

He felt guilt at just the possibility of it. Phantom’s breakdown yesterday had made sure that he’d never have to feel guilty for real.

He tried his best to focus on his classes but honestly, they were just so freaking boring! But at this point, maybe he had passively absorbed enough information or whatever to get a good grade on the next test, otherwise he’d have to wallop Fenton.

Wait, no. No walloping. No taking out anger on someone else. No hitting people except on the football field.

When he passed Fenton’s locker on the way to lunch, the brief mental image of a funeral was more than enough to keep his feet going forward. And when Phantom tackled Skulker out the window, he stayed in his seat. Mostly. Ducking under the cafeteria table whenever a ghost appeared was second nature at this point. Once Skulker had been successfully evicted from the room, he returned to his food, snickering along with several others as Lancer sighed, going to get the broom to clean it up.

When Lancer passed one of the tables, though, Dash temporarily paused. The teacher had gone in front of the table where Manson and Foley sat. Yet where Fenton was notably absent from. Dash hadn’t shoved him in a locker today. Why was he still late?

When Fenton once again walked in halfway through lunch, Dash was thoroughly confused. Was someone else bullying the weirdo? How had Dash not heard of it? He wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that. Dash was now the only one alive who had seen Phantom’s pain, everyone else’s memories forgotten. Like the previous days, Dash didn’t bother explaining the whole repeating day thing. He’d get around to telling them when tomorrow finally came. He was repeating enough conversations without adding that one in.

Shrugging, Dash determined it wasn’t his problem. Even if it was bullying, it wasn’t any that Dash himself was responsible for, plus it couldn’t be that bad if Dash never even noticed it, with all the time he spent tormenting Fenton. So he continued on with his day, studiously avoiding Phantom’s fights. He’d try to invite Phantom to his party again during his fight with Plasmius later in the day, but he also wouldn’t push. He very much did not want to hear Phantom’s declaration of dying again being better than spending time with Dash’s group, thanks.

When he passed by Fenton’s locker for the last time that day, he had to admit he was proud of himself. An entire school day and he didn’t bully a single loser! This whole being a good person thing was actually kinda nice, he determined. So he continued on his way to the bleachers, not even acknowledging Fenton as he had for the entire day. Ignoring his existence wasn’t bullying, after all! He was reasonably certain of that.

Dash was the first one there this time instead of being the last as he had the past few todays. He plopped down on one of the seats in the front row, enjoying the gentle breeze on a warm day.

The sound of a metal clang drew the jock’s attention, glancing around for the source of the noise, just in time to see what looked like Foley’s stupid red hat disappearing under the bleachers. Huh? Had that always happened? Or had he changed something?

Curious and bored, Dash got up, heading over to the side Foley had gone under, peeking around the corner.

All three of them were under there - he could see Foley’s and Manson’s faces but Fenton’s back was to him. Worry burned on both faces he could see. Fenton had his shirt partially lifted, apparently something on him was the source of the concern?

“Danny, what the hell happened?” Manson asked, leaning forward and pressing a hand to Fenton’s stomach.

Whatever she touched, it made Fenton hiss in pain and pull away from her. “Kitty had a gun.”

Huh? What the hell kind of sentence was that? And why did the other two seem to accept it as a perfectly normal answer?

“They’re really gunning for you today, huh?” Foley said, looking off into the opposite distance. Wimp. What could possibly be so bad? Fenton was clearly standing on his own. Maybe a paintball gun or something?

“You’re telling me. I haven’t gone longer than thirty minutes between each of them. Apparently, Vlad was nice enough to tell them about my birthday so they could all bring me presents.” Between who? Who was Vlad? The only Vlad Dash could think of was Amity’s mysterious mayor.

“Ugh, seriously? That guy is beyond a fruit loop, dude.” Foley said, shaking his head.

“Want to tell me something I don’t know?” Dash had never heard Fenton sound so tired. If nothing else, not bullying Fenton was absolutely worth it. Everyone knew there was something going on with them but no one knew what - most people’s best guess was they were all screwing each other. Dash made sure to keep quiet, being mindful of the metal bars around him. This could make for some amazing gossip!

