#ghost recon phantoms

[thevoidstaredback]

Batman pulled up a world map as soon as the alarm started blaring. There was a red dot centered in Illinois, so that's where the map zoomed in.

"That's Amity Park!" Robin exclaimed.

Batman hummed. "Robin, contact Red Huntress and find out what's going on from her end." The boy nodded and left the room. "Constantine, Zatanna, figure out what's going on."

"Already on it, Batsy!" Constantine called in English before going back to his now four alternating conversations in Esperanto and Latin. Zatanna didn't even acknowledge the order.

"Everyone else," he continued as though he hadn't been interrupted, "set up a perimeter a few miles out from the town. Keep it in your line of vision, but don't get too close." He turned to look directly at The Flash. "I want you to run recon. Make sure this is the only place they're coming from. Once we find out their goal, that's what you'll be looking for."

"Aren't they looking for a child?" The Flash asked. He was ignored.

The heroes emptied the room swiftly, quick to ZETA as close as they could to the town before setting up a perimeter ten miles out. Close enough to see the town, but not close enough to cause any panic.

It was nearly twenty-five minutes later before Constantine and Zatanna joined them all. Though, they were both quick to make it known that the town was wholly aware that they were there.

Constantine went to join the hero's block-in, though he didn't stay in one place. He moved from hero to hero, keeping both eyes and one ear on Amity Park. If it was going to move, he would be aware of it only seconds before it did. He needed to be ready.

Zatanna pulled five of the American based heroes away from their posts to explain what she knew. It was barely any better than a recap from the meeting that they had vacated.

"Like we tried to explain earlier, they're looking for a child that the US Government took from them."

"The one from the pictures right?" Aquaman said, "Phantom??"

Zatanna nodded. "Yep. He's the town vigilante; Operating for several months longer than Red Huntress. From what Deadman told me and Constantine, Phantom is a baby ghost; he's only been dead for about a year." She ignored the various reactions. "He's also favored by several Ancient Beings."

"'Ancient Begins'?" Superman asked.

"Think Primordials,"

"Oh, dear," Wonder Woman muttered.

The magician continued, "Don't attack any of the R̶͎͔̿̅ḛ̴̗̦̯̭͇̰̎͑a̸̻̜̤̼͕͔̘̱̫̓ĺ̴͉̘̥͚̪̹́̈́͋̓͜m̶̬͇̅͑͌ṣ̷̨̺̜̣̮͔̤͕̃̍́͂ denizens under any circumstances. They're already going to be hostile towards us, we don't need to give them another reason to be."

"A bit late for that, don't ya think?" A new voice called, startling the heroes into falling into defensive stances.

It took several seconds to find the source. When they did, Batman asked, "Who are you?"

The being, female in appearance, was above and slightly to the left of the group. She looked to be in her late teens with teal-grey skin, a slight teal glow, and flaming teal hair tied in a high pony, bangs framing her face. Her eyes glowed the same radioactive green as Phantom's had in the picture, though less so. She was wearing black pants, a black crop-top, grey knee boots, and a single black elbow glove. There was a guitar strapped to her back that gave off a slight purple glow. Even from where the Justice League heroes were standing, they could feel heat radiating off of her.

"It doesn't matter who I am, does it?" the girl sneered down at them, "What matters is that you dickheads took on of ours, and we intend to get him back." She very obviously assessed the group, not hiding her distaste. "Phantom told me this world had other heroes." She lowered slightly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Where were you."

"Excuse me?" Green Lantern asked.

"Where were you?" she reiterated.

"I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"You're talking about the threats here, right?" Zatanna asked.

The being turned her full attention to the magician. "You knew?"

Zatanna nodded. "My colleagues and I have been keeping an eye on Amity Park since the rifts opened up last year."

The girl's eyes narrowed and she nodded at the five heroes. "These your colleagues?"

"Technically."

"I don't much like technicalities," she hummed. "You must be the one Deadman told us about."

"You know Deadman?" Green Lantern asked. He was ignored.

"Yeah?" Zatanna nodded.

"I'm Ember," she said after a moment, touching down in front of Zatanna. "Deadman convinced the Council to hold in Amity Park until the end of the day. The second the sun goes down, we act on our own."

"I'm Zatanna," she shook her hand, "We're going to find him."

Ember glared, her grip tightening. "You better. He's done more for your world than any of you could ever acknowledge." She turned her glare on the five heroes before flying back up. "And once he's back with us, where he belongs, we'll think about calling a ceasefire." She left before another word could be said.

Zatanna fell into a crouch, her hands covering her face. "This is a nightmare," she whispered before popping back to her full height. "That could've gone better."

"It also could've gone worse." Aquaman tried to console. It didnt work.

"Well, you heard her, we have less than twelve hours to find the kid before the R̶͎͔̿̅ḛ̴̗̦̯̭͇̰̎͑a̸̻̜̤̼͕͔̘̱̫̓ĺ̴͉̘̥͚̪̹́̈́͋̓͜m̶̬͇̅͑͌ṣ̷̨̺̜̣̮͔̤͕̃̍́͂ denizens set themselves loose."

The group shared a loo, quickly moving to pass on the word to everyone else. Off to the side, Superman was relaying to The Flash.

***

Barry had worked on time limits before. Hel, he was usually pretty good at meeting them ever since he got his powers! What he wasn't great at was working under huge amounts of pressure.

He had to cover the entire United States in less than twelve hours. Easy, done. Adding on every out-of-country US Base around the world? Slightly less easy, but still very doable. Looking for a child in what was probably a secret, undocumented, or at least heavily covered, US Base is a bit harder, especially undetected.

Normally, the Justice League would have no problems with making their opinions on matters known, but this was a delicate matter. Even more delicate than the Metahuman Rights Act and Diplomatic Missions to other worlds. This was an issue they'd not been previously aware of, and the dimension that it most affected was now very close to decaring war.

No pressure.

He'd already cleared all of the known Government Bases along the East Coast and was steadily moving inland. Superman, upon Zatanna's and Constantine's advisement, was being productive away from Amity Park. With The Flash covering the US and Superman literally everywhere else, they had hopes of finding the child within the next few hours. The problems were going to start anew after that.

Batman was already working on several extraction plans based off of the blueprints for every US Gov. Base he has access to- don't ask. But, without knowing the actual building's layout, guard posts, shifts, security, whereabouts, etc., no one could make a concrete plan.

There were too many unknowns and it was upsetting everyone.

Robin had managed to get ahold of both his team, readying them for evacuation, and Red Huntress. Apparently, there was nothing she could do. She'd tried to capture the ghosts - as she'd called them - but they'd quickly overwhelmed her. Everyone was locked in their homes until further notice. Luckily, the ghosts seemed content to them the humans alone as long as they stayed out of the way.

There was now five hours until the sun set in Illinois, and Barry had only just cleared the Midwest.

Nothing. Not a single hint as to where they were keeping this child! They had the two fastest heroes out looking for him, the had pictures of what he looked like! By all means, they should have found him already! And yet, they were still empty handed.

The people of Amity Park were getting restless. The ghosts that had taken over Amity Park were getting restless. The Justice League were getting restless.

Constantine and Zatanna had declared that the town would likely not be moving any time soon, not that anyone even knew what the meant. They'd still be keeping an eye and ear on the town, but it no longer had most of their focus. Instead, they were trying to get ahold of Deadman with little success. If they didn't reach them soon, one of them would have to go into the town proper and talk to the ghosts. No one was very excited for that.

Minutes before the sunset in Illinois, Robin received an emergency call from Red Huntress. One that everyone was patched into.

A boy was missing from his house. Daniel Fenton, son of the town's resident Ghost Hunters, hadn't been accounted for.

The sun set over Amity Park Illinois.

Part 3 Part 5

[madds-is-ace-trash]

Nightwing why are you warring a cape? Well for the baby of course! Dcxdp

This takes place in the same universe as my fic Mother of the storm and her star child.

A few years have passed and Danny is completely settled in and moved to bulhaven with dick. Eventually around the time he’s Turing 9 he insists that he wants to go out at night with dick. Dick is hesitant but Danny insist, pointing out how his abilities would make him the perfect recon detective. Dick can no longer argue when Danny beats both Damian and Cass the first day of training and he is out out in the field.

Danny hose out in his ghost form and picks the name phantom because it feels right and now nightwing patrols with a bird if his very own for the first time in a while. Danny is very good on patrols, he sticks close to dick often clinging to him and hiding behind him when dick is interacting with people. He’ll often turn invisible but it still doesn’t fell like enough to dick. He quickly released that he missed the cape and the layer of securing it added when Damien was his Robin.

So nightwing starts wearing a cape, and the people of his city starts coming up with all sorts of theories for the sudden change. The range from him practicing because he’s taking over the cowl to him hiding new gadgets. Very few have seen Danny and those who have are often not believed because, “nightwing had glowing eyes under his cape!” Is not very believable.

He doesn’t wear the cape all the time just when he has Danny, the cape is long the outside is black but the inside has a blue and black feather design so it looks like wings when he glides. It has a feature where it retracts in to a role on his back when he need more freedom of movement. And I’m addition to the cape he now has an extra loop hanging form his belt for Danny to grab on to as the hop rooftops. (Danny can will him self to weigh nothing so dick tends to pull him along as he floats any way)

As the news of dicks sudden costume adjustment is circulating he has to come to the watchtower with B for a mission. Danny tags along hiding in his cape like all the Robin had before him with Bruce. Meanwhile Bruce is totally not going all mushy over his grandson he is totally normal about this. All of the Leagers keep giving dick looks.

Until flash finally ask

Wally: so um nightwing what’s with the cape? I thought you hated them?

Dick*with a bright smile across his face*: it’s for my shadow!

Wally: your shadow? How is a cape ganna hide your shadow.

Dick: no not my actual shadow it’s to hide my bird.

Diana: your bird?

*Dick flares one side of the cape revealing the feathered pattern underneath but nothing else is visible hidden under the cape*

Wally: I don’t se-

Dick: whistles like a bird call

Danny slowly fading in to view giving the league a small wave as he scrambles to hide behind dicks legs: Hello

Hal: really Bruce another one!?

Dick Smiling at the small boy in his cape before closing it : nope this one’s all mine!

Meanwhile John Constantine who is present for this mission is freaked the fuck out. Because that kid with the flowing white hair and glowing freckles is definitely not human. And worse than that from what he can sense it’s pretty darn powerful to. He watches as all of his coworkers are working to get the boy out from hiding cooing over him.

Clark: he’s looking a lot better nightwing

Wally: Waite you already new about him?

Clark: yes the boy is nightwings child I’m guessing he only is just now joining the team

Diana: what’s your name little one?

Danny poking his head out of the cape: phantom my name is phantom

Fuck why was that name familiar? Oh shit that’s right John had heard rumors of the new ghost king and a prince milling around the infinite realms this must be the little ghost prince. How the fuck did dick end up with him? Waite sups said that was dicks kid, hold did dick?

John: ha Oh my god! You crazy fucker you fucked the ghosts king!

[caffeinatedvigilantewriter]

This is a mashup of various tropes. Don’t like don’t read. May include

- deaged danny

- Damian x Dani (serious chaos)

- dead Jazz

- dead Sam

- dead Tucker

- not-shit parent Vlad (kinda)

- the Waynes have a strength kink

So when Danny is 18 and have safely moved out, has financial security and can go no contact with his parents he decides to tell him that he’s Phantom.

It doesn’t go well.

By the time Jazz Sam and Tucker find him he is deaged to around 6. The fentonworks lab explodes.

Dani, who is 16 and was on her way to visit, came just in time to sift through the rubble and find Danny, who has only had enough memory to recognize her as his sister. She also finds three dead bodies. Jack and Maddie survived.

Scared and mourning, she takes Danny and runs to Vlad, who realizes how terrible and obsessed Jack and Maddie were and gives Dani lots of money to hide somewhere where the Jack and Maddie wouldn’t dare to look- at least not for a little while.

Gotham.

So she takes Danny and changes their names.

Elliot ‘Elle’ Jasmine Nightingale and Daniel James Nightingale, brothers and sister duo.

Dani- now Elle- still holds a grudge on Vlad, coupled with the Fenton stubbornness, she insists that she can pay rent/bills/groceries/etc. she gets an apartment in crime alley.

Because Elle doesn’t want to leave a paper trail, she does a less-than-legal job.

She joins a fight rink under the name of Phantasm.

And she’s great at it.

Shes spend the money on education for Danny, ignoring her education for the moment until Danny is old enough to join school.

Damian and Bruce were having major arguments, mostly about his violence and Damian quits being Robin and becomes Nocturne. (Bc I love that name)

He undercover a fight rink and thinks if he busts the rink Bruce will trust him enough.

He does recon and quickly realizes that one of the fighters was incredible, winning fight after fight without causing major injures to her opponents. Her name was Phantasm.

He decides that in order to find out more about her, he has to join undercover. It was only to take down the fight rink and learn more about the beautiful fighter that could bend him in half and nothing more.

Damian joins under the name of Ghoul and swipes some DNA from Elle, learns her (fake) name her (fake) backstory (family died in an heated lab explosion) but doesn’t understand why a chunk of her DNA was unreadable (ghost part of her DNA)

After a bit of digging, realized she didn’t attend school and the next morning Elle waked up to a letter starting that her full-ride scholarship to Gotham Academy has be approved (GA offers a afterschool care for students with younger siblings)

Elle never applied and is confused but accepts after Vlad, Ember, and Kitty convinced her.

She coincidentally is put in the most of the same classes as Damian, who she eventually crushes on befriends because he’s hot she’s suspicious of his faint and funky ecto signature.

So shenanigans include (not in this order and are optional)

- GALA where Vald announces her as Vlad Co heiress and the are invited to the gala and get a bit sus of Elle bc Vlad is sus

- JASON AS ELLE’S NEIGHBOR is actively trying to set up/prevent Damian and Elle getting together (either one works, as long as the plans fail comically)

- PRINCESS ELLE OF YHE INFINITE RELAMS + SUMMONING

- TALIA ATTEMPTING TO KIDNAP DANNY because he looked like Bruce/she wants another son and Elle absolutely beating her 7 different ways to Sunday and Talia telling Damian that she approves of her

- ELLE DESTABILIZING/GETTING REALLY SICK and Danny calls Damian in a panic because he knows Elle trusts him even if she won’t admit it

- ELLE GETS SAVED BY NOCTURNE and Elle instantly clocks him as Damian bc of his ecto signature and rips him a new one because look how vigilantism turned out for Danny

- THE BATFAM THINKING DANNY IS THE CLONE OF ELLE and investigating Cadmus, who could have ties to the GIW somehow

- ELLE BECOMING A SORT OF SERIAL KILLER to protect Danny (check the comments @emerald-fox-93 linked it :)))

- DASH BECOMING A GCPD COP AND HAVING TO ARREST ELLE because she killed someone who tried to kidnap Danny. Damian picks her up from the station after she calls him.

- PAULINA BECAME A LAYWER FOR WE bc I saw a post like that and it was fire. She eventually fights for the removal of the AEA (anti ecto acts)

- THE OTHER BATS GENUINELY BECOMING CONCERNED and began to think that Elle is mind-controlling Damian because he keeps brushing them off to hang out with her

- DAN JOINING THE JLA and calling up Elle when he needs her help and Damian being there and being like ‘wtf??’

Jack and Maddie eventually find Danny and Elle and Elle vanishes. Danny- who Elle hid when the Fentons stormed the apartment- calls Damian sobbing and pleading for him to find Elle because the bad people are going to hurt her.

Damian, knowing little to nothing about her situation, basically goes ballistic trying to find her. The family, titans, and the League gets involved because one 15 year old doesn’t realize he has a massive crush on his classmate. He calls up that every favors he is owed (and some that is not) so now basically almost the entire LOA is after a 15 year old girl who was kidnapped by the two mad scientists who are committing around 16 wars crimes.

They find her after the ghosts she’s Still in contact with realize she hasn’t texted in a while and they’ll help Damian on his manhunt

And because Elle is the high princess, the entire ghost zone is ready to help Damian get their princess/queen/regent back

Jack and Maddie never stood a chance.

Any more ideas?? Please tag me and comment 🙏 :))

Edit: I’m updating the post as I think of new ideas, so it’s changing pretty often, you’re not crazy, I just have no writing ability and too many ideas 🤪

[milf-murdock]

The Ghost of You (Part 3)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x 141!Reader Summary: The entire task force believes you to be dead. What happens when Simon finds you on his doorstep? Part 1 here Part 2 here (the rest of the 141 reacts to your death)

You awake in darkness. The dust is everywhere; you feel it coating your mouth, layering your lungs, prompting you to cough and sputter.

There was so much you didn’t know: how you survived, what exactly you survived–some kind of explosion, for sure, but what caused it? Enemy action? Was it a setup? Your head spins as you try to replay everything you remember. There wasn’t much to remember. One second you were standing in an abandoned warehouse on a routine recon mission. The next second, a devastating blast and everything went black. 

In spite of everything you don’t know, there is one thing you know for certain. Everything hurts. As your body rattles with each cough, pain wracks your body. When the coughing fit finally subsides, you test the extent of your injuries with light movement. Toes? Movable. Fingers? Still attached. 

Taking stock of your surroundings, you realize that it’s not the wholly darkness of night that surrounds you. There’s faint glimpses of sunlight trickling through the wreckage. It gives off enough light to see that you’re effectively trapped beneath a giant sheet of metal. It must have been the roof of the warehouse, snagged by fallen crossbeams that held it just barely over your body. A few inches further and it would have meant certain death. 

The realization sends a bolt of adrenaline through you. 

“Holy fuck,” you think to yourself. “I’m alive.” The gravity of that sentence hits you like a freight train. 

You survived this. You are alive. 

You need to get the hell out. 

With your strengthened resolve, using every scrap of strength you can muster, you set to work slowly, carefully, freeing yourself from the debris. There’s not much give between the roof and your body, but you manage to make it onto your stomach so you can begin to crawl from under the wreckage. The pain threatens to pull you back under into unconsciousness, but up ahead lies a single golden ray of sunlight streaming through a gap in the wreckage–a beacon of hope. You fix your sights on it and power through. 

Ghost sits alone in the darkness, consumed by his grief. The small velvet ring box is back in his hands, taunting him. 

Every time he felt he had gathered up the strength to get rid of the damn thing, something stopped him–a small tug deep from within. One final shred of hope? One last desperate attempt to cling to what could have been?  He just couldn’t let it go. 

He had been so close to happiness, so close to letting himself believe for just a moment that maybe he even deserved to be happy, after all the pain he had endured in his life. 

He was a fucking fool. 

The box served as a painful reminder of everything he had lost: a future, a family, you. 

But he hadn’t just lost you. No, he lost the man who was capable of that kind of love, that kind of hope. 

The man who had happiness just within his reach. And then watched as it crumbled to ash in his fist. 

Everything reminds him of you. 

He can’t stand being in the kitchen; the ghosts of you two slow dancing, your favorite song playing in the background, pass him on the way to the fridge. 

He can’t sit on the couch because the phantom touch of your familiar body tucked up into him is too damn painful.  

He can’t even sleep in his own goddamn bed because even when sleep does eventually win out and take over, he never fails to wake up to that fleeting moment of hope when he opens his eyes, hands stretching out automatically to cup you, and for a split second all feels right in the world again. Then his hands meet empty air and the loss comes crashing back down to him tenfold. 

And so Ghost sits on the floor. In the dark. With his bourbon. 

Haunted by the ghost of you. 

It takes every ounce of strength you have to limp to the safehouse roughly 3 klicks away. Collapsing onto the musty sofa, you finally allow yourself to succumb to the darkness that has been creeping into the edge of your vision. 

You’re woken by a strong hand on your shoulder. Fight or flight kicks in as your hand flies up to grab the stranger’s arm, jerking  awake to find a familiar face hovering over you. 