…gossip wasn’t bullying right?

“Well, you need stitches. Is that something you knew?” Manson asked, moving to her knees and digging around in her spider shaped backpack.

Uh, what?

“I kinda guessed, yeah.” Fenton said, him and Foley joining Manson on the ground.

Uh, double what?

Manson pulled out a white kit from her bag and Dash felt rooted to the spot. Foley sat down near Manson and Fenton laid down on the ground, though he sat his head in Foley’s lap. Foley immediately began brushing his hand through Fenton’s hair.

Huh, maybe there was something to the rumor about them all sleeping together? Or at least the guys.

Dash nearly felt sick when Manson pushed up Fenton’s shirt, showing a large, deep gash on him, nearly the full length of his stomach. Who the hell had done that? And why was Fenton so calm? What was going on?

With fascinated horror, Dash silently watched Manson literally thread a thick needle and push it through Fenton’s skin. Fenton buried his head further into Foley’s lap and Foley leaned down closer to him as Fenton gripped at the other’s shirt.

There was something inherently wrong about the scene in front of him. Three teenagers - sixteen years old, like him - one laid out on the dirt while another stitched flesh together with what seemed to be practiced ease. Slick red blood trailed down Fenton’s stomach, stained Manson’s glove-less hands, practically glittering each time the light caught her hand the right way.

Throughout it all, Fenton never made a single sound of pain. Somehow, that was the worst part. Other than pulling Foley close to him, he just wasn’t reacting.

Dash heard as Fenton let out a loud, long sigh. Foley and Manson both began looking around, suddenly on high alert. Dash pressed himself further into the shadows, tensing when their eyes scanned over his spot. They didn’t seem to notice him, though.

“Seriously? Who is possibly left?” Foley asked, reaching into his pocket and pulling out… bracelets? that he slipped on. What in the name of football was going on here?

“Guess it’s time to find out.” Fenton said, moving to sit up, Manson stopping him before he got very far by placing a hand on his chest.

“I only got half of it stitched. Be careful and try not to bust them?” She asked, also pulling silver bracelets onto either wrist.

The longer he watched, the more lost Dash became.

“Don’t I always?” Fenton said, batting her hand away gently, pushing himself up to his feet.

Red continued to drop down his stomach, staining his skin, bleeding into the waist of his blue jeans, half open wound still weeping. Yet he just pulled his dark red shirt back down, the blood spot only visible as a dampness in the fabric.

“I’m not in the mood for hide and seek!” Fenton yelled, turning in a small circle, eyes sweeping the same way his friends’ had. Foley and Manson followed his lead, coming to their feet, their backs all pressed together as they gently spun. Goth and geek both raised their arms, hands pointed in front of them.

If Dash hadn’t just seen them treat Fenton as though it were a common occurrence, he may have laughed. They looked ridiculous, two of the three with arms held in front of them, yet all had looks of seriousness on their faces.

“Are you having a poor birthday, little badger?” A familiar voice asked.

His breath caught in his throat as the Wisconsin Ghost popped into existence, a cruel grin on his face.

“Y’know what? Yeah, I am. And it’s been a whole twenty minutes since I punched anything, so you’re right on time.” Fenton shot back, moving to stand in front of his friends protectively. “I got this, guys. Get out of the damage zone.”

What? What? What?

There was no way that was Fenton standing there, glaring into the face of the ghost considered to be one of even Phantom’s strongest enemies. Not Fenton, who had meekly taken beatings from a human boy. Dash, strong as he was, was still a toothpick to be snapped in half when compared to a ghost.

Manson and Foley ducked and ran, leaving Fenton and the ghost alone, Dash trapped in his hidden alcove. The ghost didn’t even acknowledge the two running away, merely crossing his arms over his chest as he hovered there.

“Now, Daniel, is that really how to speak to your elder?” Plasmius asked.

Wait. Wait, hold up, back up, rewind, be kind, restart, whatever. He’d heard something like this before. The ghost saying Daniel. But he had said that to Phantom, why now to Fenton?