“Nikolai?” You gasp in surprise. You’re not sure who’s more surprised: you or the rugged sergeant above you. 

“I can’t believe you’re here.” Just hearing Nikolai’s thick Russian accent was a comfort. 

You survived. You made it to safety. And now, you’d be able to get home. 

There’s footsteps on the doorstep once again. 

‘That bloody idiot doesn’t know when to quit,’ Simon thinks to himself. 

“Fuck off Price,” he shouts towards the door before taking another drink. “Damn prick needs to take the fucking hint,” he mumbles under his breath. 

The door clicks. 

Price doesn’t have a key, the thought races through his addled brain a second too late. 

Typically, Ghost would be on alert. Someone entering his home? Not on his fucking watch. 

But what does it matter? Ghost thinks. Maybe they’ve finally come to take me away. 

Let them fucking come. 

“Simon.” Your voice is hoarse–soft and broken. 

The sound alone cleaves Simon’s heart in two. Was he hearing things? It sounded so real. 

He stumbles to his feet, tripping slightly as he gets his bearings and steps into the hallway, moving towards the door. 

When your broken and bruised body limps into view, Simon can’t even think straight. 

It’s a trick. It’s not…it can’t be… 

Regardless of what his brain is telling him, his feet move to you. 

You make it all of two steps before you’re falling, collapsing into Simon’s outstretched arms. 

The second he makes contact, he knows it's real. 

His knees buckle beneath him and he guides your bodies to the floor, falling to his knees as he holds your trembling form tight against him. 

“Oh my god,” he whispers, repeating your name over and over like a prayer. The pure shock and disbelief are overwhelming as he pulls you tighter, his grip a vice on your body, keeping you rooted to him. 

He buries his face in the top of your head and breathes you in. Hot tears slide from his eyes, falling into your hair. 

“You’re alive. You’re here.” His voice is ragged, desperate for this to be real, to be true. He has spent every moment since that day in Price’s office dreaming of your touch, longing to feel you in his arms again. Losing you was a pain incomparable to any other. 

And here you are, your trembling body back in his arms as he holds you fiercely to his chest. 

“You’re alive,” he repeats, voice equal parts pain and relief. “You’re here.”

“I’m here, Si,” you whisper into his chest. “I’m here.” He smells of bourbon and that distinct smell of Simon and it warms your heart–you weren’t sure you’d ever smell it again. 

“How?” Simon’s voice breaks on the single syllable. 

Simon carries the two steaming mugs of tea over to the couch, relief washing over him once again as he walks back in the room to find you sitting there. He was half convinced that you would have disappeared when he walked into the kitchen, nothing more than a mirage sent straight from the depths of hell to torture him. 

But there you sit. Hair wet from the shower. Draped in one of his old t-shirts. You smile up at him as you take the mug, and the sight alone has Simon reaching up to press against his chest, as if he could soothe the ache that lay beneath there.

He takes his seat close to you, one hand instinctively finding purchase on your bare thigh.

“You were dead,” Simon’s voice chokes out the last word, his grip tightening further, like if he relaxed his grip even a little bit, you’d vanish into thin air. 

“I survived.” Your own voice chokes up as the reality of your ordeal catches up to you. Your hand covers Simon’s and you absentmindedly trace the veins on the back of his hand, steadying your breath. 

You recount as much as you can remember: escaping from the wreckage, searching for survivors, making your way to the safe house. How your good fortunes continued as Nikolai found you and helped you navigate your way back home. 

The tea has long gone cold by the time you finish. Simon doesn’t look away the entire time, utterly transfixed by you. His eyes trace you up and down, as if he still can’t believe you’re sitting here before him. 

You turn a pleading look towards Simon. “I tried to call you,” you explain. “So many times. But it never rang.” 

For the first time, Simon looks away, something like shame settling in him. 

He didn’t want you to see him like that–a mess of a man, hardly a man at all. A man who drowned his pain and his sorrows in bourbon. A man who couldn’t even sleep in his own bed. A man who turned off his own cell phone because he couldn’t bear the condolence messages and check-ins from his squadmates.  

You spare him the burden of explaining as you sit up to press a kiss against his hollow cheek. 

“It’s okay, Si,” you say quietly. “We’re okay now.”

Simon pulls you from your spot on the couch to his lap, holding you even closer. You bury your face in his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. 

His strong arms wrap around your body, and it dawns on him that he holds his entire world within his arms. And he’d be damned if he would ever let anything take you away from him again. 

He holds you tightly as your breathing levels out, sleep tugging at your edges. The sheer exhaustion deep in your bones weighs you down, but none of it matters as you fall asleep in the safety of Simon’s arms. 

Masterlist here

[ancha-aus]

Ghosts & Medium AU Drabble - First Encounter

Because we all know. I have no self control :D

I don't know if this will become a serie like RealAgeAU.

This drabble is more of a thank you to all the lovely people who interacted with me over this idea and added their own little ideas and headcanons <3 So this is for all of you <3 (also i named Ghost Papyrus Ash because I like the name combination of Dust and Ash. Dust to dust and ashes to ashes kinda deal/joke)

*---------------------*

Dust taps the steering wheel as he drives through the town. Many people shoot his van worried and suspicious looks but he really doens't care that much.

Ash does not agree.

"If they know what is good for them they will stop this idiotic behaviour!" Ash huffs and grumbles as he floats around the top of the van, only his skull and hands available to him in this phantom form. "They are already lucky we are willing to give them our presence!!"

Dust hums as he follows the road "It isn't big of a deal."

Dust stops their van at the end of the road and grabs his laptop. a beat up old model but it works for what he wants. He only uses it for work stuff anyway. he opens his email and checks the address "We are here." he looks up and spots the house the email describes.

Ash huffs but floats near his shoulder "stupid white family who moved into an obviously haunted house again?"

Dust snorts and shrugs "Maybe. The man didn't specify. still." he grins at his brother "wanne bet?"

Ash looks unamused "I don't bet with you anymore."

Dust shrugs "your lose. Either way. I bet that this is the same old story. a white family moved to this very cheap mansion because the father was convinced this change of environment would solve all their issues, which are mostly that he cheated on his wife with his twenty year younger assistant."

Ash huffs unimpressed and just points pointedly at the house "Do your job. What can we expect here?"

Dust sighs but focusses on the house in the distance as he slowly opens his aura and soul for influence. Doing this near a lot of spirits leaves him at the risk of being possessed. which is why he does this only from a large distance and when he doens't sense other spirits nearby.

Dust hums as he focusses "okay... I think this may be a poltergeist? Though a very powerful one." he shoots Ash a look "best you dont go on a recon mission." he turns his driver's chair around and gets up to look through his shelve.

Ash grumbles behind him but doesn't fly off to investigate on his own. Ash as phantom is very stealthily and able to get anywhere he wants. But it leaves him weak to other spirit types.

Dust first grabs the pendant to strenghten Ash, which he tugs away in his scarf. Next he grabs a notebook and pen. An ouija board. a ghost radio.

He considers his tools before also grabbing the EMF meter and a handheld thermometer.

Ash laughs "You don't need those. if you are right and it is a poltergeist you just need to follow the floating and throwing objects to find it."

Dust shrugs "They may not be active. and stop calling your fellow spirits 'it's. it is rude." he gets out of his van and locks it before walking the last bit of the distance towards the house. Ash grumbles unhappily but follows him.

They get to the mansion together and find the family out in the garden. camping. huh. Honestly good idea on their part. just camping just outside the house.

The man had been holding a sniffing girl before catching sight of him.

The man looks excited as he hands the girl to the grown woman. the wife then it seems.

The husband rushes over "You are here! please help us!"

Dust tilts his skull and studies the scene before looking back at husband "hello. How long have you been having this spirit in your lives?"

The man sighs and moves to speak but the wife gets to his side "please love. lets first let our guest sit and we can all tell him what we saw."

Dust tilts his skull at her "Normally people don't believe in what i do."

the wife laughs but looks tired "I didn't believe in ghosts before until my house suddenly got haunted out of nowhere. And the priests we hired started to lose their minds. You get more openminded after that experience."

They end up sitting together in the grass as they explain that this was a house they bought about ten years ago. and that they never had these problems before until a month or so ago. that knives started flying and attacking them and how they couldn't feel safe anymore. How many had tried to demand the ghost to leave or tried to make it leave but nothing worked.

Dust looks at the small list he made and nods "i will need to find out why they dont leave." normally something keeps a spirit anchored to this realm and reality. it is strange that this spirit moved in without having a reason.

or at least it seems like that.

Dust asks if there seems to be a room where the spirit is most active and the family tells him it seems to be the living room though they have also been haunting the master bedroom a lot.

Dust nods and walks towards the front door. Already noticing the presence of the spirit as he gets near. He opens the front door and waits for a moment.

silence. No movement. an unnatural darkness.

Is the spirit taking energy from the environment to get this powerful? Normally they tend to feed on fear or memories. taking it from the environment is rare but not unheard of.

Dust makes sure to keep his voice calm and even "Hello. I am coming in okay?" he waits for a moment before nodding and stepping inside.

The door slams shut behind him and Dust nods "fair enough. can't have a draft form." he glances around. He needs to make a choice. living room or bed room.

He goes towards the living room. That one is generally more socially acceptable to visit on a first visit.

He gets to the room and looks around. It is a mess of furniture thrown over and broken things. The TV is static and everything is lit up with that greyish light.

Dust takes a moment to get comfortable at the coffee table as he sits with his legs crossed on the ground "Hello. I would like to ask you some questions if that is okay."

More silence but no hostile auras around him.

Dust nods and takes out the ways to help the spirit communicate "Do you have a prefered way to speak?" he points at the notebook, the radio and the ouija board.

A laugh in the air and Dust searches for the source. The longer he is near spirits the easier for him it becomes to hear and see them. He can see the outline of the spirit and watches them.

The laughted stops and the spirit floats closer to the offered items. they seem to nudge some of them before huffing.

Dust nods "no preference? we can try to just communicate as is then?"

The other stops and turns to face him. More details are becoming clear to Dust as the spirit remains near. They seem to have been a skeleton before, or they just prefer that form now.

The spirit chuckles and leans on their fist as they lay on their front in the air "sure. sounds fun."

their voice is still a little hard to understand but Dust can manage. He will have a headache after this however. That always happens when he communicates like this with new spirits.

Dust nods before putting the offered tools away before grabbing his own notebook for his personal notes "Hello, do you have a name that i can refer to you with? and do you have a preference in pronounce or gender to be referred with?" and he waits.

The spirit, becoming more and more clear to him, stares at him before speaking with that crackling and static voice "Killer. I am a guy."

Dust nods and notes it down "Killer. Hello. I am Dust. I was hoping you could answer some of my questions." more of a statement but an important one to make.

Killer nods and shrugs as answer. Okay that is good. no obvious hostile air just yet. Killer is also becoming more and more visible the longer he is not hostile. Dust can make out the skeleton with a bright red target in front of his sternum. the sweater and pants he is wearing. most telling however? the dark and empty sockets adn the black tears.

spirit forms usually say a lot about how a spirit died. The best way to make a spirit leave is to help them move on which is about 9 out of 10 times connected to their death.

So... no eye lights... hopeless situation? black tears. very traumatic? that is all he has so far and that is just speculations.

Dust asks his first question "How long have you been a spirit?"

Killer blinks before shooting him a grin "Checking if i am legal? Don't worry! I am well beyond the legal age." and he winks.

Dust blinks as Ash is silent by his side. okay. not the kind of answer he had been expecting. but better than being hostile...

Dust gives a slow nod as he makes a note "so you have been a spirit for a while. how long have you been at this place specifically?"

Killer shrugs as he thinks "little while. a month ish? so i am open to running away wiht you." and he grins at him again.

Ash grumbles angerly behind him "I think a murderous spirit is better than whatever is going on here."

Dust decides to not pay much attention to the flirsts and stay on track "Where were you before you moved here?"

Killer grins "In some other house with other people."

dust nods and continues "Why did you leave that place?"

Killer grins as he leans on his fist. staring at him "They moved and no one new moved in."

Dust frowns and asks "isnt that your aim? By haunting them? To make them leave? To have your own place for just yourself?"

Killer freezes for a moment and seems to grow a bit more static. Then he grins wider and leans closer to him "I mean. I would love to have my own house! Especially as that is seen as hot right? Having your own place." Killer winks at him again "Make sure no one interrupts our alone time?"

Ash makes gagging sounds behind him as Dust notes down 'doesnt want to be alone.'

Dust thinks for a moment before speaking again "You seem very focussed on being near others. does that mean you regret being alone?" just get more information.

Killer grins "The only thing i regret is not meeting you earlier."

Dust hums as he thinks. He doesn't seem to have any regrets. So his death and lingering isn't regret related.

It goes on like this for hours. Dust asking Killer questions and Killer replying with somekind of pickup line or other flirt with tiny bits of informations within those answers.

By the time it is evening Dust has a small list of things that seem to be trauma related but not any closer to actually getting the spirit to move on.

Dust says his goodbye as he moves towards the door only for the door of the living room to slam shut. Dust looks at it before turning back to Killer "Yes? Was there something?"

Killer looks downright panicked "Where are you going? Don't leave!"

yeah that is very obviously trauma related to being alone. maybe left behind? abandoned by someone Killer cared a lot about? Maybe that explains the flirting?

Dust speaks "I was going to go eat and sleep. I need to it to live." and he waits.

Killer frowns as he rubs his arms and eyes the door "And you will be back?"

Dust nods "I was planning on it. If i am welcome."

Killer thinks but nods. the door behind him unlocks and opens and Dust hears a second door do the same in the distance.

Dust nods and leaves the house. he gives the family a quick update that it may take a while longer as he tries to figure this out. then he goes to get his van and park it closer.

This may be a bit of a tricky case after all.

*---------------------*

and then in the end dust never managed to get killer to move on and killer ended up stalkign him instead <3

A drabble for this silly au!! I love seeing everyones ideas and headcanons and i hope this helps you guys to also keep interacting with me about this :D <3

part 2 - New Haunting

[eoieopda]

FORCE QUIT // EPISODE II: THE PROFESSOR

until now, hyunjin's never met a problem that subterfuge and violence couldn't solve.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader | series masterlist (2/4) | prev. episode | next episode series summary: it's 2077, and life's a fucking nightmare. corporate titans ate the state and shat it back out, leaving citizens of the new republic to fall in line or fall to their knees. a reckoning is coming — where will you fall? au: series — dystopian, cyberpunk; episode — secret relationship, star-crossed lovers ➢insp. by: cyberpunk 2077 + the true lives of the fabulous killjoys genre: angst + smut word count: 10.6k rating: 18+ — minors do not have my consent to interact. series warnings: violence (hand-to-hand, firearms, explosives), depictions of injuries (blood/bruising/burns), some characters have cybernetic modifications, class conflict + poverty, surprise - corporations are bad!, unethical medical/tech experimentation, self-indulgent references to non-skz idols, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns. episode warnings: above + recon!hyunjin, corporate defector!reader, hyunjin’s pov, minor time skips, hyunjin is a Charmer™️, reader is a fugitive, shower sex, brief nipple play + fingering, implied unprotected p in v penetration. reader notes: afab & uses she/her pronouns; has had cybernetic modifications (similar to plastic surgery + prosthesis) to change her appearance; current and prior hair/eye colors are described but they’re artificial(!!); reader is shorter than hyunjin and can be/is lifted by him. ➢ notes added/expanded upon during 8/6/24 inclusivity review. a/n 1: each episode features a different member x reader pairing, but the plot is linear, so you'd need to read them (in order) to get the full picture! you can sign up for the taglist to be notified of the next uploads. thank you to my beloved @sailoryooons for beta'ing this and @jihopesjoint for being my emotional support internet wife even though she doesn't stan skz. ily both endlessly! a/n 2: the smut isn’t long or particularly explicit because the plot is more important, sorry!

One of Hyunjin’s earliest memories is of his halmoni looking him dead in the face and calling him a phantom. 

Cruel as it may have been, the superstition was justified. Even as a kid, Hyunjin existed in blind spots, floating through walls and picking up on all the whispers he was never supposed to hear. Never seen or spoken to, he was ever-present, nonetheless; and worse than that, he was seemingly omniscient, too. 

Who the fuck wouldn’t be afraid of him?

Funnily enough, his halmoni is now the one haunting him. Careening into his late twenties, Hyunjin can still hear the slight rasp of her voice echoing in his ears, reminding him that he’s still stuck beyond some fucking veil. He may have the same beating heart and a pair of operable lungs he’s always had, but biology doesn’t change the facts.

For all intents and purposes, Hwang Hyunjin is a ghost.

As is usually the case, Hyunjin stands unnoticed in the doorway of the Hub with his expectant arms crossed. His gaze alternates between the face of his watch and that of Bang Chan, who sits completely unaware at his desk on the opposite side of the room. This game is one that Hyunjin’s been playing for years now, as sad as that is.

How long can he exist in plain sight without anybody plainly seeing him?

At least twelve minutes and seven seconds, according to his watch. 

In all the time that his reconnaissance man’s been standing there, anticipating a reason for being summoned in the first place, Chan hasn’t looked up once. Whatever he’s preoccupied with involves furiously typing away at the screen in front of him and continuing to ignore the untouched coffee near his elbow. Like this meeting, that room-temperature Americano seems to be on the list of things Chan can’t find space for in his short-term memory. 

It’s for the best, really. 

Chan’s stress is baked into his hunched posture, and it’s so palpable that Hyunjin can feel it from the doorway. Adding caffeine to his system now may make him implode, setting off some cataclysm that can’t be stopped. That’s not a loss the Black Screen is capable of surviving, now or ever. And frankly, Hyunjin is maxed out on hauntings as it is.

Speaking of…

He glances down at his watch again, confirming that two more minutes have slipped by in silence. Though he’d love to see an organic end to his game, Hyunjin doesn’t have all night. With a forlorn sigh, he frowns and quips, “Maybe I should wear a bell.”

The Black Screen’s de facto leader all but jumps out of his skin, which is a reaction Hyunjin may never get tired of. There are a million practical benefits to his incomparable stealth, but this is far and away the best of them: scaring the piss out of people simply because he can.

To his credit, Chan doesn’t get angry the way most people do when they’re caught off-guard. His panic leaves him quickly, giving way to the patient smile he always manages to find. That expression is a wonder, as far as Hyunjin is concerned, given the massive burden Chan has undertaken at such a young age. It’s the sort of demeanor that Hyunjin’s only ever seen on overworked single fathers and, in a way, Chan is. 

Except instead of adoring kids, he’s got a battalion of strays with a collective death wish, a severe caffeine dependency, and prematurely grey hairs popping up at his temples.

Pity.

“That’d kind of defeat the point, wouldn’t it?” Chan rubs his hand sheepishly over the nape of his neck to cover his embarrassment. As he does, he chuckles, “You’re an asset because you’re so fucking difficult to keep track of.”

Hyunjin appreciates the acknowledgment — he is an asset — but he’s never been good at accepting praise, so he merely shrugs and removes his frame from the door’s.

Crossing now to the disaster Chan calls a workspace, Hyunjin can’t help but marvel at the changes the room has undergone in just a few short years. It’s still hideous, having been a foreman’s office in a past life, but their low-rent war room is finally starting to live up to its name. 

The Hub.

Mitochondria of their haphazard little cell.

Along the southernmost wall, the hastily boarded-up windows have since been formally blown out and built over by people actually qualified to handle the task — not by teenage anarchists wielding hammers, as was the case with the first attempt. In their place, various monitors take up the bulk of the surface area. Each one emits enough light to make the overhead fluorescents redundant, leaving them to go unused.

Hyunjin has to smother a laugh every time he glances between the two corners of that wall. One contains a station so immaculate that it feels illegal to glance at it with an unclear head. A fucking miracle, considering that it belongs to the most scatter-brained netrunner he’s ever met. Her various gadgets are meticulously stored and labeled, nary a wire out of place. 