Dash glanced around furtively, wondering if Phantom was actually here. Wait, duh, of course Phantom would arrive any moment now! He’d been here the other days!

“Well, at least you’re admitting you’re elderly.” Fenton said, smirking. “Maybe time to stop wearing a cape, hm?”

Plasmius’s grin dropped into a scowl and he summoned a pink blast to his hand, throwing it toward Fenton. Suddenly, Dash was trying to remember if he’d ever seen Fenton again after this fight, realizing he hadn’t. Does Fenton die today?

Sure he was about to see his classmate burnt to a crisp, he felt like his brain was short circuiting as Fenton leaped out of the way.

“Says the child in pajamas playing hero.” Plasmius said, his face returning to a neutral expression.

What the fuck was happening? Like, seriously? How had it only been a few minutes of this and how did he only have more questions without a single answer? Fenton was most definitely not in pajamas!

“Hey! I like my suit!” Fenton shouted, though it nearly sounded playful.

Someone. Anyone. An answer. Any answer. A single breadcrumb of context.

Plasmius shrugged. “Be that as it may. I didn’t come here to talk.” He said, blasting pink at Fenton again. Dash made a strangled noise as the shot connected with Fenton’s chest, slamming him backwards into the fencing, the sound of the impact mercifully covering Dash’s sound.

Fenton, his shirt slightly smoking, stepped forward. “No, you came here to get your ass kicked.”

No. No way. Was Fenton threatening Plasmius?

Plasmius smirked, reaching out and waving his hand in the universal ‘bring it on’ movement.

Fenton was threatening Plasmius… and Plasmius was goading him on?

“Goin’ ghost!” Fenton shouted, jumping into the air.

Dash.exe has stopped working.

His entire mind went blank as he watched the scene in front of him. Fenton was suspended in midair, far higher than he should’ve been able to jump and then not coming back down. Light swallowed him and nearly blinded Dash, yet the quarterback didn’t even blink. He saw the entire transformation, saw his weak, spineless classmate fade away and leave behind Phantom.

“Just for you today, Vladdie,” Phantom said, summoning energy to his hands. “We have a two for one special going! Two beat downs for the price of one!”

With that, Phantom shot forward, sending himself and the other ghost beyond the bleachers, leaving Dash alone underneath.

He released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and lowered himself to the ground, legs suddenly made of jelly. He didn’t understand. He had seen it but his brain didn’t understand what it meant.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there when he heard Phantom yelling halfway across the field, words muffled by distance. Dash remembered the first today - Phantom had gotten hurt protecting them. From the sounds of it, without Dash’s influence, the others had remained there and history repeated itself. But Phantom didn’t sound as angry this time. Fed up, but not furious the way he had that first day.

Because Fenton was Phantom. Because Fenton had spent the entire day being beaten by both ghosts and Dash. Because today was the anniversary of Fenton’s death.

Dash froze as Phantom phased in through the bleachers, settling on the ground, holding onto his side.

He didn’t remember speaking, didn’t remember telling his mouth to move. But nonetheless, he did. “I’m sorry.” Dash said.

Phantom whirled around at his voice. “Uh, you alright there, citizen?” He called, coming towards Dash.

“I know.” He said.

“Know what? You good? Come on, can you stand?” Phantom asked, stooping down to Dash’s level. He took Dash’s hands and pulled him to his feet. Regret, guilt, shame flooded him, stronger than any other iteration of today, as he felt the ice of Phantom’s body as the hero helped him. The chill of the grave.

“I… saw…” Dash tried to answer, but his tongue felt foreign to his own body. His entire being felt oddly disconnected from itself.

Phantom frowned as Dash swayed, reaching up and holding him steady by his upper arms, though he didn’t burn Dash with ice like he had the first day. “What did you see? Did something happen? C’mon, focus on my voice and try to ground yourself.”

Dash tried to say it, tried to say the human name for the ghost in front of him, but the word eluded him. “Your stitches were only half done. Were they always only half done?” The other times, had Phantom fought with that injury half mended? Or had Dash caused a delay the other days, Phantom having to fight Plasmius with his stomach sliced open?