Maybe, he thinks, Spider is compensating for all that internal chaos with external organization. 

The polar opposite occupies the other corner: Bang Chan’s stable mind and the goddamn mess of everything that feeds it. A fucking disaster belonging to the one person best equipped to prevent them.

If Hyunjin didn’t know to expect him there, he wouldn’t have seen Chan’s head peeking out from the certifiable mountain range of files. Schematics, dossiers, and maps clutter every surface to a suffocating degree, and yet there sits Chan, still breathing. Still typing away, as if the conversation they just had has already been deleted from his brain.

“You the only one keeping office hours these days?” Hyunjin wonders, gesturing vaguely to the quiet that threatens to swallow them.

Bang Chan’s scoff is the only indication Hyunjin gets that he was heard at all. It’s enough for him; the sound seems twice as loud without the others around to drown it out. To fill the void, he hums to himself, biding his time until he gets what he came for.

Wandering aimlessly around the room, his eyes trail over what little scenery he has left to take in — what would’ve constituted work stations, if the people they belonged to cared to use them. 

Next to Spider’s vast assortment of equipment sits Minho’s desk, although the only thing on said desk are his knife-carved initials, an empty bottle of soju, and a broken pair of brass knuckles. Directly across from his anarchy, there used to be stations for the Black Screens’ weapon-smith, Seungmin, and mechanic, Jeongin — but both scrapped their respective shit for spare parts, to no one’s surprise. The only hint of their former presence there is carpeting that’s been ripped to shit and a few screws, too stripped to be of any use.

Hyunjin picks up one of them as he passes, firing it off with his non-dominant hand towards the trash can several meters away. It lands with a thunk against the existing garbage. He glances again at Chan, who has swapped out typing for massaging his temples. As usual, Hyunjin’s scores go unseen.

“Been at it long?” Hyunjin asks. 

Chan actually looks up at him this time, blinking slowly while his brain catches up to the conversation. 

“That eye strain doesn’t normally hit you until the six-hour mark.”

Chan nods. There’s a small smile on his lips that looks appreciative —  like he’s grateful to be known so well. He gestures to the table at the center of the room and says, “Almost finished, man. You can sit if you want to.”

Table is a bit of a reach, Hyunjin thinks as he approaches it. That Formica monstrosity is held together by duct tape and sheer force of will. It’ll buckle if anyone around it blinks too forcefully. 

Despite how truly heinous it is, he has a soft spot for everything that broken piece of furniture represents: all-nighters spent huddled over plans to un-fuck a state they had no part in destroying, long-forgotten family meals — at tables far nicer than this — sacrificed for a calling that beckoned them to leave home and never look back. 

His own bed may be a stranger to him, but there’s a permanent imprint of his ass in his designated folding chair. It’s likely the closest thing to a home that he’ll ever know. When he lowers himself into it now, it groans under his weight despite him not weighing much at all. His arms cross nonchalantly and his legs do, too. 

If he’s going to keep waiting, he’s going to be comfortable.

And he does wait.

And waits, and waits, and waits —

“Sorry about that,” Chan states abruptly, several minutes later. 

Unlike Chan, Hyunjin isn’t easily surprised. He doesn’t flinch at the sudden sound of Chan’s voice. He waves dismissively instead, knowing full well that the leader wouldn’t waste his time on purpose. With a quick nod towards the chair at the head of the table, he invites Chan to join him; but Chan shakes his head, opting to stand nearby as he stretches his arms overhead. 

Yawning through his words, he attempts to explain, “Been sitting all fucking day. My back is killing me.”

“Did you eat?” Hyunjin asks, catching the eldest off-guard once again. 

The only response he gets is a grimace, so he reaches into the pocket of his jacket for the dalgona he managed to get his hands on. It only breaks his heart a little bit to toss it over to Chan, who lights up like a roman candle the second he sees it.

It’s always the little reminders of home that hit the hardest, isn’t it?

Chan rips open the packet the moment he catches it and freezes when the plastic wrapping no longer obstructs his view. There’s no humor to be found in his dry laugh, and Hyunjin understands why that is as soon as Chan holds up the snack. Dead center, there’s an outline of an umbrella pressed into the toffee. 

“Speaking of Ulsan…” Chan sighs, all joy extinguished. Snapping it clean in half, he tosses a portion back to Hyunjin, who’s eager to sink his teeth into it for more reasons than one. Through his own mouthful, Chan mumbles, “Have you picked up any intel on this trial they’re running? I can’t even find a name —”

Hyunjin interrupts with a nod. “The Bliss Beta.”

His tone is casual because this shit is old news by now. More than that, he doesn’t want Chan to burn energy he doesn’t have on a spiral he doesn’t need to make. Someday, people will finally realize that Hyunjin is ten steps ahead of them. 

Today, unfortunately, is not that day.

Chan simply gawks at him.

“I swung by Scraps’ apartment building last week to grab her shit, and I heard some drunks talking about it on the sidewalk outside,” Hyunjin states with a shrug. “I nicked a flier from one of their pockets on my way back here.”

“You know, you could’ve just talked to them,” Chan frowns disapprovingly. “You catch more flies with honey, or whatever.”

Leave it to Bang Chan to whine about prosocial behavior when he’s barely left the factory at any point in the ten years they’ve been holed up inside it. 

Effectively a recluse, the only two people he’s spoken to outside of the Black Screen — Felix, a decade ago, and Changbin, most recently — were mere seconds away from joining up. And if that isn’t enough to disqualify his hot take, Hyunjin would like to note for the record that Chan founded — and actively leads — what’s been deemed a “terrorist organization” by the general public. 

That has fuck all to do with honey — just subterfuge, violence, and a dream.

Hyunjin rolls his eyes but keeps the bulk of his exasperation to himself. After all, calling Chan a hypocrite won’t make him get to the point any faster. 

“Eavesdropping got me nowhere. I’m not sure what I could’ve possibly gained from inhaling that liquor off their breath beyond a drunk and disorderly of my own.” 

Before Chan can get a word in, Hyunjin continues his report. 

“They’re marketing this beta exclusively in low-income neighborhoods, but there’s no indication of what these people are signing up for — only the amount of cash they’ll get if they consent to participate in the R&D.”

“So, we still don’t know what we’re dealing with,” Chan mutters dejectedly. 

He stares off to the side as the gears in his brain turn; however, he doesn’t stay stuck for long. In a matter of moments, he begins to pace the length of the table, getting more worked up with every step. “Spider said their tech is a brick wall. It’s going to take a while for her to break through, if she even can.”

Hyunjin means it, so he says it with his whole chest: “She can.”

In the time he’s known her, Spider hasn’t met a code she can’t break. No person has ever been successful in keeping her out — up to and including Lee Minho, who has a cement-lined sarcophagus where his heart should be. If she doesn’t find a crack to slip through, she’ll fucking make one. She always does.

Trust like this is hard to come by in the life they’ve all chosen, but she’s earned Hyunjin’s. 

She deserves Chan’s, too.

Brow furrowed, Chan looks back at Hyunjin. There’s something in his expression that he’s attempting to keep to himself — something he’s not allowing himself to say. Whatever he’s withholding, the fact that he’s concealing anything makes the hair on the back of Hyunjin’s neck stand up. A long, tense pause fills the space between them. 

Hyunjin knows it’s hypocritical, getting frustrated by someone else’s refusal to open up. Someone who plays everything close to the chest shouldn’t be allowed to hate it when others do the same around him; but he does, and he’s seconds away from demanding that Chan spit it out already.

Chan must see it coming, so he intervenes to keep the younger man’s annoyance from boiling over. Gently lowering the temperature, he asks, “Hyunjin, do you have any contacts on the inside?”

The fact that Chan’s asking at all tells Hyunjin that the answer is already known. 

Still, the head of reconnaissance looks his leader dead in the eye and responds flatly, without hesitation.

“No.”

Hyunjin is only ever able to make his way to you in the dead of night. 

Though the location frequently changes, the preparation never does. He lays awake until he knows for sure that the rest of the compound is down for the night. When all he hears is snoring, he drags himself out of the bed he can never seem to sleep in. 

Once he’s on his feet, whatever he’s wearing is quickly replaced with something that won’t stick out: nondescript black clothing, shoes with the tread and size label worn down beyond recognition, hood up, mask on.

You once joked that he looked like a jewel thief, all shrouded in darkness, and you were sort of right. Unfortunately for Hyunjin, there’s a fatal flaw in that comparison. He has to leave his prize behind every single time, doomed to return home empty-handed.

Tonight won’t be any different.

The front door rattles too loudly for his liking, creates a risk of questions being asked that he doesn’t want to answer, so Hyunjin utilizes the fire escape that abuts the westernmost wall of the factory. The late October air has left the metal rungs of that ladder so cold that they circle back to burning, but it doesn’t slow him down. Nothing ever does when it comes to you. 

If anything, the pain drives him to pick up the pace. Him and his stinging palms make short work of the obstacle. Just as quickly, he hits the ground running towards the freestanding garage that sits to the east of the factory. Once he reaches it, panting slightly, he sets to work, going through the same old motions.

It doesn’t take long for Hyunjin to swap out his motorcycle’s license plate. He’s done it so many times by now that the task no longer requires conscious thought; just muscle memory and the desperation he feels to move as quickly as possible in order to reach you faster. The old plate hits the floor with a clang that’s still ringing out when he finishes affixing the new series of numbers to the back of his bike.

All these precautions are tedious bullshit, but failing to go through the motions is a surefire way to get the attention of private police. Simply put, Hyunjin doesn’t have the spare energy it would take to kill and bury whichever poor fucker attempts to cite him; nor does he have the heart to keep you waiting even longer than you have been.

Fuck. 

How long has it been?

Suddenly rushing, he slings one, lean leg over the side of his bike and grabs the handlebars.

Too long.

The terrain is a thousand times harder to navigate in the dark, all divots and ditches along the winding side roads. Still, the threat of losing control of his ride is far less severe than that of betraying the compound’s location; or worse, the Black Screen’s presence anywhere, at all.

So, like always, Hyunjin stomachs the barely-sufferable thrashing and keeps the headlamp off until he makes it to the main road. Even then, he flies a kilometer or so into pitch black before he feels comfortable enough to light the way.

He doesn’t know how many kilometers he’s driven in total just to keep you, but if he had to guess, he’s cracked quadruple digits.

Worth it.

You can’t stay in one place for long enough to put down roots. The time you do stay put varies, never following a pattern. Daegu for eight weeks, then to Anyang for three, Namyangju for five…

Busan, he thinks to himself as he reaches the expressway. 

Busan was the last place he held you, a month or so ago. Some shitty little apartment near the docks, where the ceiling leaked over your bed and made a fucking mess of things. Nothing could be done to fix it without calling too much attention to you, but it didn’t matter; he fucked you on the living room floor, and you slept like a baby against his chest, bed be damned.

He hasn’t felt rested since.

The drive from Changwon to Busan takes thirty-five minutes, if Hyunjin recalls correctly — he always does — and it burns him up to know that the trip would take half that time if he could drive as fast as his heart races. 

But he can’t. 

He won’t, not when a traffic stop could ruin both your lives. It feels like crawling, abiding by limits. 

And fuck, he’s sick to death of those.

As he drives, the rubble eventually gives way to a proper cityscape. The neon signs of Busan bleed out into the dark, so hazy in the smog that the words themselves are lost. It’s only color — sharp reds and blues — not substance that offsets the inky black. The massive buildings that those signs are affixed to stab upwards into the sky until their tops disappear, like they don’t ever stop at all. 

Still, despite the seemingly endless interiors around him, Hyunjin sees houseless people everywhere he looks. It’d be more comfortable to look away as he winds down side streets to your last known location, but he doesn’t. Even though he has nothing else to give them, he can spare the courtesy of acknowledging that they exist. 

Nobody else does.

Every time he raises a hand off the handlebars to wave at someone, they wave right back. Just for a second, he forgets that the city isn’t always unkind. It’s a feeling he’d bottle if he could, the little glimmer of hope.

When Hyunjin reaches the docks, he parks his bike behind a boat house and heads on foot from there. Up the sidewalk, around the block to the back entrance to your apartment. The rational half of his brain knows you won’t still be there; the lovesick half doesn’t care. It signals his heart to beat faster with every step, damn close to breaking through his chest when he picks the lock and pushes the door open.

The four flights of stairs between him and your place are taken two steps at a time, not only due to his eagerness but the shitty construction. Even the steps he deems safe enough to touch creak beneath his weight, like they’re screaming at him for the intrusion. He ignores it, and soon enough, he’s outside your door.

This time, Hyunjin doesn’t need to pick the lock. Your door is open. Everything that used to be behind it is gone.

He presses his palm against the center of his chest, glances down, and mutters, “Told you so.”

With you and your few earthly possessions absent, he’s left to a scavenger hunt — finding some hint of where you’ve gone next. You’re far more creative than he is, which makes this part even harder. 

As bitter as the necessity makes him, he’s thankful for the amount of times he’s had to do it. Practice has made him the tiniest bit smarter. Now, he spots the empty bottle sitting on a windowsill, and he doesn’t immediately assume that it’s trash. 

Hyunjin jogs over to it and picks it up, grinning instantly. 

“Gyeongju beopju,” he murmurs as reads the label aloud. Then, knowing full fucking well that you can’t hear him, he says it anyway, “You beautiful genius.”

Only one question remains, and it’s the hardest one to solve: where in Gyeongju?

For good reason, you can’t leave an address floating around. That fact doesn’t appease the frustration creeping up from his stomach, transforming into a groan on its way out of his mouth. With an exasperated breath, he lets his hand drop, though he maintains his grip on the bottle. It’s damn near inaudible, but there’s a muffled sound within it as it jostles in his grip.

The fuck?

Seeing no other option, Hyunjin screws off the cap. On the inner part of that metal, he finds a strip of double-sided tape and nothing else; whatever you stuck to it must’ve been shaken loose. 

Beautiful, perfect genius. 

He tilts the bottle upside down with his free hand ready to catch what falls: a ripped-up piece of paper, rolled up like a scroll. There, written in your neat script, is a lead — 8793 & 2441, which he assumes designates the street address and apartment number. Directly below those, you’ve written “red”, which he doesn’t know what the fuck to make of.

One way or another, he’ll figure it out.

The race to Gyeongju swallowed another hour of his time. Midway through the second leg of his never-ending journey, the sky opened up. Rain came down in sheets so strong that he almost gave up, which isn’t a decision he would’ve made lightly. He didn’t — thank god — because the downpour started to peter out around the time he crossed the city limits.

Now, idling off to the side of the road in the city’s center, he’s soaked and thoroughly chilled to the bone, but at least he can see. 

Capitalizing on his newly unobstructed vision, Hyunjin fishes his mobile out from the zippered pocket of his jacket. The leather glove adorning his right hand is shoved back into that empty space. He rapidly thumbs through applications, eyes scanning just as fast until he locates the navigation. To avoid any unwanted attention, he keeps the screen confined to the glass, rather than projecting it into the space in front of him.

A quick search through the city’s most recent map gives him three locations with “8793” as the street number. One possibility is ruled out immediately when he zooms in on the satellite image and finds a vacant lot. The two remaining results both appear to be high-rise apartment buildings, both of which could be this month’s pit stop. Notably, neither building is red, nor does the color feature in either of the street names.

“Shit,” he mutters to himself. 

Once again, he swaps his mobile and glove, then hastily stuffs his fingers back into the latter. With a sigh, he sinks back down onto his bike and makes to leave for the nearest of the two possibilities. It’s not until he reaches the intersection that the realization hits him.

You live your life on the outskirts. 

There’s simply no way that you’d pick a place so close to downtown.

Disregarding the blaring horns and shouted obscenities, he makes an illegal turn to reposition himself on the opposite side of the road. It’s for the best that no one he cut off can hear him laughing over the roar of his engine. All their rage is drowned out by the screech of his tires as he peels the fuck out of there.

Five more minutes slip away while he speeds off to the northeast side of town. Thankfully, when he locates what he presumes is your building, your final hint begins to make some fucking sense. 

Around the block sits a bar with boarded up windows, tiny fragments of glass still littering the sidewalk where a break-in must’ve occurred at some point in the recent past. On a hunch, Hyunjin looks up at the street lights framing the exterior of The Red Door. His suspicion is confirmed immediately.

The CCTV cameras covering the area were smashed to shit, along with the bar’s windows.

You were giving him a safe place to park. Damn near throwing his bike down in the process, he stumbles off to your building, muttering as he goes, “Beautiful, perfect, considerate genius.”

Hyunjin ages forty years in the time it takes the elevator to drag him up to the twenty-fourth floor. 

When he finally steps out and the doors close again behind him, force of habit checks for any people or cameras that may have eyes on him. Finding none, he whirls back around to face the closed, metal doors behind him. Frozen fingers tug at the black, cloth mask that sits over his mouth and nose until his face is fully visible. 

It’s reckless and melodramatic — he’ll openly admit to being both of those things — but he needs to see it to believe that he still looks as young as he did when he entered the car in the first place. Oh, thank god. Drenched and windswept as he may be, he finds some amount of solace in the absence of wrinkles.

With the mask secured again over his features, he heads off in the direction of apartment 2441, praying to anyone listening that he didn’t fuck this all up along the way. His brain can’t hold a candle to yours; and this certainly wouldn’t be the first time that he got so caught up in thinking like you that he missed the mark completely.

After wandering down a hallway far fucking longer than it seems, he reaches the door he’s been seeking. Despite the anxious fluttering in his stomach, Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate; he immediately lifts his arm to grab hold of the knob. It pulls away before he can even wrap his hand around it, leaving him frozen on the doorstep with his pulse hammering in his ears.

Transfixed, he watches the splinter of light on the floor grow wider until his curiosity wins out. A quick glance upward reveals an occupant he’s never laid eyes on before, but he doesn’t have the opportunity to study them fully. Through the narrow gap, fingers far warmer than his own encircle his wrist and pull him through the opening. Behind him, the door closes again so quietly that his stumbling drowns out the sound.

Opting to ignore his surroundings for the time being, Hyunjin tilts his head curiously to the side and stares straight ahead. No matter how many times his gaze sweeps over the person in front of him, he finds absolutely nothing familiar. 

Not the irises, not the hair, not even the bone structure.

He arches an eyebrow. “Impressive timing, opening the door before anyone even knocks.”

“Were you planning on knocking?” His expression is reflected right back at him. “Since when is that a thing you do?”

Grinning wolfishly, he turns his wrist to capture the hand still holding onto him. All it takes is a gentle tug to eliminate the distance. As if it’s a reflex, two hands reach up to the mask obscuring the lower half of his face, carefully ushering the fabric down until it pools around his neck.

“How’d you know it was me?” He asks, genuinely curious. 

Nobody manages to notice him when he’s standing in the same room, let alone through a door with no peephole. His measured steps never make a sound, either, which makes it all the more insane that his presence was sensed before he intentionally gave himself away.

Arms loop around his neck and pull him closer as feet push up on tiptoe. 

“I could ask you the same question.”

Hyunjin’s answer — that he would know you anywhere, that he could find you in the dark with touch alone — is eerily close to the one he receives.

“A sixth sense,” you chirp. 

Though everything else about you has changed since he last saw you, that voice is the common denominator. It strikes a chord deep in his chest, plucking his heartstrings masterfully in a way only you can. The sound is so much better when it’s not looping hopelessly in his head; when it slips through lips finally close enough to kiss.

So, that’s exactly what he does.

There’s no word Hyunjin can think of to describe the desperation behind his movements — at least, not in any language he’s ever heard. He lifts and you jump, and your fingers are threading through his hair with an identical, insatiable need to be closer before your body even settles fully in his arms. Like your legs around his waist, your mouth opens up for him, sighing softly into his when your lips crash together.