“What did you just say?” Phantom said, jerking away from Dash. Without the ghost there to help him, he sunk back to the ground. Even his eyes felt confused, colors wrong and the world a little too tilted.

“She didn’t finish them. He arrived too early.”

“Dash. What did you see?” Phantom asked sharply, voice tinged with an emotion Dash knew so well. Fear. He’d heard it in so many others. An emotion that had always been a thrill to him, a success.

When was the last time Fenton had actually shown him fear? Or had he been a mere annoyance this entire time? Just a small delay to be forgotten immediately?

Well, it certainly hadn’t been forgotten at all. Phantom had grown angrier, crueler, the more Dash bullied him.

“Dash!” Phantom yelled, shaking him briefly. “What did you see?”

Dash looked up, Phantom’s face coming into sharp relief even though everything else seemed to be collapsing into colors and shapes Dash didn’t know. “Fenton.” He finally managed to say.

Phantom’s eyes widened in panic. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Danny said, pacing back and forth, though his feet didn’t actually appear to hit solid ground.

“The… the time loop… was this the lesson?” Dash thought aloud. Reality was slowly fading back into his consciousness, bringing back color and thoughts he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“What?” Phantom asked, stopping his pacing.

“I’ve been in a time loop. I’ve lived this day before.” Dash answered. He tried to push away the truth, the evidence in front of him, the realness of this situation. It pressed in on him even harder.

“Fucking Clockwork,” Danny swore. He squatted down in front of Dash, feet arched as he rested on his toes. “Tell me what’s happened.”

Dash didn’t want to. He didn’t want to think, to relive. To face what he’d done. But he had to. This was Phantom, his hero. This was Danny Fenton, his victim. “I… it’s… a long story.” He choked out.

“I’ve got time.” His classmate’s ghost said.

There was no avoiding this. The truth was collapsing into him and was impossible to stop. “This is the fourth day. The first day was just… normal. All the same ghost fights as this version of today. I was… my normal self. I was there with Skulker. I learned it was both your… birthday. And death day.”

Phantom paled, his aura seeming to dim.

“When Plasmius attacked, we didn’t get far enough away and you got hurt because of it. We… we had wanted to listen to your conversations. And Plasmius was talking.” Dash finally felt tears prick at his eyes. “He said you died painfully. And that you did it to yourself.”

Dash was shaking his head as he cried, let the knowledge of his actions burn into his mind. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Fenton. I never thought anyone would actually die!” He insisted, but it felt hollow as his eyes burned.

“I…” Phantom started, settling into a fully sitting position. ‘It isn’t… You…” He went quiet.

Dash pushed forward - he had begun, talked about the loop for the first time, and the flood gates weren’t going to close again. “You yelled at us. Called us… names we probably deserved. Burned me. And when I woke up the next day, it was my birthday again. The same things happened. I was worse, though. I acted worse. Hit harder. I stayed out of the way in the Skulker fight…” He trailed off, remembering how Phantom had laughed.

How he’d said he wanted to murder his human bully. Why hadn’t he? Dash would be no match for Phantom - for Fenton.

“I only popped up after you had caught him. You were angry with me. I didn’t know why. And I took my anger out on… well, I got us away from the Plasmius fight. I thought it’d make you like me. If anything, you were angrier. The third day, yesterday, my yesterday at least, I just wanted to understand why, how to make it right. But… I also decided that since I wasn’t having a good birthday, Danny Fenton couldn’t be allowed to either.”

And he’d taken every beating. He’d get beaten by a ghost just to be turned into Dash’s line of fire. He never fought back.

Dash looked up at Phantom. He was holding himself, looking firmly at the blank ground. What was going through his head, Dash wondered? “I didn’t follow you for the Skulker fight. Didn’t bug you after any of the others during the day. The whole day, though, I was beating you so hard my knuckles hurt. That day after the Plasmius fight was the worst.”

“Did I hurt you again? I’m sorry.” Phantom mumbled into his knees.

The entire scene seemed to play on fast forward in his memories. Phantom’s words, Phantom’s cries. Remembered his certainty Fenton would’ve killed him. “No.” Dash finally answered. “You cried.”