He can hardly catch his breath, but he doesn’t give a shit. Air in his lungs isn’t worth half as much as your tongue licking into his mouth. Gripping the soft flesh of your thighs and letting your weight warm his palms is more than enough to keep him alive. Hyunjin clings to you, and it hits him then — so forceful and sudden that it almost knocks a tear loose:

He’s not a ghost when he’s with you.

Clinging to him as closely as you are, you notice the way he shivers. Every article of clothing on him is rain-drenched and chilled to the touch; his eagerness doesn’t make him tremble any less.

You break the kiss. A concerned frown takes his place on your lips. “Cold?”

He nods, bumping the tip of his nose against yours affectionately in the process, silently begging for you to kiss him again. You lean away and leave him no choice but to frown, too, albeit much less cutely than you.

You’re quick to soothe. You glance over your right shoulder towards a hallway he can’t see the end of. When you turn your head back around to him, a coy smile lights up the dark.

“A hot shower might help,” you suggest. You tilt your head to the side, as if there’s anything either of you really need to consider here. “What do you think?”

Hyunjin thinks carrying you off towards the bathroom answers your question well enough.

With how feverishly you kiss him, he’s effectively flying blind, moving as quickly as he can while trying not to stumble. He has to keep one arm off you, extended, to prevent a collision; but he eventually reaches his destination. A measured kick opens the half-closed door far enough to move your bodies through it.

The same arm that guided him to the bathroom swipes uselessly over the wall in an attempt to find the light switch without turning his head. You seem to sense his struggle, pulling away kiss-bitten to handle the task yourself.

It’s then that Hyunjin truly gets to drink in the sight of you, radiant despite the flickering fluorescent overhead. 

It’s then that his heart truly starts hammering away in his chest, pumping so eagerly that he finds it hard to hear you say, “You need to let me go.”

He knows you’re referring to his hold on you now, which keeps you from reaching down to the shower handle. Those words sting, nonetheless.

“We’ve got a good thirty minutes’ worth of hot water.” You slip through his hands and immediately push up onto your toes to kiss him again, like you know exactly where his train of thought has gone. “Then, I’ve got a warm bed under a leak-free ceiling.”

For how long, though?

Hyunjin shakes his head to knock those thoughts out of the way. He refuses to spend another second thinking about anything else. For now, he’s here. 

He’s with you — beautiful, considerate, genius you — and you’re glancing over your shoulder at him as you check the water’s temperature on the back of your hand, smiling with your eyes alone. With a built-in fondness that never changes, even if the eyes themselves do.

“Coming?” You chirp. You flick water at him to wake him from the trance he’d fallen into while watching you.

Hyunjin raises his eyebrows quickly then drops them, eyes sweeping over your body and making you shiver on instinct. “At least once.”

You want to roll your eyes — he knows you do — but you’re too flustered. You’re always so easy to play with. So shy that you pinch your bottom lip between your teeth when you reach out to help him shrug his jacket off his shoulders. 

With a muffled thud, wet leather hits dry tile. Shirts, shoes, and all the rest of the tangible barriers between you fall by the wayside. The two of you resettle within the steam of the shower, and his hands revel in your softness the second they can. 

He kisses an apology into your bare shoulder for the shock his cold fingers press into your waist. Yours, perfectly warm, thread through his already wet hair. 

Somehow, it’s your touch that sparks a shiver.

“Missed you.” Your eyes flutter shut as his lips travel nearer to your neck. “I still do,” you amend, breathless by the time his mouth reaches your pulse point. How a heartbeat can feel like home, he’ll never know. “I’m never not missing you.”

Hyunjin’s palms follow the curves of your waist down to your hips, grip solid as he pulls you flush against his chest, kissing up the column of your neck until your head tips back. You’re in the perfect position to gaze up at him when your eyelids finally find the strength to stay open.

“Have I ever told you what I think about?” He murmurs. His hands dip further down to caress your perfect ass, massaging the flesh with both hands until he works a quiet whine out of you. “When I want you but can’t have you?”

Your pupils dilate so fast that it’s almost comical. Hyunjin lets a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He lets his eyes drift, too, so he can watch rivulets of warm water streak down your chest. Halfway to hypnotized, he speaks in a low, reverent tone:

“Think about holding you so close that I can feel your nipples start to peak.”

Experimentally, he raises his hand and flicks his thumb over one. It glides easily — slippery when wet — and you love the sensation, judging by the way you gasp.

When he moves towards you, you seem to anticipate where he’s headed next. You inch backwards until your spine rests against the shower wall, shivering slightly against the chill.

“I picture you writhing in my arms, pinned to a wall just like this one.” Left palm flat against the tile near your head, he cages you in, tilting his head down so that his forehead touches yours. “Your fingernails pressing crescents into my shoulders, your legs wrapped around me.”

You whimper, right on cue, when his right hand drops.

“Spilling all those sweet little sounds of yours right into my ear.”

The knuckle of his index finger traces a straight line down, down, down your stomach. Your breath catches in your throat because he keeps going, finds you with his fingertips, wet and wanting.

“Hyunjin,” you plead, voice barely loud enough to overpower the drum of water landing at your feet.

He ducks his head, lips now close enough to your ear that they touch while he whispers, “Will you let me?”

You gasp when Hyunjin’s middle finger begins to swirl over your clit.

“Can I show you?”

Though he’s better at hiding it than you, his ministrations have him fucked up, too. His cock hangs heavy in the minimal space between you; his whole body begs for yours and yet, when you nod, he limits himself to one digit. Your arousal coats that finger like gloss in the second before it slips inside of you.

You’re boneless, but you manage to wobble off from the bathroom towards your bedroom, nonetheless. As you do, you pull your half-damp hair up into a crooked knot at the top of your head, unintentionally leaving tendrils behind. They cling to the wetness of your shoulders, not budging a millimeter despite your movement.

Hyunjin pads along behind you, and he can’t help but smirk. You clung to his shoulders the exact same way, only letting go when the hot water and your shaking legs gave out simultaneously. 

Like you can sense his smugness, you look back at him. You don’t call him out the way he expects. Instead, you smile sheepishly. “It’s bleeding, isn’t it?”

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “It’s what?” Frantically, his wide eyes dart across your exposed skin for some injury he must’ve missed. Something he must’ve caused. There are old scars, sure, but nothing fresh to tip him off. “Is what — ?”

“The dye!” You amend quickly, gesturing over your shoulder. 

This clears up his panic but not his confusion. 

Chuckling softly, you turn back around with a shake of your head and continue your steps towards the dresser at the far side of your room. Your explanation continues as you go. 

There’s no condescension in your expression or tone  — there never is — but Hyunjin thinks it’d be warranted. You know more than he could ever hope to about a million different things, all of which he’d willingly pay tuition costs to learn about.

It’s simple, it’s sweet, and it’s effective. 

“Hot water opens up the cuticle of the strand and flushes the color out. Red molecules don’t penetrate as deeply — they’re the biggest — so they wash out super easily, unfortunately.”

You frown again and tug open the middle drawer, mumbling about your poor white towels while you root through your limited selection of clothing.

He’s so fond of you that he really might drop dead, so he jokes his way around it, doesn’t speak the quiet part out loud.

“Shit. You spoil me, Professor.” Hyunjin whistles, genuinely impressed and only slightly devilish. The unexpected noise prompts you to look up at him again with startled eyes. “First, the shower sex, now a chemistry lesson —”

He has to cut himself off to catch the sweatpants you hurl at him. The interruption doesn’t wipe the teasing look off his face, though; and it certainly doesn’t distract from the flustered look on yours. You try like hell to hide his effect on you, but it only gets worse when he swaps out the towel hanging low on his hips for the clothes you’ve given him.

After shooting you an impish grin, Hyunjin twirls around, if only for the split second it takes him to drop himself into your bed. And fuck, just like every other time, he wonders how either of you ever manage to leave it. Here in your sheets, it’s all weightless — your joint baggage, the world’s expectations, the thousand things neither one of you can say out loud.

“Must be sore from the drive,” you hum. “Tired, too.”

Hyunjin can’t remember a time when he wasn’t.

The urge he feels to close his eyes and bury his face in pillows that smell like you is overwhelming. That familiar floral perfume of yours calms him so quickly and completely that he could fall asleep in an instant. Really, that’s exactly what he’d do if the clock wasn’t running, but it is, and he knows better than to waste the limited time he gets to spend staring up at you.

So, he just says, “I’ve never felt better,” because all of these things can be true at once.

You’re too focused to notice him watching you, but Hyunjin doesn’t mind. While you rummage around for the shorts that pair with your short-sleeved, button-up pajama top, he commits the current state of you to memory. 

It feels like a moral duty, filling up his brain with as many mental snapshots as possible. After all, this version of you will be gone the next time he sees you. You and all your iterations deserve to be remembered, even if Hyunjin is the only one alive who can do it. Unfortunately, there’s a blank space in his scrapbook. A piece of your story he’ll never be able to speak to, and it comes right at the start of it.

One of fate’s cruelest twists is that he didn’t get to meet you — the original, anyways — before your survival became contingent on reinvention. By the time he stumbled into your life, you’d already done your best to destroy all the evidence of who you used to be; burned up your past with a box of matches until no trace was left. 

And even if photos did still exist of who you used to be, it’d be too dangerous for you to possess them. For over a year now, you’ve been running from your past, hopping from city to city and modifying your appearance with every move.

As physically and mentally taxing as those procedures must be, they’re necessary. A single slip-up would cash in that price on your head. Considering the role you used to occupy, that would be a massive payout. It’s a safe assumption to make that the interest only compounds further with every day you evade them.

To Hyunjin’s knowledge, you’re the only Ulsan defector to last this long on the outside. It’s virtually impossible for ex-employees to escape at all with their memories still intact; even less likely that they’ll evade the bounty hunters that come next. After that, it’s only a matter of time — not if, but when they’re discovered — until Ulsan’s retention team comes calling. Their luck runs out then, if they ever had any to begin with. 

Worse, their subsequent deaths aren’t even a blip on the general public’s radar.

Absolutely nobody bats a fucking eye at deaths by “natural causes”. And thanks to iron-clad non-disclosure agreements, nobody knows that the trail of corpses are connected in the first place. By design, the string that ties their bodies back to a common employer is invisible.

Knowing what life would be like otherwise, most don’t even attempt to flee. Understandably, they give in to the cleanse when their employment is terminated, one way or another. They live the rest of their lives without so much of an echo of their time at Ulsan.

You’ve been slipping him intel about the corporate experience since he met you, but Hyunjin has never asked about yours. Speaking any of it out loud feels like a summoning spell. Like saying that name in the mirror three times will invite your demons in.

“I miss the blue, I think.”

Hyunjin props himself up on his elbow, frowning. You finish buttoning that soft, silk top of yours and shuffle over to join him, melting into his side the second your body slips under the comforter. 

He counters, “The red looks just as good,” and kisses the top of your head to emphasize his point. 

You wiggle enough to look up at him with your nose scrunched thoughtfully. “I thought you liked the black best.”

This time, there’s a tiny bit of crookedness in the bridge of your nose like it’s been broken before and didn’t quite heal right. That attention to detail — creating lived-in features that haven’t actually been lived in — is probably why you’ve lasted this long. Anyone else that goes under the knife as often as you tends to seek perfection, not realism. 

Funny how the choice that sets you apart is what lets you blend in.

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, looks you dead in your newly hazel eyes, and he says nothing about the fact that they were most recently green. “I like them all best.”

This, like any compliment, immediately makes you shy. Before he can blink, your face is buried in the crook of his neck, warming him from the outside in. You mumble something against his skin that he can’t quite catch. You must know it, too, because you reposition yourself to free up your mouth.

“You’ve finally stopped shivering,” you note before leaving a solitary, soft kiss on the side of his throat. 

He nods to the best of his ability. “Sufficiently thawed.”

You glance up at him at the same moment that he looks down at you. It’s written all over your face — don’t you dare — but Hyunjin always does, doesn’t he? And he always will, so long as your eyes keep going wide like this.

“Can’t say it was the steam that did it, though. I think you fucked the chill right out of me.”

The tiny groan you let go of gets lost under the playful smack of your hand against his chest. You put no pressure behind it whatsoever — he didn’t feel a thing — but he gasps, nonetheless. His head crashes back against the pillows; his eyes fall shut. And because he’s a little shit before he is anything else, he goes slack-jawed, tongue hanging limply from the corner of his mouth.

“You might be the most dramatic person that’s ever lived. You know that, right?”

His reply comes like a death rattle. It’s automatic, it’s ominous, and there’s no taking it back now:

“Truly unfortunate that you have to be loved by me, of all people.”

That admission has been a long time coming, but Hyunjin has tried to hold it back for the same reason you have. For the same reason you don’t say it back now, even though he feels it seep into every other word. Calling this what it is — love — is a promise neither one of you can keep. 

It’s the worst thing he could’ve said to you because he can’t act on it; and it might be the worst thing you’ve ever heard, so you just return to your spot, nuzzled into his neck.

“Tell me what I’ve missed.” You deflect, lips tickling against the spot just below his ear. “What are you all up to?”

Hyunjin used to wonder why you wanted to know every mundane detail about his and his comrades’ daily lives — boredom with your own or genuine interest? Now, he doesn’t bother splitting hairs. It’s both, and he has no fucking business passing judgment. Without a community of your own, you deserve whatever pieces of his that he can give.

“Well,” Hyunjin sighs, fingertips drawing nonsense shapes on your back. With his prints burned off, they glide especially smoothly over the silky fabric of your pajama top. Yet another bonus. “Got some new blood right after I saw you last. One of them was a childhood friend of Felix’s, and she’s — uhh — a little rough around the edges.”

Your little chuckle makes him shiver.

“He loves her, though — like, truly, madly, deeply loves her — so, I think he’s uniquely capable of refining her enough to be useful.” He pauses for a moment to consider whether or not he wants to say it. In the end, he can’t stop himself. “It’s nice to see him happy. That shit’s so rare, living the way we do. He deserves it.”

“Hyunjin, so do you.”

This time, he doesn’t say what he wants to. 

He doesn't ask you to run away with him, knowing damn well that it’s even more dangerous to try than to stay. Neither of you would willingly leave loose ends, anyway. There’s too much left to be done, and all of it comes before his own happiness. It always has.

He doesn’t ask you to come back with him, either.  As much as he wants to offer up the Black Screen to keep you safe, there’s no guarantee that they could. You’d only turn him down if he tried, remind him that your proximity makes the target on their heads even bigger. Hyunjin suspects that this isn’t your only fear, however. 

Trust is a luxury you can’t afford; and it’d cost a lot of it for an ex-corp to cross the line in the sand. If you did, you’d be walking into a collective hell-bent on destroying the entity you used to associate with — into a factory full of mercenary anarchists, not many of whom make the best listeners. Your story might fall on deaf ears; or worse, breed suspicion about your motives.

It’s all fucked, top to bottom.

After another pause, Hyunjin responds with a truth so unattainable that it feels like a lie. “Someday,” he murmurs. “When this is all over.”

If that time ever comes.

“Are you close?” Your question surprises him because you almost sound hopeful, which isn’t a word he’d ever previously thought to associate with either of you. You mistake his stunned silence for misunderstanding, so you clarify, “To a plan, I guess.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say next, so he takes your hand from where it rests on his stomach and pulls it up to his lips. They brush over your knuckles slowly, a failed attempt to avoid the inevitable.

He’s never — not once — asked you about Ulsan. It’s the last thing he wants to do, tearing away from the limited time he gets to exist with you out of context, but he can’t think of any other way around it now. 

What if this is the only way to someday?

When he stalls, you excavate yourself from his side and prop yourself up on one elbow to assess him. It’s more concern than anything else, the gentle way in which you look at him. If only it didn’t make him feel more guilty. If only it didn’t cause his question to stick in his throat on its way out, forcing him to clear it.

“Have you ever heard of the Bliss Beta?” 

It must stun you to hear it because you freeze solid. 

Fuck. 

He shouldn’t have done this. He shouldn’t have brought it up, should’ve kept his fucking mouth shut, but it only spills out faster:

“Ulsan is running some clandestine clinical trials for something called the Bliss Beta. It’s —”

“— I know what it is,” you interrupt quietly.

“You do?”

You pause. There’s something unreadable in your expression that he’d normally guess after; you don’t give him the opportunity. You state it slowly. Cautiously. “I made it.”

Hyunjin is the frozen one now.

If he could make himself move, he might leave and never look back. But some persistent part of him refuses to run, refuses to accept that you truly had anything to do with the horror show wreaking havoc in neighborhoods just like this one. 

If you did — if Hyunjin can force himself to swallow that truth — then he may as well fall off the grid right here and now. There would be no coming back from that, not for him.

Please tell me you’re still the person I think you are.

“It’s also what made me leave,” you explain softly. “What they wanted to do with it, I mean.” 

Hyunjin’s hand is still limp around yours, so you take yours back into your lap. For a moment, you say nothing, only fidgeting with the rings around your fingers. When you finally do speak, your voice is so quiet that he has to strain to hear it, even sitting as close to you as he is. 

“Ulsan was putting all its resources into cyberware, but none into addressing the side-effects. I was naive enough to think that I could change that.” You shake your head, letting out a humorless laugh. “I applied in the first place because I wanted to find a way to treat cyberpsychosis. All of these people are replacing every single part of their biological bodies with extremely powerful, inorganic materials…”

Your voice trails off at the end as a grimace takes over. Even though your features are different now, that subdued look of utter hopelessness in your eyes is the same. He could pick it out of a lineup if he had to.

“It’s such a slippery slope, Hyunjin.” You exhale, voice tinged with a sadness he can’t fully understand. “When you fuck with a person’s reality to that extent, that recklessly, and add in the kind of omnipotence that comes with all of these modifications... They lose themselves in it.”

The sort of people you’re talking about feature heavily on the news due to the horrendous acts of violence they’re caught committing, but no network dares to show the kind of empathy for them that you currently are. They only show the squads of WraithCo. goons it takes to neutralize them — a sterile, media term for “shot like a dog in the street”. Try as he might, Hyunjin can’t recall a single one of these stories that doesn’t end in state-sanctioned murder.

He looks up from your hands in your lap to your face, seemingly catching you by surprise. To his surprise, your eyes are swimming. 

In all the time he’s known you, you’ve never cried — not about the state of the world or the shitty cards you’ve been dealt, time and time again. Until now, Hyunjin wasn’t sure if you could cry. It always seemed safe to assume that you’d either given up or forgotten how. Modified your way around the process, maybe. Cut the flow to the faucet in the course of your renovations.

Reflexively, he takes your hand back in his and squeezes once to ground you. Maybe it’s stupid, but he prays that some part of you will light up the way it normally does when you have the opportunity to educate him about something new. 

His favorite teacher, the best there is.

“What did you design, Professor?” Hyunjin asks.

Please work.

You crack the world’s tiniest smile at the nickname — one you’ve always rolled your eyes at — and it’s enough for him. There’s a sliver of excitement in your voice again, too. 

Proof of life.

“So…” You suck in a breath, like you’ll miss more than a few as you ramble. “The problem is mechanical, even if it presents as psychiatric, right? You can’t rely on psychotropic medication to soothe a brain that’s gone haywire in a literal sense. The solution is hidden within the problem itself, you know?”

You pause and glance over at him for some confirmation that he’s following. He’s doing his fucking best, but this shit is so far outside of his wheelhouse. You take the borderline grimace he gives you and run with it, gesturing wildly with your free hand while you talk.

“I designed a chip to be inserted here —” You reach over and run your fingertip over the small, titanium datashard slot behind his right ear. 

Most people use this port to store and share data in the same way its distant predecessor — the universal serial bus — was used, generations ago. Having started out as a military exclusive, this tech weaved its way into the corporate sectors following the war. From there, it trickled down to civilian populations, who primarily use it for media consumption.

Of course, the run-off always lands in the gutter. Edge runners and their neighbors in the underbelly swap maps, schematics, and the like, passing intel from person to person without leaving an easily discoverable paper trail. Money, too, that’ll never cross paths with a bank or an audit.

Their more tech-literate counterparts — net runners and back alley doctors, for example — pad their ill-gotten income by peddling programmed datashards. Ones that enhance hacking capabilities or bolster combat prowess, as if the recipient is main-lining skills; no practice necessary. 

Hyunjin, to the contrary, doesn’t use his shard slot at all. He’s never been adept at this tech shit, and he can’t be fucking bothered to learn.

“— with the goal of de-stimulating the frontal lobe.” You move your hand to brush your fingertips gently across his forehead. 

Your touch is gone too soon. 

Pausing for a moment, your shoulders and the corners of your mouth droop downwards. Dejected, you sound almost apologetic when you eventually say, “Not a perfect fix, by any means. I just figured that if you can mute some of the noise that’s overriding these people’s true personalities, you can negate the impulse to —”

“— Peel people apart like perilla leaves,” Hyunjin mutters darkly. He’s nowhere near as tactful as you are, so he sees no use in trying. “And if they’re not not doing that, then it’s less likely that —”

Looking now at him, you chirp, “The last thing they see in this life is their own brain smeared on the sidewalk, yes.”

Hyunjin stares at you with his jaw hanging open, absolutely shaken to his core that something like that, something he would say, just came out of your mouth. Flabbergasted is too weak a word; his whole goddamn world has been upended. And he doesn’t know or care what it says about him as a person that he wants to kiss you more now than he ever has before.

Seemingly unaware of the way you just broke his brain, your gaze shifts back down to your joined hands. You go quiet again, smile slipping away as you fade in real time. He fucking hates it. Hates that reality always finds a way to creep back in, even though it’s never once been welcome here. 

It’s heavy. 

It hurts.

“It could’ve been great.”

Hyunjin knows you’re talking about your project, but that’s not all he hears. 

You could’ve been great if this world wasn’t anything like it is. Instead, your genius is tucked away in one shithole apartment after another. 

You could’ve been great together, but the time and place are all wrong. 

It all could’ve been great, but it isn’t.

He’s at a loss for words now, so he simply nods.

“I don’t know what I expected, signing on to work for Nam Yeongsun,” you admit quietly. “I don’t know why I thought he’d be any different than the rest of them.”

Them, meaning the other fundamentalist, venture capitalists hiding democracy behind a paywall. 

Your assessment is mostly correct. The only thing that sets Ulsan’s Chief Executive Officer apart is his mastery of dog-whistle politics. Charming demagogue that he is, he’s the best at what he does — subtly reinforcing prejudices that dwell below the surface.

“He took what I created and perverted it.” 

Hyunjin’s no stranger to your fiercely passionate side, but he’s never seen a simmering rage quite like this one. 

You spit it out like it’s poison: “Nam is trying to eradicate what he deems to be unproductive traits, as if you can bug fix poverty and addiction.”

A wave of nausea crashes over Hyunjin so forcefully that his palms start to sweat.

The targeted advertisements in low-income areas.  

The promise of cash for participation without any explanation.

Oh, fuck.

“He’s hijacking people,” Hyunjin croaks, struggling to breathe. “That thing you said about the frontal lobe,” he mutters before swallowing hard. “They’re losing themselves, aren’t they?”

“I didn’t think it was possible.” The tears in your eyes threaten to spill over. You clear your throat, but it doesn’t make a difference; your voice still shakes, trembling alongside your hands. “But if they’ve made it all the way to human trials, that means they’ve actually figured out a way to do it.”

Hyunjin is torn between wanting to scream, faint, and vomit. None of them could adequately purge him of the gnawing sense of doom that swirls in his gut; there’s no quick fix, if a fix even exists at all.

But the boulder is already flying downhill at breakneck speed, and he can’t stop it. Throwing his body in front of it won’t make a difference. That feeling of abject helplessness only swells when you glance at him sideways and up the ante.

“Hyunjin, that’s not the worst of it.”

He doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to ask and shoulder the burden of knowing, but refusing to bear witness to the truth is what made this state the way it is. Hyunjin doesn’t have a choice.

“What could possibly be worse than that?”

“Nam’s charge has always been to eradicate societal ills. He wants abstention, whether it’s drugs or antisocial behavior — forced, if it can’t be willful.” Your voice gets weaker, the more you say, but you don’t stop. “If he really found a way to dig his fingers into the brains of undesirable people, he’ll never stop at one form of abstinence.”

“You're talking about eugenics, right?” He struggles to swallow the bile rising in his throat.

“If this beta makes it out of the trial phase, I’m talking about classicide.”

The ride back to the compound breaks Hyunjin’s heart every time he has to make it. With how tight he grips the handlebars now, his fingers might break, too, but he doesn’t give a shit. All he can think about is the small, metal datashard in his pocket, and the look on your face when you’d handed it to him.

“You have to give this to Spider, Hyunjin. Nobody else. Do you understand?”

Every part of that exchange had been a plea. You’d pulled the tech out of a locked box in your nightstand and transferred it to his palm with a desperation in your eyes that he’d never seen before — from anyone. You’d closed his fingers around it and kept your hands over his, holding him tight, and he made the mistake of asking why.

In hindsight, Hyunjin wishes he hadn’t.

“The encryption. If someone doesn’t peel back the security correctly, layer by layer, it’ll flag your location.”

If he’d kept his mouth shut, he wouldn’t have to know why you clung to him the way that you did, looking at him like it was the last time you’d ever get to do it.

“Everything I know about the beta is on that shard — the program, the lab’s coordinates, its security, and its vulnerabilities.” 

Your voice broke then. 

“They’ll know the source of the information as soon as you access it, but they cannot find out where you are when you do.”

When he felt the weight of your words, Hyunjin refused to accept them for what they were: a sacrifice. Ulsan’s retention team, who currently has no idea you’re still in the peninsula — still alive — will tear the New Republic apart to find you, and when they do —

He kept repeating that there had to be another way to prevent this rollout, that he’d find one, he promised; but you touched his cheek, and he knew:

The only way to Ulsan is through you.

On his way out the door, you’d stopped him with one hand around his wrist. Kissed him hard, cheeks tear-stained, and tried your best to get the rest out through a tightening throat.

“Hyunjin,” you’d whispered, then your voice trailed off. 

All the time you’d both spent swallowing it down made it too difficult to vocalize, but Hyunjin still heard it in all that quiet. He took the baton from you then, speaking just as softly, just as sure. “I know,” he promised. “I love you, too.”

And now, as he races back to the compound with your death sentence in his pocket, Hyunjin knows something else for certain:

When you’re gone, you’ll haunt him, too.

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

tagging: @saintriots, @mal-lunar-28, @dabiscrustyfeet @ldysmfrst @obeythemasters @moni-logues

wanna be tagged for future uploads? sign up here.

[halfagone]

DPxDC Week 2023 - Day 2

Rating: Teen

Summary:

Bruce had so many questions about Phantom's life after his death, and the people he left behind. His bleeding heart offers no reprieve. Prompts: Danny Fenton | Full Hazmat AU | Fear Gas

Unannounced, unexpected Part Two to oh, the humanity

Excerpt:

Bruce wished he understood Phantom. Not even the truth about the boy’s age could truly explain the veil of mystery surrounding the young hero. He struggled to treat Phantom the same after their recon mission together, especially so when he knew what precious little he could do for the ghost. Phantom may be young, but Bruce could not treat him as he treated any other young hero. He could not remind the boy to take his meals and finish his homework, or look after his grades and spend time with his family. All that was lost to him with a simple misstep and mistake.

[dragonofthedepths]

Relay 23.2.23

DP x DC. Danny Phantom, Martian Manhunter, Justice League.

It's possible for a ghost to inherit skills/knowledge directly from their parent(s) under dire enough circumstances where the skills could be applicable. The knowledge essentially downloading to their core from the connection they share.

Danny's been captured by the GIW and he's relying so heavily on his mentors' abilities to survive that he practically stands out like a beacon to J'onn, who's there with a few other members of the Justice League on a rescue mission (read: recon mission that is rapidly devolving).

Day (633/100) in my #∞daysofwriting @the-wip-project 23rd of Feb

[identityflawed]

this is such a niche fandom overlap and i’m only doing it for me and my bsf and maybe one other person on here but

STAR WARS PREQUEL CHARACTERS IF THEY PLAYED VALORANT

anakin — one of the rare duelist instalocks who actually comms and even IGLs for the team. the guy’s a war general so he def tries, but if they start losing he gets moody as shit. he only plays jett and if he can’t get his agent he will dodge the game; but you can count on him to always carry. also he’s a comp menace. definitely high immortal or radiant, has a smurf account so he can play with his friends. loves the reaver bundle.

obi-wan — definitely more relaxed, probably only queues unrated and plays whatever agent the team needs, though probably prefers brim. great PMA and is a decent player, always better on defensive half. probably plays cypher and is always exactly where he needs to be to win the round. bought no skins but can’t resist picking up the kuronami if he sees it.

ahsoka — prodigal raze main. probably plays neon on maps where raze isn’t compatible, anything she can to be moving around fast as fuck. she also likes ratting with shotguns, gets down on herself when she doesn’t play well. gold/plat rank and probably only does swift plays bc she gets impatient if they start to lose too hard. loves using oni phantom and complains that they don’t have a ghost skin.

rex — most clones are fuckin goated at this game, they’re trained warriors after all there’s no way the kamino sims weren’t like this. he 100% plays chamber exclusively, and is a rlly good player. solid IGL capabilities but prefers someone else to take the lead. probably diamond/ascendant, and loves the recon skinpack.

padme — idc what you say she is goated at this game bc she has to play w anakin all the time. he probably smurfed to play with her at the beginning but she got all the way back up to his rank. she and her handmaidens all share one account (which probably has a cringe matching username w/ anakin). asc/immo. mains killjoy — always accurate with her comms and util. has every skin in the game so her and her handmaidens can pick their favorites.

palpatine — has two accounts, one in bronze and one in radiant. his bronze one he uses to play w anakin where he just pretends to be really bad, and probably locks brim or sova bc he has no other characters unlocked. his other one is where he’s hella toxic and locks in phoenix just to sabotage his teammates if they’re too nice. top tier hater. uses sentinels of light skin on his radiant account so he can do the weird thing with the kill animation. or the champions melee so he can show off the kills he has

yoda — plays neon exclusively bc it mirrors his actual fighting style, and probably has not ranked out of iron. keeps himself in iron or bronze and will randomly carry people to higher ranks if they’re polite to him. definitely a rat player — him and ahsoka terrorize lobbies together. uses gaia bundle.

windu — probably doesn’t play all that often, and usually only does it with yoda or obi-wan. mains skye, bc he likes playing characters that help his team. not interested in winning, probably ranks in plat lobbies bc his aim is good. always ends up blinding his teammates and gets down on himself for it. likes the singularity bundle

dooku — instalocks kayo and never uses abilities other than his knife and ult bc he believes in aim superiority. scorns people who use characters that can heal and revive themself; gets ragey when people point out kayo can be revived. always plays alone or with ventress. if he gets into a lobby with a jedi he will do everything. in his power to make sure they lose. hardstuck ascendant bc he doesn’t use abilities. uses the forsaken bundle bc he considers it the most elegant of the skins.

ventress — hear me out when i say this girl mains breach, because she lives to make other people angry and breach is the most infuriating character to play against. she will always bait her teammates and she will always clutch in the most irritating way. her teammates can’t even be mad because she’s carrying them, but at their own expense. probably gold/plat max bc she only cares about her kills and not about the win. devoted prelude to chaos lover

maul — i am telling you with my whole soul this man wants to be a yoru main. and he’s not great at it, but he’s the only agent he will play. his aim is solid but he doesn’t have a good sense of how the other team plays, so he always ends up getting caught with his flash out or teleporting right into three different players at once. he also doesn’t comm, ever, unless it’s to curse someone out. only plays comp and only loses. if he’s in a lobby with kenobi he throws and spam reports him for cheating. bronze/silver but would be higher if he stopped playing yoru. uses the protocol bundle because he thinks it’s cool and it reminds him of his old training modules.

savage — fills sage and always revives maul when he dies in a stupid location. will only heal maul and will not communicate with the other team unless they are nice to his brother. somehow manages to avoid getting into gunfights but when he does he always crouch sprays. really likes the guardian and the elderflame bundle because the dragons are cool as shit.

bo-katan — devoted fade main, but could probably play any agent with ease. enjoys using voice changers to troll people and has a very low tolerance for sexism. literally just a solid player who doesnt top or bottom frag but is somehow the most capable person in the lobby at any given time. can and will disconnect from the game if people start being mean to her, and comes back 10 minutes later when they’re on the cusp of losing just to bring them back. diamond, but only because she keeps getting banned for disconnecting. likes the chronovoid bundle for the cool melee inspect

cody — sova main, and probably loves learning lineups. him and obi wan have combo moves and great chemistry in and out of game, and they probably duo together more often than anakin and obi wan do (anakin always plays with padme). probably ends up bottom fragging because he’s too invested in using his abilities than actually playing the game, but can easily clutch up when his team needs him. loves the ego bundle bc it reminds him of his armor, and doesn’t care for skins that change the gun’s sound effects.

fives — he loves playing gekko and trolling people with his abilities and ultimate. always brings good vibes to the lobby but mostly plays with his brothers in their custom games. not the greatest with his aim but his flashes always manage to blind the entire team — he just misses all his shots and blames it on their weird movement. he’s a shit player because he wants to be, and because he likes being able to play with his shiny friends when they first start the game without putting them into hard lobbies. blatantly uses blastx odin.

barriss — probably an astra main. just seems like a very cool headed player but gets easily irritated when her team doesn’t play the way she needs them to. can’t adapt, and therefore ends up having a hard time with the game. silver/gold lobbies at best. ahsoka bought her the ruination bundle and now it’s the only thing she uses. not too much to say for her other than the fact that she’d be a lot better if she realized everyone’s gonna play a little different.

qui-gon — this guy loves playing harbor. he’s definitely a bad player and gets a kick out of making people angry at him and then bringing up that he’s trying to learn how to play so he can play with his son, which is true because he only learned to play with obi wan. also only plays unrated and his play style changes every single game and no one is sure if he’s going to kill 40 people or 4. he probably backseats, too, after he’s dead. probably likes the neo frontier skins because they’re retro as shit. he seems like he’d like cowboys.

plagueis — plays clove because they’re immortal and can heal themselves, and be fucks w that necromancy shit. definitely not good at the game but doesn’t get toxic with his team. god tier IGL but only plays for himself unless the team starts catering to his tastes. probably diamond rank just because he’s good but not great, and doesn’t play the game that much. uses the cryostasis bundle because he’s got a thing for cold planets.

jar jar — he’s iron and not because he’s stupid but because he literally doesn’t know how to play the game. probably plays deadlock because he thinks she’s cool and isn’t aware that she’s a bad agent. very positive teammate but people get angry at him because he makes silly plays. he’ll get better he just needs time. likes the neptune bundle for obvious reasons, and is infinitely delighted by the little fishes.

yeah this was pretty crazy no lie but i fw it lmk if u want a part 2 with the original trilogy or something else bc i got so much more

also shoutout to @circle-around-again for responding to an old post of mine like 7 months ago bc they inspired me to make this post

[ectoentity]

Acid in the Veins

Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Young Justice (Comics), DC Comics

Rating: Mature

Words: 4,677

Chapter: 1/?

Characters: Tim Drake, Original Antagonists

Additional Tags: Competent Guys in White | GIW (Danny Phantom), Tim Drake Whump, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Blood and Gore, Torture, Body Horror, Human Experimentation, Demons, Violence, Dehumanization, Derealization, Ghost Hunger (Danny Phantom), Immolation, seriously guys this is gonna be rough

Summary: Tim thought he was going on a recon mission to the site of a meta trafficking operation. It was supposed to be routine: in and out in an hour tops, the bad guys unaware he'd even been there.

He wound up in way over his head. The GIW is both far more competent and sadistic than he gave them credit for. Captured with no hope of rescue, Tim finds his humanity slowly slipping away.

(Read on AO3)

[itsybitsybatsyspider]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 🌼

AAHHH!! Thank you Andi!!

in no particular order these are some of my favorite fics to have written:

Marty McFly, Eat Your Heart Out : Spider-Man NWH time travel au where Dr. Strange sends Peter back to 2003 instead of the memory spell, and Peter runs into a younger Uncle Ben who is hell bent on helping the weird mutant kid who keeps making strange comments.

Time is a Fickle Thing... : yet another time travel fix-it, but this time for the series Trollhunters and Tales of Arcadia. instead of resetting the timeline like he thought he did, Jim appears at the beginning of the series and has to avoid being seen by his younger self and try to fix everything that went wrong without being caught and losing anyone.

Moments : slice of life one-shots that focused on the Shazamily after the events of the first movie. It was my most consistently updated fic and my longest one that i've ever written and i have much love and nostalgia for it.

What Mothers Do : a Shazam fic where their foster mom, Rosa, is suspicious as to why her kids have been acting so weird. She's determined to figure out what's been going on with them, and maybe kicks a super-villains ass while she's at it.

The Half-Finished, Half-Assed Guide to Being Half-Dead: By a Half-Ghost: Young Justice/DC and Danny Phantom crossover, where during a recon mission gone wrong, Robin becomes a halfa. And what else is the League supposed to do but find and ask for the help of the only superhero halfa they can find?

Like the Birds which is the second installment in my Detroit: Become Human Superman/DC au.

i added a sixth one too because why not?? Thank you for the ask Andi!! I really appreciate it and this was fun!

[lazerswordweilder]

I saw a post on Pinterest about tumblr

This one, and I can’t find it. But it got me thinking, because we do do this, we have different langue and terms within the hundreds of different fandoms on here

For example the Danny Phantom fandom on here (the ones who are more into writing/reading anyways) would understand the sentence “It was just a wip but it was good soup, a reveal gone wrong au with ghost king Danny and dpxdc, the notes made it into a fic and it later got posted onto ao3 with 58k words,” and I recon most of tumblr could at least understand most of it. But someone not from tumblr? Imagine saying that in class, or on twitter, or to a colleague/friend. It reminds me of the song Dissecc by Lexxø because it’s so deep into the DP phandom that you need to know fannon about fannon to understand it.

We just have these collective terms that everyone in the fandom knows or learns and i think that’s so cool.

[your-highnessmarvel]

cotton candy | s.riley

CHAPTER SIX

Pairing: Simon Riley aka Ghost x Original female character

Warnings: SMUT. DUB-CON. MATURE THEMES

Chapter Summary: Laura’s training takes a dangerous turn.

A/N: Woooza. We’re already here! I think this is what some of you have been waiting for!!!

Masterlist

Taglist: Open

Will be posting on AO3. IF ONLY I CAN FIGURE OUT HOW IT WORKS LMAO.

Chapter six

Ghost could still remember the taste of her lingering on his lips after that night. That sweet, sickly taste of candy, smudged onto the cherry red of his lips ever since. Even if it had been more than a day, a full turn of the clock, Ghost could still taste that phantom candy on his tongue.

She’d stopped even looking at him. He could tell she was furious by the muscle ticking in her jaw or her knuckles turning bone-white whenever he spoke or passed by her or entered a room. Ghost could almost feel the rage coming from her skin, but it only served as fuel for his ever growing obsession.

He’d never been obsessed in his life. For him, things were like wind, coming and going and never to be seen again. The army had taken the possibility of permanence from him a long time ago, and the soldier in him was taught never to form attachments. And so in his entire career, Ghost had served as pawn, jester, and queen, but he’d never stayed on the same board. Always moving. Always leaving something - or someone - behind and training his memory never to cling to anything.

Because the worse thing a soldier could carry was memories. 