“I what?” Phantom asked, incredulous.

“You cried. Completely broke. Told us you stopped caring about your life because of the bullying. And we just… we finally realized what the consequences could be. And I couldn’t do it anymore. Not after seeing the ghost of a dead teen like that.” Dash chuckled before he continued. “I was afraid I’d push Fenton too far and he’d come back as a ghost to get revenge.”

“So the difference today was just you not bullying Fen…” he sighed. “Beating me.”

A laceration cut so deep into Dash’s chest he was surprised when there wasn’t a real wound. He’d seen the change. He knew who Phantom was. But hearing it, the acknowledgment, somehow made it all the more real. Regardless, he nodded. “I got here early today. I saw Foley. I followed.”

“So you saw everything.” Phantom groaned, leaning his head onto his knees. “Dash,” he pleaded, “you can’t tell anyone. They’ll kill me and that’s the good option for what’ll happen.”

This time, Dash paled. He hadn’t even considered that. “I already… already caused your death once. I don’t want to again. This is my fault.”

“If it helps, I’m not, like, entirely dead?” Phantom offered. “And it’s not like I committed… died intentionally.”

“Would you have done whatever reckless thing it was that killed you without me?” Dash asked.

Phantom fidgeted some. “It was an accident.”

“What I did wasn’t.” He said.

Uncomfortable silence filtered into the air, neither sure where to go from there, until Dash remembered what else he had said. “What do you mean not entirely dead?”

He didn’t say anything, plucking off one of his gloves and reaching towards Dash. “Look for a pulse.”

Dash did as he was asked, though he nearly recoiled when he touched Phantom’s icy skin, so cold it hurt. “There’s nothing there,” Dash said guiltily. As far as he could tell, Fenton was very dead and just good at hiding.

Light flashed around the ghost again, the bleachers suddenly feeling dark when they disappeared, Phantom’s glow gone with it. Only a very normal looking Danny Fenton was there now, clothes bloody, sat beside Dash. “Now try.” He said, shaking his arm slightly.

It was faint and it was slow, but it was there. Dash made a sound of confusion, unable to articulate anything more complex than that.

“I’m half ghost. An accident with my parents' portal. Apparently dying between two worlds is a good way to not die,” he said, laughing softly at the end of it before returning to being serious. “I don’t recommend it though. Dying and coming back wasn’t pleasant.”

His screams could be heard for miles. Dash remembered both Skulker and Plasmius saying.

“Why didn’t you come for me?” Dash finally asked, the one question he had held back.

Fenton paused, resting his chin on his knee. “Honestly? Because hurting people is wrong and I didn’t want to be like that.”

Quiet stretched between them.

“Will you really not tell anyone? Can you even keep this secret?” Danny asked softly. “From everyone you know?”

“This town would collapse in a week without Phantom,” Dash answered. “And I don’t want any more guilt.”

“Can you do something for me?”

“Uh, sure? What?”

Danny studied Dash’s face. “Stop hurting people. Try to get the others to stop. Don’t just stop with me. Be better. Even if I didn’t take my own life, there is already a ghost haunting Casper who did.”

“Sidney Poindexter is real?” Dash asked. “I thought he was made up.”

“Nope, he’s real. One time he even thought I was bullying you and got pissed at me. Can you believe it?”

Dash snorted at the idea of Fenton bullying him. The old Fenton would’ve been too weak. The new Fenton was much stronger than Dash, in morals as well as strength. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m stopping. This isn’t who I want to be.”

“Good.” Fenton said, standing up, pressing a hand into his stomach. “Now, I’ve gotta go and get the rest of these stitches done.”

“I’m not sure how I completely managed to forget that. Are you okay to… travel?”

He shrugged. “I’ve had a lot worse. I’ll live.” He grinned. “As much as I ever do. For now, though, I’mma die right quick.” And again the transformation swept over him. He was up in the air and gone with the win without another word.

There were no confetti pancakes the next time Dash woke up.

#Grace writes #danny phantom #danny fenton #dash baxter #Phic phight 2023 #Phic phight

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