Laura had been moved from Sergeant Combs’s training to some sort of half-assed private hour with Soap, while Gaz and Alejandro worked recon and organization for their little coup. And although it had been Ghost’s idea, he was not even on the training mat with her.

Soap was trying to teach her how to come out of a backwards hold, the one Ghost had trapped her in last night. 

Johnny, even as trained and disciplined as he was, was not immune to Laura’s tempestuous attitude. 

“If you’re holding onto me like a fucking maniac, how the hell am I supposed to even get out?” It was a shriek, basically, and her voice broke off at the end. 

She had trouble catching her breath, chest heaving against Soap’s arms, neck glistening with sweat. Flyaway hairs from her bun kept getting into her eyes, where a subtle smudge of blue bruised the underside. She had not slept well - if at all - last night.  

Ghost crossed his arms, cocked his head. “She usually doesn’t fight fair,” he offered, watching both Soap and Laura’s head twist his way. “She’ll go for your balls next.”

Soap’s face fell.

“Or bite your wrist until you’re bleeding,” Ghost continued. Laura’s eyebrows knitted together, creasing the skin in between. 

She puckered her lips and tried to swing her body forward, but Soap was strong and just pulled back. 

Ghost sighed, uncrossing his arms and walking to where the pair stood on the mat. The training gym was almost empty, and Laura’s pants and Soap’s quiet curses almost echoed through the space. 

He stood in front of her, watching her midnight eyes shift upwards and upwards, staring at him from under her brows. A quiet rage flamed behind her glare.

“Here,” he said, pointing to her hands. “You’re not using them.”

Her face pulled back, resisting the urge to either curse him or bite one of his eyes out. “He’s impossibly stronger, Ghost,” she said, gritting her teeth, the words almost hissing passed her lips. 

He shrugged. “You have more strength than you think.” Then he tapped Soap’s arms, loosening his grip, and gingerly took her wrists in his hands. “When someone’s got you in a hold like this, first thing’s first, you get into this position.” He placed her arms so they formed an X across her chest. 

“Now use your body weight,” Soap instructed, resuming his vice-like hold around her torso. The way he pressed his arms against her own made her breasts lump upwards, visible over the small cleavage of her tank top. 

Ghost swallowed and stepped back, his fingers itching. His gloves, he realized, had saved him from the intensity of skin-to-skin with her. The intoxication of feeling her flesh, warm and delicate against his, was a memory sticking to every corner of his skull. 

She tried forcing her way out, but she wasn’t trying hard enough. 

Ghost shook his head. “Get on with it,” he drawled. “Fight him!”

“Come on, pumpkin, let’s go,” Soap encouraged, voice rough, the little nickname frying every nerve in Ghost’s brain. “Pitch forward, use your body weight and your arms.”

She threw herself forward, hesitantly at first, and then again, and again, until Soap’s grip faltered, hands sliding on his forearms, and that fourth pitch made his entire frame crumble forward. The girl was released and she tumbled forward, losing balance and stumbling into Ghost.

He caught her easily, hands on her shoulders, and she peered up, cheeks hot. Her gaze immediately shifting from his, avoiding the mask, the smell clawing into her nose, the warmth of his body so close. The softness of his hoodie - and the way it clung to his wide shoulders. The way his trousers hung loose but fitted and made him look unbreakable.

She jerked from him like he was a flame. 

“Again,” she said, voice echoing. 

Soap nodded, smiling. He liked seeing her succeed. 

Although being in close quarters with Laura was like standing too close to a burning fire while the first layer of your skin roasted, Ghost liked seeing her progress. She was - sort of - positive about her mistakes, but she was a quick learner, and she was avid to learn as much as she could from “army pros”, as she called them. 

Soap was taking a break while Ghost was teaching her quick jabs for self-defence. 

At this point, the front of her tank was soaked and her hair had fallen from a tight bun to a mess at the base of her neck, but she kept going. From Ghost’s vantage point, he could see her cleavage, and his mouth watered, that phantom candy taste flooding his senses. Her shoulders, her collarbone, her throat, all on display for him. Her soft skin, glistening gently with a fine coat of sweat. The way her shorts clung to the curve of her hip, her ass, the dip at the base of her spine. 

She was a four course meal on a platter - and damn Soap for being here. 

Ghost wondered if Soap was thinking the same thing. If the Sergeant was fighting the urge to push her down onto that mat and make every nerve in her body sing for him. 

Was he thinking about tugging her shirt over her breasts, kneading them into his hands, feeling the warmth of her skin? The beat of her heart? Having her mouth on his, tongue sliding against his, moaning his name and curving her spine into his body? 

Was Soap imagining what she’d look like, flushed, horny, begging?

“What’s so fun about being in the army anyway?” she asked, throwing the blunt side of her palm up, towards Ghost’s nose. 

He dodged, caught her wrist, and nodded. “Faster.” A gulp caught in his throat and he grunted to clear it. 

She was so fucking intoxicating.

“Sometimes it’s just the awesomeness of doing highly dangerous and borderline chaotic missions,” Soap called from the sidelines, nursing a water bottle. “Sometimes it’s because I sucked at school and enrolled when my frontal lobe hadn’t fully developed yet and now I’m stuck doing it.”

Laura stopped mid swing, turning to face the Sergeant. “Soap, that’s depressing,” she said, turning back to Ghost. She tried throwing two fingers at his throat, but he slapped her hand away. “What about you?” she asked, voice tentative. 

“Long story,” he answered bluntly. 

She rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips, taking a breather. “Well, last time I check, Mr I’m-so-mysterious,” she panted. “I’ve basically got a lot of time on my hands.”

Something dark crawled across her face and sank deep in her eyes, but Ghost chose to ignore it. 

“What do you do for a living anyway?” he asked. 

Surprise etched across her features, burning away the obscure expression that had pinned onto her face. “I just graduated from my Master’s degree in Classics,” she said. “I - well - I wanted to be either a writer or a historian.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Always thought I’d do something I liked.”

“And classics,” he answered, tasting that word differently now, “that’s your choice?”

She frowned. “You’re the one un-aliving people for a living,” she accused. “Don’t judge my career choice when you probably got into this because you don’t know what algebra means.”

“Still don’t,” he answered. 

Soap laughed. “He’s good at math, Laura,” he assured. “He just sucks at being... human.”

She smiled and tried to join in Soap’s foolishness, but Ghost could tell she took that differently. After all, she knew about Ghost’s little... obsession. 

She jerked her chin at Ghost. “Again,” she said. 

She wasn’t able to land a single punch, jab, or kick at him, but she was getting more precise in her aim though. 

***

There was something erotic about being alone with two men while they both tried to teach you self defence. There was an art to it; one of their hands on my sternum, the other one’s thumb tracing circles into my thigh. There was a certain air, like thick, thick honey, dripping between the three of us, as Soap’s fingers closed around the back of my neck, Ghost’s grip tightening on my knee.

I never knew that I was into this, never even thought that it would have ever crossed my mind to think about both of them this way. Even their breaths, deep and panting, echoing in the emptiness of the gym, their mouths so close to my ear at times... it was frightening. 

This situation could turn south very quickly. 

Thank God Soap put an end to it. 

“Alright, Laura,” he said, getting up from his position, panting, sweat dripping down the back of his tan neck. He’d been kneeling, my head on the mat between his legs. Ghost was still trying to arrange my legs around his head and shoulders, a hold he said could outright kill someone. 

“I think we’ve had enough of this,” Soap was saying, walking to where his water bottle was. “Three hours, whew!” 

I felt heat creep into my cheeks when Ghosts hands unhooked my legs from his shoulders, thumbs sliding under my knees, parting them so he could fit through. He was so large, and I was left on my back, looking at the ceiling, praying my embarrassment wasn’t written clearly on my face for the world to see. 

His thumb lingered, tracing fine circles from my knee to my thigh and back. I swallowed thickly, jerking my head to the side, wondering if Soap was watching, but he was guzzling down more water than a sponge absorbing in a bath. 

I whimpered lowly, trying to get the image of last night out of my head, of my clear rage at him, of the hurt bubbling in me and the obvious disinterest written in his eyes. Oh, how I’d wanted to see his face, but then he’d pulled up his mask and exposed such a beautiful mouth to me. With crinkles and dimples on his cheeks as he leaned in - when he hadn’t taken “no” for an answer. When he’d drawn out this feeling in me, this magnetic lust that had made me search his thigh for friction. 

Why was he doing this to me?

He got up, offering his hand and I took it, getting to my feet. I had to pretend to yawn to wash out the goosebumps on my skin, this shivering climbing up my spine. 

It was angering how easy he could pull my stitches and tear me to pieces, and then get up and walk away as if he hadn’t. It was so fucking infuriating that he could do that - look at me as if I was just a boring equation on a board, and then walk away, clap Soap on the back, and saunter out, his shoulders swinging. 

I wrinkled my nose. 

“He’s such an asshole,” I mumbled. 

“What’s that?” Soap asked, turning to me, spraying water into his mouth. 

I rolled my eyes, reaching up to tighten my bun. “Nothing.”

“Who’s an asshole?”

“I thought you didn’t hear what I said.”

“I did, I was just confirming.”

“Then say that.”

Soap sighed. “What’s up your ass, pumpkin?”

I sighed, walking off the mat with as much anger as I could. Soap watched me, big brown eyes innocent. 

“Ghost can be...” I trailed off, picking up my hand towel and wiping the back of my neck. “Ghost can be so fucking... Sometimes I just wanna...”

I threw the towel, grunting, watching it flutter to the ground with none of the rage I threw it with.

“Fuck him,” I groaned.

“You just wanna fuck him?” Soap asked, genuinely confused. 

I stopped, heat crawling up to my ears, and I whirled on Soap. “No, n-no, obviously no, that’s not what I was saying, I-”

He cut me off. “I mean, he could use it,” he said, matter-of-fact, turning to pick up his towel nonchalantly. “Could take the stick out of his ass.”

“Soap.” My voice echoed, strong and loud, across the gym. “No, I won’t do that.”

Soap shrugged. “You could use it too, you know.” He faced her, grinning. “You’ve been kind of... bitchy?”

I bundled my towel up and threw it at him. “Fuck you!”

“Please,” he said, laughing, catching my gross towel in his hand easily. “I’d love to!”

“You’re being such a pre-teen right now, Head n Shoulders.”

He groaned, following me as we made our way out into the blistering heat, the horizon shimmering from it. We made our way back to the RV, where I was fully expecting to find Ghost’s brooding self pestering me further, but when we walked into the RV, only Alejandro was there.

“Hey, princessa!” he exclaimed, looking up from what looked like a very boring game of cards. By himself?

I smiled at him, genuinely happy to see him because he was probably the only one here that I really liked. “Hey,” I said.

“How was training?” he asked. 

I nodded, swallowed, looked back as Soap climbed into the RV and closed the door, locking the heat outside. 

“It was good,” I said, making my way to the back to pick up my towel. Someone was in the bathroom taking a shower, probably Ghost, so I thought maybe I could use the communal showers at the gym.

“Where’s Ghost?” Alejandro asked and I smiled sarcastically. Nice one, trying to get me to believe he wasn’t in the shower right now. 

I blew passed Soap and Ale, who both exchanged a glance as I all but stormed out the RV. 

There was definitely something up with me. I could feel myself getting angrier and angrier as I thought about last night, about today’s training. Last night, when Ghost so easily tore all my seams apart and kept digging, despite my resistance. And today, still playing his game, pretending he cared and pulling fire from my veins, and then sauntering off. 

I hated him. 

I decided that. 

I got back into the gym and made my way to the showers. I was so caught up in my own head, the rage throwing itself against every part of me, that I didn’t notice the sound of a shower already on.

And I stopped dead in my tracks.

Because right there, under a stream of hot, steaming water was him. Ghost, without his mask, his back glistening with water. And it went down, down, down his naked form, and my eyes followed, until I saw almost every inch of him.

He had blonde hair. This asshole, who wore a mask and glared at me through impossibly dark eyes and could cull my body into absolute pudding, was blonde. 

I backed up, but my shoe squeaked, and it was remarkable that he hadn’t already heard me because he’s such a professional assassin. His head cocked, and then moved slightly to the side, but his right shoulder lifted, tensed, and when he looked at me over his shoulder, I could just make out his eye.

Fuck.

I slipped trying to turn, landing knees-first into the damp tiled floor and then scrambling onto my feet. I heard water sloshing behind me, but I gripped the side of the bathroom wall and propelled myself towards the exit. 

My entire being was on fire, flames licking up my spine and crawling up my face, my vision burning the closer I got to the gym’s exit. But I was slow, my breath forcing its way passed my throat, my lips, until I was mere inches away from the door. Where I could get fresh air not clogged with the image of his back - as if cut from glass, majestic, muscular, tanned. 

But my fingers barely grazed the door’s push handle that I was swept off my feet, wetness and heat pressing at my back, a humid hand covering my scream.

There was a strong arm around my waist, pulling me up and off my feet, carrying me away from the door.

I screamed against the hand on my mouth, but the hot chest at my back, wetting through my tank top, just chuckled.

“Easy there, dove,” Ghost mumbled, backing us up into the bathroom. “Just want some privacy.”

I groaned against his hand, nails biting half moons into his forearm. Miraculously, I still had my towel. 

He put me down against the same damp floor of the bathroom, and I pushed away from him, hand against the wall before me. His shower was still on. 

“Oh, my... are you...?” I refused to look back and have him fully naked. 

“So glad to know you care so much about my privacy,” he shot back. “Especially since you walked in on me naked.”

“I didn’t know you were in here!” I exclaimed, still not turning. I could feel him inches away from me, from where I was hiding my flaming face against the wall. 

“I’ll pretend to believe that,” he answered, and this time, his mouth was at my ear and I could feel the damp material of his mask. I looked at him from my peripheral, and saw the mask and lower, the boxer briefs. I snapped my eyes back to the wall, not lingering on the water drops clinging to his chest, dipping into the few scars darkening the skin around his abdomen. “Like what you see?” he asked, voice lowering. 

I gulped. “I’d rather not see,” I snapped back. 

“I can arrange that,” he said. 

Quickly, almost like magic, he all but ripped my tank top from me, my arms flopping back down against my sides. “Hey!”

But he ignored me and even when I whipped around and tried to snap the shirt from him, he just backed away and folded it neatly. 

He was... he was something to look at. All sharp angles and round, large shoulders and rippling muscles that shone with the water still clinging to his skin.

He held the fabric of my shirt, staring at me, and suddenly, I felt self-conscious, covering my bra with my hands.  

He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “None of that,” he drawled, stepping closer, until he could grab my wrists and pry them apart. He put a hand under my chin, dragging my gaze to his. 

The dark chaol that usually spread across his eyes had been washed away, clearing his gaze and illuminating his eyes. They were blue. He bent down at eye level with me, the difference between our sizes now oh so evident. 

“Now,” he said lowly, voice rough, “you prefer to be blinded, yes?”

I frowned. 

He slowly reached up and lay the fabric of my tank top over my eyes, tying it behind my head. 

I grasped onto his forearms as they came back down, my skin bubbling with goosebumps, shivers racing down my spine. He chuckled, and I heard the rustling of fabric and realized very quickly that he’d taken off his mask because his lips were grazing mine and my entire body went from damp cold to raging fire in an instant. 

Shit.

His hands, now warm and damp and on fire slid around my naked waist, lighting me from the inside out. My own found their way onto his shoulders for support and he lifted me, one hand directing my thighs around his waist. 

“Ghost, I - “

He turned, silencing me in, walking us closer to the sound of water rushing out. I tensed in his arms, thighs squeezing around his waist.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” he said, lips at my collar bone, and when he set me on my feet, I felt him get to his knees. He took my shoes off, my socks, and when his fingers inched into the band of my shorts, I pushed at his shoulders. 

“Ghost, no.”

There was a pause and I wished I could see him, but my own shoulders were tense, afraid of what this man could make do because fuck, just the graze of his thumb down my thigh, towards my knee was making me shake. 

He left my shorts alone. I stood there, breathing, a hot spray of water massaging my back until his hands cupped my face and he brought his mouth down on mine. 

I’d been kissed before. A few times, but not a lot, ultimately. But this... this was like being eaten alive, having his tongue graze my lower lip, his mouth never letting mine catch a breath. He was angling my head as he wanted, taking my mouth how he wanted, and the guttural noise that came from his throat set my entire being on edge. 

I couldn’t stop this. I wouldn’t come back from this. 

Abruptly, I was turned, and I wanted to rip my blindfold off but his hand rested on my tummy, right above the waistband of my shorts, while the other arm snaked across my torso. I was beginning to think my nails would break from how hard I was digging them into his forearms. 

Water was dripping down my front, watering my shorts, and I squeezed my thighs together as his entire form was pressed flush against my back. I could feel him, hard, at the base of my spine. 

Oh.

His mouth pressed against my shoulder, kissing and nipping up to my neck, and I swear it was to distract me because when had his hand traveled so much lower, his middle finger inching into my shorts?

He bit down, hard, on my shoulder, and pain spread wildly up my neck, down my arm. I gasped, pushing away from him, but he groaned, the hand on my belly pulling me right back against him. 

He pulled his teeth from my skin, lips grazing up to my ear. “Stay,” he ordered, and I could feel the command deep in my bones. 

“Ghost, I’ve ne-”

“Simon.”

I was trembling. 

“What?”

“My name is Simon,” he groaned, his hips bucking into me gently. “Say it.”

He nuzzled against my neck, his right hand inching higher to grasp firmly against my breast, his left hand lowering completely into my undies. He squeezed my breast painfully, kissing into my neck, rutting into me from behind, and when his left hand finally breached and found what it was looking for, I arched into him and his name just tumbled from my lips like a prayer. 

“That’s it,” he drawled, middle finger rubbing slow, tantalizing circles on my clit. “Much better.”

My knees buckled but he held me, slowly circling my clit, my head lolling back onto his chest. I could feel every nerve buzzing with pleasure, from the heat of his fingers on me, from the hand playing lazily with my nipple, to the warm hardness at my back. It was slowly driving me insane. 

“Is this what you wanted?” he whispered into my ear, adding his forefinger to the mix, circling just a little harder, just a little faster. I ground my hips against his hand, searching, demanding more friction. God, this was insane. “Is this what you wanted, little dove?” he repeated. 

I gasped, holding back a moan when he pressed harder, targeting just the right spot. I was blindfolded, but my vision was still blurring and when his middle finger ventured down to test my hole, the whimper that left me was all but wretched. 

“All this for me, my love?” he groaned against my ear. “So wet, just for me?” His voice was such a dirty whisper, teasing my ear, while his middle finger collected my juices and came back up to rub deep, rough circles on my neglected clit. I bucked up, biting my lip to hold a moan. 

“S-simon,” I whined, gripping both hands on his forearm. The hand holding my breast mitigated upwards until all his digits wrapped carefully around my throat and he pulled me flush, arched against him, barely standing on my toes, his fingers working deep, quick circles on my clit, and my entire body shuddered. 

“You like that, huh?” he whispered, biting the shell of my ear, but at this point I didn’t care. “You want me to make you cum, huh, Laura?” My name dripping from his lips was like honey, and the way he moved his fingers, palm still adding pressure to my clit as he slipped his middle finger inside me was like magic. 

He slipped in so easily, almost embarrassingly so, and it didn’t go unnoticed by him. “Fuck, so eager,” he groaned. 

“Simon, I’m - I’m...” 

He was rubbing a spot inside me that made my fingers numb against his arm, my mouth fall open, and a mixture between a whimper and a moan came from deep within me. He’d obviously done this before.

“You want to let the entire base know who’s making you feel this way?” he asked, his palm rubbing on my clit, his middle finger deep inside me, stretching, pumping against every right nerve. “Huh, Laura, come on.”

His voice was rough, and by the way he was rutting against my ass from behind was a tell tale sign that he was getting something out of this too. 

And the more he rubbed inside me, against my clit, tightening his fingers against my throat, the closer I was to an edge I’d rarely seen. And I was petrified of flinging myself over it, of giving this man the satisfaction of calling an orgasm out of me that he didn’t deserve. 

“Laura,” he taunted. “Cum for me, my dove,” he cooed. His fingers sped up, pressure against my clit increasing and I groaned against my teeth, arching against his erection, giving him every inch of me. “Come on, beauty, cum for me.”

I whimpered and something inside me snapped, his finger hitting that spot, rubbing it, culling my precipice until I was voluntarily throwing myself over it.

Every part of me tightened, my head falling forward under the hot spray of water, my thighs tightening, squeezing his hand, but he kept pumping his finger so roughly in and out of me, making a moan drawl deep from within my chest. 

“That’s it, little dove,” he cooed, easily holding me up. “Just like that.”

Every inch of me buzzed, rolled over with pleasure, and I clenched around his finger, feeling a gush leak onto the inside of my thighs. 

When I was but a panting mess, limp against him, he pulled his hand from my shorts, rubbing both palms across my belly, up until he was cradling both breasts. 

And then he lifted the hem of my bra until my sore, limp arms lifted and he was undressing me. Slowly. Gently. He took my shorts and panties off and rubbed what I imagine was soap across me. 

And he was silent. I couldn’t see him, but I felt every time his hand passed across my body, soaping me up. And then he added shampoo to my hair and massaged my scalp and helped me rinse. I was putty in his hands, completely to his mercy, and I was beginning to hate this. 

“Ghost.” My voice was roach, wretched. 

He hummed.

“I... I...” How could I tell him something like that? To a man who’s only known violence and command and territory his entire life. And clearly, he didn’t know how to refrain from getting what he wanted. “Simon, I hate you.”

He laughed through his nose and cradled his face into the crook of my shoulder, cupping my ass, squeezing painfully. “I love my name from your lips, little dove,” he cooed, the sound reverberating off his chest, echoing between my ribs. “Consider this a favor. I’ll see you for more.” He said that like a promise, whispered against my ear, his delicate, soft mouth grazing my lips as he pulled back. 

I felt his absence after a second, but by the time I ripped my blindfold off, I was completely alone. 

[ecto-stone]

seeing that Beta Jazz dream is to become a surgeon intead of Therapist. Yeah, honesty that fit way more. since doctor still got training to reconize mental illness in patient. Also the Phantom gang are missing someone at the healing role. Like listen listen. Imagine in never reveal to parent AU. Jazz instead of becoming a ghost hunter too to help. She become a doctor instead to help treat Danny battle wound.

making the team fully rounded.

[sapphodera]

Juno Shepard as a Companion

From the template by @luckyspacerabbit! Putting under a cut because this is long.

Name: Juno Friedmann

Alias: The Ghost

Birthdate: 5/11/2154 (31 yrs) 

Class, Specialization: Infiltrator; Sniping and Reconnaissance 

Weapons: Sniper Rifles, Heavy Pistols

Powers:

Active: 

Tactical Cloak - Juno can employ a light-bending technology that renders her invisible for a limited time, at the cost of health and shield regeneration.

Rank 4 Evolution: 

Option 1: Shadow Shield - While Juno’s tactical cloak is active, the rest of the squad gets boosted shield capacity and regeneration. 

Option 2: Wraith - Juno’s weapon damage doubles when her tactical cloak is active. 

Decoy - Juno places a flashing decoy that mimics the glare of a sniper’s scope. This will distract and confuse hostiles, drawing fire away from the real Juno. 

Recon Drone - Juno deploys a cloaked reconnaissance drone, which will highlight enemies and make their silhouettes visible through walls and cover.  

Passive: 

Phantom Soldier - Juno’s extensive training and experience increases her hardiness and stamina. Cooldown times are reduced and Juno’s health is boosted. 

Armor: 

Pre-Loyalty: Juno wears light armor to maximize her mobility. She wears armor plating over her boots and kneecaps. Her shirt and pants are made of high strength fabric, with additional padding. A harness and belt keeps her guns and ammo together. She also wears a cloak made of camo-patterned fabric. A neutral color scheme makes it easier for her to blend into her surroundings. 

Post-Loyalty: Her outfit is recolored into an all black color scheme, with the addition of a long-sleeve undershirt. Her cloak is gone, and she has a line of black face paint under each eye. 

Origin: Ex-Alliance

Codex Entry: Juno Friedmann, a human sniper, was the child of two Systems Alliance officers. Her mother, a soldier, and her father, a pilot, raised Juno on various space stations and ships as their postings changed. At eighteen, Juno followed in her parents footsteps and enlisted. 

Juno proved to be a capable soldier, eventually becoming an N7. She was on track to becoming a commander when her ship was attacked by a group of pirates. Despite the crew calling for support, Juno was the only survivor. After learning that their backup was delayed due to prioritizing the escort of a retired general, Juno left the Alliance. 

Eventually Juno put her skills to work and became a vigilante. Traveling across the galaxy, Juno hunted down and killed those who she believed harmed the innocent. An excellent survivalist and marksman, Juno would often track her targets for weeks across remote lands before eventually killing them at long range. Her enemies and admirers alike nicknamed her the Ghost, due to her anonymous identity and the fact she was rarely spotted. 

Psychological Profile: Sole Survivor

Codex Entry: Shortly after graduating from the N7 program, Juno’s crew was assigned to transport a shipment of element zero to an Alliance research base. Pirates attacked the ship, attempting to steal the high-value cargo. Juno contacted a nearby Alliance vessel for backup, but they delayed in helping in order to secure a retired Alliance general’s transport to the same research base. When they eventually did arrive, Juno was the only member of the crew left. She survived by hiding in the ship’s maintenance shafts, where she remained undetected when the pirates boarded the ship. 

Due to the commander of the ship sacrificing herself by intentionally setting off a grenade inside the vessel, all the pirates were killed. Juno and the element zero were recovered by the other Alliance ship. When she learned why their backup was delayed, Juno resigned from the Alliance. 

Recruitment Dossier Text:

The Ghost

- Expert crack sniper 

- Capable of surviving in harsh wilderness

- Uses sniper rifles and recon to track targets and kill them at long range

A woman believed to be the Ghost was spotted helping a wounded man outside the colony Perseverance. Intel shows that she intends to kill the colony’s leader, who is hiding information about the planet’s volatile storms. 

Recruitment Mission ME2: 

Juno is recruitable in the first round of dossiers, along with Garrus, Mordin, etc. 

Shepard and their two squadmates will be sent to the planet Ontarom (the one from ME1 with the space cows). 

When the squad touches down Shepard will be free to explore a grassy clearing on a large, rocky hill. It overlooks Perseverance. Here, you can again encounter the Shifty Looking Cow. Eventually the squad will come across the remains of a fire and a dead space cow. EDI will conclude that the animal was killed less than 48 hours ago, and that the Ghost probably used it as a food source. 

At this point the squad will be attacked by a pack of wild animals. After dispatching them, the squad will come across a small cave. Going inside will result in discovering a colonist who injured himself when rock climbing. He will unintentionally reveal that the Ghost helped care for his wound, after which Shepard can interrogate him for more information. 

Charm: “If you just tell us where she went, I’ll contact your colony and have them get you out of here.”

Intimidate: “Do you want me to report you to your colony officials for interfering with the business of a Spectre?” 

Both methods of interrogation will result in the colonist telling Shepard what direction the Ghost went in. He will also suggest that Shepard remain hidden, as the Ghost will see the squad approach and likely shoot them upon discovery. 

When Shepard emerges from the cave and follows the path that the colonist suggested, they will find themselves in another clearing surrounded by cliffs, which also overlooks the colony. The glint from the Ghost’s scope will be visible. 

To approach the Ghost, Shepard has two options: They can sneak up on her, or walk into the clearing alone and fall when the Ghost hits them, as Shepard’s shields and armor will protect them from becoming seriously injured. If you sneak up on her Shepard will hold her up themself, or if Shepard plays dead their squadmates will. Regardless, the Ghost will surrender once she’s been captured. Her appearance is hidden by the recon hood she wears. 

The Ghost: “You’re not colonists. Who the hell–you’re Commander Shepard! Shit, I guess the rumors really were true. You here to arrest me?”

Shepard: “That depends. Do you want to help me solve a problem the Alliance is ignoring?”

The Ghost: *Laughs* “Like I’d work for Cerberus. You don’t think I know what they’ve done? Do you know how many of them I’ve killed?”

Charm: “Entire colonies are going missing, and the Alliance doesn’t care. Cerberus does. We’re going to find out what happened to them and stop it.”

Intimidate: “Whole colonies–men, women, children–are disappearing. Cerberus is going to put a stop to it because the Alliance won’t. Do you want to help, or stand idly by?” 

After some more convincing, the Ghost will explain that she’ll consider joining Shepard but her business on this planet is still unfinished. She explains that she intends to kill the colony’s president, who is hiding how dangerous the planet is in order to keep the colony profitable. When he is killed, the Ghost’s contact will be able to reveal new research that suggests the planet’s storms will quickly become much more dangerous than expected. 

At this point Shepard can either refuse to help her (which will result in Shepard leaving and the Ghost not being recruited) or agree to help her. The Ghost will give Shepard the controls to her drone (named “Spot”), which is capable of scanning lifeforms and drawing their attention with a speaker. The drone, which has its own tactical cloak, will not be spotted by the colonists. 

This will put the player in a sort of minigame, where the screen will show the drone's camera. The player will then have to maneuver the drone throughout the colony until they identify the target. Then the player will use the drone’s speaker (which plays an Asari pop song) to draw the target outside. At this point, the Ghost will eliminate the target with a headshot. 

As the Normandy’s shuttle touches down, the Ghost will remove her hood and tell Shepard her real name: Juno. At this point, Shepard can ask her questions. 

>Why did you leave the Alliance?

Ans: My ship was transporting eezo when pirates attacked. We called for a nearby vessel to back us up, but by the time they arrived I was the only one left. Later, I found out the reason they took so long. They decided it was more important to finish escorting a retired general before helping us. I resigned right then and there. 

>Why did you risk giving up your position to help that colonist?

Ans: *Shrugs* He was hurt. What was I supposed to do, let the animals eat him? 

>What happens to the colony now?

Ans: I don’t know. A lot of people will probably leave. It might become a ghost town. But I think that’s a lot better than innocents dying in a freak storm just to pad the wallet of some politician. 

As they board the shuttle, Shepard asks one more question:

Shepard: “This is a suicide mission. I don’t want you unless you’re serious about this.”

Juno: “Don’t worry, Commander. I’m already a ghost.” 

Where Are They On The Ship ME2:

Juno joins Kasumi in the port observation deck. Juno has rearranged the cushions on the other couch into a fort, where her sleeping bag lies. A small stack of books and a datapad are next to it. Spot hovers nearby. During cutscenes with Juno, Kasumi will be absent (or cloaked). 

Between missions, she can be asked about:

Her time in the Alliance

Why she left

Her old commander

Her parents

Her time as a vigilante

Any interesting stories?

Why the mask?

Her sense of justice

Her distrust of authority

Her empathy for those ignored by authority

Her rifle

A Normandy upgrade that will allow it to remotely hack Alliance ships—Juno explains she found it on a job. 

Loyalty Mission: 

Kelly: “Juno said she wants to speak to you as soon as possible.” 

When speaking with Shepard, Juno will ask that they go to Illium so she can buy an illegal mod for her rifle. If prodded further, Juno will dodge Shepard’s questions. After the Normandy docks on Illium, Juno is nowhere to be found. EDI informs Shepard that she has already left the ship. After leaving the Normandy, Shepard will question the Nos Astra Concierge, who tells them that she saw Juno steal an empty taxi shuttle and fly off. 

At this point, Shepard will get a message from Juno on their omni-tool reading: I have some business to deal with. Alone. Don’t worry about me. 

EDI gains access to the taxi company’s records and manages to track the shuttle. She tells Shepard it has left the planet and is currently headed towards an Alliance cruiser, the SSV Amsterdam. EDI discovers that Juno’s father, Marcus Friedmann, is currently assigned as its pilot. EDI will also play a message that Juno recently received: 

Female Voice: “This is a message to the Ghost. I’m on your father’s ship. Come and face me, or he dies.” 

Male Voice: “Juno, don’t—” [The message abruptly ends.]

Shepard will try to contact the Amsterdam, but EDI will report that the ships’ comm system has been shut down and none of their messages will get through. Shepard can then decide to travel to the Amsterdam, which has stopped moving and can be found near Illium. Shepard can also ignore the quest entirely, and after the suicide mission it will no longer be available and Juno won’t ever come back. 

If Shepard does choose to pursue the Amsterdam, Joker will get in close using the Normandy’s stealth systems and Shepard will board the ship via shuttle. If Shepard used Juno’s Normandy upgrade, they can enter the ship stealthily. Otherwise, they will have to brute-force it. If Shepard enters loudly or is caught while infiltrating, they will be attacked by Batarians. 

Exploring the ship, Shepard can find that the ship’s crew has locked themselves in the crew quarters. After killing the Batarians trying to open the door, Shepard can speak to the crew. The crew will explain that the ship was boarded by Batrian pirates, who immediately stormed the bridge. The rest of the crew escaped to the crew quarters, where they saw on monitors that Juno boarded the ship and was escorted to the bridge by the Batarians. 

Once Shepard reaches the bridge, they can pass a renegade or paragon check to get the Batarians to let them in, or just kill them. Inside, they will find the bridge crew being held hostage by the pirates. Juno’s father has been knocked unconscious. Juno and a Batarian woman are equipping their weapons. 

Juno will be shocked by Shepard’s presence, and be angry at them for coming to save her. Upon Shepard demanding one, Juno will explain the situation. Years ago Juno killed a Batarian pirate by shooting him through the eyes, which is a huge insult in Batarian culture because they believe the dead’s soul leaves through the eyes. Juno was unaware of this. Now, the pirate’s partner (the Batarian woman) has taken the ship hostage and has forced Juno in a duel to the death. The Batarian woman, named Tasli, aims to kill Juno in the duel as it would be an “honorable killing” as opposed to just executing her. Tasli says she will let the Amsterdam’s crew go after the duel (but not before looting the ship, of course). 

Despite Shepard’s protests, Juno insists on going forward with the duel without Shepard’s help. She only asks that Shepard make sure Tasli honors her promise of letting the crew go. 

Tasli and Juno make their way to opposite sides of the cargo bay and the duel commences. Both make use of the cargo cover and try to shoot the other without being spotted. EDI will tell Shepard she has hacked the Amsterdam’s system, and that she can manipulate the electronics in the cargo bay to work in Juno’s favor (ex. using a crane to move the cargo Talsi is hiding behind). 

Regardless of Shepard’s actions, Juno will shoot Talsi in the leg and disarm her. Juno will get close to her for the kill, at which point Shepard can talk to her via comms. Talsi begs Juno to kill her so she can be with her partner again. 

If Shepard helped Juno using the crane and tries to convince her not to kill Talsi: Juno shoots Talsi in the heart. She is not loyal. 

If Shepard helped Juno but lets her kill Talsi without protest: Juno shoots Talsi in the heart, and then admonishes Shepard for helping her. 

If Shepard explains they didn’t want Juno to get herself killed: Juno is loyal. 

If Shepard retorts that participating in the duel was a stupid idea: Juno is not loyal. 

If Shepard did not help Juno but asks her to spare Talsi, or if Shepard did not help Juno and lets her kill Talsi without protest: Juno shoots Talsi in the heart. Juno is loyal. 

The Batarians will leave without protest and take Talsi’s (along with any more of their comrades) body with them. The Amsterdam’s crew is picked up by a passing Alliance ship. After the mission, Juno will remark that she was surprised that Shepard came to try and help her. She will reluctantly thank Shepard for doing so. When asked about him, Juno will say that her father is recovering well, and that she will make a point to talk to him often even if he is mad at her for dueling Talsi. 

Suicide Mission: 

Juno will not survive being the Vent Specialist, or either Fireteam Leader, even if she is loyal. She will survive the Crew Escort as long as she is loyal, otherwise she will die protecting the crew. Juno will almost always die on the Suicide Mission if she is not loyal. 

Romance: Juno is only a romance option for female Shepards. However, she has very strict morals. If Sheaprd makes a significant amount of choices she disapproves of (see below) she will refuse to romance Shepard (or break up with them if their relationship is already established).

♡ Lock in Conversation: (If Shepard chooses to flirt with Juno throughout their conversations) In the last cutscene with Juno before the suicide mission, Juno can be found at the observation deck, staring into space. 

Shepard: “What are you doing?”

Juno: “Just…looking at the stars. Reminds me of when I was a kid.” She touches the glass. “I spent a lot of time looking out of ship windows.” 

Shepard: “Do you know any of the constellations?” 

Juno: “Not in this part of the galaxy. But I spent a summer on Earth once, and my dad taught me some. Canis Major, Leo, Orion…I’ve been thinking about my parents a lot lately.” 

Option 1: “So have I.” → Shepard and Juno talk about their families. 

Option 2: “You should give them a call.” → Juno says it’s too late to reach them before the mission. 

Option 3: “You need to focus on the mission.” → Juno agrees, and assures Shepard she’s ready for the suicide mission. 

Option 4 (Romance): Shepard places their hand on top of Juno’s. “I’ve been thinking about the people important to me, too.” 

Juno: She pulls her hand away. “Shepard…”

Shepard: “What’s wrong?”

Juno: “I…we can’t do this. For both our sakes.”

Shepard: “What’s wrong?”

Juno: “We’re going on a suicide mission. We’re going to die. There’s no point in this.” 

Option 1: “We’re not going to die.” 

Juno: *scoffs* “You seriously believe that?”

Shepard: “I’m going to give it my best shot.” 

Option 2: “You’re right. This was a mistake.” (Romance terminated)

Option 3: “All the more reason we should have some fun before we die.”  

Juno: “That’s not how I work, Shepard.”

Shepard: “We still have a chance to make each other happy.” 

Juno: “Look, if by some miracle we both make it out alive, we can have this conversation again. Until then…good luck.”  

Option 1: “Good luck to you too, but you were right. Let’s not do this.” (Romance terminated) 

Option 2: “Then once the Collectors are dead, you can tell me about the constellations again.” (Romance locked-in) 

Option 3: “I don’t want luck. I want you.” Shepard caresses Juno’s face, and they kiss before Juno pulls away after a couple seconds. (Romance locked-in)  

Juno: “Shepard, I…I really hope you make it.” She turns back to the window. “I’ll see you at the Collector base.” 

♡ Romance Scene: If both Shepard and Juno survive the mission, Juno will tell Shepard that they should talk in Shepard’s quarters. When Juno arrives, she is wearing a t-shirt and cargo pants and carrying a bottle of champagne. 

Juno: “Sorry. I don’t own any nice clothes.”

Shepard: “I don’t mind.”

Juno smiles. “Luckily this champagne is nicer. I got from a Volus as a thank-you for ‘escorting’ some creeps out of his bar. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.” Juno pours two glasses, one for herself and one for Shepard. “In the Alliance, we’d used to treat ourselves to a drink after a mission well done…never anything this fancy though.” 

Shepard: “I think we both deserve it.” 

Juno: “Since the Alliance, I haven’t really had anyone to drink with…anyone to care about.” 

Shepard tries to say something, but Juno interrupts them. “Shepard, It’s hard for me. Having people I care about. Loving people always seems to end in pain. But with you…” Juno takes both of Shepard’s hands in hers. “I’d like to try.” 

Option 1: “So do I.” → Juno and Shepard kiss. Juno wraps her arms around Shepard and the scene fades to black. 

Option 2: “I’d like to try a few things with you.” → Juno responds, “Oh really?” They begin making out and accidentally spill some of the champagne. The scene fades to black. 

♡ Can be Rekindled in ME3: Yes

♡ Mordin Advice: Human on human sexual activity, not a mystery. Juno? Personally, a mystery to me. Can’t provide much help besides the basics. I suggest you discover things for yourself. That’s part of the fun, yes?

♡ Kasumi Commentary: “I know that Juno can take care of herself, but if you hurt her I can’t be held responsible for my actions.” / “What have you done to that girl? I saw her actually smile today! At nothing! She was just walking around, smiling!” / “I hope you don’t mind Spot. She cares about that thing like it’s a real pet.” 

♡ If Unromanced: If neither Samara or Juno are romanced, they will engage in slightly flirty dialogue with each other. In ME3, they will be in a relationship. 

Citadel DLC:

Message to Meet:

Shepard, 

Come meet me at the strip when you have time. Joker told me about this place I want to check out with you. 

--- Juno

Friend Date:

Juno meets Shepard outside a club on a strip. Instead of her usual armor, she’s wearing a simple t-shirt and cargo pants with combat boots. 

Juno: “Hey.” [Juno looks side to side, and has her arms crossed. She taps her foot on the ground.]

Shepard: “You look...relaxed.”

Juno: “I just I…never know what to do with myself on shore leave! Usually I’d just pass the time by reading or going to the shooting range, but Joker said this place would really ‘loosen me up.’”

Shepard: “A club doesn’t really seem your style.” 

Juno: “That’s what I said, but Joker insisted I’d like it.” 

Juno and Shepard enter the club, skipping the line due to Shepard’s status. When they get in it becomes immediately clear that it is an Asari strip club. Dancers with various amounts of clothes dance onstage, while an elaborate light show and club music plays. 

Juno: “*laughs nervously* This isn’t what I was, um, expecting…”

Shepard: “Of course Joker recommended it…”

Juno: “We could, uh, just get a coffee or something instead…” 

Shepard then has the option to leave and get coffee with Juno, or stay at the club. If they choose to leave, a cutscene then plays of the pair having a pleasant conversation at a cafe. If they choose to stay, a cutscene plays where they watch the strippers, drink at the bar, accidentally walk into a private room and then run out, and dance. Juno lets loose, and appears to be having a good time. 

Apartment Date:

Juno will arrive with Samara and will people watch with her, along with telling stories of her own time as a vigilante. If Shepard is in a relationship with Samara, Juno will announce “I think I better get going” and leave as things get flirty. If Shepard romances Juno, they will kiss after Samara leaves. If neither Juno or Samara are romanced, Shepard will catch them holding hands when they think Shepard isn’t looking.

Shadowbroker DLC:

Terminal Messages: 

Message 1: VOICE MESSAGE FROM LT. ALIX HARRIS, SENT MARCH 3RD 2182

Lt. Alix Harris: “Hey Juno. It’s me, Harris. I just wanted to check in on you…I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now. But we don’t have to talk about any of that. It’s just…we haven’t really talked since it happened. You haven’t talked with anyone, actually. You can’t shut yourself off like this…me and the guys are really worried. Please just…call me back when you get a chance, okay? I want to see my friend again.”

[The message was never replied to, but has been replayed many times] 

Message 2: SCHEDULED MESSAGE TO HANNAH AND MARCUS FRIEDMANN 

Dear Mom and Dad, 

If you’re reading this, I’m dead. I’m sorry. Better you hear it from me than Alliance Brass right? Don’t be too upset. I’ve been killing for as long as I can remember. It was only a matter of time until it caught up to me. If any of my stuff is left, you guys get all of it. Not like anyone else is gonna want it anyway. Don’t blame yourselves. You did a good job. Take care of each other. 

I know you want to know why. I did it to protect people. Better it’s me over them. 

Love,

Juno

Shadowbroker Comment: “Thank you for bringing the Ghost, T’Soni. Her head will go for a high price.” 

Comments on Shepard’s Driving: “I think I’m gonna throw up…” 

Opinions:

Friends: Tali, Garrus, Samara, Kasumi, Legion, Liara, EDI, Ashley, Joker, Traynor

Neutral: Kaidan, Mordin (ME3), Wrex, Grunt, Jacob, Miranda (ME3), Jack, Thane, Cortez, Kelly

Enemies: Mordin (ME2), Zaeed, James, Javik, Miranda (ME2)

Decisions They Approve Of:

Killing Morinth

Preserving Maelon’s data

Shutting down project Overlord

Curing the Genophage

Sparing the Rachni queen

Helping the Quarians win Rannoch/brokering peace between the Quarians and the Geth

Decisions They Disapprove Of: 

Killing Samara

Sacrificing the refinery workers in Zaeed’s loyalty mission

Letting project Overlord continue

Faking the Genophage cure

Punching Khalisah

Helping the Geth win Rannoch

Comments on Cerberus: “I first heard about them when I was still Alliance. I won’t lie to you, Shepard. Their ‘humans first’ agenda makes me nervous. You know it's just a matter of time before only certain types of humans are first, right?” 

Comments on the Alliance: “They have their priorities skewed. All big organizations do. They get founded on some nice virtue and then, as it grows, the message gets muddled. That’s why I prefer to work alone.”

Comments on the Reapers: “I have no idea how we’re going to stop them. I guess that’s not my problem though, is it? Do you think a bigger rifle would help?” 

Comments about other Squadmates:

Samara: “Now, Samara is someone I like having on my side. I wish I had known her earlier. Between her biotics and my gun, we’d be unstoppable.” (If both unromanced) “Together, we could make a real difference. *Sighs* Maybe when this is all over…” 

James: “He reminds me of the boys in training. They’d say the grossest shit, but one good punch to the jaw and they’d shut right up. He’s the same.”

Zaeed: “I hope Cerberus is paying him a lot, because he won’t hesitate to stick a knife in your back for a few credits more.”

Kasumi: “I’ve stolen a few things here and there, but nothing as impressive as she has. She lets me borrow her books too. So I do like her, even if she does spy on me.” 

Jack: “She was cold to me at first, but after I told her the story of how I shot the dick off a batarian trafficker, I think we’ve reached an understanding.” 

Mordin: (ME2) “I don’t care how the hell he justifies it, the genophage was wrong. Salarians sure can be cunning bastards.” (ME3) “At least he’s trying to fix his past mistakes. That’s more than most would do.”

Jacob: (ME2) “I get why he left the Alliance. I guess he’s not so bad, for Cerberus.” (ME3) “I’m glad he realized what Cerberus really is. I hope he’s doing well.” 

Miranda: (ME2) “I feel sorry for her. Cerberus took her in, and then the Illusive Man groomed her into being his perfect, obedient pet.” (ME3) “Oh, I’d love to see the look on the Illusive Man’s face when he realized she turned against him. Being his right hand man and then joining the other side? That’s one way to stick it to Cerberus.” 

Grunt: “Krogans are such a pain to kill. If you want to down them in one go, you have to use an anti-material rifle and get them right in the eye. Good thing he’s on our side.”

Thane: “I don’t think you get a free pass on murder even if you say a prayer after. Regardless, his skills are impressive. We’d make a deadly pair: one to weaken you from afar, and another to close in for the kill.” 

Legion: “Well, they haven’t tried to shoot me yet, so they’re fine be me. Unless they start stealing my kills. Then we’re going to have a problem.” 

EDI: “The best extranet search engine I know. It doesn’t count as an abuse of power if I keep making her look up Black Widow mods for sale on the darknet, right?” 

Kaidan: “He’s alright. He’s Alliance and a Spectre, so I wouldn’t trust him if it wasn’t for the fact that I don't think he has a single malicious bone in his body.”

Liara: “An information broker, huh? Used a couple of those back in the day. I should ask her what she has on me.” 

Garrus: “He did a good thing, trying to clean up Omega’s mess. Stupid, but well intentioned. I am glad he didn’t get himself killed, though.”

Ashley: “Alliance brat, soldier, poetry lover…she’s a little too much like me. She does know how to party though…” *whistles* 

Tali: “She’s cute. Smart too. I always felt bad for the Quarians. To lose your entire planet…ugh, it makes me sick thinking about it.” 

Wrex: “Krogans don’t usually have a sense of humor, but he's kinda funny. He seems almost well-adjusted. Good thing he’s the one in charge.” 

Javik: “Kind of a dick, yeah? Guess I’d be one too, in his situation.”

Banter:

Joker commentary on recruitment: “Juno seems okay, even if her idea of fun is tracking some bad guy through the mountains and then blowing his head off. If I start seeing a laser on my chest, I’m blaming you, Commander.” 

Joker Comments: “Juno’s actually pretty nice for someone that shoots the dicks off of batarian slavers anytime she gets a chance. Still scares me though.”

Greeting/Default Saying: “Hey.”

How do they Address Shepard: “Shepard”

Combat Phrases: “One down.” / “Hostiles, 12 o’clock!” / (Upon Shepard getting a long-range headshot) “Impressive.”

Low Health: “Cover me!” / “I need first aid!”

Revived: “Thanks.” 

Friendly Fire: “Friendly fire!” / “Back off, Commander!” 

Location Comments: 

Omega: “I’ve tracked a lot of people back here. It’s very vertical, but the alleys make it hard to get a wide view.” 

Illium: “The poor criminals run to Omega, the rich ones run here. It’s always easy enough to snipe someone on Illium. Lots of skyscrapers, and even more big glass windows.” 

The Citadel: “There’s too many people here.” 

Companion Banter:

[Normandy SR-2 Bug Transcript #A23]

Juno: “Samara, could a human ever join the Justicars?”

Samara: “I doubt it. The training itself takes many decades, and biotics are a large part of it. Why? Do you wish to become one?” 

Juno: “No. I was just thinking about how you and I are similar.” 

Samara: “In what ways?” 

Juno: “Well, we don't have anything except our armor and weapons, live by a code of justice, kill those who break it…”

Samara: “Perhaps. I have also killed many people like that.”

Juno: “Well, I’d like to think my code is better than theirs.”

Samara: “I think…if you were an Asari, you would have made a good justicar.” 

[End Transcript]

[Normandy SR-2 Bug Transcript #A19]

Juno: “Spot?”

Spot: *beeps*

Juno: “Who’s my good little drone, hmm? Who’s the cutest, sweetest, little Armali Council reconnaissance-spotter drone?” 

Spot: *beeps*

Juno: “That’s my good Spot. My goodest, cutest, loveliest boy.” 

Kasumi: “Hey Jun–”

Juno: (screams) 

[End Transcript]

[Normandy SR-3 Bug Transcript #H08]

Dr. Chakwas: “You need to take better care of yourself.” 

Juno: “I’m fine. I got worse than this when I was a merc, and I didn’t have a doc to patch me up.” 

Dr. Chakwas: “Yeah, and that’s why you have worse vision in one eye, a twitch in your left knee, ankle pain…”

Juno: “I can deal with it.”

Dr. Chakwas: “Take these pills. One every day.”

Juno: “I don’t have time for—”

Dr. Chakwas: “Do you want me to call your mother?” 

Juno: “...Fine.” 

[End Transcript]

[cactuswaterscactusfields]

To Me, You're All I Am

Rating: Explicit

Soap X Ghost Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Angst, arguing, mentions of an abusive past, relationship drama, fluff ending, doesn’t follow the plot of Modern Warfare II (2022) perfectly but mentions it. Making things up about grenades and military practices. Chemistry, I guess? Mentions of injuries, blood, violence, and chemical burns. No beta we die like Graves, this was written deep in the throes of allergies. Profanity. Established relationship. This is a oneshot.

I heard Something in the Orange by Zach Bryan and the song just possessed me. Have some angst and fluff with your preferred choice of caffeinated drink, folks. The title is from the song Something in the Orange.

Crossposted here on AO3

--

It was stupid, really. Soap knew it was. The minute he limped off the heli, he knew he had royally fucked up. 

In fairness, his mind consoles him, he had no choice. He had been on a recon mission, found evidence of Hassan Zyani’s missiles in Al Mazrah, and been ambushed. He knew it had been stupid to try and clear that entire basement by himself, but he had done more dangerous things on a fucking training exercise. Being the pyromaniac, he knew he could get out of there if he had good timing.

That was how it was supposed to be, anyway. He had planned it perfectly, a couple of SemTex grenades and a few well-placed bullets would have perfectly cleared out that basement, and he would have been evac’d out of there before he could say bourbon. What he hadn’t planned for, however, was the gas canister in the corner, or the fucking bottles of vinegar and bleach placed next to each other.

The canister exploded. He would have loved it as a pyro if he hadn’t been right in front of it. Instead, it burnt the hair off his face (he thanked Price like a God for making him shave that morning), set his vest on fucking fire, and launched him back into the chemical cabinet behind him, creating fucking chlorine gas, Soap’s pyro brain remembered. He’s no chemist, but from the few secondary school history classes he was awake for and the briefings on chemical weapons, he knew that was a bad thing.

His fucking lungs were barely working, his eyes were streaming tears, and it felt like he was breathing in literal lava. His ribs definitely had bruised in a couple of places, and his ears were ringing so, so loudly. He could feel wetness on his face, on his chest, and in his legs.

He couldn’t remember much from the explosion. His heart was pounding. He felt adrenaline rushing through his burning veins, his mind fuzzy and unable to process more than pain. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, his vision was fading in and out, his gun was somewhere across the room, and he could see men with masks reaching to pick them up before their brains were suddenly splattered across the wall behind them.

That stupid fucking skull-face with his stupidly beautiful mask. All he could think, all he knew, was that Ghost was there, and everything would be okay. 

That was yesterday. After getting a lookover from the field medic and being cleared to head back to base for a few days of ordered rest and rehab, and direct orders to absolutely, under no circumstances, be exposed to smoke or pollution of any kind until his lungs had healed, he had been shipped onto a heli routed for 141’s base near Al Mazrah.

That’s how he found himself limping down the landing area toward Price’s office, with a very pissed-off British phantom following him. He finally gets to the office, and upon him pushing the door open, the energy in the room almost choked him worse than the fucking toxic gas. They’re mad. Mad at how the mission had gone to shit, mad at the accidents, and mad at Soap’s lack of oversight. He should have seen that gas canister, he’s supposed to be observant, but, well, Soap was chock-full of adrenaline and about a hair away from a massacre. 

“MacTavish. Have a seat.”

Soap sits. 

“What you did there was irresponsible.” “Away and bile yer heid.” Soap spits, already irritated by his still-burning lungs. He was royally pissed.

“English, MacTavish.” Ghost’s baritone rumbles from behind the Scotsman, no emotions given away by the soldier’s voice.

“Steamin bloody Jesus…it means fuck off. I did what I had to do.” “I’m sure you did, but Soap, if Ghost hadn’t been there, you would have died. You risked the mission and the future of our hunt for Hassan Zyani with that stunt you pulled. I swear to shit, if you do something like that one more damn time, I’m grounding you from missions until further notice. Am I clear?” Price growls down at him, and Soap can tell how mad he really is. 

Price, after all, is like a father to all of them. Though they’re all a bunch of misfit ragtag supersoldiers with shitty home lives, Price tries to take care of them as best he can. After all, he hand-picked them for their job, and chose them specifically because they are the best at what they do and can work damn well together. Soap knows Price knows about his relationship with Ghost, too. Price has seen the way Soap’s hands have skimmed Ghost’s body during sparring, seen the way their eyes have met in the common room late at night, and heard the quiet words they’ve exchanged on missions. 

“You’re dismissed, soldier. Ghost will provide the rest of the debrief. Go get some rest.”

Soap slowly stands, before pushing past Ghost to get to his room. He hacks up a bit of blood, lungs burning from the simple exertion. He really needs some rest, fuck. Soap finally pushes the door to his and Ghost’s bunk room open, before flopping down onto the bed. Shit, that hurt. A lot. He finally pulls out a sketchbook and pencil, before snuggling up against the pillow on his bed. 

Soap begins to sketch. He’s always loved to draw, it keeps him calm, kept him from crying while the glass bottles shattered over his mother’s head in the other room when he was a child, kept him from thinking of the tragedies he’s committed at the orders of the governments pulling his strings like he’s nothing but a marionette.

And then he hears footsteps. Heavy, angry, tense.

Ghost appears in his doorway.

“That was so fucking stupid, you mohawked idiot.” Soap puts his pencil down into his sketchbook, closing it to save the page.

And then he cracks a grin. “C’mon, L.T! It was awesome. Chlorine gas and an explosion. Haven’t seen an explosion like that since the oil rig. You gotta admit, it was cool.” He smiles up at his superior, who then crosses the room in two strides and grabs the scotsman’s throat.

“You could have fucking died, Johnny, what do you not understand?” Ghost’s voice is a harsh, angry snarl.

“You bloody fucking idiot. You should have waited for us. You should have waited for one of us to get to you, you know what the rules are about clearing rooms, you never do it alone. And look where that got you. Actions have consequences, yeah? What the fuck happened to that?”

Soap pauses for a moment. He’s never heard Ghost speak like that before, and for once in his life, once in his heart, he knew he fucked up. He remembered the moments when Ghost guided him through Las Almas, a big ass bullet wound in his shoulder, and yet the soldier still stayed just that–a soldier. Even when Soap confessed to Ghost days later of his true feelings on their way to retake the Vaqueros’ base, Ghost didn’t show much more emotion than kissing Soap on his soft, pink, slightly chapped lips. Ghost tasted like Kentucky’s finest bourbon and gunsmoke. Here he is now, his massive hand wrapped around Soap’s throat, and Soap’s vision begins to dim at the corners.

“I-Si, please–” He reaches up to pull on Simon’s hand, and Ghost releases before stepping back.

“I’m sorry.” Soap finally gasps out, his throat burning from the unexpected denial of oxygen and tightness from Ghost’s grip.

“Johnny, when I saw you, bleeding, on fire, I..I thought you were dead, you bloody idiot. I thought you were dead the moment that gas can exploded. I smelled that fucking gas, that shit burning my nose, and there you were, fucking soaking in vinegar and bleach, and you were literally burning, I lost it. I thought you were dead. To me, you’re all I am. Don’t you ever do that to me again.” Ghost’s voice increases in volume until he’s shouting, and Soap all but flinches back. Ghost leans over him, grabbing the poor scot’s shoulders.

Soap isn’t a small man, by any means. Six feet and two inches of solid fucking muscle, with a glare that could kill a lion, but under Ghost, here, in his bunk, he wishes he was tiny, wishes he could escape the voice, escape the look that Ghost is drilling into him. He wishes he could just disappear, anything to escape his gaze.

Johnny hasn’t cried in years. Not since his father quite literally beat it out of him. He’s seen things that have driven men mad, seen things that could kill by sight alone, seen things that could make the hardest man piss himself. But here, as Ghost’s eyes search him, he feels a tear slip out.

Ghost stiffens.

Soap, shaking slightly, feels Simon’s hand gently wipe the betraying droplet of water from his lover’s eye. And he looks up.

Is that..concern? This man above him, this man who has killed, tortured and been tortured, who has buried his comrades, who has been hunted by enemy and friend alike, is…concerned? He has never seen Ghost have concern. Not when Ghost found out about the missiles, not during any of the times when Price’s heli got shot out of the fucking sky. Not even when Soap was making his way through Las Almas, Ghost wasn’t concerned. Not until now. 

Ghost slowly takes Soap’s face in his hands.

“Johnny…just be careful. Please. I…” He swallows, struggling to get the words out. His throat bobs slightly, and though his mouth is covered by his balaclava, Soap just knows his mouth is struggling to stay in the tight, emotionless line that he’s hammered it into.

“I love you, Si.” Soap finishes for him.

Ghost nods. He’s always been a man of few words, Soap knows that, ever since he met the beefcake. And yet..he’s pouring his heart out to Soap. Soap hasn’t heard him speak this much..ever, practically. Not even in Las Almas. 

Ghost flops down next to him, and watches as Soap reopens his sketchbook and begins to work. “I love you too, Johnny."